#Jamie basically saying Claire is his home :''')

[thefrsers]

No wonder you’re so fond of her, Uncle. She must be a rare comfort to you.

[mogitz]

I’m not saying Elucien is going to be some kind of retelling of Claire and Jamie’s story in Outlander (in fact I hope it’s not) but it’s always comforting to me to know that SJM is a huge fan and Lucien was based off of Jamie Fraser. That both couples were “thrown” at one another despite the circumstances. That both couples grapple with fate and agency.

That when Claire and Jamie married they were not “in love” - but that fate had other plans for them and they created their love story beyond what life had given them.

Claire was still in love with Frank, unsure how or if she could ever go back to her old life, and basically forced to marry Jamie.

Jamie was a bit lost and exiled from his home, had no real sense of where he belonged, and immediately took Claire on as his family. He married her without question or judgement.

Oh he also believed Claire immediately about her time traveling through the stones. Kinda like how Lucien immediately believed Elain’s vision and went to find Vassa??

Claire and Jamie fell madly and deeply in love, to a point where Claire tells him that she used to search for the reason for everything, all the pain she’d gone through going to the past thru the stones, and that ultimately it was because she was meant to be with him. I mean, come on. I would die if we got an Elucien scene like that.

I’m just curious (excited??) to see the parallels when we finally get their story. SJM would never waste all this angsty, romantic potential for potato steam and a retelling of sad Archeron sister falls for dark Bat Boy.

Again.

[denimbex1986]

"It's a really difficult one to, to try and sum up, but it's about this man who's lost his parents when he was a boy. And the basic premise of it is a very beautiful one; what would you say to your parents that you weren't able to ever say to them before? He meets his parents as, as they are now; and they're the same age, he talks to his mum and dad...when they're the same age as he is now. And he has to let them know who he is, and so it's a very beautiful premise. A difficult one to, to - I keep saying to my friends you know: 'Just go see it, just go see it.' Because you're like: 'Oh my god, it sounds crazy', but it's a really beautiful idea. Because, you know, so, so much of us, you know, so many of us think about people. You know, I was walking down Fifth Avenue today and I was thinking: 'Most of these people are probably having conversations with, with people they haven't seen in 15 years.' You know, we spend so much of our time in memory, you know, and so - that's where the ghost is. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"What's so extraordinary about this film is that you're always the child, aren't you? When your parents...and I love this idea that you know, we don't do any, in the movie we don't do any - like, in the theater you can play several different parts, and, and the audience immediately believes it. But in the movies, sometimes we've got to put like a nuclear glow around them to show that they're ghosts. We do none of that stuff; it's just exactly the way our memory works, which is, you know, you remember the people exactly as you remember them and not - you don't really think about logic too much. So all the conversations are very beautiful and loving, but they're also kind of thorny because they've got a lot of kind of attitudes that would have existed around the nineteen - late 1980s. And he has to sort of, in some ways, kind of come out to them and it's very - it's beautiful because it talks about the accidental cruelty of families. You know, that we can have great love, but also your family can say things to you that are pretty bruising. But it's so compassionate and it's so tender, and people when they go and see the movie, you know, you can audibly hear - I wasn't able to see it for ages because of the strike - and I went to see it in, for the first time with a big group of 500 people, in London and just, people were audibly weeping. And so to be able to, I don't know, capture the audience imagination in that way is, is pretty wonderful."

"It was incredible you know, because Jamie Bell and Claire Foy play my parents, who are younger than me...It's sort of a crazy idea but it's got this epic, it's got this epic subject matter to it, which is - it's literally about life and death. And it's so, so beautiful and so incredibly; I'm proud of it - I find it very moving even talking about it. So, but yeah, so it's, it's really just very, very specific, and we shot it in the childhood home of the director, which is extraordinary. He lived there when he was nine or ten, so we went back into his, his home, so it was sort of magical; the whole thing was really magical."

"...He'll kill me for saying this but Paul was in an ad for sausages in Ireland. Now he's so cool. No - he's still an ad for sausages; he'll always be an ad for sausages. Easy, tiger. So, and then of course, I knew him from 'Normal People', which I'm sure everybody knows him from. And so we were required to forge this sort of huge kind of chemistry and intimacy in this, in this, in this movie and, you know -

...We did a little sort of a sketch for Comic Relief in, in London, but certainly nothing like, like the intimacy we have to forge in, in this one. And so, yeah, it was just one of those wonderful, wonderful experiences. I, I love him dearly."

"...You know, I think storytelling is so much part of Irish culture. I think probably because of immigration. You know, so many Irish people moved over here, you know, and so how you keep people alive is by telling stories about them. You know and so Ir - Irish people - you know, of course I'm biased - but I do, I do feel like there's, there's, we've had a lot, we've had a bad; a lot of bad knocks, but I love it. It's fun; I'm going back there for Christmas obviously. Well, I don't wanna, you know, I don't want to fall into cliche but we'll have, we'll have a couple of drinks."

[renee-writer]

Love is Composed of Two Souls Inhabiting One Body Chapter 16

AO3

She jumps up and runs towards Claire. “Awake? Is he..?” she doesn’t know how to ask or, maybe more accurately, is afraid to.

“He is asking for you.” She collapses against her heart sister. Claire holds her, feeling tears come. “I will see Jenny to Ian then come back and update you.” She addresses the rest of her family. Jamie nods. She leads her to his room.

The first thing she sees is that the strange thing that was over his face is moved. His eyes meet hers. “Mo gaol.” She falls into the chair beside him. His grip on her hand is still weak but, he holds hers back. “Cuin a tha sinn?”

“2000.” His eyes get huge.

“How?”

“Da. Oh Ian he is still alive. Alive and able to move through time.”

He shakes his head and blinks hard at her. “Like Claire?” She nods vigorously.

“I wrote them after your stroke. Wrote with a prayer that they would be able to help. A few days later, I was standing by your bed and the air became heavy and then we were suddenly in this time surrounding by Jamie and Claire, da, and man named Ned. He helped to get us here. A lawyer, he is, but a good man.”

“So all these..?” He weakly gestures around.

“I really don’t ken. Claire she knows.”

“Jenny, how do we explain.” She explains about what these people had been told. He nods.

“Alright. I feel like I am still drifting in the fog I was in.”

“Did you hear me?”

He smiles. It is crooked because his left side is still paralyzed. “Aye. You kept me from drifting deeper. I had to stay where I was so I could hear you.” She starts to cry.

“I need to stay. They can’t handle being here without me.” He nods. She does need to. “It will give you time to catch up with your dad.”

It still amazes him. He lives! “Aye, we do have a lot of that to do. You will be alright? This time isn’t yours?”

No it isn’t but it is a healing place. If unfamiliar, it was still her place. “I will be. Don’t worry. Just take the children back home and get them settled.”

“Aye, then I will come back tomorrow and check on you and them.” She wraps her arms about him. He relaxes against her. A strange time and they need to be together but, he knows his sister and Ian need her now. She knows the same. Still they hold each other tight for a moment.

“Tomorrow.” He places his forehead against hers. Their eyes meet.

“Aye, I love you my Sassanch.”

“I love you.”

Lallybroch had changed. He hadn’t had time to walk through her earlier. His dad explains that the strange things in the kitchen are a stove and, what he knew in Claire’s time, to be a ice box. “It serves the same function, to keep food cold and frozen.”

The children’s nursery had beds stacked above each other. “Bunk beds,” Brian explains, “They allow more room. Place Faith on top, as she is older and Bree under her.” Rory’s bed had rails on each side and is the size of the cot he used to have, only more like a bed. “A toddler bed. Adjusted them from a cot to a real bed.”

They get the bairn’s tucked away. The lasses are excited by the bunk beds. Rory is to tired to pay much attention. They then move to the Laird’s room. Jamie is relieved to see it is basically the same. The clothes, different of course, are now hung in a standing closet, build into the wall.

They move back into the sitting room. Jamie, Brian, Fergus and, Murtagh, take seats around the room. Ned had stayed with Claire. Murtagh was the one most out of place. He sits nervously, looking around. Being in Lallybroch helps, even if it is a Lallybroch he doesn’t recognize.

“Da, what next, after we get Ian well? You say we are to be here for a specific reason. What is it?”

“Partly it is the best time to see Ian well but, that happened after I brought you. I don’t always know, in advance, why I am drawn to a specific time. Now, why I have brought you. It may be that Claire is here to save someone. That Fergus is to meet a specific lass. That the child she carries,” He stops, his face turning white.

Jamie is up and over to him, falling down, his hands reaching for his. Claire had taught him how to take a pulse, a type of magic. He quickly counts the beats of his heart. “Da, what is it?” His heart was beating much to fast. He doesn’t know how to call for an ambulance, like Claire did. Ironically, only his da would have such knowledge. “Da, you can’t leave us yet. We just got you back!” Murtagh whispers prayers in Gaelic, Fergus in French.

“Oh, I am sorry son. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Under the wrist he still holds, his heart beat slows. Color returns to his face.

“What, in the devil, was that?” Murtagh demands. He had scared them all.

“I had a vision. I know why you were drawn here.”

“It is bad.” His da nods.

“It will be but there is a chance that all will work out. Claire carries a boy. He will come early and need special care, the care only available here. That is why you are here. If he was born in the fifties, he would surely die. Here, there is a good chance he will life.”

Now Jamie pales. “Is there no way to prevent his early coming?”

“No, I am afraid it is set. It will happen. Take heart Jamie. He has a good chance.”

Later, he stands in the nursery watching his children sleep. Blessed, he knows he is. To have three healthy children. He had seen children die young. His own brother. The other his mam bore, buried with her. Claire is strong and healthy. That is another blessing. Fergus is another. To have another son who may or may not live, it isn’t something he can fuss at God about, not with all the blessings he has. Still…

“God, I know I’ve no reason to ask. But, the Christ Himself ask the cup to depart. So, if it be Your will, please let the lad live. Add this blessing to our family and I won’t ,” he shakes his head, “You know I will ask for more so I shall not promise not to. Do as You will, God.”

H sighs and turns to find his Godfather watching. “It is hard, isn’t it? To be helpless? I have bowed my head and prayed, knowing it was all I could do.”

“Aye, I don’t know whether to tell Claire knowing there is nothing to be done.”

“Not to stop it, aye. But, to recognize it. The bairn will come early. It seems the sooner he gets to this special care, the more likely he is to make it, right?”

“Aye, a grand point. Besides, she will be furious with me for not telling her. “

“There is that.” He looks at the children. “It is a miracle, to see your children again. I knew I would die there. The cough was near constant and I couldn’t get out to get the greens that would help.”

Jamie frowns. “I am sorry. I didn’t even think about what leaving you would do.”

“Hmph! You did just as you needed to. Jamie you needed to return to your hearts. I am here now and, even had Brian not brought me out, the sacrifice would have been worth it. To be with them again, that is as it should be.” He can’t argue with that.

The therapies are strange. He does them because Claire tells them that it is alright. Without her guidance, they would be lost. All the strange machines, the weird words, even though she doesn’t know them all, she knows enough to help them navigate.

“Come Mr. Murray, you can do one more.” He stands between two bars, taken steps, slowly, like a bairn learning to walk. He pushes himself to take another step. Sweat rolls off his face. How was this so hard?

Jenny stands at the other end, dressed so queer, in a dress that shows her legs. He wears what they call pajamas, comfortable enough, but strange. Claire wears breeks like most of the lasses here. He will get used to it, in time.

“Good, that is enough for today.” She eases him into what they call a ‘wheelchair’. Another thing strange about this time. He is relieved to be sitting through. Mere walking, holding on to the bars, has him exhausted. They told him to expect it though. That the apoplexy had caused damage to his brain and the whole left side of his body. He has to relearn how to walk, how to use his left arm and hand. His speech is affected and he sounds drunk whenever he talks. But he lives! He tries to recall that when these ‘therapies’ push him to the limit.

A few days later, Jamie finally gets some time alone with his wife when she comes to check on the weans. After some loving time with each of them, she focuses on her husband. Starting to show more, he sees her hands run over the baby and his heart breaks. Please God, he prays in his mind as he prepares to tell her.

“Jamie, it looks like you have something on your mind. If it is worry for Ian, I promise that he is doing well.”

“A grand thing. I am glad to hear it but, it isn’t him that fills my mind.” She takes his hand and they sit down beside each other.

“Talk to me.”

“Da, he knows why we were brought here, besides seeing to Ian.” She watches him, her head tilted. “It is the bairn.” One of his hands cover it. “In this time they will have what is needed to see to it when he comes early.”

“He? Early?”

“Aye, we are having another son, one who will be born before his time. But, da says there’s a good possibility that he will live.” He tries to but enthusiasm in his voice but a bit of his doubt and fear bleeds through.

“They do have a lot of advances here. This is sure, it isn’t just a possibility?” He nods.

“He says some things can’t be changed.”

She lets out her breath and then takes another deep one. “Okay then. We will do all we can to keep him inside as long as possible.”

“Aye. Maybe you shouldn’t be at the hospital so much and rest more?” He knows it is important that she is there. Neither Ian or Jenny know anything about this time or the ways of healing in it. His main concern though is for his wife and son.

“I will sit more and put my feet up. But Jamie, they need me. Ian should be released back here soon. I know you worry, as I do know, but I must do this. I will be more careful. Can you live with that?”

“Aye. I will have to for I know you are needed. I also know you will be careful.”

“I promise. A son, a son you will be able to name. Any thoughts?”

He smiles. She knows what to say to remind him of the wonder of having another child. What will happen to him they can only control so much. They can give him a name.

.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left

Summary: Life goes on, whether we will it or not

Read on AO3

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left 

***

When a hermit crab dies, its shell is left behind, sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Empty and lifeless, it remains motionless as the waves cover it with sand.

Jamie had once owned a hermit crab. After it had died, it rattled him that the beautiful shell that looked so much like his pet remained even though the crab was gone. 

Now, Jamie himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. 

He knew his heart was gone, every ounce of love within him ripped away, but what had surprised him was that it was as if she’d taken his very body with her as well as his soul. He didn’t have the energy for even the most basic tasks. Food was tasteless. His vision seemed foggy. As tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Life seemed to happen around him, but he hardly managed to bring himself along with it. He was being buried under the weight of the emptiness. 

Nothingness shouldn’t have been so heavy. 

He spent three weeks laying in his bed. Barely eating, barely moving. 

Jamie was aware that he was wasting away, but he couldn’t seem to care. Claire wouldn’t want him to give up without her. Even more compelling, he wouldn’t want her to act like this without him. Even as he’d sent her back through the stones, he’d told her to live a good life without him. He wanted her to be able to move on. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and he never would. After knowing the joy of a full life, there seemed nothing left for him in this hollow existence. 

If he could have reached out and grasped onto some sort of hope in his new life without her— not that any seemed to exist— he still would have chosen not to. All the right decisions, the healthy decisions, the ways to cope and move forward— they all seemed like a betrayal. He didn’t want to move on; he wanted Claire back. 

The first time he’d uttered the horrible truth of Claire’s absence outloud was when Murtagh had forced it out of him. His godfather had come banging on his door after Jamie had ignored his texts for weeks, eventually barging in on Jamie’s state of depressed chaos. He had dragged him out of bed, forced food down his throat, and shoved him in the shower. After Jamie looked less like a corpse, Murtagh coaxed the story out of him— at least, the only story Jamie could give. 

“She’s gone,” he forced out. Hearing the words aloud was like a knife to the gut. He’d known they were true— every beat of his heart without the answering one of hers next to him made that truth abundantly clear. But being forced to say it aloud brought a whole new level of pain. 

Murtagh clearly didn’t know whether he meant she’d broken up with him or died. His godfather tried to probe him for details, but Jamie didn’t have it in him to explain anymore. 

“There’s nothin’ left for me,” Jamie rasped, “she was it. Claire—” his voice broke on her name, but he forced it out, finding some amount of reverence in the shape of it on his lips, “ Claire was my heart and soul. I dinna ken what to do, a ghoistidh.” 

“Ye do what ye have to, lad,” Murtagh said firmly, “ye keep going.” 

“How?” he looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes. “How can I keep going without her?” 

Murtagh brows drew together as he grew thoughtful. His expression reflected the gravity of the situation. His godfather knew that he was desperate for a reason to keep going, crying out for help. Words couldn’t heal him, but something had to be said. Murtagh took his time before saying them, very carefully. 

“Ye’re no’ without her, though. No’ really. Ye’ll carry her memory wi’ ye. Ye keep going, and ye bring her wi’ ye, even if it’s no’ in the way ye would have liked.” 

Jamie swallowed the bile rising in his throat. All he could hear was buzzing, the cotton in his ears growing somehow thicker. 

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, shaking his head, “I don’t—”

The meager contents of Jamie’s stomach rose, and he rushed to the trash can before collapsing to his knees and heaving into it. The grief in his heart tried to force its way out of his body, and he wished it could just end this and tear him from inside out. Murtagh hovered behind him, offering him a wet towel, and Jamie sat back heavily against the cool wall. 

“I ken she wouldna want me tae give up,” Jamie said quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I just dinna want tae keep going.”

Murtagh’s eyes swam with emotion and his face crumpled underneath his beard as his brain came to a conclusion. Clearly his godfather thought the love of Jamie’s life had truly died. And she may as well have been to Jamie, or maybe she had actually di—

The fear that Jamie had been fighting for weeks rose inside him again. It was possible that Claire really was dead. More than just possible. She’d said coming through the stones had been torture, and she’d been so weak afterwards when Jamie had found her the first time she’d gone through. He could only imagine what the trip had done to his barely conscious lass, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe he had waited too long and it had been too late. Maybe she’d gotten back and was too weak to even draw energy anymore. Maybe she’d died on that hill, all alone, grieving his loss as much as he grieved hers.  

This fear haunted him, both waking and sleeping, tearing him into pieces. Seeing Murtagh’s face as the man thought Jamie was mourning her death, Jamie wasn’t so sure he wasn’t . He wished he could know what became of her— anything to stop this horrible speculating that churned his mind. But he was left in the dark. Left to hold on to the tiny comfort that he had done what had to be done. 

For his wife. 

Jamie let his head fall onto his knees, hugging his arms around them so they were pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Jamie. I willna allow ye to waste yerself away,” Murtagh said firmly. “I ken ye’re hurting, and I would never suggest ye ignore it. I only ask that you take care of yerself, even when ye dinna want to. If not for the memory of her, then do it for me, aye?” 

He raised his red-ringed eyes enough to see his godfather, and he realized there was real fear lingering on Murtagh’s face. 

As much as he wanted to let himself fade away, he could never do that to the man sitting in front of him who he loved so dearly. 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, “alright.” 

***

When Jamie was young, his parents had a yearly tradition where they would send him to his grandfather’s house to stay for a couple of nights. His grandfather was loving enough, but every time Jamie went, he was overcome with intense homesickness. He would cry himself to sleep each night of the visit, feeling like the guest room was freezing to the bone as he imagined the warmth of Lallybroch. 

Every day now felt like that homesickness magnified a hundredfold. 

Claire had been the true home of his heart. Jamie longed and ached for her in ways he hadn’t known possible. 

Only that home had been lost. And he was left lying awake at night dreaming of her warmth and missing her with every fiber of his being.

***

While driving on the highway during a long road trip, inevitably one will see a plastic bag being blown down the road. Aimless, empty, and completely at the mercy of the wind. Jamie would watch them sometimes, tracing their progress before they drifted away. But he never asked himself where it would end up because it didn’t matter. The bag would simply continue on, moving forward without a destination. 

Jamie was no more than a bit of plastic pushed by the breeze. He stayed rooted to his life only by his promise to Murtagh. He began to go about his days with empty precision. He would wake up at 8, brush his teeth, eat one cup of parritch, and head into work. Every night he would come straight home, take a 30 minute walk around his property, cook himself dinner, and fall asleep to the murmurs of the tv. 

On the rare nights when he allowed himself out of his robot-like trance, he would venture into the closet of the guest bedroom where Claire’s dresses still hung, and he would bury his nose in it, hugging it close to his chest, searching desperately for a whiff of her earthy-rose scent. 

On those nights, he would cry himself to sleep. 

Jamie continued on, but he had no idea what he was moving toward. 

***

When he was a lad of about 5, he and Willie had gone out to the barn to play. They had a bit of rope with them, and Willie thought it would be fun to try to walk a baby goat like they walked their dog, Rufus. They’d fashioned a leash for the poor thing, but when the time came to “walk” it, the animal had simply laid on its side as he and Willie had dragged it through the dirt, wailing its disapproval but not moving a muscle until Jamie’s parents had run out and grounded them for a week. For the goat, there hadn’t been so much active resistance as simply a complete shut down. 

When Jenny showed up at Jamie’s door one night, ordering him to get in the car to come over to dinner, Jamie had simply obeyed. Getting dragged was easier than fighting. 

She’d driven him straight to Lallybroch, where she, Ian, and the brood resided, and Jamie somehow managed to find a weak smile within himself for the sake of his nieces and nephew. 

As soon as he came through the door, he was overcome by a stampede of little feet and grabbing hands. Chubby arms wrapped around his legs, his hands were grasped, and his body became a playground. 

“Weans! Where are yer manners?! Say hi to Uncle Jamie!” Jenny admonished. 

“Hi, Uncle,” came the obedient responses from wee Jamie and Maggie. 

Before Jamie even had a chance to respond, he was obliterated by an innocent, well meaning question that cut him the core. 

“Uncle Jamie, where is Ms. Claire? Can she come to dinner too?” 

Jamie froze, every muscle coiled up on instinct from hearing that name. He’d tried to numb it out, tried to let himself get dragged on through life without the roadblock that was any mention of his lost love. 

Jenny knew, of course. Murtagh had told her about Claire’s “death”. Her face shown with sympathy as she watched Jamie stumble back onto the bench seat behind him. He sat down hard, pressing his hands to face, and peered down at wee Jamie. 

His voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable, when he managed to force out the following words: 

“She’s gone to live forever with the faeries.”

His eyes flicked up toward Jenny, whose face showed raw grief. She may not have liked Claire much, but hearing about her death spoken in such terms, or at least seeing Jamie like this, seemed to wreck her. 

Only somehow, speaking those words— the truth, disguised as a fairytale for children— actually freed a tiny knot in Jamie’s chest. 

Wee Jamie looked both disappointed and intrigued at the news. 

“Gone to live wi’ the faeries?” he echoed. 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. He glanced up at Jenny again, and then back at the weans. Every thought in his head seemed to vanish, and he hadn’t decided to do anything, but his body was moving. He leaned down closer and gestured them toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, “can I tell ye a secret? If ye promise ye willna tell?” 

Both children nodded eagerly, waiting with baited breath. 

“Claire is a faerie. I found her on the faerie hill one day, and I took her in. She wasna meant to be here, you see, it was an accident. But we fell in love, and she decided to stay.” 

“But why did she go back then?” wee Jamie asked. 

Jamie swallowed hard. “She… well, she ran out of faerie dust. She needed tae go back to live with the faeries so she could have all the faerie dust she needs.” 

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he had to blink hard not to shed them. 

“I”m sorry ye lost yer faerie, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie said, reaching out her hand to rest it gently on Jamie’s knee. 

He took it in his, marveling at just how small it was. But brought him comfort, and for the first time in the past three weeks, he thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world. 

“Me too, Maggie. Me too.” 

***

a/n: One more chapter to go in arc II, and it's a big 'un. See you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading!!

Next

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 30: Family

Chapter 29

Read on AO3

November 27th

Jamie felt a flutter of excitement as he rang the doorbell to the Abernathy home. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and neither doctor had had the day off on Thursday. Claire had mentioned they’d done exactly this last year. Claire had casually asked if Jamie wanted to make a pie or pick one up, and he’d stared at her, bewildered. 

“Ehm...fer what?”

Claire eyed him as if he’d asked what color the sky was. “For Thanksgiving?”

“Oh! I...thought ye spent it wi’ Joe’s family...”

She blinked at him like he had two heads. “Yes. And you’re coming.”

And that was that. 

This was a big step for them as a couple, as a potential family, and Jamie knew it. He knew better than to make a big deal out of it to Claire, but that simple assumption that of course he’d be celebrating with Claire’s adopted family had made him fit to burst with joy. The next day, Jamie had texted her:

speaking of holidays and families, how do you feel about spending christmas with mine?

She’d replied hours later, likely during her first break of the day:

I’d absolutely love to. 

So they were there now. They were officially bringing each other “home for the holidays.” Well, Jamie’s family was coming here to avoid putting Faith through air travel, but still. If somebody had asked Jamie last Thanksgiving or last Christmas if he’d ever imagined this, with her, with them, he’d have told them they were crazy. 

That morning, they’d gone to see Moana. The local movie theater did half-priced tickets before noon, and the movie had come out the day before Thanksgiving. Jamie had told Claire that he and his family always went to the cinema on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day; since the closest one to Lallybroch was an hour away, it was a special occasion. Claire had immediately lit up, declaring that they had to go on Thanksgiving. Rather, their makeshift Thanksgiving. Claire had never actually brought Faith to the movies before, but the place was empty aside from one other family, so it was perfect. She was in heaven. She was absolutely enthralled by the hugeness of the screen, the colors, the music. They’d sat near the front in the wider aisle where the railing was, meant for handicapped viewers, so Faith could run around or lean on the railing, dangling Horsie over the edge with her mouth agape. Claire had bought the album on iTunes on the way home, anticipating that Faith would want to play the music all day, and she’d been right. Jamie already knew almost every word to “How Far I’ll Go.” He wondered if it would hold up against “Let it Go” for Faith, but only time would tell.

A gust of November wind brought Jamie back to the moment, and the front door opened to reveal Joe, white teeth flashing against his dark skin in a radiant grin. 

“Ah, there he is!” Joe enthusiastically clapped Jamie on the shoulder with one hand, and shook Jamie’s hand with the other. “It is so good to have you here, Jamie.”

“Hello to you too,” Claire said wryly.

“Come on, I see you all the time,” Joe said. At that moment, Faith slipped right out of Claire’s grip and bounded inside, humming loudly and flapping her hands wildly. 

Claire rolled her eyes at both Faith’s escape and Joe. Jamie watched with amusement as Gail appeared at the end of the hallway and exclaimed in surprise as Faith barreled into her. 

“Sweet Jesus!”

Joe ushered Jamie, Claire, and Angus, leash held by Claire, into the house. 

“Well it’s nice to see you, crazy bean!” Gail said, laughing, and Faith disappeared into the living room. “Dee-Dee! They’re here, and Faith is looking for you!”

Jamie handed off the pie (that he’d made from scratch, of course) to Gail, and insisted on helping her finish with the hors d'oeuvres and the drinks. Faith darted about, in and out of the rooms, until the pitter-patter of little feet coming down the stairs had her running back into the hallway. By the time all the adults were settled with finger foods and drinks, Delia and Faith were already in the corner of the room, engaged with dolls and a little house. Even Faith’s Horsie was involved in the game, of course. 

“They did this last year too,” Claire said as they sat down on the couch. “We got here and Dee-Dee had a whole spread. It was adorable.”

“She does it every time she knows she’s coming over,” Gail said. 

“Aye, I remember her at Faith’s party; she’s a sweet one,” Jamie said fondly. 

“Thanks,” Gail said.

“And that one got so big!” Claire exclaimed, looking at Lenny, sat in his own corner with a tablet. “Last Thanksgiving he still looked like a baby.”

“Four years old, you believe that?” Joe said, shaking his head. 

“Oh, I believe it,” Claire said, eyeing Faith. “They grow too fast.”

“Oh my gosh, Claire, I never even asked.” Gail said, putting down her drink. “Faith started school!”

“Yeah, she did.”

“You were scared shitless,” Gail dropped her voice to a low whisper. 

Claire chuckled. “Yes, I certainly was.”

Jamie put his hand lightly on Claire’s knee, and she took it, seemingly without thinking about it. They laced their fingers together with practiced ease, and Jamie squeezed. 

“You mentioned at work the first day went okay,” Joe said. “How’s she been since then?”

“Really good, actually,” Claire said. Jamie could feel the warmth of glowing pride radiating from her. “She stopped having any bathroom problems, finally, and she hasn’t had to call home or either of us at work in a while. Which is good, because it’s hard when I’m at the hospital or if Jamie’s with a client...but I think we’re finally past that.”

“That’s great,” Gail said. 

“I can tell she still doesn’t really love it. It’s a bit of a fight to get her on the bus after a weekend or a break. Monday should be really fun,” she rolled her eyes, “but she’s doing it. She’s getting her stickers when she earns them and prizes and after school treats.”

“Claire is doing all the right things,” Jamie cut in. “It’s hard to motivate her sometimes, but as long as she’s on the bus in the morning, then we’ve done all we can do.”

“Right,” Gail said. 

“Remember after Labor Day when she would not get on, no matter what I did?”

“Aye, I do. I had to leave the stables to try to get her on myself.”

“I couldn’t believe the driver waited that long.” Claire covered her face and shook her head at the memory. “If that never happens again, it’ll be too soon.”

The adults shared a quiet laugh. 

“I see she’s got a communication device now?” Joe said, gesturing to the tablet resting next to Faith. “The school provides that?”

“Yeah,” Claire said. “She’s been getting more and more comfortable with it lately. She still signs for her basic needs, and Mummy, but she loves being able to say ‘Angus,’ and all your names, and Gillian’s name, and Jamie’s. I don’t want her to lose the signing, but this is a great additional tool.”

“Yeah, of course,” Gail said. “I saw that video on Facebook that you posted, when she first figured out the ‘Mummy’ button.”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire smiled fondly at the memory, and so did Jamie. When it had first clicked for Faith that there was a word on her device for every sign, she could not get enough of saying “Mummy,” calling out to her beloved mother in a brand new way. “She did the same thing to Jamie the next time we saw him.”

“Over and over,” Jamie confirmed. “It was sweet.”

“Until the third hour,” Claire said, and Jamie could tell she was only half-kidding. He didn’t blame her at all. 

Jamie was about to ask about how Delia was doing in school, how pre-k was for Lenny, when Joe spoke again. 

“How are you guys?” He raised both of his eyebrows coyly. “I mean, it seems like it’s...going really well. Yeah?”

Jamie watched a blush creep up Claire’s neck and touch her cheeks with color. She flashed her eyes at Jamie, who felt warmth spreading from head to toe. 

“We’re great,” Jamie answered, looking into Claire’s eyes and raising her fingers to his lips. “Really great.”

——

December 17th

As Claire approached the door to Jamie’s apartment, shopping bag and leash in one hand, Faith’s hand in the other, she heard a loud shriek from the other side of the door. Faith let go of Claire’s hand to clamp her hands over her ears, and Claire’s stomach dropped.

Off to a great start.

Claire was nervous beyond all reason to meet Jamie’s family. They’d gotten off the plane from Scotland two days ago, wanting to give themselves plenty of time before the holidays, and wanting to meet Claire and Faith at least once before then. Jamie decided on a little pizza party at his place.

Claire begged and pleaded with Faith to calm down, but she would not move until presented with her headphones. Claire sighed in defeat and put them on her. She knew deep down that Jamie’s family would bear no judgement on her in the slightest, but she really hadn’t wanted their first impression of her and her daughter to be flustered mother of an irritable daughter.

The door opened while Claire was still kneeling on the ground, and she looked up in a panic, relief washing over her to see that it was only Jamie.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “Wee Jamie is a bit of an imp.”

Claire stood up, laughing nervously. “Oh, hi, sorry.” She tried taking Faith’s hand again, but Faith recoiled, reaching up to Jamie instead. Claire rolled her eyes upward, and Jamie grinned.

“Aye, alright, let’s get ye in out of the cold.” He obliged Faith, lifting her up and settling her on his hip, leading the way into the apartment. Faith rubbed her cheek against Jamie’s, delighting in the stubble, and Claire peered around Jamie to see the face that she’d come to be so familiar with but had never actually seen in person. Jenny was sitting on the couch feeding star-shaped puffs to a toddler, and the just as familiar Ian was holding a little boy over his shoulder.

“Everyone,” Jamie announced. “This is Claire. And this is Faith.”

Jenny launched herself off the couch and handed the baby off to Ian, who expertly handled holding both children at once.

“It’s great to finally meet ye, Claire,” Jenny said, throwing her arms around her in a bone crushing hug.

Claire started in surprise at first, but then returned the embrace. Her embrace was warm, soft and solid all at once, much like Jamie. She was wearing an oversized cream sweater, similar to Claire’s own white cable-knit turtleneck. “Hi, I’m so glad to finally meet you, too.”

“I’m Jenny, as ye probably guessed,” she went on, pulling away from the embrace, but keeping a hand on one of Claire’s shoulders. “That’s my husband, Ian.”

“Hallo,” Ian gestured with his chin in greeting. “This heathen is Wee Jamie,” he turned around to show Claire his face, given that his feet were previously facing her, “and this is Maggie.” He turned back around.

“Great to meet you, all three of you,” Claire said, laughing.

Just then, Claire noticed the man that had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling down at her. Everything about him was warmth, strength, and comfort.

“Claire,” he said, his voice deep and laced with the deepest affection.

“Hi,” Claire said sheepishly, her smile hurting her cheeks. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mister Fraser. Jamie speaks so highly of you.”

“Och, I’ll no’ have ye calling me that. Ye’ll call me Brian, Da, whatever ye’re comfortable with.” He stepped in toward her and pulled her in for a hug that was somehow tighter than Jenny’s. “Ye’re family, lass.”

Claire squeezed him back, this man she had just met, and tears pinpricked her eyes.

My family.

Brian pulled away and gripped her shoulders, looking into her face. “Christ, my heart’s full to see ye.”

“Let her breathe, Da,” Jenny chided. “Here, let me take this. And give yer coats to Ian.” Jenny took the paper bag of crisps and cookies in Claire’s hand like this was her own home and disappeared with it into the kitchen.

Ian put little Jamie down and pointed a threatening finger at him, and the boy grinned impishly as his father took Claire’s coat, then Faith’s, from Jamie.

“Hi!” he burst to Claire. “Are ye my Auntie now?”

“Oh, I…”

“Jamie…”

“Oi, why d’ye no’ play wi’ the Wii, lad,” Jamie cut in. The boy bounced with excitement, planting his bottom on the coffee table right in front of the tellie. “Quietly, now,” Jamie warned, setting up a game for him with Faith in his arms all the while. She refused to be put down.

“That’s her, then? Wee Faith?” Brian watched as Jamie shifted her to his other hip after finishing setting up Jamie’s game.

“Yes, that’s my girl,” Claire answered, pride warming her chest.

“Beautiful,” Brian breathed, beaming at her as Jamie approached his father. “Yer spitting image.”

“Thank you,” Claire said. She stroked Faith’s cheek, who was still rubbing her face and arms against Jamie’s stubbled jaw.

Brian hummed in amusement. “Willie used to do that to me,” he said. “It’s comforting to them.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Claire’s eyes flicked nervously to Jamie, but he seemed alright. Perhaps they spoke fondly of Jamie’s brother often. She’d have to get used to that.

Jenny flitted back in from the kitchen and chided her brother for letting her son play with brain-rotting video games, but Jamie just rolled his eyes and sat down, Angus settling at his feet at attention for Faith.

“I didn’t even know you had a Wii,” Claire said, sitting down beside him.

“Aye, well,” he winked, “how else would I kick yer arse in Mario Kart?”

Claire snorted quietly and fought the urge to swat at his arm in front of his family. Ian sat down next to Jamie with Maggie, Brian sat on the leather recliner in the corner, and Jenny sat on the edge of the coffee table facing the couch.

“So! This is the wee lass I’ve heard so much about?” Jenny beamed at Faith.

“Aye, she canna hear ye just now wi’ these on; wee Jamie gave her a fright.”

“Och, I’m so sorry,” Jenny said. “I did try to explain to him — ”

“No, it’s okay. He's so young.”

“Aye, and a menace to society already.” Jenny rolled her eyes, and Claire chuckled. “I’m just grateful he didna make a run fer the dog. He retained that from our talk at least.”

She was obviously referring to the fact that when Angus was working, he could not be pet. Claire did catch a few longing glances at the animal from the little boy, but he was being very good.

After a few minutes, with Angus’s help, Jamie managed to coax Faith into taking the headphones off.

“There you go, good girl,” Claire praised. “She’d never take them off without Jamie here. He’s absolutely wonderful with her.”

“Aye, and she’s quite taken wi’ him as well,” Jenny said smiling at the way Faith was nuzzled into his neck.

“We’ve a…special bond,” Jamie said, his eyes twinkling. “Aye, princess?” He bounced her on his knee, and she giggled.

“Look, lass, this is Jenny,” Jamie said. “Can ye say hi?”

She buried her face further.

“She’s very shy,” Claire explained. “Strangers are a little tricky. But I promise the more she’s with you, the better it gets. Even Jamie was a scary stranger at some point. Right, lovie?”

Jenny and Ian laughed softly.

“I really appreciate you all coming here,” Claire said. “It can’t be easy traveling with little ones.”

“Och, ’twas nae bother,” Ian said. “Glad to do it.”

“We hardly ever get to see Jamie’s place anyway,” Jenny added. “We’ve only been to the Island…what, once or twice before?” Ian nodded in confirmation. “It’s nice to see the life he’s made here. And the stables are just great.”

“Aye, we’re very proud of the work Jamie does,” Brian cut in, the pride oozing out of his every feature.

“You should be. He’s…he’s got a special touch with those kids,” Claire said, unable to stop the heart eyes she knew she was giving Jamie. “He changes lives. I know he changed Faith’s, and mine for that matter. Even before, well…this.” She blushed, realizing she was rambling. Jamie reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, likely sensing her embarrassment.

“Aye, well it’s good ye ken how lucky ye are,” Jenny said. “Ye’ll no’ find a better man than my brother.”

“Christ, Janet…” It was Jamie’s turn to turn scarlet.

“I’m being nice, Jamie! I could go on instead about how difficult ye are to live with…”

“Claire doesna need a speech about treating me right,” he said. “She’s doing just fine.”

“That wasna what I meant.”

But given the look that Ian shot her, that was indeed what she’d meant. Though a little uncomfortable, Claire did not blame her. Jamie was her little brother after all, and Claire knew by now how deeply he felt things, how sensitive he was. Somebody cruel could tear him to pieces.

“It’s okay,” Claire cut in. “I know what you meant.” She squeezed Jamie’s hand.

“Aye, good. Well, it’s no’ as if it doesna go both ways. When Jamie sent me yer Facebook profile, I gave him an earful about how damned lucky he was,” Jenny said, and Claire bit her lip to stifle a grin.

“Janet…”

“What! Ye’re embarrassed? I couldna very well meet her. No shame in sending me something to get to know her by!”

If Jamie could have melted into the couch, Claire was sure he would have.

“Jamie went on and on about ye last Christmas, ye and the lass both,” Jenny explained. Claire’s heart fluttered to think that his family knew about her all the way back then, when she was still so far in denial she couldn’t see past her own nose. “So I was bloody curious what was so special about ye. Didna take long to see it, I’ll say that.” She smiled fondly at Claire, her eyes twinkling.

“Well…thank you. I think.”

“What Jenny is trying to say,” Ian cut in. “Is that we’re glad ye’re here, and we’re grateful to ye fer the joy ye bring our brother. Both of ye.”

“Aye, cheers to that.” Brian lifted his whisky from where he sat and took a sip.

“You know,” Claire said. “I heard all about this little one after the holidays last year.” She looked around Jamie and Faith at Maggie. “Jamie showed me pictures of her. She’s just adorable. I mean, both of your children are beautiful, of course.”

“D’ye want to hold her?” Ian offered.

Claire’s heart fluttered. “Could I?”

“Aye, of course.”

They both scooted forward for the exchange.

“Have to pish anyway.”

Jamie clapped Ian on the shoulder as he got up to leave, and Claire sighed loudly as the small weight settled in her lap.

“Well, hello!” she cooed, smiling enormously at Maggie’s sweet face. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing.” She bounced the baby in her lap, and she smiled lazily at her before breaking into the sweetest little giggles. Claire laughed in response, her head light and dizzy from the euphoria of holding a baby.

“Oh…I haven’t held one this small since Faith,” she sighed. “She’s just so sweet. Such a perfectly behaved baby.”

“Aye, she’s night and day wi’ that one.” Jenny nodded behind her to Jamie, engrossed in the game on the tellie.

Maggie gave another squealing giggle, and Faith abruptly sat up for the first time since burrowing into Jamie’s side.

“Ye look bonny wi’ a bairn, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up from Maggie to see Jamie boring smoldering diamonds into her, and she felt herself turn to a puddle. She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about having another baby, and she’d also be lying if she said the thought of having one with Jamie hadn’t immediately crossed her mind the second she laid eyes on Maggie’s darling face.

They maintained eye contact for a long moment, and then Faith reached forward and grabbed the baby’s face, and Claire gasped, pulling Maggie into her.

“Gentle, Faith,” Jamie said quickly, as gently as he could muster. “The baby is very wee, and very sensitive. Ye must be gentle.”

“Gentle like with Pippi,” Claire added.

Faith bit her lip and sat up again, and then she gently stroked her fingers down the line of Maggie’s nose. Claire and Jamie both burst out laughing, and Faith hummed loudly, jiggling her hands and bouncing in Jamie’s lap.

“Pippi’s her horse?” Jenny said, chuckling herself.

“Aye!” Jamie said through his laughter, and then Jenny and Brian were also laughing out loud.

“What’d I miss?” Ian returned from the bathroom and sat back down on the couch.

“Faith started petting Maggie like her horse because we told her to be gentle,” Jamie explained, laughter finally subsiding. “Good girl, Faith,” he said.

“Come here, baby,” Claire summoned her closer. Faith clambered onto Jamie’s other leg. “You don’t have to pet her nose. Look.” Claire stroked Maggie’s head, then rubbed her back, all while bouncing her. “See? Gentle.”

Faith hummed loudly again, bouncing and jiggling.

“Calm down, lass,” Jamie crooned. “Ye canna play wi’ the bairn if ye canna be calm.”

Faith managed to stop one of her hands from flapping as she gingerly patted Maggie’s little head. Maggie turned to look at her, and Faith squealed.

“Yes, good job,” Claire said.

“Oh, how sweet,” Jenny said. “Ye’re a sweet girl, Faith.”

Faith did not turn at the sound of her name, but Claire beamed at Jenny. “She loves babies,” Claire said. “One of the moms brought her baby to the stables one day, and I had to hold Faith back from throwing herself in the stroller.”

Jenny chuckled. “She’ll make a braw big sister, then.”

“Janet,” Jamie warned, but Jenny just put her hands up in surrender, and Claire’s cheeks flushed red.

Faith gave another loud hum, and then she scrambled off of Jamie’s lap. She pattered over to the bag Claire had left by the door that contained both of her tablets and some emergency snacks that Claire had packed. She reached in for the school-provided tablet and walked back to the couch, standing in front of Claire and Maggie. She clicked around for a bit, and then she pressed the word she wanted to say.

“Play.”

Claire broke into a stupid, beaming grin. “You want to play with Maggie?”

Faith jumped up and down, letting out a squeal that gave way to a hum. “Play.”

“You’re so smart, good girl, sweetheart,” Claire praised. She looked to Jenny, who motioned for Claire to follow her. Claire set Maggie down on the floor as Jenny set out some toys she had brought.

“Play.”

“Yes, darling, we hear you, one moment please.”

Before long, Jenny had shown Faith all of Maggie’s toys, and Maggie was chewing on one while Faith became engrossed with the little baby piano toy. Jenny sat beside Maggie and Claire beside Faith, each making sure that Faith remained gentle and calm. They conversed over the children and across the room to the men. Claire learned how Jenny and Ian had gotten together, learned about the antics of all three of them growing up together, and at one point, she had tears leaking out of her eyes from laughing so hard at a story Brian told about the lads and the pigsty. 

Faith would occasionally take Maggie’s hand and make her press buttons on various toys, some more gentle than others, but Maggie did not seem to mind. Little Jamie only got too loud on his video game one time, and one stern word from his mother was enough to assure it did not happen again.

The pizza delivery arrived, and there was a flurry of motion to get everyone into the kitchen. Parents all made sure that little ones’ hands were clean, and plates and cups were set out. Claire watched in awe as Jamie pulled a pizza plate out of his cabinet.

“Where on Earth did this come from?”

“I bought one,” Jamie said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If the lass is gonnae eat pizza in my home she’ll have a pizza plate.”

Claire didn’t have the heart to tell him that Faith was not picky about what she ate off of if she wasn’t home, so she let Jamie hand the plate to Faith, both of their faces glowing with joy. Jamie turned around to grab the juice from the fridge and Claire went to help him, and by the time they both turned around, Brian was cutting Faith’s pizza on the plate, and Claire stopped in her tracks to stare.

“Ye’re family, lass.”

Jamie noticed, and he looked back and forth between his father and Claire, his eyes twinkling. He hugged her around the shoulders with one arm and kissed her temple.

“They’re as crazy about her as I am.”

Jamie crossed the rest of the way to the table, and Claire wiped her eyes quickly before following.

“I like her pizza plate,” wee Jamie announced, crossing his arms.

“Well, it’s Faith’s pizza plate,” Ian said firmly. “Ye’ll eat off yer own plate, and ye’ll like it.”

“Why do I no’ get one?”

“Because ye dinna have all the worries and troubles in yer heid that Faith has. The pizza plate helps her feel better. Now eat.”

The table was crowded, not meant for nearly as many people as were there, folding chairs squished between the wooden ones, but they made it work. Maggie was passed between laps so that her parents could eat, and everyone took turns handing her tiny pieces of saucy, non-cheesy, soft pizza to chew on. The conversation passed easily as they talked more about Jamie’s childhood; they even asked about Claire’s. She had plenty to tell about her adventures with her uncle, stories that she loved sharing with anybody who would listen.

Once the pizza was gone, Faith disappeared into the living room and returned with one of the DVDs that Claire had packed. Jamie helped her get it set up, and then little Jamie and Faith were sitting on the couch, watching Lilo and Stitch, and Ian was putting Maggie to sleep in the stroller that they were leaving in Jamie’s room.

The adults stayed at the kitchen table with drinks, and Claire held Jamie’s hand under the table, his other hand stroking her knee and thigh absently. Conversation with this family was easy and familiar, as if she’d known them her whole life. She did not feel like an outsider as she’d predicted she might. The feeling of belonging enveloped her like a warm hug. Then she’d remember Jenny helping Faith play with Maggie, Brian cutting her pizza, Ian explaining to little Jamie why Faith was different, and she would well up with tears.

Family gatherings in England made Claire sick with anxiety and made Faith utterly miserable, which just made everything worse. The Christmas before Frank left, when Faith was three, Claire had cried herself to sleep with his parents’ sneers burned into her subconscious. But this…

This was acceptance, understanding, welcoming, joy, warmth, comfort.

This was family.

[liusaidh-writing]

Instruments of Flight - Author’s Notes

 Just wanted to share some things about a few elements in the story, in case anyone was interested. I don’t know if all these details will make it into the story, so..I thought I’d share.

--------------------------

1.)) The birth of Instruments of Flight, and its title -

This story came to me in a dream. Well, kind of. In the dream, I had kind of a bird’s eye view of a snowy landscape - dotted with small cabins or homes. I saw Jamie Fraser shoveling snow, wearing a heavy coat and a black beanie. His face was in front of me, and he paused his actions, hearing someone behind him. He smiled, knowing immediately who it was: Claire. This past year with Covid-19 built the rest. I saw healthcare workers being applauded, thanked, etc., and also saw photos and stories of how hard they worked, the long hours, the strain they were under. It made me wonder what would happen if things got so horrible that they started leaving their positions, what if all the hospitals were eventually empty of staff? Would any government allow that to happen?

I chose to set the story in the UK because, JHRC, I did not want to navigate the nightmare that was the U.S. healthcare system in my story. The NHS is slightly more streamlined, and I’ll admit I know very little about it’s actual structure, but I think I do a fair job in handling it. It is a fictional world, too, after all. :)

The title was one I had trouble coming up with, and I’m not sure where I saw it, but the phrase ‘measures of flight’ jumped out at me wherever I saw it. So I played with it, thought about the story I was creating. Claire’s ‘flight’ from London in the beginning, her desire to escape her own depressed thoughts; Jamie’s ability to help her, the way they together escape their surroundings when they’re intimate (though that’s difficult sometimes.)

2.)) The Virus - 

I have little to no actual medical knowledge, so the virus I have always imagined for this story has been a complete figment of my imagination. I did do a small bit of reading about how to WRITE a fictional virus, and have done some reading regarding general medical terms, etc., when writing. Anyway, as written in the story, the virus starts with sores on and inside the mouth. The virus causes blisters and is painful. The blisters linger until death. After the blisters appear, the sufferer begins running a fever, and they become painfully hungry. The person wants to eat, but it is painful to do so because of the sores on the mouth, and as the virus begins doing damage to their digestive system via ulcers, eating becomes more difficult. They then basically starve to death... *I’m not sadistic at all...*

3. )) Claire and Frank’s relationship - 

I had not originally had Frank as part of this story, but the idea jumped out at me some time early on. Frank’s horrible abuse of Claire was based on my own father, though thank God, only minimally.  Claire’s time at the hospital and her time with Frank are purposely somewhat vague, because if I were to delve into that part of her life, I’m afraid the story would be unreadable. (You don’t what to know what’s in my head that I don’t write...)

4. )) Jamie’s backstory -

His backstory is not lost or forgotten. I’ll just say that. 

5. )) Jenny and Ian

I am putting together a sort of prequel that may see the light of day sometime, about Jenny and Ian’s decision to help deserters. 

6.)) The Vaccine -

This part of the story is one Claire is in the dark about, so the reader remains that way, too, for the most part. There are some things that Claire doesn’t know, however. She may find out later... or at least the reader will. 

----------------------

I do my best to keep continuity errors to a minimum, and I hope it’s a smooth reading experience. Anything else you’d like to know, have questions about, are confused about, don’t hesitate to ask! :) Thanks for reading.Hope you enjoy the story.  

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I just came across the Brian & Ellen live AU and am obsessed. Can you write another update?

anonymous asked: Brian and Ellen AU prompt: Did Ned Gowan manage to get Jamie that pardon? Imagine Jamie being able to live with his family openly again.

—

Brian and Ellen AU / Tell Me About Your Family

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12|| Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15

———-

“The way I see it - of course I can’t say that you didn’t fight, because you did. However, the reason you fought - that was based on a lie.”

Jamie sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, sinking even deeper into one of the chairs at his father’s desk. “My name is on that letter, Ned. Pledging my loyalty to Charles Stuart.”

Ned looked up from his hastily scribbled notes, eyes almost comically huge as they blinked behind his spectacles. “But you didn’t sign the original version of the letter. All we know is that your name appears in the final, published version.”

“And how do you think you’ll find the original?” Brian Fraser slumped in his own chair, mirroring his son’s posture. “You cannae exactly write to the prince and ask for the original copy.”

Ned smiled. “No - but I can find out the name of the printer who originally published it. He had to have been given something to work from.”

“You mean, the original version of the letter?” Jamie thumped his head back against the chair. “It cannae hurt to ask, I suppose. But even if you were to find the printer, there’s no guarantee he’d still have the original letter. Or that whatever he has, includes signatures.”

Calmly Ned lay the palms of his hands flat against the time-polished wood of Brian’s desk. “Are you saying you do not want me to try?”

Brian reached out to squeeze Jamie’s shoulder. “No. Let’s try. We have to.”

---

“Wait - hold on. And what’s in that crate?”

Rab Fraser huffed and shifted his burden to his free shoulder. Ellen Fraser squinted first at the side of the crate, and then at the inventory clutched in her hand.

“Box 14...more ledgers. Bring that to Da’s study, please, a bhailach.”

Rab disappeared down the hallway, just as Fergus and Young Jamie appeared, carrying another crate between them.

Ellen sighed. “I knew the library at Leoch was grand - but I had no idea that  Colum had added so much!”

At her side, Claire looked down at her own copy of the inventory. “Box 27...books in Greek and Latin. Would you mind if that one goes to my and Jamie’s bedroom, for now? He’ll know how best to sort them.”

“Aye. Away ye go, lads!”

And they did, breathing heavily as they navigated the crate upstairs.

“I don’t know if I ever told you about my audiences with Colum, when I first came to Leoch.” Claire adjusted the fabric wrapped around her shoulder and middle, and ten-month-old William Fraser blinked from his cocoon like a wee owl. “He didn’t know what to make of me. And he would only see me in his library.”

“I would sit in there for hours and hours on end.” Ellen sank into a spare chair, carefully laying the paper inventory on the dining room table. “It was my escape. Colum and I - we would pass many a cold winter afternoon there. Especially after the trouble with his legs started...he would lay on Father’s couch, and I’d read to him.”

Claire smiled sadly. “What would you read?”

“Greek odes. Shakespeare’s sonnets. Father’s library had so much to offer.” She smiled tightly. “I didnae have much of a formal education - apart from the basics, that is. I forced my way in to Colum and Dougal’s lessons wi’ their tutors. Even if I had to press myself up against the door, to listen.”

Brian appeared through the door. “They’re still unpacking?”

“Ian should be back any moment with the last wagonload.” Claire craned her neck, looking through the window and into the dooryard. “I still can’t believe how much Ned was able to save.”

“I still cannae believe he found the printer in Edinburgh who published Charles Stuart’s letter.” Brian eased into the chair beside his wife, and gently took her hand as she sighed.

“He’s always had a knack for that sort of thing.” Ellen squeezed Brian’s work-roughened hand. “Creative ideas. It’s kept him alive. And now, it keeps him young.”

“Jamie once told me something he had overheard Dougal say to Colum.” Carefully, Claire pulled William from his wrap, and settled his solid wee legs onto her lap, kissing the curls at his crown. “That they had only one brain and one cock between them.”

Ellen’s laugh rang clear through the house. 

“Oh, Claire - I havenae heard anything so funny in years.”

“Humor is best when it rings true,” Claire agreed. 

“And it will take me precisely two seconds to guess which brother had which.” Brian shook his head. “I was right to take ye away from them, mo nighean ruaidh.”

Ellen turned to face her husband. “Can ye blame me for jumping at the first chance I got?”

Faith, Brianna, Maggie, and Kitty scampered by in the hallway, giggling. On their heels, Jamie poked his head through the doorway - smiling broadly at his son, who squealed in delight. 

“Here ye all are. Ian just returned wi’ the final wagon.” He crossed the room and picked up his squirming son, tossing him up in the air.

Claire, Brian, and Ellen rose, just in time for Rab and Fergus and Young Jamie and Jenny and Ian to descend on the dining room once moor, huffing under the weight of the crates representing all that was left of Castle Leoch, and Colum MacKenzie.

---

The Fraser/Murrays were still unpacking the crates six days later, when Fergus darted into the house to announce that a visitor was approaching.

Ned Gowan rolled into the dooryard looking a little worse for wear, and for the tenth time Ellen was grateful that two of Grannie MacNab’s grandsons had accompanied him on the journey to Edinburgh. Ellen wrapped a kind arm around his back as soon as he alighted from the wagon, welcoming him home and promising a restorative meal and drink within minutes.

So it was that Brian and Ellen and Jamie and Claire and Ian and Jenny and Rab all gathered around the dining room table - Ned sitting at the head, tucking into an enormous portion of neeps and tatties. Regaling those assembled with tales of what he had seen on the road - the empty villages, the beggars, the highwaymen, the despair.

Edinburgh, fortunately, was largely unchanged - just featuring more redcoated soldiers than he had ever seen. Fortunately with the help of the MacNab lads, they had secured lodging and begun their interviews of every printer on the Royal Mile.

“We finally found him on the fifth day. Abraham Bell. He barely escaped the noose himself, after the Rising. He didn’t want to speak at first, but when I told him that I am formerly of Castle Leoch...”

Beneath the table, Jamie threaded his fingers through Claire’s, squeezing impatiently.

“...only after much cajoling that he furnished the copy of the letter that a member of Charles Stuart’s retinue had provided to him.”

“And?” Jamie’s voice was desperately calm.

Ned chewed on a potato, then swallowed. “It included the printed names of the signatories, and included a blank space where the signatures where meant to be. Your signature, Jamie - it decidedly was not there.”

“That doesna mean anything.” Jamie clenched his free hand into a fist on top of the table. “This Mr. Bell could have just been furnished a list of names to print.”

Ned set down his spoon. “Yours was the only signature not on the page, Jamie. All others were written, in ink.”

Claire let out a shaky breath, desperately squeezing Jamie’s hand.

“And the printer added Jamie’s,” Brian interjected, “because his was the only one not there.”

Ned nodded, beaming. “Precisely.”

“With respect,” Jenny piped up, “isn’t it only your word against this Mr. Bell’s? How can ye convince anyone of this?”

Ned’s smile widened even further, and he patted his breast pocket. “Because I have the letter here.” 

He turned to Jamie. “We have evidence to support the petition. Do you still want to move forward?”

“Yes,” Jamie breathed, without hesitation. “Yes. Definitely.”

Ned picked up his spoon and dove back into his food. “Then tomorrow, lad - we begin.”

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapters 2-3

Thank you to everyone who has sent such lovely messages about this story! Happy to hear some of you are re-reading it while others are discovering it for the first time. Now for the next two chapters, which really should have been one...

[December 24th, 1990]

Their home is a modest one—a studio clinging to edges of the city, not far from where they first met. It’s an older building, mid-19th century, with pipes that freeze in the winter, burst like Scottish primrose in the summer. There is a single window on its western side, which welcomes the December-white sun at each day’s end. And it is here, lined along this sill, that Claire’s plants reach hungry towards the sky, try to trap this silver sliver of heat inside their veins.

Save for the flowers, theirs is an ascetic sort of décor. Sparse like a monk’s quarters—though Jamie and Claire hardly mind. They decorate the empty corners with their future, hatched in whispers during the night.

One day, Jamie promises, they’ll have Persian rugs and a four-poster bed. One day, they’ll own a leather sofa, its cushions like butter against Claire’s bare thighs. “And a vase!” she adds. “All fancy people have vases.”

But for now, they sleep on a musty twin cot, their belongings stored in the trunk at its foot. Jamie’s manuscripts are stacked inside, their pages marked in ballpoint scribbles and soil-dusted fingerprints. (“I canna read what this says anymore!” Jamie yells. “S’okay,” Claire says. “That paragraph was rubbish anyways.”) He’s an editorial assistant, the paltry salary worth the power of the red pen, which reshapes the written world to his liking. It buys food and rent, and covers what med school tuition Claire’s scholarship does not.

It’s a quiet life, but a happy life.

Claire yawns. “Did you know that every Christmas Eve my uncle told me a story? Made it up himself, right on the spot.”

“Are ye trying to tell me ye want a story?”

“I may be hinting at that, yes.”

“Ach,” Jamie says. Her favorite sound, every inch of him encapsulated in this strange, Scottish scoff. “Your subtly always turns me on.”

“Oh, hush. C’mon.”

He runs a hand through his hair, auburn and cinnabar limned in moonbeam.

“A good story on the spot? That’s no small amount of pressure, Sassenach.”

“How about a request then?” she offers, and Jamie raises a brow. “How about my favorite?”

“Yer favorite?”

“Don’t play coy. You know. The one you always start incorrectly? She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins…”

“Weel, it’s a much better beginning than the ‘curl of my lips’…”

“Debatable,” Claire replies, tongue tracing the valley of his cupid’s bow.

But Jamie nods, chooses a different beginning this time: “It was immediate…”

He twists one of Claire’s curls around his finger and inhales. She still smells like the springtime, earthy and ripe, and perhaps there’s a hint of his own musk now, too. He likes it this way, enjoys finding proof of his existence somewhere beneath her skin. Permanent.

“Immediate!” Claire echoes, a one-woman Greek chorus. She is pressed into him, feeling his chest curve around her spine. It always surprises her how their bodies fit so perfectly, their limbs folding and molding to fill all their negative spaces. (And she has so many, our Claire, between her toes and between her ribs. Vacant rooms where her mother, her father, and her uncle once lived.)

“Aye, from the minute I saw ye, I ken you belonged wi’ me.”

“Mmm,” she hums, not saying, “Of course I felt the same thing,” or “Of course I loved you from the very first.” Because, of course, Jamie knows this already. (Strange, they both think, how the heart can move faster than the speed of light.)

“Speaking of which…” she says.

“Ye don’t want to hear the rest?”

“In a sec,” she replies. “But your friends seem to think we should get married. Dougal especially.”

“They do,” Jamie says softly. “And Dougal does—to him, maybe.” He brings Claire’s hand to his lips, smiles into the Christmas present he’s wrapped around her finger. A ring: one mounted pearl, taken from his mother’s necklace. (“No’ an engagement ring, mind,” though they both knew it meant forever.)

“Do you, though? Think we should get married?”

“I’ll do anything that means I can call ye mine.”

“You already can.”

“Aye, but I dinna think the law agrees wi’ you.”

“Devil take the law.”

Jamie laughs. “I reckon the Devil doesna want the law either, Sassenach. He hates the law.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Which is?”

Claire turns towards him, remembers this past year together: their first date (Italian restaurant, 9PM showing of Pretty Woman), their first fight (broken coffee mugs, a noise complaint). She remembers the first time they made love in this small, crooked flat: middle of the floor, surrounded by packing boxes and crumpled newspaper. The bubble wrap had crackled beneath them—pop-pop-pop!—as if they were dancing on fireworks. (“I never want to leave this place,” she’d told him. He thought she’d meant the flat, but she’d meant his arms.)

“Which is…Well. Do you want to marry me, James Fraser?”

He squints. “Is that a proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t ye on your knees?”

“You bloody—”

Claire’s elbow swings towards his face, but Jamie catches it, stretches her arm back so that her palm lies flat against the wall. He rolls on top of her, leans down and lets her heart beat against his lips. Wills it into him until his blood thrums with it. The sound of their story.

“Yes,” Jamie says. “I want to marry you, Claire Beauchamp.”

“You mean Claire Fraser?”

He laughs; she smiles (they are both winners on this day).

“Aye. Beauchamp, Sassenach, Fraser.” His voice drops, a whisper: “My wife.”

[December 24th, 1991]

While Jamie and Claire’s studio remains the same, the flowers change with the turn of seasons: baby-skinned petals become felted cloth, neon-bright as they hang from a child’s mobile. The pots along the sill are gone, their soil-dust trails swiped away and their roots transplanted to a community garden. In their place, sits a collection of shiny, new tools for a shiny, new crib, which stands half-assembled beside the cot. The flower mobile blooms above it, suspended in silent wait for spring. For Faith.

Come April, Jamie and Claire will bring the sunshine into their home, no longer needing the single window and its lancing, evening light. Come April, they will have marigold walls, yellow linens, and bright rubber duckies floating in the sink. All of this for the baby that will sleep inside the shiny, new crib beneath the flowers that will never die.

Faith. This is the name they have given their future, no longer an unfurnished corner in their studio, but a growing presence inside Claire’s belly.

“Ugh!”

“That bad is it?”

“Worse than bad. I look like a whale who’s just fucked a Christmas tree.”

Jamie opens his eyes, his wife framed by his fingers, and he moves his hands to stifle a laugh.

“And a few wee penguins at that…”

“You’re not helping,” Claire whines, examining her reflection in the mirror. Rounded cheeks, rounder stomach; sharp lines blurred by months of pregnancy. All afternoon, she has scolded and cajoled, bribed and threatened, her cottons and nylons.  But the fabrics have been stubborn, loath to surrender their bodily claims to the child pushing against them.

“Jamie, I can’t go out wearing this.”

“I dinna see how you’ve much choice in the matter, Sassenach. We should've gone to Waverly yesterday,” Jamie replies. The sweater—the same one she’d worn the evening they met—hugs her stomach. Tight but still discreet, the purest flash of flesh above her waistline. “Party’s at 8. We’ve no time to go shopping for a proper outfit. It’s either that or what God gave ye.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat? A naked, pregnant woman sipping virgin egg nog in front of the buffet. Happy bloody Christmas!”

“Angus wouldna mind.”

“Well, so long as the host is happy.”

“I wouldna mind.”

Claire snorts and twirls, as if to say, “Are you sure of that?” (He is, absolutely, and to the marrow of his bones.)

Jamie sighs. “D’ye want me to wear mine too?”

“You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

“Aye, that’s the one.”

“Yes,” she replies, grinning. She remembers where it lies amongst the rest of their clothes, just as she remembers its wooly scratch against her breasts two years before. Jaime’s hands (so much larger than hers, even then) lifting it up and over, laying her bare beneath the fluorescent lights of his dorm room. “Yes, I want you to wear your Belligerent Santa jumper.”

Jamie nods.

“And no beer for you, either. Just store-bought non-alcoholic egg nog. My misery needs company.”

“Fair is fair.”

“And—”

“There’s more?”

“Much more.”

“Ach, weel. Anything for the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Oh, Rupert will be so grateful you think so, Jamie.”

“What are friends for?” He draws closer, vibrating. “But what about you, Sassenach?”

“Me? You’ll look more ridiculous than I will. I’ll be peachy and taking shots of fake egg-nog!”

Claire finds the sweater and throws it to Jamie, watches him catch the frayed and wrinkled ball of it. The hem is still an unraveled spool, which she winds and winds around her finger. Once, twice, three times until it marks her skin in a pale, white ring. She pulls it taut, feels the slow draining of her finger as the blood retreats, towards her husband. Electricity between them (the pipes groan, the winter thaw come at last).

“Now,” Claire purrs, “put that on so I can take it off you.”

“D’ye think we have time?”

“Of course we do,” she says. "We always have time." (Not always, not forever.)

“Well then,” Jamie says, bowing. “Your servant, madam.”

At this point, I still had no idea where I was going with this story, and I think that’s abundantly clear here. Regardless, I was very much taken with the “romanticism” of being poor, in love, and bohemian in New York City—so these two chapters are basically my written daydreams about being a young Patti Smith. Luckily, that never happened! Although I did wind up living in a tiny long-term Airbnb with an opera singer, a grand piano that took up the. entire. living. room., and a very uncomfortable futon that I slept on for my first 6 months in Brooklyn.

These are really the last ~~happy~~ chapters for a while, which is totally a reflection of the fact that I had moved to Brooklyn and was scared, lonely, and just generally very angsty, lol. So my apologies for what lies ahead.

One closing thought: Why did I choose Pretty Woman as Jamie and Claire’s first date movie, lol? Had I just watched it? Did I just associate the ‘90s with Julia Roberts romantic comedies? Did I not bother researching other movies that came out in 1990? Your guess is as good as mine!!!

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 5

Thanks to @statell​ for your help and guidance

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Five

Jamie walked his newly planted fields and saw green shoots coming up in every direction. He prayed for a good harvest this year. Not because he was poor or starving, he just wanted to win at something this year. He answered his cell phone and stood up straight, listening intently.

“Are you sure it’s Casper? I’ll leave within the hour and meet you in Paris.”

Jamie felt exhilarated and ran back to the house and into the shower. Casper had come out of retirement and stolen a painting from a private gallery. He did the same thing at a London gallery the previous weekend. It seemed a bit low end but at the very least, it would buy him more time. He got packed and headed for the airport.

Claire sat in her office at the University, staring into gray space. Her pencil tapped absently and when Geillis called to her she jumped.

“Calm yerself, Claire. I had hoped you could settle down a bit, especially with your gorgeous high-security apartment, and it’s been five months without word from that snake Randall. But yer still very unhappy. Why?”

Claire looked up at Geillis and shook her head, saying she didn’t sleep much the night before and not to worry. She packed up and went home for even more quiet time with her gray thoughts and more time to worry she was losing her mind. Jamie lived in her head now, always with her, always heartbroken because of what she did. She didn’t think he would ever speak to her again, and if he did, what would she say? Looking at the clock she wanted to scream because it was only seven o’clock. That was the worst part of missing Jamie, an hour took forever to go by so the torture never ended.

Claire grabbed some lined paper and a pen to see just what she would say to Jamie. Maybe getting it all out is what she needed to start feeling better. She could burn the letter after it was written.

Jamie poured over the reports and studied the crime scene photos of what were now three thefts. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He spent two full days checking his contacts in the black market, but no one knew the fence for this art, no one knew anything. The last guy he spoke to said someone told him a Monet would be in play soon, but he didn’t know which one. Jamie thanked him and promised the standard reward if the information was used to apprehend Casper.

Jamie sat on the same bench he shared with Claire six months ago and he let himself remember her smile and whisky brown eyes. She was playful and sexy, and he believed she had feelings for him. He shook his head and opened the newspaper. Flipping pages to the art section he scanned the ads and bam, there it was. A mid-range gallery hosting a private collection of Monet the following weekend. This, it seemed, was Casper’s new normal. Private showings and small galleries. Jamie had a good feeling about the location, and they had one week to set the scene to catch Casper.

There was one piece of evidence left by Casper that wasn’t shared with the world. It was how they identified him as the thief. Casper took great pains to keep the art intact, unlike many who pull the canvas from the frame basically ripping it out. Casper used some kind of tool to pop the nails that held the canvas in the frame. Whatever this tool was left distinct marks on the wood, a half-moon indentation. It was all they had so it was a guarded secret.

Claire pulled another piece of paper, the fourth piece, and continued writing a letter she would never send. Her feelings opened up to her like a blooming flower and she let it flow thinking the answer to her continuous sadness would reveal itself so she could fix it. When she was ready to end the letter and had said all there was to say, she wrote, ’I have never shared this much of me with anyone and I hope it cures my broken heart. I can summarize these four pages by saying I love you, Jamie, with all my heart, I love you.’

Claire sat up and looked at the paper. The words I love you seemed to jump off the page and she just stared at them. Before she could stop herself she sent a text to Jamie, ‘I love you, please forgive me. Claire” Send.

She didn’t expect to hear from him but hoped this would give her some closure. She went to bed.

Jamie stared at his phone and felt his heart ramming in his chest. Those words were the absolute last he expected to see, six months after they parted. He wouldn’t be returning the text, but as he fell asleep he said out loud, “I love you too Claire.”

The Monet show was one day away, and Jamie called Javier to ask about the gallery. He seemed genuinely happy he called and suggested they meet for lunch and he would answer any questions he could. Seeing the older man’s happy face was bittersweet for Jamie. They met at a sidewalk cafe and Jamie told him about the show. He asked about the gallery, if there were hidden entrances, a second vault, a basement, or structural abnormalities. Javier answered what he could and asked Jamie who it was they were closing in on.

“Casper.”

Javier almost choked on his coffee, “Casper you say? Well, that is wonderful, I hope you get him.”

The men talked a bit about sports and Jamie thanked Javier for his help and then bit him goodbye.

Claire came home early and saw a coded message from Javier. Once Tom deciphered the message, she couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Lunch with Jamie, he is preparing to arrest Casper tomorrow on a tip about a Monet. Needless to say, I was very surprised but not worried because you are in Chicago, right?’ Claire held the Chicago Tribune in front of her chest and took a selfie that she sent to Javier. She needed some air.

Jamie and his team had installed close circuit tv monitors in the gallery office and extra cameras throughout the exhibit. They scrutinized each visitor until their eyes were blurry. Jamie noticed a man standing in front of one of the pictures for a very long time. When he moved away the picture was still there, but Jamie’s gut was telling him the guy wasn’t normal. He radioed to his men near the door and described the man as he started running. The man was already being led out of the gallery when Jamie got to him. This was surprising since he would expect a man to fight harder for his freedom. The art thief had switched the painting with a reproduction and was arrested. His pockets were searched and a small Leatherman multitool was handed to Jamie. It was a link to Casper he thought, and a billion other people.

Later that afternoon, Jamie questioned the suspect who knew all the details of the last three crimes but was confused about the others.

“Tell me, sir, why did you rip the Rembrandt canvas out of the frame? Was someone coming?”

“I don’t remember, probably.”

Jamie made a sound of disgust, “if you intend to impersonate someone, sir, at least get the details straight. You are not Casper, nor could you ever be. You’re not smart enough.”

Jamie left the suspect handcuffed to the table and left. The pressure from his employers had let up with the newly revived Casper chase but now they would learn it was a copycat crime and his nightmares would start again.

“Yes, sir. It was a copycat, sir.”

“This is not good news for us or you Mister Fraser. We gave you an additional six months and you failed to fulfill your end of our bargain. I’m sorry Mister Fraser, it is out of my hands. The court will be notified of your failure to abide, sadly our agreement will be nullified.”

Jamie put the phone down and walked outside for some air. All of his tomorrows suddenly vanished and the nightmare of his captivity came back in living color. He was terrified. Not of monsters or torture, but of loneliness, desolation, no hope of escape. Jamie realized he left his phone at the office and jogged back before he lost that too.

Once back at his hotel, the phone vibrated an incoming text and Jamie’s heart sank, they don’t fool around, he thought. He looked with disbelief at the text message. ‘Come to Greece Jamie, please give me a chance to fix the hurt I caused. Two weeks on a yacht, just you and me going from one island to another. My heart aches to be near you. We can spend the first day making rules we are comfortable with. Claire.’

Jamie held his phone while the heartbreak over missed opportunities crushed him. “I love you too, Sassenach. Forget about me and find your happiness.” No text was returned, instead, Jamie got back to his reports and the grief settled into his bones.

Claire had battled herself for days over sending the text. The semester was over and she was getting out of Chicago for two weeks at least. She owned a yacht that was moored in Greece and the open water always made her feel better. For days Claire waited to hear back from Jaime, but no text came. This was the second time she extended an olive branch, leaving herself vulnerable, and he did not make contact. He was lost to her forever she concluded, and try as she might, the tears came, her legs buckled, and she sobbed into a gray pillow on her gray couch in her gray apartment, like her heart would never mend.

Jamie spent three days closing his case on Casper and the successful arrests made during the past year. He checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. He considered calling Javier, but he wasn’t strong enough to show a brave face. Javier reminded Jamie of his own father in many ways and he didn’t want the reality of who and what he was to be known. Not to anyone in her world. Her perfect, sparkling world would be repelled by him. Like a muddy pig running through a fancy white living room. Jamie swiped at his eyes in the taxi and tried to stop thinking about it. His phone buzzed for email and he brought it up.

Good afternoon, Mister Fraser.

We have ironed out the details of your return and would like to ask for your complete cooperation. Our agreement is not to be known outside of the agency and we want you to extract yourself slowly to avoid anyone looking for you or filing reports that you are missing. You will return to us as quiet as possible. I do hope you agree, the alternative is rather brutal.

I understand you have a small farm in Scotland and will need time to sell it and conclude any other business such as liquidating assets and the like. We are offering a four to six-week window and ask that you keep us informed.

Any questions you can reach out to this address and I will receive the message.

Jamie paid the taxi driver who looked at him with sympathy and told him life will be brighter tomorrow. He wiped at his face and nodded. Sorry mister, wrong about that, no sun where I’m going, no love, no hope, no redemption, he thought.

When Claire landed in Athens, she spent half of the first day getting reacquainted with the captain and his girlfriend who lived on the ship. There were living quarters connected to the bridge and they were happy there, living on a luxury yacht waiting to be called to duty. She and Maia made three trips to the grocery store to stock food for a two-week journey.

Claire walked down the long dock with her arms full of last-minute purchases. She could feel one of the bags slipping through her arm and she felt sweat drip down the side of her face from the effort.

“Here, let me help you with that.” The man rescued the slipping bag and took all the others. Her subconscious smelled him and sent a cascade of neurotransmitters through her body that felt glorious and tense at the same time. She looked up at his face and just stared at his icy blue eyes and crooked smile.

“You invited me, remember Sassenach?” He asked the question nervously as he could not read the shock on her face.

“And here you are,” was her breathy response.

Jamie wanted to drop the bags and crush her to him. She was like the gift of air to a suffocating man.

Claire was so overwhelmed it took a few seconds to see the man that had stolen her heart was right in front of her. She pulled his head down and kissed him with all the pent up passion and loneliness of the past six months. Someone pulled the bags out of Jamie’s arms and he wrapped her up and held her to him. The kiss was a surrender to love, an invitation to leave the chrysalis of loneliness and fly into a world of their making. When she finally pulled away from him, she was the definition of happiness.

“It is so good to see you, Jamie.”

“You just restarted my dead heart Sassenach, thank you for that.”

He kissed her again and as time passed for the rest of the world, for them it didn’t exist. Jamie heard the musical sound of the Greek language and looked up at the biggest boat he had ever seen up close. Two beautiful people were on the top deck waving and laughing, beckoning them on board. He heard Claire laughing as she waved back.

“Do we get on that then?”

Claire was giggling, “we do, come on I’ll show you around.”

Jamie was astounded at the size and luxury of the yacht, three bedrooms, two decks, a large living area with a huge flatscreen, phones, and a bar. The galley had two refrigerators and a chest freezer, two ovens, microwaves, and large food preparation counters. The opulence was staggering and if not for the beautiful girl walking in front of him he would have looked closer. When they found the back deck, Claire pulled his mouth to hers and they were lost in love.

“Time for trunks or something more comfortable.”

She led him back to the master bedroom and helped him put his clothes away, noticing he packed for any occasion. She unbuttoned her shirt and Jamie watched her with interest as she pulled off her cut-off shorts to reveal the tiniest bikini, bright melon colored against her tanned skin. I will meet you on deck. Maia has been cooking since yesterday, so I promise you won’t starve. She looked at him and wanted to pinch herself in case she was dreaming. He was here, with her, he came.

Claire handed Jamie a cold glass of champagne and offered flatbread and several kinds of dip that were made from scratch while they chatted at the bar. The sexual energy was palpable, and Claire looked out at the ocean to think about something other than the mere twelve inches of space between them.

“My God, I haven’t noticed how blue the water is until now, I can’t remember the last time I saw blue.”

There was so much to discuss but every sentence fell stunted, unexplored because both were captivated with the other.

Claire picked up a ringing phone at the bar and told the captain they were ready to go. She smiled at Jamie and promised open ocean and sunshine for the next six hours.

“This is my first launch, you want to see it from the front deck?”

Jamie watched her mouth and nodded yes.

They got comfortable and sipped champagne as the captain eased the vessel away from the dock and toward the open ocean. It wasn’t long before the huge engines pushed the boat forward to cruising speed and Maia appeared with the cold bottle of champagne to refill their glasses.

“Maia, what do you have on?”

Maia was a Greek beauty with all the attributes this country was known for. Large brown eyes, a wide smile, and flowing hair to her waist. She looked down at her clothes and shrugged her shoulders,

“Uniform.”

Claire rubbed the highly starched shirt sleeve between her fingers and noticed the ill-fitting shorts. This would not do, she thought.

“You have been in cut-offs or a swimsuit since I arrived. Unless you love that uniform, I want you to be comfortable. Please, get that off.”

Maia thanked her and left them alone.

“I think we left the dip on back deck. Let’s go find it.”

Jamie noticed her voice was quiet and nervous sounding. When they walked to the other deck Claire closed the sliding glass door and locked it. The glass was black and Jamie wondered if it blocked the view from the other side. Claire led him to a lounge with a comfortable mattress and pillows to aide whatever ailed you. She walked back to the bar removing her button-down shirt revealing her exposed butt cheeks. She looked naked from behind and Jamie almost choked on his tongue. Her skin was already bronzed with a bit of sunburn on her cheeks and shoulders. She brought the tray of bread and dip and laid next to Jamie on the large lounge.

He took in every gorgeous inch of her and ran his hand down her hip and leg. He wanted to touch everything and tried to hold himself back.

“I promised we would go over the ground rules first thing.” She ran her hand across his massive chest and down his arm. When he saw her ramming heart pulsing in her neck, he let it go and pulled her on top of him to smother her with kisses. In his delirious mind, he decided this was enough, to have her body on his and her tongue in his mouth. When she broke the kiss, he chased her mouth as she sat up and straddled him. He watched her reach behind and pull the strings of her bikini top dropping it on the floor. She never took her eyes off his until he pulled her down and kissed her.

Their bodies were covered in sweat that made contact difficult, causing them to overheat or slide off each other. Claire stretched her arm until her fingertips touched the bridge phone.

“Darius, were you kidding about sea spray …ahhh…on the back deck when you dropped speed. Okay, do that please.”

She dropped the phone and used that arm to pull on the string holding Jamie’s trunks on. They slowed enough for the wake to slap the sides of the boat and lovely, cool, sea spray brought their temperature down for more vigorous activity. Jamie ran his tongue from her waist to breast and sucked a nipple while caressing the other. She was losing her mind and asked him to pound into her which he did in short order, gasping when he filled her. Claire felt the throbbing, almost painfully. She begged him not to stop, she was about to come. His next two strokes pressed into her and he twisted his hips. That did it. He held her and watched her face register the euphoria, he had never loved her more. When she pressed his butt, he pumped into her soft wetness until he stiffened and his body convulsed as he emptied himself into her.

They kissed and found their favorite resting position to snuggle and nap the afternoon away. Claire called the bridge and asked Darius to set whatever cruising speed he wanted, and the boat lurched forward.

Later, Jamie felt a cool breeze on his stomach and opened his eyes to a breathtaking sunset.

“Sassenach, sweetheart, you must see this beautiful sky.” Claire sat up and declared it the best sunset she had ever seen. What finally drove them inside was starvation and Maia served them a beautiful meal of lobster bisque, steak, and several Greek sides that were delicious but unknown to them.

Later they cuddled under a quilt on the top deck and let the heavens entertain them with shooting stars streaking across a black sky with billions of stars as a backdrop.

“It’s important to me that you really know who I am, how I got this way, how I could screw up so bad in Paris last Christmas. Would you mind?”

“Please Sassenach, there is nothing I’d like more.”

Claire turned on a battery-operated light and handed him her four-page burn letter. She couldn’t bring herself to burn it because it was all she had to remember him by. It was shoved into her wallet and now it was in Jamie’s hands. She felt self-conscious and rolled away to leave him to his reading. He caught her hand and pulled her back, “not without you love.”

He read every line and then, to her surprise, started at the first line and read it again.

“Jesus, lass, I hardly know what to say. Completely alone at five years old except for a man who dragged you from one archaeological dig to another. He wasn’t there for you emotionally, I see that, I also see how you slip easily into emotionless relationships. And why I didn’t hear from you for six months. It makes sense now, so many things. Come here, sweetheart.”

Jamie hugged Claire and pulled her to him. She was so grateful he read her letter, and then read it again. She hoped he would have more faith in her this time because now she knew how much she loved him.

“What is happening with Frank Sassenach?”

Claire was quiet just a little too long while she considered telling Jamie the truth. If she didn’t, the letter meant nothing and he still couldn’t trust her. She reached for her phone and launched her gallery.

“This is my new apartment that Javier rented for me, and that is all my new furniture. He arranged everything from the lease to filling the apartment with furniture, kitchen stuff, even clothes. The reason he had to do all this is because…”

Claire swiped to the next picture of her destroyed apartment showing various rooms and angles. Then she swiped again, and Jamie’s intake of air was loud enough for the sea creatures to hear. He grabbed her phone and sat up, studying the picture of her face after being knocked out.

“No, no, no, no, no, my God, how did this happen, who did this? Oh my God Claire, this is sickening.”

He stood up and walked the deck around their bed under the stars. He kept looking at the picture as she told him exactly what happened. When she was finished, he pulled her from her sitting position down on the mattress and covered her. He spoke into her ear, telling her she was loved and protected, and Frank or anyone else would never touch her in anger again. His kisses were love affirming becoming heated and passionate causing her to pant.

Claire was trying to get his shirt off and panting in his ear when the voice of reason took over in his head. You will love her, tell her you will always be there for her, make her feel safe, and then break her heart like everyone else in her life. The lovemaking came to a crashing halt and Jamie looked like he had been kicked in the head.

“Sassenach, I…I’m sorry love. I’m too much in my head, I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

“You are here in the flesh Jamie. You took a leap of faith and came on this trip with me. Your hands are still warm, and your heart is still open. That’s what I want. There is time for us to find our way.

He hugged her for over a minute, trying to come to terms with his reality. He had, at the most, six weeks of freedom left, and he needed to find a way to tell her. Claire suggested a hot shower and sleep and he agreed.

[denimbex1986]

'“I got called a gay elder the other day,” Andrew Haigh said. This title, bestowed by a group of younger gay men, initially rankled him. It’s true that Haigh — the director of acclaimed films like “45 Years” and “Weekend” — had recently turned 50, but he still found that landmark age hard to believe.

“I’m looking older,” he told me, “but it’s a strange thing to think that I’m not young anymore.”

That uncanny feeling is a key theme in Haigh’s latest film, “All of Us Strangers,” which he adapted from the 1987 novel “Strangers” by Taichi Yamada. Andrew Scott stars in the film as Adam, a screenwriter in his late 40s with a whole lot on his mind: As he entertains a tentative romance with his neighbor Harry (Paul Mescal), he returns to his childhood home and finds it somehow inhabited by the parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) who died when he was young. Though this reunion summons Adam’s inner child to the fore — a transformation Scott sells with heartbreaking subtlety, even when dressed in Christmas pajamas — there are still tricky adult conversations to be had with his parents about his sexuality and lonely middle age.

“I knew that for this film to work, I had to throw myself into it on a very personal level,” Haigh said. “So much of the things they’re talking about and the memories that Adam has of being a kid are my memories.”

That commitment even extended to filming much of the movie in the house where Haigh grew up, a notion that astounded many of his actors.

“I always have this image of him losing one of his baby teeth in that house where the crew were stamping on the floor,” Scott said. “Isn’t it extraordinary that as you shoot a scene downstairs in the kitchen about a man coming out to his mother, he could have gone upstairs after he had actually done that and been upset in a small bathroom?”

In November, I met Haigh at an old-fashioned cafe in Hollywood where, as a young film student, he used to plop down in the corner booth and order the blackened chicken sandwich and too much coffee. (Haigh no longer eats meat, so during our lunch he had the veggie sandwich instead.) As we spoke about the personal stories from his youth he excavated for “All of Us Strangers,” he said he had started to come to grips with the journey he has traveled since and the nickname that long voyage had earned him.

“I might get a T-shirt that says ‘gay elder,’” he told me, chuckling.

Here are edited excerpts from our conversation.

A lot of this movie is inspired by your early life. What were you like as a child?

I think I was a sad kid. I was fine when I was younger, but my parents split up when I was 9, and I was being bullied at school. When you’re an unhappy child, it shapes everything. It doesn’t go away — it will always be there, the way you felt, and the instinct to repress yourself early on can affect everything.

How did their divorce affect you?

There was so much that I was made to push down and forget and not talk about. I don’t think I ever spoke to anybody about how I felt. And look, it doesn’t take a genius to look at my films and think that all of those themes come out within the stuff that I make about feeling alone, about searching for stability, about trying to understand the past and change it somehow in order for you to move forward. Pretty much the filmmaker I am now is because of how I was as a kid.

Why were you being bullied at school?

Because they knew I was gay, basically.

Did you know you were gay?

No. They could see my difference before I could. And I talk about it in the film, but it was the early ’80s and the mid-’80s in the U.K., this incredibly homophobic time. Everyone was terrified of AIDS and the government had Section 28, which was a law against teaching homosexuality in school. I think most queer kids from the ’80s kept everything very, very hidden. I was in relationships with girls all the way into my 20s, and I didn’t come out till my late 20s, till after university.

What happened when you told your parents you were gay?

They were good. They had to do a huge readjustment in their understanding of me, so that’s not easy for parents. You go through some strange questions, for sure, and it takes a bit of time, and you find your way through it. But it’s a strange thing because I know lots of people have very supportive families, and it doesn’t mean you don’t feel a little bit separate. Even in this age of acceptance, there is still often a line that you don’t want to cross. Or maybe it’s even that we feel uncomfortable, that we still want to hide elements of ourselves because we’re still afraid that they might not love us as much.

So frequently, we want to reassure everyone else not to worry. We’ve held this thing in, which almost makes you explode from being sick with the pressure building inside you, and still you’re like, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m really happy,” or “I’m going to be great.” And in retrospect I’m like, what was I doing? I wasn’t fine. I was a mess and I was terrified and all I was trying to do is make them feel better. For a lot of queer people, we’re doing that all the time, trying to walk this line of not pushing boundaries too much so we don’t get rejected.

When you were reading the novel that “All of Us Strangers” was based on, did you sense immediately that you could explore all these themes in an adaptation?

It definitely took a long time. It’s a good novel, but it’s very traditionally a ghost story. I thought about doing it as that to start with, but then I knew that I wanted the romantic relationship in the story to be queer, and I wanted it to be about the associations of family love and romantic love and how they’re all wrapped up together.

You shot the film in the house you grew up in, in Croydon in South London. Were you picturing that place when you wrote the script?

Yeah. I think I was rooting it to the idea of a childhood home, and then as we started trying to work out where to shoot it, I was like, “Well, why wouldn’t I go and shoot it there?” I knew it would be a strange experience, but I like how I feel when I’m a little bit terrified and emotionally fragile. The interesting ideas come from that.

What was it like when you first walked through that door?

I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s a very peculiar feeling. When I walked around by myself and I sat in what would have been my old bedroom and looked out the window, you just remember things. I remember standing at that window when I was a kid. There were some enormous trees outside, but when we lived there, those trees were only knee-high. Somehow that freaked me out more than anything else, that those trees were pretty much the exact age as me and they’ve been on this planet for 50 years, as I have.

You’ve cast Claire Foy and Jamie Bell as the parents. How much like your real parents are they?

Look, my dad’s from the north of England and sounds a bit like Jamie, and my mom sounds a bit like Claire. And they sort of look a bit like that and their personalities are quite similar. So there’s definitely a sense that they are related to my parents.

It’s interesting that when we first meet Jamie’s character, before you’ve revealed the familial relationship, it almost seems like he’s cruising Andrew’s character in the woods.

It always made me laugh that no one’s surprised when a straight guy goes for someone who’s a bit like their mom — that’s just like a natural thing — but no one ever says, “Well, gay guys and queer guys, maybe they quite like someone who’s a bit like their dad.” I wanted to play with that because, to me, love is rooted in feeling comforted and safe and understood. That is what your parents give you, and it’s no surprise that you might want it from a lover, too. And Jamie Bell looks super hot. Who doesn’t want to cruise him coming out of the trees?

Did the actors meet your parents?

No. I would never do that. I mean, my dad’s not well so he won’t get to see the film. But my mom’s seen the film and I’m sure she’ll meet the actors at some point.

What did she think of it?

She saw it with my brother in a screening room in London, and I think it was hard for her to watch. There was a lot of stuff that feels personal to her, and I don’t underestimate how strange that must be. There’s a scene that I have now made with some twisted version of me talking to a mother in the bed that used to be my mom’s bed. That’s not an easy thing for them to deal with, so I really do appreciate it. But she loves the film, she’s super excited about it.

It’s a shame my dad can’t see it because I feel like he would like it. My dad has quite bad dementia and it came on while I was making the film, just a strange time for it to happen. During the shoot, I went up to visit him because he’d just been put into hospital, and he’d completely forgotten that I was gay. Had no memory of it: “Oh, so you’ve got a wife? Are you married?” I was like, “Oh, Christ.” I didn’t tell him, I didn’t say that I was with my partner.

Why not?

I was terrified, I felt like I was 20-whatever again. I didn’t want to upset him because he’s in a care home now, but at the same time, you feel the same terror of, “Oh my God, is he going to reject me when I really don’t need this right now?” Then I came back to London and the next scene I shot was the scene with Jamie and Andrew talking [about his sexuality], a pretty tough emotional scene to have done the day after that. So it was a rough time.

I did see my dad again and I brought my partner with me, so he’s seen my partner now. It was interesting because he was like, “Well, as long as you found love, that’s the important thing. That’s all I care about.” I feel like some element of him still knew, and I’m glad I got to bring my partner to see him. It just shows how you always have to still keep coming out.

There’s always something that can reduce you to the state you were in before.

Exactly. That’s what this film is: It’s absolutely about being reduced to that state. And that’s why I thought it was so interesting to wrap it up in grief, because I think grief is such a similar thing. When you lose someone, it’s always just there as something in you. It felt like this film has such a perfect way to express how we can’t move on from things unless we’re helped to move on from those things.'

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 512

Looking for a way to spend Mother’s Day? Well, we here at Outlander have the perfect idea! Celebrate with the women you love by watching us gang rape grannie!

This episode is like the perfect storm of everything that is wrong with Outlander. The cast and crew saying it’s their strongest episode yet when it’s basically artsy gang rape. The CYA trigger warnings when the story would have worked perfectly well without including yet another rape. The kool aid-drinking fans yelling at and acting holier than thou at the fans who rightfully call out the massive problem this show has with rape and assault. The fans yelling at other fans because It’S iN tHe BoOk so it has to be included. The fans yelling at other fans for wanting to follow the books but not wanting rape every 0.5 seconds. The fans yelling at other fans to fuck off if they don’t like the show. The women in the cast throwing out trigger warnings while the men are radio silent or wanting the gladiators to face the plague and fight for their own amusement. It literally has everything.

And I am tired.

I’ve been in this fandom for six years and have had quite a journey. From first discovering the show and immediately devouring the books. The honeymoon period where I could headcanon out all the problematic bits. The getting deep into the fandom nonsense. The getting out of the fandom nonsense. The judging the fandom nonsense because it’s funny and they’re all idiots. The getting sick of the fandom nonsense because it’s not even fun to judge the dummies anymore. The becoming more and more aware that it’s impossible to whistle past the problems in the books and the show. The sticking around, holding out hope things might turn around and the initial magic could be recaptured. And finally, the giving up.

The books are trash. The show is trash. There are a handful of good scenes in each which can be enjoyed on their own, but as a whole, holy shit this stuff is not good. (Seriously, I tried to do a Fiery Cross reread before the season started. I started like a year ago and am still only at Jocasta’s wedding because I just don’t care enough to actually get through it.)

Which brings us here. I am tired. I have already ranted and raged and yelled and swore and wrote far too many words about the gratuitous overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. It fucking has its own tag for fuck’s sake.

So here’s a recap. And then I think I’m done looking at this show in detail. Not because the idiot fans insist on coming to my notes to tell me to fuck off if I don’t like the show. Not because the crew are condescending douchecanoes. Not because the author is a misogynist garbage heap. But because spending an hour of my time for a few weeks out of the year to write these things isn’t worth it. I did it for as long as I did because it took so little time. So why not? But yeah, it’s not even worth that tiny commitment anymore.

And to the people who I know will @ me about how no one was forcing me to stick around and I could have quit any time, yeah, no shit captain obvious, I know that. Fuck off already. I stuck around because I really liked the little corner of the fandom that I’d found. I made some awesome friends. Most of those friends have since quit the fandom. I’m really glad to have them in my life outside of this little corner of the internet. And it was a fun writing exercise. I don’t really like the show anymore, but I enjoyed building an argument about why I don’t like it and think it’s bad that has valid points behind it. Especially considering how blindly overly adoring a bunch of the fandom is about it. But now I think I’d rather consume Outlander content as pretty people in pretty period costumes in gifsets. Or like, on in the background but not really paying close attention. Why not quit altogether? Because to quote the great Ron Swanson (I’m halfway through a Parks rewatch and I just love that show a lot ok.), I can do what I want. And besides, there’s like a fucking library’s worth of fics that I haven’t read and have been meaning to. And I like the characters enough to want to keep reading about them in stories that are better than the canon. (Bless you fic writers, blesssss.)

So. Was this whole ramble self-indulgent and overly serious for a fucking TV show? Absofuckinglutely. But please see the aforementioned Swansonism.

Alright, fuckos. Let’s do this.

This is a Roberts brainchild, isn’t it. *checks credits* Yup. Knew it. This feels very much like a Roberts special. In that he is probs quite pleased with himself but like, it’s crap.

Yes, we ARE doing ANOTHER rape story! But look! It’s a disassociation montage! It’s the ‘60s, get it?! There are callbacks! An orange from the king in season 2! A vase from season 1! A rabbit from season 3! An amber-looking dragonfly! Jamie with the young hair spouting off book lines! ApPrEcIaTe MuH aRt! We are so good at finding new and creative ways to rape our characters! Fuck off, twatwaffle. You are the worst.

Like, does Roger feel left out at this point? He’s only been hanged. Literally everyone else has either been raped, been sexually assaulted, or been threatened with rape and/or sexual assault.

“But it’s not gratuitous! Look! They’re all so different! Jamie’s was overly graphic and he got a half a season to brood about! We manged to not show much of Fergus’ (but still showed a thrust) because he’s a child and it was just a plot device for Jamie and not actually about him! Mary’s was about Fred! Claire’s with the king was about Jamie! Jamie’s with Geneva was shot like p0rn! Marsali being threatened by the sailors was to motivate Fergus! Bree’s was about the other people in the room and Roger! Claire’s really has no purpose because she’s already been kidnapped and beaten, and that is super traumatic, and we’re gonna wrap it up with a bow by the end of the episode!”

This fucking show, guys. This fucking show.

Bonus points* for the Black character spouting off the superstitious stuff.

*By bonus points I mean this show, and the books are absolute shit on matters of race. The books especially.

The cast and crew have 100% heard everyone’s thoughts on the overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. And their response has been to include more and more of it. We had a whole season of one character’s arc being about her rape and literally as soon as that was resolved, they gang rape another character. It really does tell you as much as you need to know about them. Lazy. Fucking. Cowards.

Kidnapping not enough trauma? Let’s add some gang rape! Gang rape not enough trauma? Let’s add visualizing that your daughter and grandchild are dead! Just like Fred died! This show really brings trauma p0rn to a whole new level.

Called the Bree and Roger shit.

This scene with the men rallying to go save Claire is like another layer of fuck you. Bree, you stay home, men, give your hero lines and let’s have a getting ready montage. Because your hero moment is what this is really all about. And your manpain about killing someone. *screams into a pillow*

The petty side of me is happy that it was Fergus and Young Ian who are with Claire when they find her and not Roger. Her two sons...

Why yes, I am judging all of the fans who like get their panties all wet over Jamie being like “It is I who kills for her.” Like “yeah go ahead and rape and beat Claire within an inch of her life if it means the big strong man gets to come in and save her and say something intense.” Fuck off and go take a hard look at yourself and what that says about you.

“Was there an Indian there?” “Nope, he wouldn’t help you because LiOnEl but somehow was able to peace out when it was in his interest. Because he is as bad as the ones who actually raped you.”

The Bree and Claire hug makes me both sad and angry. I want to hug them both and take them out of this fucking place and tell them that they’ve been done dirty and deserved fucking better from the writers.

Glad Marsali gets in on the hug. Claire’s two remaining daughters.

Claire’s “I have fucking survived” speech is like the one time she she actually talks about herself not in relation to a man. It’s about her. Claire. HOWEVER! It is epically fucked up that a woman needs to check off all the trauma she’s endured to show she’s a strong character.

So. Fucked. Up.

The fact that we’re spending time on Roger’s manpain about killing someone also really tells us a lot about the show’s feelings toward women. Yeah, killing someone is a big deal. It’s normal and expected to have feelings about it. But the juxtaposition of Claire’s speech about all of her traumas with Roger being like yeah, I killed a guy who had kidnapped, beaten and raped your mom is like, read the room, bro/writers.

The fact that the men put Claire’s rapist in her surgery, her space, her place of healing, where she is able to be most herself, makes me want to punch each and every one of them in the throat. Like seriously. Fuck each and every one of them.

Also Lionel is like cartoonishly terrible. Not that nuance has ever been this show’s strong suit. But like come the fuck on.

Marsali killing Lionel is the one thing about this episode that I didn’t hate. The men are all like “We kill for Claire! Let’s all rally in this montage and go do the manly thing of defending the woman!” Marsali is just like, yeah, that’s my Ma you fucked with. She shows some agency. She doesn’t do it in a performative way for the other men or for Claire like the guys do. She just knows this fuck needs to die, knows it’s gonna be hard for her and might damn her soul (don’t worry Marsali, all that religion crap is bullshit), and does it anyway.

Marsali’s arc has been my favorite of this whole fucking series. The one bright spot I was hanging on to all of this season especially.

Her quick scene with Jamie doesn’t bother me like Roger’s does. Because Roger is like oh no, I killed a guy! Can you forgive me? For killing a rapist? Like fuck off, bro. And Marsali is like yeah, I killed a guy. I hope I’m not damned for it, but the guy needed to die so I did it.

Also like, Richard had potential to not be cartoonishly bad. But like nope. “He reaped what he sowed, but cLeArLy I’m gonna need to escalate this further. Because manly men can’t let shit go.”

Fuck all men, tbh.

*googles how to emigrate to Themyscira*

Jamie’s speech that’s like supposed to parallel Claire’s can fuck all the way off. Giving him the last voice over just underscores how this was all about men. Not Claire. But the men. Fuuuuck everything.

Look! Everything’s fine again! Back to normal! Peaceful for a bit! With a cheesy af on the nose storm coming! So you know something bad’s coming! In case you forgot!

And Jamie got a book line. So it’s all good now.

And don’t worry about Claire, y’all. She feels safe now. Her and Jamie fucked it out.

It’s amazing, in retrospect, that I ever let this story suck me in so much.

Happy Mother’s Day! See you on the other side of the hiatus.

[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

masterlist - AO3

Chapter Eleven: Now It’s Different, I Want You to Know

Jamie waved one more time to the audience before he walked off stage for the night. A broad smile was on his face. He still couldn’t quite believe, even 8 shows in, that this was his life. It had been his dream for so long and now he was fucking living it. Each night he got to go out on stage and do what he loved. It seemed impossible. 

It was all thanks to Claire. And he always remembered that. He was unbelievably thankful that she wouldn’t take no for an answer, that she wouldn’t let him turn it down. She was a rare woman. And she was his. 

That didn’t quite seem real either. 

Keeping things a secret was hard, but he was willing to do so if it meant they got to be together. And waking up each morning for the past week next to Claire had been a dream. So he’d keep his lips sealed. It was to his career’s benefit to keep them a secret.

They had an easiness between them that made it feel like it had been more than a week. All their free time had been spent together for the most part. He’d been at her home every night since they’d revealed their feelings for each other. And frankly, if she didn’t tell him to spend the night at his place, he wasn’t planning to be anywhere else. He wanted to be with her. 

His makeup was off and his costume was hung delicately on the rack. As he threw on his shirt, he was eager to run home. Well, to run to Claire’s. Perhaps it was too soon to call it “home.” 

He’d seen Claire in flashes throughout the night. She had been more hidden than the other nights. There had been talk between the actors — and a couple crew members — wondering why she still came. Joe had mentioned that the other times he’d worked with her, it had been three shows. No one knew why she was still there eight shows later. Jamie couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with him. With them. He shook his head as he thought about it again. No doubt, she had her own reasonings. But he did wonder if she’d caught wind of the talks. He figured he’d only seen her before he went on because she wanted him to. 

Jamie threw open the dressing room door, ready to head to Claire’s. He jumped back with a yelp when someone was standing in front of the door. “Christ,” he gasped. “Sorry, didna see ye there.” He sidestepped Laoghaire and tried to get away from her. 

“Jamie, wait!”  

He fought off a groan. All he really wanted was to leave the theater and lay in Claire’s arms on her couch, watching some inane show. “What’s up?” he asked, hoping this would be quick. 

“I thought we should get a drink,” she told him. 

Jamie sighed, quickly trying to come up with a reason to not meet her. As far as anyone knew, he was single. “Uh, I can’t.” 

She chuckled. “And why not?” 

He looked away, trying to find a plausible excuse that wasn’t I need to get back to our director’s home because it’s been hours since I’ve touched her. But as he looked from her, he caught sight of Claire. She was rushing out the stage door, looking around furtively. There was an odd look on her face — almost upset. Suddenly, being nice to Laoghaire didn’t matter anymore. He had to get to Claire and see what was wrong. 

Jamie glanced back at the girl in front of him. “I just...I can’t. I have somewhere I have to be.” He walked past her, but she grabbed his arm. 

“Come on, we just finished our first week of shows. We should go get a drink!” She stepped uncomfortably close to him. “You know, celebrate.” 

This was when keeping their relationship a secret became very hard for him. He wanted to tell her in no uncertain terms who he really wanted to celebrate his first week of shows with. But he couldn’t. Jamie took a deliberate step back from her. “I can’t. I have to go. Please respect that.” 

She frowned, a look of disbelief crossing her face. Almost as if she couldn’t understand why he’d turned her down.  He didn’t wait to see what else she had to say. Without even stopping to talk to anyone at the stage door, he sprinted from the theater, needing to get to Claire. 

* * *

The familiar weight of a bottle of wine was in the crook of my arm as I walked to my door. Just like Opening Night, as I approached my door, Jamie was sitting there waiting for me. This time, my heart hurt a bit at the sight of it. Things were going to change and I was the reason why. It had only been a week, but it had been perfect. But that wasn’t realistic. 

Jamie jumped up as he saw me approaching. “You know, you don’t have to come here every night.” I said. His face fell a bit at that. “You know, if you have better things to do.” 

He looked a bit confused. There was no way for him to know that I’d hit a spectacularly low point during the show. Reaching out, he took the bottle from me. “Well, ye ken yer place is much nicer than mine.” He went with humor, and I appreciated it at that moment. 

I nodded, opening the door to let us both in. Stripping off my jacket, I left it on the island. I stood there and looked, remembering how earlier just that day we’d been locked together there. He was hovering over by the couch. I could feel his eyes on me. Surely, he could sense that something was up, but he’d yet to ask. 

I didn’t know how to break it to him. But during the show I’d realized it wasn’t going to work. Hence the bottle of wine. With me starting another show, our lives would be incompatible. And everyone expected me to start another show. That was where the secrecy was going to bite me in the arse. I wanted this — wanted him. But I’d never successfully figured out in the last ten years how to manage my career and a romantic relationship. Especially not one with an actor. I wanted it to work, but it wouldn’t. 

He walked over to me, setting the bottle down on the bar. “This is yers, I believe.” 

I was silent, only nodding in reply. Grabbing the bottle, I poured myself a deep glass. I glanced at him and took down a second glass for him. He’d probably hate me after I told him my realization of the evening. Might as well drink it out. 

Jamie watched me the whole time as he sipped on his wine. I finished my glass and started to pour another before he finally spoke. “Do ye want to talk about it?” 

My eyes cut over to him. He looked concerned, but hesitant. Things were new between us. I knew he didn’t want to mess things up. But he couldn’t know that I was the one about to do so. 

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess we should.” His brows raised, that concern growing. I started to tell him about running into John, about John’s reminder of how long I usually stayed at a show. 

“I knew that,” he told me. I raised a brow. “Some of those who’d worked wi’ you before mentioned it.” 

Nodding thoughtfully, I decided to share my own confession. “John thinks it’s because of you.” 

“Why?” 

Covering my face, I blew out a sigh. “Because before the show opened, I told him about us.” His eyes went wide. “I made him promise not to tell anyone and I know he hasn’t. But he could tell that something was off with me and he dragged it out. I told him all of it. The shock at seeing you at auditions and even the offer I’d made you.” 

“When did you tell him all this?” 

I looked at him, trying to read his face. The blasted actor was too good at covering his feelings. “Do you remember the night I ran into you and Laoghaire at the bar where we met?” His eyes closed and he nodded. “I also saw John and Joe. John came after me and demanded to know why I was acting so differently.” 

“So, what does it mean that he thinks ye’re staying because of me?” 

“Well, he doesn’t know that anything else has happened. He just thinks it’s because I don’t want to move on. From you.” I took a long sip of my drink. “And he’s not completely wrong. Everything has been different this time and it’s all been because of you.” 

His mask slipped and I saw many emotions playing across his face. He didn’t seem to know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Honestly, I didn’t really either. Seeing the look on his face, I knew I had to tell him everything. 

“It was different after you came to auditions,” I started, staring down at my glass. “Because after that, you were all I could think about. Would you take the role? If you didn’t, would I ever see you again? And you took the role and I was so relieved. But then I was just driven to distraction by your presence. Each step was different because I couldn’t get you off my mind.” I sighed softly. “I guess that answers your earlier question about how often I thought of it,” I said with a laugh. 

Jamie didn’t laugh though. His face was still unreadable. 

“Look, after it opened and things changed between us, I couldn’t leave,” I confessed. “By the time it opened, I should have already had a plan for what I was going to do next. That’s how I’ve worked so much in the last ten years. I just kept going and going and going. But I didn’t even think about something else this time because all I could think of was you.” I shook my head. “I still have no idea what I want to do next. And so I kept going back to the show, even when I knew I shouldn’t.” 

“So...what does this all mean?” 

I took another long drink before answering. “It means that next Monday, I’m expected to start working again. Finding a new project and such.” 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jamie offered. 

“But it means that this” — I gestured between us — “ isn’t really going to work.” 

Jamie sat forward in his chair. “Why? Just because ye’re working on something else doesn’t mean this has to end.” 

“Basically, it does.” 

He stood up, looking agitated. “Okay, why?” 

“Jamie, it just won’t work out.” 

“Is this yer way of finding an out or is there something I’m missing?” 

I glared at him. “I’m not looking for an out, Jamie. It’s just not realistic!” 

“Okay, but explain to me why. Why are ye so bloody sure that things just have to end now?” Jamie demanded. 

I set my glass down on the island that separated us. “If I start working on something else, our schedules are going to clash. I’ll work during the day and you’ll be gone at night. We’ll never see each other.” 

Jamie was silent for a long moment. I thought, perhaps, he was accepting it. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to give me options. I knew he couldn’t. There were no options. We weren’t sustainable. 

“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking,” he finally said. I tilted my head, watching him. “So, you work during the day. Then, ye come home and just immediately go to sleep. I’ll get back here around this time. I wake you up and we spend our time together between the hours of, like, 11:00-8:00. Then you go to work and I go to sleep. Perfect.” He waved his hands like he was displaying something. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. “Jamie, that’s not very realistic.” 

He groaned. “I realize it’s no’ realistic. But it should tell ye that I’m trying to come up wi’ options. I’m not going to just sit back and accept that it’s over.” He fell silent, staring at me. “I want to be with you, Claire. I’m not going to just give up.” 

“Even if it’s really hard? Because it will be.” 

He walked around the island, getting closer to me. “Nothing would be harder than loving you and no’ being wi’ you.” He stepped hesitantly closer, reaching a hand out to my cheek. “I ken it’s only been a week of being together...like this, but I’m no’ giving up on us.” 

I crashed against him, wrapping my arms around his waist and tucking my face into his neck. “I don’t want to either. I just don’t know how to make it work.” 

His lips pressed a kiss to my head. “We’ll figure it out together.” 

I pulled back and looked at him, my hands moving to his face. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I just…” I took a breath, trying to find the words. “In the whole time I’ve had my career, I’ve never found a way to make a relationship work. And for the past week, I’ve tried to ignore that because I really wanted this to work. But when I was reminded of how hard it is, I don’t know, this just seemed like the only option.” 

He nodded thoughtfully, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Maybe those didna work because the other person wasna willing to put in the work. But I am. I’m no’ giving you up, Claire Beauchamp.” 

I leaned my head against his shoulder, curling back into him. “I know it’s only been a week, but I was just upset because I thought I had to let it go.” 

“It’s no’ only been a week, Sassenach,” he reminded me. I looked up at him, one brow raised. “I mean, I ken I said it too, but it’s been more than that. We met months ago. And spent those months silently wishing for the other. It’s no’ just been a week.” 

I leaned up and kissed him softly. His fingers laced through my hair as he kissed me in return. “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips. 

“For what?” he asked, holding me a bit tighter. 

“For not giving up on us when I thought it was the only option.” 

He kissed me again before he held me close. “Sometimes being stubborn can be a strength,” he joked. 

I placed a kiss against his shoulder. “I guess it can be.” I pulled back and grabbed my wine glass, moving over to the couch. Jamie followed suit. He sat against the arm and I cuddled in next to him. “It’s going to be hard,” I said again. 

His hand squeezed against my shoulder. “I know. But we can do it. We’ll find a way.” 

I laid my head against his chest and tried to block out the voices in my head that said it wouldn’t work. His arms were securely around me, reminding me that he wasn’t going anywhere. And if he wasn’t going anywhere, then neither was I.

Next chapter

[renee-writer]

Chasing Waves Chapter 45

AO3

“So, Geillis and Jenny got along?” They are heading to Lallybroch and the surprise party designed as a family dinner.

“Basically. There was one thing that Jenny mentioned that shocked us both.” He turns to look at her before turning back to the road.

“What was that?”

She grinned. “Apostles spoons.” She watches as he swallows.

“I ah, was going to discuss that with you.” He flushes.

“I love you Jamie but there is no way I am going to have nine children.”

“It is just that I have always dreamed of a big family.” He confesses.

“We will find a comprise.”

“Aye.” She takes his hand. He grins at her. “Does this mean we have a future?”

“Of course you nutter. We have a future. You are the only man I will ever want. Ever.

They drive into Lallybroch holding tight to each other’s hands. He opens the door for her and escorts her in. As they enter the dark Great Room and he flips on the light, his family yells out ‘ surprise!’ He jumps as Claire laughs beside him. “You knew about this?” He is smiling after being over the initial shock.

“I helped plan it.” Jenny comes up and grins at Claire.

“We got him.”

“Aye you did sis.”

“World Surfing Championship deserves a party.” He allows himself to be lead in as Ian joins them, patting him on the back. Murtagh stands, holding Kitty, with a huge smile.

“A true Fraser, this one is. Hardly even jerked when we all yelled.”

“Used to her mam.” Jamie teases as Wee Jamie comes up and hugs him.

“She can be loud. Congratulations Uncle Jamie.”

“Thank you lad.” Maggie joins them and Jamie turns to her. “Why Maggie, look at you, looking so grown up.” She blushes and courtesies in front of him.

“Mam says I am growing to fast.” He meets Jenny’s eyes as she stands talking to Claire. He nods. They are. Jamie already meets his chest and is wearing his first kilt. Maggie stands with her brown eyes and dark hair looking like she is ten instead of seven. He isn’t ready for the bairns to grow so fast either.

“I agree. Slow down, eh?”

“I will try Uncle Jamie.” He grins and lifts her into his arms. “You are the best surfer in the world, eh?”

“So they say.”

“I already kenned it.”

“Did you now?”

“Aye. I tell all my mates in school how good my uncle is at surfing. Let them brag about football and cricket. We are surfers.” He laughs and kisses her forehead before sitting her down.

He takes Kitty from Murtagh and holds her as he announces, “We are surfers! Thank you my wonderful family for your incredible support for my unusual career. I couldn’t have made it this fair without your faith in me.”

A cheer goes up. The toasts start. Dinner is served soon after, before anyone has a chance to get to sloshed. It is a wonderful time of family togetherness. Claire feels right at home surprisingly.

[let-the-dream-begin]

When the World is Free

“There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow, When the world is free.” — The White Cliffs of Dover, Vera Lynn, 1942

The world is free again, the war has ended, life starting anew. But for Claire, it’s all over. Jamie’s plane was shot down, leaving her pregnant out of wedlock with nowhere to go. But John made Jamie a promise in their bleakest moments, and he intends to live up to it.

An Echo/MOBY retelling set post-World War II.

Chapter 1: Carry Me, Carry Me Now

Read on AO3

It was a marriage of convenience for them both.

John’s bride was quite well aware of his sensibilities, his preference for the non-female sex. And he was quite well aware of the precariousness of her situation. The tragedy of it as well.

Even if he could forget, it would have been impossible. She was constantly twisting the silver engagement ring she’d been given, constantly resting her hands on her stomach, whether she realized she was doing it or not.

Perhaps the bloke signing their marriage license at the courthouse noticed as well, because he smirked at John with a raised eyebrow when she stroked her flat abdomen for perhaps the millionth time since they’d arrived. John had pursed his lips together for an uncomfortable smile. His assumptions weren’t incorrect, of course, but there were many pieces missing.

The child, for one, still invisible and yet still so enormous in its mother’s heart already, was not John’s. And neither was the ring that lived on her right hand, something he would never ask her to remove. 

The wedding band on her left hand seemed to weigh her down, like a ball and chain pulling her deeper into the black depths of her sorrow.

He drove them home from the courthouse to his flat, or rather their flat. He should start referring to it as such. It was her home now, after all. Their home, the three of them.

Well…four of us, really.

He hung between them like a thick cloud of smoke, solid as a brick wall, at all times. They didn’t speak of it aloud; they didn’t need to. He lived in these rooms rent-free without even needing his name spoken into existence.

John knew that the man who was gone had been the love of her life, her one great love.

And John knew that he was his as well.

He’d confessed it in the black of night, half-buried by rubble when he was sure he would die. They’d gone through basic training together, becoming good friends almost instantly. He’d defended John’s honor when the teasing started; he told him that John was more manly than those other clotheids would ever be. John kept those words, and the gentle touch of his hand that came with them, close to his heart.

“I love you, James Fraser. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in my life.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t died.

John had recovered rather quickly from his injuries and proceeded to avoid Jamie at all costs. Jamie was angry as a bull when he’d finally confronted him.

“D’ye think I give a damn, John? D’ye think it’s ever made a difference to me before? I bloody knew before ye said something, ye damned fool.”

John hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious.

“I’m only sorry that I canna be what ye want me to be, a charaid.”

Jamie held him while he cried, and if he hadn’t been mad, he could have sworn he felt Jamie’s tears soak into his hair as well.

Sitting at the kitchen table in his flat across from his new bride, John teared up at the mere memory.

He’d been so ashamed…and Jamie hadn’t given a damn. He was actually sorry that he couldn't return his affection. Instead of John’s confession wrenching them apart as he’d been so terrified of, it brought them even closer.

He watched his bride stare into her teacup as the liquid inside quickly chilled in the November air.

“Are you cold? Should I put on a fire?”

Her hands remained fastened around the teacup and her eyes remained locked inside it as she nodded silently.

God, she had changed.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her was only in a photograph, and even then he’d been astonished by her beauty.

“This is her,” Jamie said as he produced the small photograph that he kept in an inside breast pocket at all times, his face melting into an adoring gaze that took John’s breath away. “My Sorcha.”

She was giving the camera a smirk, eyes sparkling even in black and white, wild dark curls blowing in the wind.

She looked so alive, and that was just a photograph.

When he’d finally seen her in person, he understood quite well why his friend was so drawn to her. She was exquisite, even in her combat nurse uniform. She was radiant, so full of love and life. Her eyes were liquid honey and solid amber all at once. When she laughed, she tossed her head back and smacked whoever was closest, usually Jamie.

If they were beautiful apart…they were a glorious masterpiece together.

Even in the dirt and smoky haze of the camp, when John looked at the pair of them, he could have been looking at a painting. The rest of the world fell away when Jamie had his Claire back in his arms.

It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

A woman was a rare thing in camp, being that most men met their wives elsewhere when they were on leave. But Claire had to be on leave as well if she wanted to see Jamie, and being that they were not yet married, the army wouldn't be bothered lining up their leaves.

And so they’d followed each other. They’d travelled from one battlefield to another, from one hellscape to the next just to be with one another. Even during what was meant to be a reprieve, Claire could be found tending to all sorts of illness and injury around the camp, Jamie trailing beside her like a lost puppy.

Jamie had told John they’d been handfast the night he’d been drafted, an old Scottish tradition that allowed young couples to be married in every sense of the word except in the eyes of the law. There hadn’t been time for a wedding before he was to leave, so that was the best they could do. What mattered to Jamie most was their marriage being seen by the eyes of God, and handfasting accomplished that to his liking. And so for all intents and purposes, Jamie and Claire were married. John could hear it quite well when she was in camp; she was not exactly very quiet about it.

When John returned from starting a fire in the hearth with the intention of leading her into the room to warm herself, she’d replaced her teacup with a glass of whisky and was tossing the entire thing back. She topped her glass off again and then filled a second one. She handed it to him with a sardonic smile, her eyes hooded. There was no trace of that lively youth she’d had when he met her.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said warmly. “The fire is ready, if you’d like to move.”

“Thank you, John.” She stood up and made her way out of the kitchen, taking the bottle with her. Apparently, his bride did not intend to remain sober today. He wondered if she thought that he was going to force her to consummate this marriage, which was just about the last thing on his mind. She should know that he was more than capable of pretending for everyone else, but perhaps he should make himself clear.

“Claire,” he began as they settled into opposite armchairs in front of the fireplace. “You know that I don’t plan to — ”

“Jamie said he kissed you.”

John felt like he’d been smacked in the face with a frying pan. He cleared his throat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He said that you shared a moment together, and that he kissed you.”

She was staring at him intently, but she didn’t look angry or accusatory. If anything, she seemed possessed by nothing more than morbid curiosity.

“Well…yes. That’s true.”

“We kept secrets, but we didn’t lie,” she said softly, taking a sip of her whisky. “I saw the way you looked at him from the very first time I met you.”

“I’m sorry — ”

“Please don’t be.” Her eyes held such sincerity that he almost wept as he had when Jamie had said just about the same thing. “I just…I wanted to know. That…that last night. The night that we…conceived.” Her hand rested absently on her abdomen again. “I asked him if anything had ever happened. And he told me you shared a kiss.”

“It…didn’t go any farther than that. I wouldn’t have let it, even if he wished it.”

“I know,” she said, taking another sip. “I wasn’t angry. I’m still not. I understand the need for that intimacy in such a hopeless place. And I understand that you…you were very close.” Her voice tightened, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I was glad, really. I was grateful to you for being there for him when I couldn’t.”

John didn’t know what to say. He nodded curtly and took a long drag of his whisky.

“What did it feel like?”

He almost choked on the liquid.

“I know it sounds mad. But I…I want to hear you talk about it.” Her chin trembled, but she maintained her strong facade. “I want to hear because I…I want to remember with someone. What it was like to…to love him.”

John blinked back his own tears and ran a hand down the length of his face. He needed a bit more liquid courage before he dove into the details of how Jamie tasted and how he felt beneath his hands. Claire seemed to understand, because she allowed a long silence to pass between them before John finally spoke.

He poured his heart out to her, detailed the feel of Jamie’s lips like he was dictating poetry, described the way Jamie’s short-cut curls felt between his fingers, recalling the way he smelled.

“Like...silver from the gunpowder...but he also smelled vaguely of...aftershave. I remember wondering how on earth he’d come into possession of such a thing. I breathed it in so deeply it made me dizzy.” He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, and he could swear he smelt it again. 

“And then the rest of the world fell away...even the gunpowder and the smoke...and I just smelt...him.” Eyes still closed, his tongue farted out to lick his lips. He’d wanted so desperately to run his tongue over Jamie’s lips, but he’d been afraid, paralyzed with shock that it was even happening.

“I was so overwhelmed by the...the feeling of him. His lips were so warm and so solid and so timid...and it was over so quickly, but I...” He opened his eyes, blinking back tears. “I saw an...an entire lifetime between us in that kiss. I wanted to...to fold myself into him and stay there forever.” His voice broke, and he anxiously ran a hand through his hair.

He could almost see the man right in front of him again, could almost feel him warm and alive in his hands again; he could feel the shuddering whisper of whisky breath on his lips and chin and nose, and he brought trembling fingers to rest over his mouth, as if to trap the feeling there. He looked up, seeing the real world again for the first time in several breaths, and his heart leapt into his throat to see that Claire was shuddering with silent tears.

“Claire…” he choked out, leaning onto his knees with his elbows, terrified that he’d gone too far. “I’m…I’m sorry…”

She shook her head, putting down her whisky on the table beside her chair. “That’s…that’s exactly it.”

He blinked dumbly at her, and she abruptly leaned forward with a tiny sob, clasping his hands in hers.

“That’s exactly what it felt like,” she said, something in her eyes that was almost desperate. “Thank you…thank you.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to their joined hands, hot and soft and wet. She kept her face atop their hands in John’s lap, and she fell apart. It wasn’t long before she slipped out of her own chair and was kneeling before him, sputtering hysterically into his lap, squeezing his hands until her knuckles were white.

John was stunned, but he did the only thing he could do: he gave her comfort. He stroked her hair as she wept, rubbed her back, squeezed back on her hands. Somehow, he ended up on the floor with her, leaning against the seat of the chair and holding her trembling form to his chest. His own tears dissolved into her curls, and soon he was holding onto her for dear life as well.

“We are the only two people in the world who share this pain,” Claire said against his neck, her voice thick with hours of tears. “This pain…of losing Jamie.”

John nodded fervently, tightening his grip on her tiny body yet again.

“We’ll carry it…together,” John whispered into her hair, and then pressed a kiss there. He felt her nod into the crook of his neck and nuzzled in closer.

More and more hours passed, and more and more whisky emptied from the bottle, and then a second bottle, and then a third. It was well past suppertime, but neither were capable of preparing anything to eat in the state they were in, and their empty stomachs only served to send the alcohol straight to their already muddled brains.

They spent hours going back and forth talking about the mutual love of their lives, weeping and clinging to each other, and then they would laugh their drunken heads off, Claire swatting at him as she howled.

John had loosened the top buttons of his shirt and removed his belt, and Claire had undone the top buttons of her dress as well.

“God…I’m melting…” Claire sighed, pulling her dress over her head and revealing the tiny white slip underneath. “You don’t mind?”

John burst into hysterical laughter, and Claire soon followed.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Claire sputtered. “Of course you don’t bloody mind. I could be stark naked and you wouldn’t bat an eye!”

They howled again, and she swatted at him.

“Not to mention I’m bloody married to you!”

They howled a bit more until Claire had spilled her whisky onto the rug and fell over into John’s lap.

“I think we should get you into bed, my dear.”

She giggled, biting her lip, and John was briefly mesmerized by the way a blush bloomed down her neck and into her chest. He heaved her to her feet, and they laughed together as they both swayed their way into the bedroom.

“You’re going to have quite the hangover tomorrow.” John was attempting to make more lighthearted conversation, but as he looked down at the woman in his arms, he was taken aback to see something he could only describe as hunger in her eyes.

“Would you…” He struggled to think through his drunken haze. “Would you like a nightgown, my dear?”

He made to pull away from her and go to the wardrobe, but she fisted his shirt in her hands, not ready to release him. She pressed her face into his neck and hummed, vibrating the skin there, and it gave him gooseflesh.

“Claire…” His tone could have been a warning, or pleading. He wasn’t at all sure.

Her small tongue darted out of her mouth and traced a line from the bottom of his neck all the way up to where his jawline began, and he shuddered violently. She giggled all the while her tongue was hanging out of her mouth, creating a lusty, wanton sound.

John gently took her face in his hands and pushed her away just enough to look in her eyes. They were hooded with drink and glassy as a porcelain doll’s. He thought he detected the slightest bit of fear, and it broke his heart.

“It’s alright. We don’t…we don’t have to.” He gently took her hands off of his chest and held them loosely between them. “I didn’t expect you to. We don’t have to.”

She gave a heartbreaking little whimper and began nuzzling her face into his chest, practically leaning her entire body weight on him. “Please.”

He didn’t think he’d heard her properly at first.

“Really, we can just…go to bed. On separate sides.”

“Please.”

It was almost a moan in its intensity. She began pawing at his clothing, pressing desperate kisses into his neck.

“I need you,” she groaned. “I need this. I need you, Jamie.”

His blood ran cold, and it would appear hers did as well by the way she froze completely. She practically went cool to the touch.

“Claire.”

He firmly took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him.

“I’m not Jamie.”

She could hardly stand on her own, could hardly focus her bleary eyes on him.

“I’m not Jamie,” he said again, more gently, moving his hand off her chin to cup the back of her head. “I can’t…I won’t have you like this. You’re drunk and…you’re not thinking clearly.”

She welled up with tears, looking very much like a wounded animal in response to his apparent rejection.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I know how much you’re hurting.”

God, did he know it.

“And you know that I…well…you know me.” He didn’t feel the need to speak it aloud again.

“You want to,” she sputtered. “I can feel it.”

She very suddenly and very firmly palmed him, causing him to jolt. And damn him, she was right. For some reason, some ungodly, horrific reason, he was aroused.

“It’s…it’s not you, Claire,” he said softly after regaining his composure, though he made no move to remove her hand. “It’s…it’s him. I’m standing here wishing it was his hand.”

“Good.” She tightened her grip, and he groaned involuntarily. “Because I’m standing here wishing it was his cock.”

She kissed him then, sloppily, heavily, lapping her tongue over him.

“Make love to Jamie, John,” she panted between kisses. “You make love to him, and so will I.”

“It’s not…it isn’t right.” He firmly seized her wrist and removed her grip from him, pinning her hands away from him.

Hands or no, Claire was never one to give up. When she wanted something, she would get it, consequences be damned.

She began gyrating her hips against him, and God help him if it didn’t make him even harder. It wasn’t long before he released her hands and finally surrendered to her, allowing her to pin him to the bed and have her way with him. He could have stopped her if he’d truly wanted. He could have tossed a bucket of water over her, given her a light but firm smack, shouted at her, gone to sleep in the living room. But, God…he wanted this, needed this as badly as she did.

He reached out and sought purchase in her skin as she rode him, soft in all the places where Jamie was solid. She was wild, a mad look in her eye as she tossed her head back in delicious ecstasy, and yet she was entirely lucid, he was sure of it. Perhaps the moments leading up to their joining were hazy, but now she was more than aware.

Her hands were all over him as well, small and yet hard and demanding. She even gripped his hands at one point and directed them exactly where she wanted to be touched.

She cried out for Jamie as she came around him, and God help him if he didn’t do the same as he spilled into her.

It was filthy, it was shameful, and he was disgusted and confused and terrified.

But when she collapsed onto his chest and wept like a broken child, everything faded but the need to comfort her, to protect her.

“I need ye to promise me something, John.”

“Anything.”

“If anything should happen to me…”

“God, Jamie, please don’t talk like this.”

“Ye said anything, man. I need ye to mean it.”

He looked into those steel blue eyes, his pupils shrunken to tiny pinpricks. John nodded, though his heart hammered with terrible foreboding.

“If anything should happen to me…I need…I need ye to promise me that ye’ll look after Claire.”

John took a moment to blink back his shock.

“I ken she’s strong as a stallion and stubborn as a mule. She’d have ye think that she doesna need any help. Truth be told, I ken she doesna. But just…fer my peace of mind. Will ye swear to me that ye’ll look after her?”

John swallowed thickly, unable to stop the rush of tears.

“She means more to me than anything in this world. And I’m entrusting her to ye, my dearest friend. And in return, if ye want…I would be willing to…”

John's eyes widened, unblinking.

“If ye want.”

John’s mouth hung agape, and he stammered incoherently for a moment.

“Are you actually offering your body to me in payment if I promise to look after Claire?”

Jamie’s jaw hardened, and he nodded once. “Aye.”

“Dear God…” John shook his head, and he actually started laughing. “That I should live to hear such an offer!”

Jamie blinked rapidly, and John could have sworn he saw tears gathering there. “Ye dinna want me then?”

“I shall probably want you ’til the day I die!” John exclaimed, and then lowered his voice to a whisper, remembering that tents were thin, flimsy things. “But tempted as I am…do you really think I’d accept? I should feel my honor most insulted, save that I know the depth of feeling that prompted it.”

Jamie wet his lips and nodded, averting his eyes and staring at a stain in the tent. “Aye. I’m…I’m sorry. I didna mean tae insult yer honor. I just…I thought to…to give ye something of what is most precious to ye in return for protecting that which is most precious to me.”

John placed a comforting hand on Jamie’s knee, desperate for his friend to not feel ashamed. “I understand.”

Jamie nodded again, and then forced himself to look at John. “Besides, I…I wouldnae ha’ offered if it wasna something I could bear.”

Despite how fiercely John blushed, how much he wanted to tear his eyes away, he didn’t. He held Jamie’s gaze as he whispered, almost inaudible: “You could…bear it?”

“Aye,” he said without hesitation. “I could.”

Then before John knew what was happening, Jamie’s lips were on his, and his soul ignited. It was sweet and chaste, and gentle and beautiful.

Jamie was beautiful.

He pulled away after about three seconds, and the two men maintained their intense eye contact.

“You have my word, Jamie,” John whispered fervently. “God forbid you are taken from us, I will keep safe what you love most. And I am…most grateful for such an honor.”

“Thank ye.” His steel blue eyes welled up with tears, and he clutched at the back of John’s neck. “Thank ye, John.”

John had sworn it with everything he had to give in his heart and soul. She was the most precious thing in the world to Jamie, and he’d left her to his care. It felt like an honor he was not worthy of. He was not worthy of the man as he lived, and he was certainly not worthy of the woman he’d loved and the child she would bear. Perhaps Jamie hadn’t meant for him to marry the woman if something should happen, but what else was he to do? Leave her unmarried and childless in a world so cruel?

No, he’d sworn on his honor that she’d be safe with him, forever and always.

And as he held her, naked, broken, and sobbing to his own naked form, trembling like a leaf with the force of her tears, John could feel her seeping into the cracks that Jamie had left in his heart. He could feel her already becoming as precious to him as she’d been to Jamie…as precious to him as Jamie had been to him.

Don’t fret, Jamie, love. I’ve got her.

I’ve got them both.

[liusaidh-writing]

Call it True - Chapter Four

Here it is, the next chapter. Enjoy! 

Thanks to @faithperry46 for being a wonderful beta reader!

[Prefer AO3?]

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 

------------------------

Claire clung to Jamie’s arm as they strolled around their neighborhood after a good meal and little bit of heavy flirting on both their parts. They’d had a couple drinks between them, and Claire was feeling light-headed and slightly silly. 

“What’s the worst thing you ever did in school, Jamie?” Claire laughed quietly as they dodged a large rain puddle, Jamie tugging her with him, pulling them ever closer together. Their feet haphazardly hit one another as they stumbled, Claire burying her face in his arm to attempt to regain some composure. 

“Well..I’ll have to think about that one, Sassenach,” Jamie responded, drawing out his words in a teasing tone. 

“Were you that badly behaved?” 

“No...no...it’s just, I’m not sure which story you’d like to hear more. I like to hear you laugh. How about you, Claire - what’s your story?” 

“Um, well, at Uni, in the dorms, there was a girl whose parents had, for whatever reason, paid extra so their daughter could have a room to herself.”  Claire paused, wondering if he’d find her tale amusing or boring. She gritted her teeth, daring herself to get on with it.

“And…” Jamie prodded.

“And...she had a highly illegal pet rabbit in her room.  She was a bit strange, to be honest, a bit of an outcast…” She paused again, eyeing Jamie’s reaction as he found out she was basically admitting to bullying a girl. 

“Anyway, so, the girls and I, one night, were gossiping - as girls do, you know - and this particular girl and her rabbit came up in conversation. She was always prattling on about this rabbit of hers, and it could get annoying. I mean, the school had to have known, so why was she getting away with it? So, we girls decided to sneak into her room and…”

Jamie was grinning ear to ear,  eager to hear the climax of her story. 

“Please tell me you didn’t harm any animals, Sassenach,” he said with mock sincerity. He knit his brow and jokingly gave her a stern look.

“Ahem, no, I am no bunny murderer. We just went into her room while she was away - no one locked their doors - and....took the rabbit.” 

Jamie’s mouth was agape and Claire spat out a shameful giggle as she recalled how the girl had found them with the poor rabbit - cage and all - just a few minutes after they’d gotten it into Claire’s room. 

“Thankfully we all had a good laugh about it, no arm done. Now, your turn. Go on.” She nudged him playfully with her body, knocking him slightly off balance. 

“I had no idea you’re a bunny stealer, Sassenach! I don’t know what to think of you now.”

Jamie shook his head in admonishment, then laughed. He stole a quick kiss, pecking Claire on the mouth. She pressed her lips together, savoring any little bit of him she could claim as her own, and again nudged him to tell his story.

“Why are you looking at me, Sassenach? I never got into trouble at all!”

“I don’t believe you. I just admitted to grand theft! Well, maybe it wasn’t grand, but...you can’t leave me dangling out here on the bad girl branch all by myself!” 

“Bad girl, is it?” Jamie stopped abruptly wrapping her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Claire parted her lips, inviting him further. Their bodies aligned, Claire’s arms were buried deep in his jacket, wrapped around his waist as she clung to his shirt. Her knees were shaking, and she leaned in, breathing all of him in. The sounds and street lights around them all but disappeared as Claire felt herself pulled further into the deep.

Parting, they were both breathless. Claire noticed Jamie’s eyes danced with amusement, their blue color reflecting the neon of the shop signs nearby. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she said in a whisper, surprising even herself. 

Jamie dipped his head to catch her lips in his once more, quickly this time. 

“As long as I have, perhaps?” he asked, one side of his mouth going up in a wistful smile. They began walking again, and Jamie nodded in the direction of their building. “Let’s head home. It’s getting pretty late, anyway.” Noticing that they were the only ones out, Claire enjoyed the relative silence of the night, only the occasional dog bark or car passing by broke the magic. It had stopped raining, and the lighthearted conversation had done a lot for her nerves. 

She let him pull her along, not wanting him to see her face as she absorbed the word ‘home’. She had a vision of their clothes, mingling in one closet; their bed, duvet twisted and smelling of sex; two glasses of ignored scotch sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch, where they lay tangled, choosing foreplay over alcohol. She shivered involuntarily, finding his hand and grasping it tightly. She briefly wondered why this, with Jamie, felt so natural, so right. She’d seen him just three times now outside of their window chats, and she felt like they’d been like this forever. It was as if she’d found solid ground with him, something true, and she hadn’t realized just how much she needed him. She’d been adrift her whole life, come to think of it, floating around with her Uncle Lamb. Campsites, hotels, temporary lodgings in one foreign country or another.  Taught by tutors, she’d never attended traditional school until she decided to go into nursing. She didn’t regret her childhood, but she knew Jamie had a family, had roots. She liked the idea of finally having roots, even tangentially, through him.

“Erm, I’d invite you inside, Sassenach, but I’m afraid you’d be bombarded by an interrogation of sorts. My nephew is staying with me at the moment. I-”

“Oh, your nephew? He’s alone right now?”

“Yes, he’s 19 - perfectly capable on his own, except when my sister decides he’s gone and gotten into trouble. I get the task of straightening him out. Or something. I don’t know how much I help, but I try.” 

“That’s nice of you. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“Well, he appreciates the ability to escape home once in a while, anyway.”

“Well, we can just go to mine then. I don’t live far away,” Claire joked. “I think I may even have some whisky stored away somewhere.” She rubbed her chin, trying to picture where that dusty bottle was hiding. It had been a gift from Uncle Lamb one Christmas, and she’d never had the occasion to open it. Why not now? 

-----

Sipping her drink, Claire watched Jamie, his strong jaw clenching slightly with each sip. She watched his movements as he set the glass down on the side table, careful not to make any noise. They’d both been rather quiet, like the night was made of glass, and neither of them wanted to shatter it. 

Claire watched as Jamie took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the flavor. She watched as his tongue darted out past his lips, only briefly; she found herself mesmerized by his movements, even down to the way he kept tapping one finger on the glass as he held it in his hand. Claire knew she felt awkward and gangly, unsure of what to do with her arms, her hands, her legs. She felt like she saw some of that in him, too. 

She took a fortifying sip of her own drink, and then set it down on the table in front of them. With a clink, the glass hit the hard wood table top, breaking the silent reverie. 

“So...I must say, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a, er, date up here.” 

She wasn’t sure why she was bringing up past lovers - she certainly didn’t want to get into a conversation about it with him, but she wanted to say something. 

“I’m afraid my flat is entirely female free. I’m no good at this, myself.”

“No good? I’m enjoying myself, if it makes you feel better. I could turn on a movie? Or some music?”  She ran a hand through her hair, trying to decide which option would be better, when she felt him grasp her wrist and pull it away from her face.  He kissed the inside of her wrist, sending shivers down Claire’s spine. 

“Well, I suppose we don’t need music…” she trailed off, lulled into a calm by Jamie’s soft touch on her delicate skin. He moved closer, and she felt his leg meet her own on the couch. He leaned in while she was looking down and they cracked heads, both jumping back slightly, holding their heads. 

Claire laughed easily, some of the tension broken.  

“See? I told you..” Jamie remarked, rubbing his forehead. 

Claire, trying her luck, leaned towards him this time, catching his mouth with her lips, the kiss quickly evolving into a more desperate one as Jamie pulled her onto his lap. His hands were in her hair, and she quickly pulled one of his arms down to the hem of her shirt, inviting him to touch her bare skin. The heat of his hand was a warm balm,  juxtaposed with the goosebumps that formed along her torso. He, at first, spread his palm along her back, stroking up and down, their lips still fiercely together, neither of them willing to part. 

Jamie began trying to undo her bra, and Claire groaned, frustrated at the one she’d chosen. It was a difficult one to unclasp for whatever reason. As he struggled, Claire sat up and reached behind her, awkwardly getting it undone for him. 

“Damn thing, sorry,” she whispered, and she decided to discard with her bra and sweater all at once, leaving her vulnerable slightly shivering in the cool air. Jamie pulled her back down, wanting her mouth on his again, and he kissed her deeply while he grasped one breast in his hand, bringing his fingertips to her hard nipple. Claire immediately wanted more, as she felt the tell-tale heat pool between her legs. 

“Can we go to the bedroom?” She mumbled, reluctantly pulling away from him once more, yet eager to get more comfortable. Jamie tugged at her legs, and Claire straddled him before he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stood. Their denim pants were an irritating barrier, and Claire rocked against his hips as he walked, keeping her lips on his neck, just below his ear. He didn’t stumble, easily making his way to her bedroom, where he gently laid her back on her pillows and followed her down. 

Claire immediately went to the button of her pants, unclasping it, her zipper following suit. Jamie lifted his hips as she wriggled out of her pants, and he pulled them down and off her ankles. Pulling his shirt over his head, Claire gave a small gasp as their torsos met, bare skin on bare skin. It was nearly enough to send her to the edge, but she fought against it as she fumbled with the button on his jeans. She was still in her knickers - thin cotton with small rosebuds - and after Jamie had discarded his pants, she felt his fingers glide to her inner thigh. Tickling up to the edge of her panties, he hooked a finger around one side and pulled them down, leaving Claire entirely naked.  

She watched as he took her in; his eyes shone brightly, arms trembling as he lifted one hand and, licking his lips with a hard swallow, he let one finger make its way slowly down her torso, past her navel. His finger found the hard bud of her clitoris as he began making circles, driving Claire entirely out of her mind all at once. Her hips jerked involuntarily, and she lifted her head slightly and eyed his cock, still encased in his briefs.

“Not yet. Let me touch you, too,” she breathed, reaching between them to put her hand into his waistband, grasping his cock. She felt him shudder as his lips found hers again. She quickly tore off his last bit of clothing and stroked him briefly before pulling him down, placing him between her open legs. 

“You sure?” he whispered, settling into his position as she lifted her hips slightly in invitation. Biting his lip, he kissed her once, moaning slightly into her mouth as their bodies trembled in want.

Claire could only nod her head before reaching down and helping him to enter her, the creak of the bed making Claire smile slightly as she felt him begin to thrust his hips, slowly at first.  She savored the friction, and let a hand dance in his hair as she kissed him deeply, her other hand making its way between them to touch herself, intensifying her pleasure. She watched as Jamie’s eyes shut, his forehead against hers as he began to go faster, and as her eyes fluttered closed, the spark that had been dancing between them for the last couple weeks grew into a flame, engulfing them both in one breath.  

Claire grasped the duvet, riding the waves for as long as she could as Jamie’s hips jerked, his lips crashing into hers once more. She almost immediately wanted more, but allowed him to clamber off and lay to her side to catch his breath, her heart hammering. 

She looked over at him, smiling.  It had been rather short, but she hadn’t wanted to wait any longer. Still trembling, she leaned into him, her head on his chest. She figured they had all the time in the world now to perfect, to experiment, to feel that again, and again. She smiled again, her face buried under his chin. Jamie brought his arms around her, but kept quiet. She could feel his heart beat beneath her cheek, and revelled in its steady thumps. She barely noticed as her eyes fluttered shut, his pulse lulling her to sleep. 

She dreamed of tangled blankets and Jamie’s rough hands roaming her body. 

----

Claire woke with a sharp jerk. Light was streaming in, her curtains open to the morning outside. She squinted at the light, feeling slightly like a vampire, and clambered out from the covers. Noticing Jamie’s absence, she smiled, and throwing a shirt over her head, she headed from her bedroom, expecting to find him there. 

Instead, she was greeted with the still artifacts of her life - the couch, their glasses still on the coffee table; her small dining table and four chairs, and the kitchen - empty and unused, as usual. She paused, standing still, then walked back through her bedroom to the washroom. That, too, was empty. 

She looked around her room for some sign, some proof that last night had, in fact, happened. She could feel the pleasurable ache still lingering between her legs, and she knew, deep down, that she’d not dreamt it. But where was he?

She grabbed her phone, checking for messages. Nothing. 

Walking to the kitchen counter, she finally saw a hastily scribbled note in Jamie’s messy hand.

Claire,

I had to leave. 

I’m sorry. 

Will talk soon.

xx, Jamie

Claire’s jaw dropped, the letter fluttering from between her fingers. She quickly ran, threw on some pants, and dashed out her door  barefoot. The cold morning air turned her blood to ice as she dashed up the stairs to his front door. She knocked, thinking surely that he’d be there. That perhaps he simply had to work this morning, or had to check on his nephew. 

There was no answer, and Claire, hugging herself in the cold, slowly ambled back to her apartment, confused and shivering. She grabbed her phone again, dialing Jamie’s mobile. She held it to her ear, hearing the incessant ringing as she got no answer. 

She looked at the phone, puzzled, and if she was being honest, a bit hurt. 

Had she done something last night? Oh God, she thought with horror, had she drooled on him, talked in her sleep, kicked him?  

She sat on the couch, unable to figure out what to do. Emptiness crept in, and she felt tears stinging her eyes as she fought back, unwilling to cave to her own misery.