#Lulz forgive the cheesy title

[imagineclaireandjamie]

the baby ian chapters are aboslutely killing me with love. Sounds as are there no complications with mother or baby? Can't wait to see them all at home! love the blog thank you all

Flood my Mornings: Beeyin On Board

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment:  Ian (V), (All four FMM Frasers together for the first time) 

July 26th, 1951

“You know….you can drive faster, darling. I won’t mind one bit.”

Jamie flashed me a brief, dazzling grin before doing absolutely nothing about it save returning his attention to the road. 

“Not only would I not mind….” I went on, clearing my throat dramatically, “….I might insist that you go faster than—” I peered at the gauge. “Good Lord, Jamie, TEN miles per hour??” 

“Oh, but ‘tis a grand speed,” Jamie said brightly, moving through the next turn with all the haste of a particularly unambitious glacier. “Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach, I’ll do.” 

“Well, I might not,” I spluttered, shifting Ian more comfortably in my arms. “At this rate, it’ll be three hours before we get home, and by that time, I’ll have pissed all over the seat!”

“Piss to your heart’s content, my lady,” he said with a courtly flourish of the hand, and damn me, if he wasn’t completely serious. “I’d rather that kind of accident than the other.”

Despite the demands of my bladder, I laughed, and Jamie did too. “I’ll get faster wi’ time, I promise,” he offered of his own accord, looking a little sheepish even as he exerted enormous concentration upon the line of cars before us. “Only, it’s the first time driving wi’ the lad aboard wi’ us and—well—I wish to be cautious, is all.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I laid a hand gently on his leg, squeezing gently and smiling. It was nearing dusk, a treacherous time of day for motorists in any circumstances, so his caution was well-placed.  "No matter how long it takes, I’m only glad we’re going home.” 

He exhaled with a smile. “Aye, at last.”

Honestly, we had had an easy go of it, all things considered. When Bree was born, she and I had stayed in the hospital for a full two weeks. One was customary, as far as American postpartum care was concerned; the second had been deemed wise by Dr. Reynolds in light of my cesarian incision and Bree’s time in the NICU. I had been more than happy to comply, if it ensured she was safe and well. 

With Ian, though—the both of us progressing well, with no complications whatsoever—I had been positively ITCHING to get out of the bloody hospital, and Reynolds, bless him, allowed it after only four days of observed convalescence. “I’ve broken all the customary policies and procedures for the Frasers,” he said with a smile as he initialed and signed the discharge forms, “why not complete the set?”

It was true, too. From Jamie’s presence both during the birth and near-constantly afterward, to my refusal of sedation, to my insistence upon breastfeeding both at once and exclusively, we had caused quite a stir in the normally rigid parameters of the modern maternity ward. God bloody Bless Dr. Reynolds: a man ahead of his time, if ever I met one (and I had, at that). 

Jamie had split those four days between the hospital and being home with Bree. Beyond the promised respite from the stresses of the hospital, the greater part of the relief of going home was that we would all be together under the same roof; the four of us, starting to figure out the rhythms of this new life.

“How’s he managing?” Jamie asked as we turned (see: ‘crept’) onto the street leading into our neighborhood. 

“Wonderfully.” I lifted Ian up closer to my face and kissed that sweet, brown forelock. “Dreaming away.” 

“Good,” Jamie said, his voice warm with a smile as he chanced a few glances at our tiniest passenger.  “It perhaps bodes well, that he sleeps so sound and so often, aye?” 

“Let’s hope so…..What say you, Ian?” I asked of our son (had my talk-to-infants voice always been two octaves higher, I wondered?). “Does this mean you’re going to be kind and let Da and Mummy get their sleep?”

Ian grunted and slowly covered his face with both hands as if to say, Jesus H. Christ, you lot, hush and leave me to it.

“Best get used to noise, little winky,” I murmured, leaning my head against his and closing my eyes in contentment. “Your family is quite the lively bunch.” 

“YOU’RE HOMMMMMME!!!!!!!!!!”

“Home, indeed!” 

Jamie set down the bags, closed the door behind us, and caught a pajama-ed Bree up into his arms.  

“Home AND gonna STAY home, aye?” 

“Aye,” Jamie and I promised in unison as Penelope came in to hug and kiss and fawn and be embraced heartily in return. 

Bree leaned over at a ridiculous angle, trying to peer down from Jamie’s arms into mine. “Hi-Beeyin!” she squealed. 

Grinning, I scooped up Ian’s hand onto my finger and mimed a little waving motion. “Say, ‘Hi, Bree!’” 

Brianna giggled insanely, then demanded excitedly of her brother, “Come see the house? Wanna come see it??” 

“Oh, of course he does. Why don’t you show him around?” I said softly, hoping she would take the hint and lower her volume. 

“THIS ONE—” our daughter bellowed, grandly gesturing to the living room as we ambled into it, “—IS—Um—uhhhh….” She furrowed her brows, then leaned close to Jamie’s ear and whispered loudly, “What’s-this-room name’s is, Da?” 

“Sitting room,” he whispered back, lips twitching. 

“SIT-IN ROOM!” she declared triumphantly to the baby without missing a beat. “We sit on’na chairs and play and stuff! An’ Mummy draws on books at’the desk!”  

And in such a fashion, the tour progressed, with Bree giving scattered commentary on each room in the house. As for her brother…Well, Ian’s appreciation of this exclusive inside-look for his benefit amounted to the occasional doleful blink and—as Bree was extolling the virtues of the back garden— an urgent grunting that presaged a nappy-change would be needed very soon indeed. 

After we had bade goodnight to Mrs. Byrd, Ian and I retreated to the bedroom, where I laid him on his back while I got changed into my nightclothes. LORD, did it feel wonderful to be in cotton that didn’t smell of the hospital.

He was wide-awake as I changed him, making little snuffling sounds and starting to look around at his surroundings with more precise intention.  I crooned love and nonsense to him as I worked, praising his efforts and making ridiculous faces in response to his. 

From across the house, I could hear the sounds of Jamie (Bree in tow) locking down the house for the night, the ritual concluding with a familiar, weighty, “Bedtime now, a leannan.”

For once, Bree didn’t immediately respond with bargains and pleas. Rather, I heard a gasp of delight and the pattering sounds of bare feet dancing and jumping in anticipation. “Essighted for Beeyin’s can sleep in MY room!?”

A suppressed laugh, then a slight groan as Jamie bent or squatted down. “Cub, we’ve been over this many a time already, aye? Ian’s got his wee crib in Mummy and Da’s room, and that’s where he’ll sleep.”

“But—Da!—Listen, m’okay?—He likes it better, my room!”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh! He saw it an’ he liked it!” 

I snorted a laugh as I finished pinning the nappy. “Your sister is going to speak for you *quite* a lot over the years, sweetheart. I can guarantee it.” 

“Be that as it may, Bree,” came Jamie’s stern rumble from the hall, “he’s too small, aye? When he’s old enough, he’ll most certainly share your room, but he needs to stay close to your Mummy for now, so that when he wakes in the night, he can—”

Even from the next room, I could hear the sniffing and grumbling, the spluttered syllables that meant a tantrum was coming on in force. Shifting Ian up onto my shoulder, I swept into the hall to save the day. “Would you like Ian to sit with you while you have your story, pumpkin?”

And just like that, she was cheering in triumph. 

Bree picked The Poky Little Puppy as that night’s story, and Ian, bless him, stayed awake for nearly the entire recitation. He lay on his back in the middle of Bree’s bed, blinking up at the ceiling and making a whole array of precious, soft squeaking sounds, much to the delight of his sister.  She lay on her belly near his head, chin propped on her elbows, watching his every wiggle in blissful absorption. Jamie’s voice was soothing and warm as he read, his hand just as comforting in mine as we perched on the edge of the bed, watching our little ones watching one another. 

As the ever-vague moral conclusion of the story was about to sound forth, though, Ian began to cry. Well, no, it could be called ‘crying’ only for the first second; after that, the tiny little body was emitting screams loud and piercing enough to wake the dead. 

“Oh, darling….” I leaned forward and touched his cheek with a fingertip, not surprised to see him root at once, seeking a nipple. “No need to cry, my love,” I murmured. “We’ll get you sorted, Ian, don’t worry.” 

Bree had bolted to her knees at once at the sound and was staring down wide-eyed at the squalling, red thing that had been her brother a moment ago. “Wha—What’ssa matter wi’ him?” she demanded. 

“He’s just telling us that he’s hungry,” I explained, preparing to lift Ian up and take him in the other room.

Before I could manage it, though, Jamie abruptly pulled on our still-joined hands and was helping me up off the bed. 

“Jamie?” I hissed as I tried to get my feet under me, “—what in the—?” 

“Verra sweet dreams to ye, cub,” Jamie said significantly to Bree. “We’ll see ye in the morning, aye?” 

“Wh—” Her head snapped up in alarm. “Where you goin’??” 

“Ye wanted have your brother stay in your room….” We were at the doorway, Jamie’s hand poised over the lightswitch and his brows raised. “….did ye no’?” 

“Ummmmm….Well….” Bree looked absolutely, hilariously helpless as she blinked between us the baby, who was playing his vociferous role to perfection. Jamie’s arm was around my waist, and I could feel his belly shaking with laughter. 

Brianna Fraser did her very best to save face as she fixed her gaze upon Ian and said casually, “He can…maybe sleep wi’ you an’ Mum an’ Da ‘til, ummmm he’s….” Her eyes flicked up to us. “….um-til he stops bein’ hungry?”

Jamie grinned, I giggled, and we both came forward at once to shower her with a thousand kisses each. “That sounds a grand plan, a leannan.”