#and I think it would fit very weel to them both

[spaceytrash]

Also just wanna add that it would be kind of interesting to write about Phillip being a bit more repressed about his whole sexuality (seeing as he' sbritosh and has some fame already) before meeting Blanc and falling in love because he's very aware of how the media would react to a gay rock star, especially in the late 90s early 2000 or whenever they meet, despite the fact that a lot of the rock/punk scene has some roots in inclusion and lgbt rights and stuff. But through Benoit he learns not to care and just be himself and that is someone who writes and performs music, is gay and loves baking during the pandemic

Since watching music and lyrics a few days ago I cannot stop thinking about Hugh Grant playing two notes on a bass guitar and how sexy that was (because there's nothing sexier than bassists). And now I wanna write a Benoit Blanc/Phillip fic in which Phillip was a bassist of a fairly popular British rock band but lost fame when they split up and he had moved to the US, where he was trying to start anew kimda unsuccessfull. But he kinda lost his inspiration for song writing until he met Benoit (maybe during a case he was a witness or something because he was at a low point and tried to drown his sorrows through parties and someone got murdered there and Benoit was hired idk) and once he fell in love with Benoit and they got together he found motivation again to write songs and did a solo album that became very popular hence why he can afford that New York appartment they have. But nowadays he doesn't really care about the fame, unlike in his younger years, and just wants to express himself through music and be happy and domestic with his his husband Benoit while once in a blue moon releasing a new song

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 18: To Go Home

Summary: Jamie and Claire get a little distracted on their way back.

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Read chapter 18 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

a/n: A little early update since this chapter is essentially the second half of the last <3

Chapter 18: To Go Home

***

Hand in hand, Jamie and Claire began to walk back toward where he had parked. There was no urgency now as there had been when Jamie dragged her toward the stones, nor the anxiety there had been when he first found her on that hill and decided to take her home. Now, there was only bliss. They walked with a particular laziness— something that came with the certainty that they would be together forever. 

Jamie had been in no rush to face his life of loneliness after leaving Claire on the hill, but now he was in no rush to be anywhere or do anything. So long as Claire was at his side, he was well pleased with their world. 

They were strolling along, holding hands and taking in the beauty of the surroundings and the peace of their newfound intimacy, when all of a sudden, Claire stopped dead in her tracks. Jamie’s heart dropped, and he was gripped by fear that his happiness would be ripped away from him. Was she about to tell him that she’d changed her mind? 

But she didn’t declare that she wanted to go back to the stones, and the world didn’t open up at their feet to swallow him up, Claire just turned sharply and launched herself straight at him. 

He caught her around the waist as her lips landed on his. Laughing breathlessly into the kiss, his anxiety eased instantly. 

“Sorry,” she said between kisses, pecking his mouth before rewarding him with deeper kisses, “I just really— wanted to do this again.” 

They explored each other’s mouths lazily for a minute before Claire broke the kiss to trail her lips down his jaw. Tingles went down his spine as she reached a particularly sensitive spot, and he clutched her more tightly to him as his insides twisted in delight. 

“I’m really never going to have personal space again, am I?” Jamie chuckled to himself, not sure whether to lean in to the tickling sensation or pull away. 

“What was that?” Claire asked, detaching her slightly-puffy lips from his neck and peering up at him with that adorable look of confusion. 

“Only that ye’re a touchy one,” he said playfully, reaching out to grab her around the waist. His hands could span most of it, keeping her solidly in his grip. 

“I like touching you,” she stated matter-of-factly. Her face held the slightest bit of a playful pout, as if she was upset he’d called her out on it. 

“Well that’s verra good,” he said in a low voice, leaning in closer to her, “because I like when ye touch me.” 

He tried to bridge the distance between them and press his lips to Claire’s again, but she leaned back, just out of reach, with her brows raised teasingly. 

Letting out a groan, he let his forehead fall against hers. 

“Dinna torture me, mo nighean donn. I promise ye, one of my favorite things about ye is how tactile ye are. But it made it damned hard for me tae control myself when I was tryin’ verra hard not tae kiss ye.” 

Claire smiled. “Like I said, I very much wanted you to kiss me, but your head was too far down the hare’s hole to do it.” 

“I can do it now,” he breathed in quiet awe, and he took her lips again. 

Kissing her was a drug that he was quickly becoming addicted to. He was aware that they had barely made it a quarter of a mile, so distracted as they were by each other, but he couldn’t seem to care. 

Time was passing, though, and Jamie hadn’t been able to stomach eating anything that morning. His belly let out a rather mood-killing growl, and Claire jerked back. 

She had the same bewildered and concerned expression she’d worn the first time his stomach had growled in front of her, but it was just for a split second before she remembered and her face spread into a smile. 

“We need to get you some food,” she said, emphasizing the last word in a sweet way that clearly said be proud of me for remembering this word.

“I couldna care less about food right now,” he tried to dismiss it, eager to simply enjoy the moment of being with her. He could think of a few other activities for his mouth that he’d rather partake in… maybe something involving Claire’s mouth as well...

“I care. I won’t have you suffering because you can’t keep your lips to yourself,” she said, pushing a wee hand against his chest.  

“Me? Ye’re the one who canna keep any part of herself off me. Ye even sat on my lap in front of my sister, for pete’s sake!” he teased.

The playful mood broke as Claire looked thoughtful. “Why did you say it like that? Like it's wrong?” she asked innocently, looking genuinely curious, “we both love each other.” She ran a hand down his arm for good measure, ending by taking his hand in hers. Then, she added suddenly, “and who is Pete?” 

Jamie couldn't help but laugh. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to take much offense to this. She just gave him time to get it out, waiting patiently for his answer. 

“Weel, firstly, ‘for pete’s sake’ is jes’ a human expression that means… weel, it is an exclamation of exasperation, only I didna mean it in a bad way. And… it’s jes’ that humans dinna show affection so much around others. They leave those things to the privacy of their own homes,” he explained. 

Claire’s brows furrowed and she shook her head in disapproval. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you humans. You make such a fuss over little things. If I want to touch the one I love, I will.” 

“I appreciate yer sentiment, a nighean,” Jamie laughed, “Also, it’s no’ common for a man and a woman tae hold hands or sit wi’ each other if they arena in a committed relationship,” Jamie added, “so Jenny was a wee bit appalled when ye sat on my lap.” 

His precious faerie’s eyes widened in dismay. “Oh… oh no. I made things worse then, didn’t I?” 

“Nah… dinna fash. I jes’ thought ye should know that, is all,” Jamie reassured, dismissing her worry. 

“Is that why you would blush so much when I touched you? Or went to sleep with you?” Claire asked. 

Jamie nodded with a smile as he thought about holding her body against his in bed, how terrified he’d been. “Yes. But I liked it. Probably too much. It made it nearly impossible for me tae keep ahold of my feelings. I fell hard for ye, and I had tae keep my feelings in check for so long.” He started to lean in, meaning to kiss her, but her question stopped him. 

“Fell?” Claire asked. 

“Ah…” another human expression, “it means felt love.” 

“Oh,” Claire responded, a slight satisfied smile turning up the corners of her mouth, “well if my touching you made you love me, I’m glad I did.” 

Jamie looked down at her, feeling an impossible warmth bubble up in his chest, “I didna fall in love wi’ ye because ye are touchy, lass. I fell in love wi’ ye because… well because all I want tae do for the rest of my life is make ye happy. There’s somethin’ between us, somethin’ I canna explain…” 

“A connection,” Claire breathed, nodding, “I feel it too. The world was trying to bring us together.”

They were both quiet for a minute before Claire asked, “do you think maybe that’s why I came through the stones? I mean… I had never ventured out that far before that day. I just felt like… exploring. And then I heard the buzzing sound, and I was just…. Here. Maybe it was all for a reason. For you and me.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, “maybe. Either way, I dinna much care about the reason behind it so long as ye’re wi’ me now. I am grateful, whatever happened tae cause it.” 

They both fell into a comfortable silence again, walking hand in hand. 

“Claire,” he asked abruptly, “will you tell me about what it's like for faeries when they are in love? I ken ye have parents, so I imagine it must no’ be sae different for the fair folk.” 

Jamie had a million questions, but he settled for asking that one, hoping Claire would answer some of those others as she explained. 

“Well…” she said as she played with his fingers, weaving them together over and over and turning her hand over in his as they walked, “we choose who we love, who we want to be with. Some never find someone, and that’s okay too. But if we do… well, we mate for life.” 

She looked up to him at that, her eyes holding an unspoken question. 

Will we mate for life? 

He wanted to tell her yes, to get down on one knee and propose then and there, but they had only just confessed their feelings for each other. He could be patient, give it more time. He didn’t want to rush her before he even knew much about her expectations. 

Continuing on, she said, “some have children and raise them until they can be off on their own.”

“That sounds verra much like humans,” Jamie said, giving her hand a squeeze. 

Claire seemed like she was about to respond, but her mouth fell closed again as she caught sight of the car. 

“We’ll talk more about it later,” Jamie reassured, “we have time now. All the time we need.” 

She nodded, looking pleased. As they reached the car, Jamie went around to her side and let go of her hand to open the door. 

Claire looked disturbed by the loss of contact, and looked up at him with big eyes, staring for a long moment. Something was stirring there, some deep emotion, and it twisted Jamie’s wame. The content expression she had worn moments ago had disappeared from her face. She seemed… distant somehow. Like her head had gone somewhere else. 

“Are ye gettin’ in, lass? Because if it’s the car worryin’ ye we could…” 

“One moment,” she interrupted as she pressed her fingers to Jamie’s lips, halting his speech. “I need—“ 

She didn’t finish her statement but abruptly bridged the distance between them and leaned in toward him. Hearing the choke in her voice, he quickly got with the program and gathered her again into his embrace the second she was near enough. Her face fit into the crook of his neck as her arms went around him, and she clung to him with a mixture between fierceness and certainty of the secure place. He held her tightly for a long time, feeling her shuddering breaths against him and stroking her back in long soothing lines. He didn’t let himself think; He just held her. 

“Talk to me, lass,” he rumbled gently after a long moment. 

“While I was standing on that hill— I thought that you really meant to leave me. That I’d have to face a life without you,” she murmured into the skin of his shoulder, “for a moment just there I.... I could hardly believe that I’m really here with you. Going home.” 

“I’m sorry, mo nighean donn,” he breathed, his heart breaking, “I’m sae sorry, lass. I thought the same. That I’d be facin’ an empty life wi’ out ye. Christ,” he shuddered at the thought of the sorrow and despair that had wrapped him in their darkness only mere minutes ago. How much life can change in an instant. 

He hugged her tighter, feeling the exact same impulse as she did. He wanted to cling to her forever, to feel anchored to her in the drifting sea of emotions. The memories of walking down that hill and leaving her would haunt him forever. If only—

She drew back suddenly and placed a hand on his cheek. It was as if a switch had been flipped and all her sorrow had been pushed to the wayside.  

“It’s okay, Jamie,” she said, her brows furrowed and face serious as she looked at him searchingly, “I’m here. Feel me here? I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jamie felt confused by this sudden shift. 

“What? Why…?” he tried to ask why she had suddenly begun to comfort him, but thankfully he didn’t need to articulate his question. 

“I could feel it… everything you were. You were just thinking about it, weren’t you? Re-living those feelings of leaving me? Well I could feel them coming from you. I could feel how much you hurt.” 

Jamie’s mouth must have been hanging open— and if it wasn’t, it should have been— because his brain had halted completely in its track and was struggling desperately to come to terms with yet another new divulgence. 

“You’re... an empath?” he mustered. 

“Empath… like empathy?” she asked quizzically. 

“Aye. An empath is someone that can feel the emotions of others. It’s no’ real… I mean… humans canna—” Jamie stumbled over his explanations, “canna sense feelings.” 

“You can’t?” Claire asked, surprised.

“You can?” Jamie shot back. 

Both of them stared at each other for a long moment. Jamie was still trying desperately to keep up with everything. He’d known that Claire was very in tune with emotions, astoundingly so, but he’d chalked it up to her making him feel things so strongly that they showed on his face. Either that or the connection that they shared that sometimes seemed so unreal had revealed his feelings. Thinking back, it made perfect sense to him that she’d actually been able to sense his emotions, not just read his face. 

He was also startled by the fact that he’d been living with her for days now, falling in love with her, and he didn’t even know she was an empath. The back of his brain was cursing him, once again, for his foolishness. He’d been so blind these last few days, so caught up in showing Claire his world and not wanting to push her that there were still so many things about her that were a mystery. Even so, they were taking things one step at a time. 

Claire interrupted his scattered thoughts when she spoke, “when I touch you… I can feel what you’re feeling. Not as much as if I were feeling it myself, but I… know.” 

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense given the things ye’ve said to me. Humans canna do that. We can look at a person and try tae guess what’s goin’ on in their heads, but we never really ken. You… ye dinna actually know my thoughts, rights?” 

Claire laughed, a bright and beautiful sound. “No,” she shook her head, “definitely not. And I can’t even sense your emotions all the time. I have to really be in tune with you, concentrating. It seems to be getting easier the more time I spend with you, but don’t worry, some things are still a mystery.” She punctuated that last statement with a sly smile. 

Jamie felt slightly relieved. Not that he didn’t want Claire to know what he was feeling, but his heart had been thrumming with mounting embarrassment as he considered whether she had known all the inappropriately forward things he’d been feeling about her the last few days. Only… only he’d told her now that he loved her... 

“So,” he began huskily, ducking his head so that his face drew close to hers, “can ye tell what I’m feelin’ now?” 

She gave him a smile, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath as if concentrating herself. Then, she exaggeratedly placed her hands on either side of his face. 

“I think…” she breathed, cracking one eye open to look at him playfully, “that you are feeling rather sentimental, James Fraser.” 

“Ye really are an empath, my wee one,” he said, dipping his head further to press his lips to hers in a long, drawn out kiss. God help him, he couldn’t stop. 

She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Her arms wound around his neck and pulled him closer, making a big ball of warmth grow in his stomach. 

Keeping her lips somehow smushed against his, she spoke in a mumble, “we should— probably go home.” 

“Hold on, I’m kissing my faerie,” Jamie said insistently, sparing barely any time to speak the words in between kisses. 

He wrapped both his arms around her waist, grabbing her to pull her closer, and continued to kiss her without hurry. 

She was laughing by the time he finally had to draw back for breath. 

“Are ye laughin’ at me?” he demanded with answering laughter of his own. 

“Not at all,” she chuckled— clearly lying— “it’s just that you were the one complaining about me never giving you space.” 

“Lass, ye’re mistaken, it was most certainly no’ a complaint.” 

As he spoke, his hands skated down her back and came around her sides to cup her hips. 

With an impish gleam in her eye, Claire swatted at his hands. 

“I’m going to need some space,” she teased. She placed a hand smack in the middle of his chest and pushed, making him stumble back a couple steps until her arm was straight and bracing as if holding him back. 

“And you… a wee thing half my size… think ye can hold me back wi’ only an arm?” he challenged, raising a brow at the appendage she had forced between them. He drew himself to his full height, making to intimidate her with his size. 

Claire seemed delighted to take him up on the challenge and raised her head defiantly, completely unfazed. 

(Some part of Jamie deep inside acknowledged the fact that this playful, defiant side of Claire was a huge indicator of trust. It had only been days ago that she’d trembled at the sight of him. Now, they were playing with each other with the comfort of friends and lovers.) 

“I think you’d be surprised what a ‘wee thing’ like me is capable of. You’re awfully big, I doubt you could run that fast.” Claire looked him up and down appraisingly, her head cocked in a manner that made Jamie want to grab her and kiss the grin right off her face. 

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is one.” 

“Maybe I’ll take ye up on it.”

“Maybe I’ll go back to the stones.”

“Not on yer life.” 

With that, Claire tore off at a run. She was so astoundingly swift that a flash of dismay washed over Jamie as he wondered if maybe he couldn’t catch her after all. As he slammed the car door shut and sprinted after her, though, her unnatural fae nimbleness was no match for his long legs. Bless high school track, he thought to himself as he ran. 

He considered very briefly allowing her the satisfaction of evading him for a moment longer, but he couldn’t leave her challenge unmet anymore than he could resist touching her. Bridging the distance left between them, Jamie snagged her around the waist and pulled her sharply to him. She smacked against his chest, laughing breathlessly, and struggled playfully as Jamie held her fast. 

“Seems I’m no’ so slow, after all,” he bent his head so he could say it right into her ear, his lips brushing teasingly along the shell of it. 

“I was going easy on you because I know you’re just so in love with me that you couldn’t bear to be apart,” she said in a gasp, stilling her struggles. 

“Aye, that’s true,” Jamie admitted, “I’ll thank ye, then.” 

Just as he was beginning to lean in for yet another gratuitous kiss, he felt Claire stiffen. 

Alarmed, he was about to ask her what was wrong when he turned his head in the direction of her gaze and saw two hikers approaching. They were clad in teflon from head to toe, likely day trippers exploring the highlands. 

Even though Jamie knew there was no threat from them, he tucked Claire behind him protectively, out of sight of the couple. 

“Jamie—” Claire started, but Jamie cut her off. 

“Dinna fash, lass, they’re only taking a wee stroll, they’re no’ a danger.” 

“No,” Claire said, tugging at his wrist insistently to get him to pay attention, “tell them to stay away from the stones.”

Jamie turned toward her abruptly. Seeing the fear in her eyes at the mention of the stones and the distress it was causing her to think of others going near them, Jamie was overcome once again by guilt over leaving her on that hill. They scared her terribly, and that was just another reason why depositing her with barely a word was one of Jamie’s biggest regrets. 

“I’ll tell them, lass. Dinna fash,” 

Taking her hand, he brought her out from behind him and began to lead her back in the direction of the car, toward the hikers. Claire stepped cautiously beside him but didn’t seem overly concerned about passing near them. 

“Hi!” Jamie called with a wave of his free hand as soon as they drew close. 

“Hello!” the woman called, returning his wave. 

“Beautiful day, is it no’?” Jamie commented in a friendly manner as the two couples reached each other.

“Verra fine,” the man answered with a nod. 

“Are ye two from around here?” 

“Jus’ here for the weekend, we’re from Edinburgh,” the woman said with a smile. 

“Ah, well I willna keep ye. Jes’ a word of caution from a local, though: dinna get near those stones. It’s a faerie hill, ken?” he said with a wink. 

Both nodded, murmuring appropriate grave assent. Without another word, they passed each other, Claire’s grip nearly bruising Jamie’s hand. 

Once they were out of ear shot, his faerie was fixing him with huge, almost horrified eyes and asking, “you told them about the fair folk?”  

Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. “They dinna actually believe me, but scots are a superstitious lot. They’ll leave it be out of respect even though they dinna really think faeries exist.” 

Claire let out a hum of understanding and bobbed her head, looking relieved that Jamie hadn’t actually just outed the existence and location of the fair folk to two random strangers. 

Walking hand and hand back toward the car, Jamie said, “well, I think now it’s really time to leave. Are ye ready tae go home, lass?” 

His words echoed back to what he’d said earlier that day before he’d taken her to the stones. It made his heart ache with joy to think now he was saying them while referring to his home. Their home. 

“Yes, Jamie… take me home.”

***

Full disclosure, I’ve been waiting for FOREVER to write these fools kissing, so I’m gonna milk it ;)) Thanks so much for reading, lovelies! Your support blows my mind <3

Next

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me

Alright, here we gooooooooo! My very first fic! I have the first three chapters written out. This will definitely be drawn out, so stick with it! Lots of fluff, lots of angst! Inspired by Driver’s License by Olivia Rodrigo. You can also catch me over on Twitter @ tessaactually.

READ ON AO3

“What do I even wear to something like this? Jeans? A sweater? Fuck, Geillis, I can’t believe you talked me into doing this.” Claire tossed her phone to the middle of the bed. With her hands on her hips, she stood in her closet staring at all the clothes that wouldn’t work for tonight. Things were strewn from the doorway of her bedroom across the floor, up onto the bed, hanging off the dresser from hangers, and into the closet that led to her bathroom. Geillis Duncan, one of Claire’s best friends, had started a tradition of going on Friday nights. Geillis was always the life of the party with her outgoing personality, uncanny ability to read just about anyone, her fiery red hair swinging as she danced regardless of what song was playing. In Geillis, Claire found a soulmate. Someone to dance with, someone to laugh with, someone to drink with, someone to be truly best friends with. Sometimes, though, their ideas of a good time differed. Tonight just happened to be one of those times. 

 “Stop thinking sae hard. Maybe after a few drinks, ye’ll have a little more fun, aye?” Geillis responded hopefully through the speakerphone. Having more fun is indeed what she promised herself she would do, so she’d go out with Geillis -- damn her -- and try her best to have a good time tonight. It sounded like a nightmare, but she’d try. She’d try to have fun. Memories of the days when she made that vow to herself came flooding back unbidden, and she sat in the middle of her bedroom floor next to a discarded cardigan as she slipped into an unwanted reverie. 

When Claire left Oxford College five years ago and gave up studying medicine, nearly everyone she knew tried to convince her she was making the biggest mistake of her life. Classmates staged interventions, friends tried to reason with her, and her professors pleaded with her to not waste her talent. No one was quite as angry as her boyfriend at the time. Claire expected frustration, sadness, maybe a little resentment, but never anger. 

“I don’t think I can keep doing this, Frank. I really don’t.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she sat slumped on the floor against their bed. Raindrops ran down the windowpanes, thunder cracked the sky. 

“I truly don’t understand how you could be so selfish! You have the talent for the coursework and the money to go here and you’re just, what? Going to through it all away?!” Frank stood across from her, forearm braced on the wall above his head. It was going on two hours since he had looked her in the eye. Claire sniffled in the background. Frank’s fist came to the wall with a sound rivaling the storm raging outside. His storm was not over. 

“Don’t you think I’ve thought this through? I have a plan. I’m going to take the rest of my savings, maybe move back to the states and…” Her voice started to break then. Frank spun around on his heel to finally look at her, to really look at her. His chest was heaving, 

“And what, Claire? And do what with your life? What about the life we planned together?” He stomped toward her, shaking the floorboards under her body as she clung to her knees. When she looked up, tears starting to fall from her lashes, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasping for her hands. Claire finally saw more than anger. She finally saw the fear he was trying to reign in but quickly losing control of.

“I’m figuring it out, Frank. I’ll figure it out. We can figure it out. Maybe… maybe I’ll finally open up a greenhouse. You know how much I’ve always wanted to do that. Please, I… I can’t keep going on like this here. I’m so worn down and I can’t -- I know that I can’t -- survive it here another year.” The tears fell. She had been bottling up these thoughts for three years, and couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please, say you understand. Say you love me. Say you support me.” The teardrops turned into rivers. “Say you love me.”

For a few moments, Claire wondered if he had heard her pleas through her wrecking sobs. Finally, Frank let out the breath he was holding, letting his shoulders slump. He dropped her hands without ceremony. He ran a hand through his ordinarily perfect hair. He sat back on the floor, one knee bent up and the other outstretched. His arms reached behind him to hold him up. He just, stared at her. 

She was jolted. She had expected outrage. She studied him as best she could through her swollen eyes and water-stained glasses. Everything was silent. The room they had shared for the past three years, was silent. Absently, she noticed the thunder and lightning and pounding rain had stopped, leaving only an occasional trail of water down the old glass windows. With every second the sky turned brighter shades of purple and pink and orange with the impending sunset. On a different day, maybe in a different place, she might have appreciated their beauty. Instead, she noted the silence. 

Looking back at Frank then placing her face in her hands once more, she pleaded one last time: “Please say you love me.”

Frank blinked. 

In one swift motion he was off the floor and moving toward her. She heard the old floorboard creak. She felt the air whoosh around the room with his movement. She waited for him to reach her. 

“Claire. Look at me.”

Ah. Not moving toward her after all. Standing in the doorway with an air of having concluded a business dealing, Frank was watching her with not a single trace of emotion. Claire’s head rose. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and glanced his way with a smile, until she saw where he stood. 

“I have never been so disappointed in you. Goodbye, Claire.”

Frank took a breath and looked her up and down, from wild curls to curled up toes. Claire opened her mouth to speak. Frank closed the door behind him as he left. Everything was silent. 

Claire shook her head, making her curls bounce like springs. Geillis was still talking but hadn’t seemed to notice the lack of responses coming from the other end. Claire pulled herself up and tried to figure out what Geillis had been talking about. 

“... They’re really sweet and kind and they’re really great about buying ye more than a few drinks, plus they’re fellow Scots and just the nicest! I mean, sometimes they’re a little rowdy, ye ken, but I think that’s what ye get when ye go out with Scots --” Geillis was rambling, and Claire didn’t have the foggiest idea who she was referencing. 

“Hold on a sec,” Claire tugged an oversized oxblood sweater over her head. “Okay, fill me in again, please. Who did you invite tonight? I thought this was a girl’s night out after a long week!” She tugged on a pair of black faux-leather leggings, bracing on the dresser for balance and she began to tip over. 

When Claire left Oxford, she moved back to Boston into her uncle’s old brownstone. Although her Uncle Lamb died during her freshman year at school, he had left her a hefty inheritance. Claire and her uncle were each other’s only family and when he died, he left her everything he had. In his will, he left Claire a note that simply read, “These things are only things, my dear. Use them to follow your dreams, however you may see fit. Love you always, Lamb.” Everything he left her gave her a home in the states far away from everything she wanted to leave behind in England, and the means to start her own little greenhouse in a tiny historic shop in Beacon Hill. After her two closes friends from Oxford graduated, they both ended up in Boston with her. Joe Abernathy was going his residency as Mass Gen, and Geillis had come to do the same until she saw Claire’s shop and declared, “Fuck it, this is way more fun.” She helped in the shop with supplying a small zero-waste shopping section for patrons interested in doing more to protect to earth. 

Geillis giggled like a school girl when she started describing the friends she had invited out with them that night. “Weel first there’s Angus. Remember him? I went on a date with him two weeks ago to Seven Ales, ken?” 

“Oof, wasn’t that the one you got blackout drunk with?”

“That’s the one, dearie! And a braw time it was! I mean, I assume it was because I don’t really remember the wee hours of it if I’m being honest.”

“Shocker. Who’s next?” Claire kept Geilliss on speakerphone as she rummaged through a pile of shoes in the corner of the bedroom. 

“Och, that’d be Rupert. I went out a week ago to Cheers and met the guy who made me laugh until I fell off the barstool?” She giggled to herself at the memory. 

“Oh yes, I remember that one. He actually sounded pretty decent.”

“He’s a right sweetheart! Angus is as wheel, just a wee bit more crass, aye?” Claire could practically hear her winking through the phone. 

“Alright, that’s not too bad. I can handle two more besides you and me and Joe. I’m actually getting excited for tonight! This week at the shop has been a lot.”

“Agreed, babe. I’ve got tae go, but I’ll meet ye there? Eight o’clock sharp, I want to get our names put in for karaoke!” 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Mister April

A/N I had an angst-ridden update to the Metric Universe all queued up, and then I thought, nah.  The sun is shining, people are getting vaccinated.  Angst can wait.  So this little ficlet fits into the Metric Universe after The Second First Christmas, but before Calculation Theme.

The entire Metric Universe, now chronologically ordered, can be found here.

March 16, 2019, Spittalfields, London, England

“Wait.  You mean you’re actually Mister April?!”  Several bottles into the six-pack of Tennant’s lager that he had brought home after work, Claire’s exclamation was too incredulous for Jamie’s liking.

“Aye.  Every year since I signed on, save one.  At first t’was flattering, but now, weel...” He peeled the label from the bottle held between his knees, cursing the trajectory of their late night conversation.  The idea had been to take advantage of the fact they were both off tomorrow to spend some time with his girlfriend, listen to a little music, get a bit sloshed, then hopefully fall into bed together.

“Can I see?” Claire interrupted his momentary sulk.  “I mean, I’ve been dating a veritable calendar boy for almost two years, and I’m only just now figuring it out.  Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“Seems to me ye’ve seen me wearing far less, Sassenach.  But fine, look yer fill.”

Grabbing his laptop, Jamie entered his name and London Fire Brigade Charity Calendar into a search engine.  A stream of results filled the screen.  Claire’s eyes goggled and she grabbed the computer, opening the first image.  A much younger Jamie appeared, rugby shorts hanging from the graceful arcs of his hipbones.  He reminded her of a Thoroughbred race horse, not an ounce of flesh to spare, kinetic energy in masculine form.  She checked the date: 2012, before they had ever met.

Further clicks brought her to subsequent years.  Each showed a beautiful man in the prime of youth, fit, cocky, a devil-may-care gleam in his cornflower eyes.  She knew it was her Jamie, but she barely recognized him.

He was missing from the 2015 calendar.  Claire did the math and realized that he would have been in the hospital when that year’s pictures were taken.  Instead of primping and smoldering for the camera, he had lain in an ICU bed for weeks, before undergoing painful rehabilitation and numerous skin grafts.  The brash young man of the earlier images had disappeared, erased by an industrial explosion in an instant.  In his place, the Jamie she knew had emerged. More cautious.  More prone to sadness, but with a limitless capacity to spread joy.  Would she had fallen for him, had they met before his transformation?  She honestly couldn’t say.

By 2016, the pictures had changed.  Jamie posed in a shirt, sometimes unbuttoned to the waist, but always with his shoulders covered.  The gleam in his eyes had dimmed, and instead of an infectious grin, his smile was forced.  She was certain no-one buying the calendar would notice.  He was still a beautiful man, with his burnished curls and Nordic bone structure.  But she could see what those photos cost him.  She knew.

“Dougal wanted me tae show my scars.  Figured t’would be good publicity, I reckon. Heroic firefighter burnt like a human candle comes back tae fight fire ano’er day. I told him I wasna some charity case he could trot out when it suited him.”

She fetched his hand from his lap, giving it an understanding squeeze.  Jamie had once confessed that he felt comfortable bearing his scars to her alone because she had already seen him at his worst, and that left no room for pity.  He was a proud, stubborn fool, and she loved him.

“You know what this means, don’t you?  There’s only one way to make this right.”

Not waiting for his response, she rose, sought her balance for a moment, and went to grab her phone.  Connecting it to their TV audio, she scrolled her music library, looking for a suitable choice.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, pressing play.  A synthetic tambourine and clap bass filled the room.  He recognized the opening lines of OutKast’s Way You Move.

“What are ye on about, Sassenach?”

“You’ve been sharing your glorious body with the Greater London area and god know who else on the Internet for years, Jamie.  As a philanthropist, I applaud you, but as your girlfriend, I’m a tad perturbed.  I am hereby re-asserting my rights to exclusive content.  Now stop lollygagging and get your fine ass off the couch.”

“Sassenach...” he laughed, starting to grab hold of her meaning and feeling a shot of adrenaline course through his veins.  Even before his accident, he had never...

“Don’t make me put it on repeat, Fraser.  Oh, look, here comes the chorus!”

Claire sat back on the sofa, her legs tidily crossed on their coffee table.  The room was dark, except for the undying city lights outside.  No-one was there to see except the one person he trusted to look without staring, to laugh without mocking, to understand without judging.  He’d never known Claire to ask for something she didn’t truly want, and he wanted to give her everything she desired.  Even if it came at the expense of his dignity.

“Ye ken I canna dance fer shite, right?” he said as he stood, taking an extra long pull on his lager.  He was going to need all the liquid courage it could offer.

“I’m well aware.  But as the woman who shares your bed, I can testify that there’s nothing the matter with your sense of rhythm.  If it helps, don’t think of it as dancing.  Think of it as upright simulated sex.”

His face was already hot from the alcohol and embarrassment, but with Claire’s words he felt the heat spread downwards across his chest and towards his groin.  Almost without willing it, his hips began to twitch in time to the beat.

“Now we’re talking!” Claire exclaimed with a grin, leaning back like the only patron at a very private strip club.

He was still dressed for work.  The navy shirt he wore beneath his jacket had no buttons, so he began by easing it from under his belt, baring his navel briefly before sliding it back down.  Claire sulked dramatically, making him laugh.  

With the song’s next horn flourish, he reached behind his neck and lifted the shirt clean off in a single tug, shaking out his hair afterwards.  When he next glanced at the couch, his girlfriend’s smug smile was gone, replaced by a blatant leer that sent shivers down his spine.  She wasn’t even pretending to look at his face anymore, spending her time somewhere between his shoulders and his waist.  He wasn’t really sweating, but he made a point of wiping his pecs before letting the shirt fall to the ground.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, already a tad breathless.

“Immensely.  Don’t stop now.”

Fortunately, his boots and socks had already been removed, so with the next verse he made a show of unbuttoning and unzipping his blue trousers.  Claire’s eyes followed the movement of his fingers like she was memorizing them for the exam.  He could feel his cock grow heavy.

With a shake of his ass for good measure, the pants hit the floor.  Only a tight pair of boxer-briefs stood in the way of utter nudity.  They were doing a poor job hiding his belated enthusiasm for Claire’s request.  The fact that her eyes were now glued to the bulge of his erection only encouraged his excitement.

As the repeated chorus faded away, he carefully slipped the waistband over his now-rigid cock.  The material slid down his legs and he stepped free.  If someone had mentioned his scars in that instant, he would have no idea what they were talking about.

In the ensuing quiet, Claire sat up and very deliberately began to disrobe.  Once naked, she came at him like a heat-seeking missile, one hand reaching around his back to pull him tight and the other dragging him into a kiss.  They collapsed to the floor, rolling around on the area rug in a fight for dominance.  He let her win, because feeling her rise and fall over his length like a cresting wave was the best runner-up prize he could imagine.  

The sex was torrid, and frantic, and not at all polite.  The kind that left bruises and invoked daydreams for days.  Afterwards, they lay in a sweaty heap, trying to catch their breath.

“See?  I knew you had it in you,” Claire muttered into his clavicle.  “A bit more practice and you’ll be as good as the pros.”

“I didna realize I was auditioning fer a second job.”  He brushed Claire’s curls away from where they were tickling his nose.

“Oh, I have no intention of sharing your talents, lad.   Never fear.  But I wouldn’t object to a repeat performance.   Besides, I was so distracted by the show, I completely forgot to film you!”

Jamie groaned, pulling her tighter against him as sleep called him away to dreams.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Sorry you’ve had to wait a few more days. i had a much needed few days holiday in Devon. And I realised it was the first time since February that I’d travelled more than 20 miles from home!

Anyway, we’re on to chapter 7. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Previous

AO3

Chapter 7: From Feedback to The Force

I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. A converted barn, situated at the end of a leafy country lane, surrounded by fields full of cows and maybe a horse or two. Jamie’s office will be at one end— all exposed beams with classic mahogany and leather furniture. Perhaps chickens will be roaming around outside as tractors pull up to deliver vegetables straight from the neighbouring fields.

This image begins to fade as I follow my Sat nav instructions and take the next junction off the motorway. Country lanes look to be few and far between in this urban sprawl. Signposts along the tarmacked road point to a series of industrial estates. At the fourth such sign, I’m instructed to turn left and in three hundred yards will have reached my destination.

Having parked up, I make my way towards the large, uninspiring building which resembles some sort of aircraft hangar. Its grey concrete and corrugated iron walls match the overcast sky and the roughly surfaced car park. The only colour in this landscape is provided by the bright orange FraserFood logo emblazoned above the loading bays.

There’s a single door to the right with an intercom. I press it and wait a few seconds.

“Hello, there.” A cheery voice greets me. “Can I help ye?”

“Yes. Hello, I’ve an appointment with Ja— Mr. Fraser, Jamie. It’s Claire Beauchamp.”

“Aye, come on through. Jamie is expecting ye. Down the passage and third door on the left.”

I step into a long corridor, painted an unoriginal white. Fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh brightness. The floor is covered with grey carpet tiles.—the same as in thousands of other working offices across the country.

What sets it apart and brings character to the otherwise anonymous environment is the artwork. Colourful photographs line the walls — a bowl of strawberries, their red glossiness accentuated by the white porcelain; a perfect corn on the cob, rivulets of melted butter flowing around the kernels; a plate of steaming tagliatelle, the parmesan shavings falling gently onto the pasta. Then, as I move further towards the office, the photographs change to a series of images that I instantly recognise, La Boqueria, one of the food markets in Barcelona.

I pause for a moment in front of a picture of one of the stalls selling spices. Strings of different chillies cascade down from the metal frame of the stall. The vibrancy of that market was intoxicating, the noise, the colours, the aromas. I remember wandering from stall to stall snacking on fat, juicy olives, slices of spiced ham and wedges of refreshing melon, just soaking up that atmosphere.

My stomach automatically rumbles at the memory just as Jamie steps into the corridor.

He laughs at this unconventional greeting. “And good day tae ye too. Ye found us alright then?”

“No problem. Sat nav brought me straight here. It’s—“ I stop myself before I say any more, but, as usual, my glass face gives me away.

“C’mon. What is it? It’s no’ what ye were expecting, is it?”

“No— yes—no. It’s fine. It’s just, well, I was expecting something more, er, rural… rustic, you know.”

He sighs, but I can tell that he’s not offended. “What, ye mean like on a farm? Wi’ chickens running around? And tractors bringing the vegetables straight from the fields?”

I nod, feeling not a little bit foolish.

“And down a wee winding country lane, that yer lumbering great vans and lorries have tae drive along? Wi’ no easy transport links fer all the deliveries? And having tae deal wi’ all the food hygiene standards in some great old barn?” He laughs. “Trust me, it may no’ be photogenic but it’s the best place fer the business.”

He takes my arm. “Let’s go intae ma office and I’ll make ye a cup of coffee.”

My stomach rumbles once more. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those lovely Spanish biscuits too, have you?”

*********

The display of colourful photographs continues in Jamie’s office. I don’t recognise the scenes, but, I’m guessing these are more local— fields of corn bordered by old drystone walls, hedgerows bursting with dark jewel-like brambles. I pause at a picture of an ancient stone mill, the calm water of the mill pond reflecting the rundown building perfectly.

“That’s a bonny picture, is it no’?” Jamie’s voice is low in my ear.

I turn around. He is standing behind me, gazing intently at the picture.

“It is. Where is it? I’m guessing it’s somewhere here in Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s the old mill at Lallybroch.”

“Where you grew up?”

He nods. “Generations of ma family used that mill tae grind flour fer them and their tenants. It’s empty inside now. The wheel has long since rotted away. Jenny and I would escape there whenever chores were tae be done. She took the photo, weel, most of the photos here actually.”

I study the photograph more closely. “She’s very talented as a photographer. Is that her job?”

“She’d love tae have done that, but once she married Ian and the bairns started appearing, she hasna got the time. Mebbe one day.”

He moves past me towards his desk and I catch a hint of his musky cologne. I find myself comparing it to the slightly synthetic cologne that Frank always favoured. I decide that Jamie’s is preferable. It’s more real, somehow, earthy and, well, more masculine.

“... does that sound ok?”  

I realise that whilst I was considering male scents, Jamie had been asking me a question. “Er, sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“Am I really that boring tae ye?” He laughs. “I said I would make ye a coffee and invite Rupert tae come in and join us. He’s our Head of Product Development. Will ye no’ take a seat?”

I sit down on one of the chairs arranged around a circular meeting table and take a good look at the office while Jamie makes a phone call. The walls and ceiling are the same uninspiring white, livened up by all the photographs. There’s a couple of framed photographs near Jamie’s chair that seem to be more personal. I’m too far away to be able to see clearly, but they look like children... his nephew and niece perhaps?

Jamie’s ‘L’ shaped desk is made of grey wood, as is a tall bookcase and this meeting table. Simple, but clearly a considered purchase, no haphazard grouping of random furniture. The desk itself is remarkably free from clutter— just a laptop with two huge screens and a black leather document wallet. The contrast to the clutter on the desks in my office and home couldn’t be greater. Not that my clutter isn’t important to me—a collection of pots and dishes from my uncle’s archaeological digs plus a paperweight and letter opener that I remember, as a young child, at my parents’ house. Then I realise, looking at the family portraits surrounding Jamie’s desk, that he doesn’t need to gather mementoes from the past. He has a living, breathing close knit family creating memories all the time.

I’m well aware that most of my friends have more of a family than I have, or have ever had, and generally I’m fine with that. But every now and again it hits me right in the gut—this pang of...not loneliness, but more of being disconnected, rootless.

Before I can dwell on this,  there’s a faint tap at the door. It opens immediately and a woman stands in the doorway.  She’s easily past retirement age, quite short and… is sturdy a polite descriptor? Well, short and ‘motherly’ in appearance.

She’s very smiley too. Her eyes crinkle as she grins broadly before speaking. “Jamie, lad. I’ve come tae see if ye both want a coffee. I dinna mind making it. And mebbe a few biscuits?”

Jamie steps away from his desk. “Ah, Mrs. Fitz, how d’ye always ken what I want? Coffee would be grand. And fer ye Claire?”

“Coffee, please. Lovely. White, no sugar. Thanks.”

She looks at me for a moment before Jamie makes the introduction. “ Claire, this is Mrs Fitz. She’s worked wi’ me since I started and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out her.”

He reaches across and pats her arm gently.

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire, a friend of mine. She’s been trying out our Spanish dinner party menu and has come tae meet wi’ Rupert tae give him her opinions.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitz.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in both of hers. “And it’s lovely tae meet ye too, Claire.”

She turns away and heads out the door.

“Right-oh. Two coffees it is then,” she says clearly, then carries on muttering under her breath as she leaves. “Friends, is it, then? A bonny lass, sure enough…”

Jamie smiles apologetically. “Mrs. Fitz can be a bit, weel...she’s been working with me a long time. She’s like a second mother tae me…”

He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I know what he’s thinking. Why can’t people understand that we’re friends, that’s all?

*******

Rupert is a complete delight, but somehow not what I was expecting. He rushes into the office just as Jamie and I are drinking our coffees. Nearly as tall as Jamie but quite a bit broader with a large beard, like an overgrown teddy bear, and clad in a sweatshirt and baggy ill-fitting jeans, he looks as if he would be more at home on a rugby pitch rather than in a development kitchen. With Jamie now standing next to him, the office suddenly feels rather small.

Jamie makes the introductions and we settle once more around the table. Rupert places his notebook and pen on the table.

“Ye dinna mind if I take a biscuit or two, do ye?” He asks, with a smile. He knows how tasty they are.

Jamie and I shake our heads and Rupert reaches out and takes two in his large, fleshy hand. He starts to eat, sprinkling crumbs all over his notebook.

“Ye canna take me anywhere,” he says as he tries to sweep the crumbs into his hand.

Jamie laughs and playfully punches Rupert’s shoulder. “Weel, ye can… but only the once, mind.”

There’s an easy camaraderie between the two of them. I’m guessing that Jamie has worked with the same people for quite a while. It’s good to see.

Rupert swallows, picks up a tissue and wipes the stray crumbs from his beard.  “Right-oh. So, Claire, thanks fer doing this—“

“No, I should be thanking you. It was a great meal.”

“Weel, glad tae hear that, but I would appreciate any improvements we could make. Is there anything we need tae change?”

I’ve been racking my brains all the way here, trying to think of something constructive to say rather than just reeling off a list of compliments, nice as that would be for Rupert and Jamie. And, honestly, I don’t know what more I can add. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly and the olives were a thoughtful addition.

I tell them all this and Rupert solemnly notes it all down. Sitting there, side by side, elbows almost touching, they look for all the world like two proud parents being complimented on their child’s talents. But they have every right to be proud.

“And nothing else?” Rupert persists. “Nothing we could do better?”

“Well, a couple of tiny suggestions. Maybe a few more pictures with the recipes would help. I’m not the most gifted cook.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jamie trying to suppress a smile. He’s never seen me in the kitchen, maybe he’s imagining me as some sort of culinary disaster area. I vow to prove him wrong at some point.

“And,” I continue as Rupert scribbles in his notebook. “Perhaps add a couple of suggestions to complete the Spanish night. I made sangria to start the evening. Could you add a recipe for that?”

Rupert closes his notebook with a flourish. “Right then. Thank ye sae much fer that. Glad yer friends all enjoyed the food.”

He stands up, shifting the table as he does so.

“Weel, bye then, Claire. Lovely tae meet ye. Hope tae see ye again.” He shoots a quick look across at Jamie before leaving.

“Rupert’s a lovely guy,” I comment as the door shuts behind him.

“Aye, he is that,” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Listen, I need tae ask ye a favour.”

“Another one,” I joke. “Wasn’t the dinner party enough?”

I add a sigh, purely for dramatic effect.

“Ye can say no if ye want tae,” he continues. “But I was wondering… weel... Ian, that’s Jenny’s husband, his rugby club is having a charity dinner dance a week on Saturday. Jenny’s bought two tickets fer me and a plus one. D’ye fancy it? It would help me out of a wee bit of bother with ma sister.”

Now I’m intrigued about his “wee bit of bother” with Jenny. I don’t want to end up in the middle of some sibling squabble.

“How so?” I’m not giving an answer straight away. At least not until I know what the bother is.

“Jenny bought the two tickets fer me a couple of months ago. I think she was assuming I would bring Laoghaire. But ye ken what happened there. Anyways, she asked me yesterday about it, and ever so casually suggested I might bring Kelly— that was ma date the other night.”

The pattern of Rupert’s crumbs on the table appears to suddenly be of great interest to him. He studies them intently as he talks, his ears turning slightly pink as he does so.

“And?” I prompt him.

“And, I told Jenny that after Laoghaire and I broke up, I didna want tae disappoint her about the dinner and so I’d already asked ye tae come along. As a friend,” he hastily adds the last part.

So, what do I decide? I do love the opportunity to have a bit of a dance and rugby club dos are usually a bit of a laugh, in my experience. And of course, I know Jamie is offering as a friend, so I’m not worried about that.

“Why don’t you want to ask Kelly then?” I want the full story before I give him my answer.

“She’s a nice enough lass but I didna think we had any spark. Plus she was trying too hard. Fer example she asked me what films I liked, then when I told her, she was all ‘no way, they’re ma favourites too’.”

He adds gestures at this point, to demonstrate Kelly’s actions, one hand flapping excitedly, the other resting on my sleeve, lightly stroking through the fabric of my shirt. It feels—

“Apparently we have exactly the same taste in films, music, food, drinks, television and holidays,” he continues as he sits back and folds his arms.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.” I joke. I can still feel the sensation of his hand on my arm.

He looks up at me and frowns. “I’m no’ joking. Ye would be helping me if ye came as ma plus one.”

“Ok then. I do know that I’m not on call. I can come and be your wingman, if you like. Just one question. What are your favourite films?”

“Star Wars.”

This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He doesn’t seem like a typical fan. Maybe he has a dark side that I haven’t yet seen, with a secret stash of Star Wars figures and multiple light sabres.

“I’ve never watched any of them.” It’s true. I seem to be in the minority but I just don’t get the appeal.

“And I can tell from yer face exactly what ye think of them. But they’re classics, weel most of them, anyway,” he starts to enthuse.

I shake my head. I can’t see that he will ever convince me.

“Well, Sassenach, have I got a treat in store for you!”

And, worryingly, it seems that he’s up for the challenge.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Love the story but will we ever know why Jamie was in prison? Ten years is a very long time so it must have been serious yet everyone is so forgiving, so understanding and very accepting of a man who was incarcerated for such a long time. I’m not sure I could trust him so quickly.

anonymous asked: Still wondering, why was Jamie in prison? Long sentence must mean serious crime. Just curious.

—

It Does My Heart Good: 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

Claire reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s hand. “I’ll wash up. You two - why don’t you sit on the back porch? It’s so nice outside - we haven’t really taken advantage of it yet.”

Brianna raised a ruddy eyebrow at her father. “Do you still have that bottle of Oban I gave you as a housewarming gift?”

Jamie snorted. “Of course, lass - did ye think yer mam and I had drank the whole thing already? It’s just been the two months!”

“You’ve gotten so much done already - how was I supposed to know?” Brianna pushed her chair back from the table. “I’ll get us set up. See you there?”

As his daughter breezed by, Jamie stood and gathered the three dinner plates. Claire’s hand gently touched his elbow, and he looked over at her.

Smiling. Always smiling.

“Go. Use the nice tumblers. Something’s eating at her - maybe you can find out what it is?”

He leaned over for a kiss. “I’ll just listen. I’m good at that, aye?”

She kissed him again. “Aye. Now go.”

He found Brianna curled up on one side of the bench he’d set up at the corner of the porch. Watching the late summer sunset.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

She looked up at him, and gratefully took the tumbler of whisky as he sat beside her. “It is. You two really lucked out with this place.”

Softly he clinked his glass against hers. “I’ve really lucked out wi’ a lot of things this past year, Brianna. Had ye told me a year ago that I’d be here, wi’ you - marrit to yer Mam, and stateside, weel...”

“Do you miss it?” She swirled the whisky, inhaling deeply.

“What? My empty life in Glasgow, and the blokes I unloaded trucks with?”

She pursed her lips. Not looking at him.

Patiently he waited.

“I’ve thought long and hard about the best way to ask you this - but there’s not a good way, and there will never be a good time.” She sighed.

He stiffened. “What is it you wish to know?”

She took a sip of the Oban. “Why were you in prison? Ten years is a really long time.”

He knew this day would come, of course. He had told Claire everything, their first night back together, in her old bedroom at Lamb and Fez’s home. Prepared for criticism...he had experienced only understanding, and forgiveness.

He sighed.

“Aggravated larceny.”

“Ten years for that?”

“I was twenty-four years old. Had lost your Mam, and both of my parents. I was very, very angry, Brianna.” He sipped his whisky, watching the sun sink behind the trees. “I fell in wi’ a very rough crowd. Burglars. Mostly petty things. But this one man, he kept talking about a ‘big score.’“

“Me and two other men, we broke into a warehouse. The two of them meant to re-sell the stolen goods - I was just along for the ride.” He pursed his lips. “Vitamin supplements. Very easy to re-sell. We just didn’t count on there being a security guard there.”

Brianna sat as stiff and still as a board beside him.

“I tied him up as the others made off with boxes and boxes of vitamins.  We had another man driving the get-away truck. I had a gun, but the guard knew I wouldnae hurt him.”

The man hadn’t even been scared. Had stared him down. Challenging.

“The plan was that I’d be the first back to the truck - to sit up front with the driver. And the two others would follow - pack up the truck and sit wi’ the merchandise in the back. All went according to plan. We were in and out in less than an hour.”

“How did you get caught?”

“Charles Stuart always was an idiot. And that night proved it - because on the way out, he hit the guard very hard in the back of his head. The man nearly died, but he called for help. We didnae even make it to the drop-off point before we were arrested.”

“Ten years sounds like a harsh sentence for vitamins. Especially when you didn’t actually steal anything.”

Jamie shrugged. “The lads made off with several hundred thousand pounds worth of vitamins. The value of that brought the charge up to ‘aggravated.’ And then they nearly killed the security guard.”

“But you didn’t do any of that.”

“But I was there, Brianna. I helped them commit the crime. And I had already been arrested a few times - so they went harsh on me.”

She nodded. Processing. 

“I’m not ashamed of you, you know. Knowing this about you - it doesn’t change anything.”

He set down his tumbler and tentatively reached across the bench to squeeze her hand. “Ye have no idea how much it means to me, to hear you say that. It’s all in the past - I’m no’ that man anymore. It proves that I wasnae fit to raise you as a wee bairn, even if you and yer Mam had been in Scotland.” He turned to face her, eyes blazing. “It may sound strange, but prison changed my life for the better. It gave me the strength to stand up for myself, and to never allow myself to ever get wrapped up in other people’s problems anymore.”

She squeezed his hand in return. “I know. It’s one of the many things I admire about you. It gave you the courage to respond to my letter, didn’t it?”

He nodded. “I wish, so much, that you and me and your Mam could have been together all of these years. But I wasnae ready to be a da. Not then. But I am now, Brianna. I owe that to you.”

She blinked back tears. “You don’t owe me anything. Ever. And thank you for telling me.”

“Well, you asked,” he teased. “Claire and I - we promised honesty to each other, always. I vow the same to you.”

“Then let me tell you something honest, and true. I’m proud you’re my father.”

His tears shone in the twilight, and he crushed her to him. So grateful for second chances.

[un-piorthos-et-tous-pour-un]

The thrilling adventures of a PA - Chapter Two : The wardrobe malfunction (Adam Sackler x Reader)

After a couple of days on the job, you’re already getting your bearings around the sets and locations where you’re the most likely to go during the day. Shirley & Stew gave you tips on how to be a good PA and some gossips too. You like them, they’re friendly (even thought Shirley’s a little too girly for your taste) and mainly, they don’t make you feel ouf of place because you’re new, both on the team and on the job. The first night, you fell asleep straight away in your bed, something that didn’t happen to you since forever and luckily, before you drifted off, you made sure to set up two alarms. But you’re already feeling better, your internal clock starting to adjust and well, not gonna lie about it, coffee helps (like a lot). As for your job per se, you’re getting more comfortable with Adam. You talked together the previous evening after he was done filming, at his request (which surprised you in a good way), learning more about each other over a little cuppa and you must admit, Delilah was right. He’s not so weird once you understand where he’s coming from, in his private life. He wasn’t too sharing of course, just giving some info here and there about himself, his family & what led him to acting. What was needed for you two to work well together you’d say. Afterall, you’d be seeing each other every day for the next six or eight months so there’ll be plenty of time to chat some more during that period.

Today there is some costume fitting on the schedule and you can’t wait to see that part as you’ve always loved costumes. Nerdy as you are, cosplay is nothing unheard of for you & you dabbled more than once in the craft yourself, the couples of costumes hidden in your cupboard proving it. Fascinated by period costumes, you always thought the people making those elaborate dresses were magicians. Laced bits that looked so fragile, pearls & jewels woven on precious fabrics, cleavages that contained so many details to make the person wearing it even more convincing in their role. And that was only the women’s part. In your humble opinion, men dressed in period clothes had something almost superenatural. A good suit could make a real gentlemen out of anybody (as the movie Kingsman proved it -yeah you really loved that movie-)  If lingerie was the secret weapon of women, suits were men’s equivalent. There was something about a well-tailored suit that just made you feel weak in the knees. Suddenly you find yourself picturing Adam in one. He’d look quite dashing you gather, his tall figure would be even more obvious, his frame underlined in the right places... And that’s where you stop yourself daydreaming. You’ve got chores to do before going to the studio so you better start moving if you want to do everything & be on time for work. Last thing you need right now is fantasizing about a man that one, you hardly know, & two, you have no fucking chance to ever be with. Leaving your bike at the entrance, greeting Al the studio’s security guard agent as he puts down the barrier after you, you rush to the catering area to get what you need for Adam & indulge yourself with a little bit of that delicious brownie that stood there, begging to be eaten. And since you only had a toast before you took off, well it counts as breakfast in your eyes. The two cups ready, you thank the barista and walk to Adam’s trailer. No sign of any of your coworkers yet, which makes you wonder if you’re late or something but not much time to second guess, you’ve got a schedule to follow. Knocking on the door quickly, you step back a little since the door opens to the outside and a few seconds later, it reveals the actor, dressed in a grey t-shirt paired with a matching sweat pants and the morning face that goes with it. You chuckle slightly at that vision & automatically offer him his cup of coffee, which he reaches for without thinking, greeting your gesture with a grunt. - “Not a morning person ?”, you ask still a bit amused by the litte scene you just witnessed. - “Usually I am but I didn’t get a proper night of sleep so... Thanks for the coffee,” he motions the cup towards you before gulping some long sips down. - “Sorry to hear about that”, you say with a compationate pout. He shrugs to say it doesn’t matter and you don’t dare ask what kept him awake. It’s not your place and certainly not your right. You’re here to make sure he gets where he needs to be on time, not to befriend him. But still, it hurts to see him like this and you have to block out that urge to hug him that’s creeeping in your mind. “Today’s pretty light regarding your schedule. You’ll have time to rest this afternoon,” you announce, breaking the silence that fell between you two since. - “I doubt I’ll be able to take a nap but nice of you to think about my weel-being”, he replies with a faint smile a he puts the cup on the table near him. - “That’s part of my job afterall”, you retort playfully enven though it trully is. “You’re expected in the wardrobe department in 45 minutes, do you need me to do anything in the mean time ?” - “Hmm... Nothing that I can think of right now, no. How long will the fitting be again ?”, he asks as he reaches for the fridge to get himself something to eat. “Do you want some ?”, he adds as he retrieves some eggs & bacon, turning to the tittle kitchen corner behind him. - “No thanks. I’m all set, thank you”, you decline the offer with a polite smile and add “about 2 hours according to the sheet, could be less, could be more depending on how many they want you to try out and additional fittings.” - “I thought this was your first time as a PA, how do you know all that ?”, he’s breaking an egg in the pan as he asks you that, making you blush instantly. - “It is yeah but... I’m, uh... I watch a lot of documentaries of my favorite movies behind the scenes, precisely because it lets you see that side of the process while making a movie so...”, you answer, feeling silly to tell him the truth and such a glimpse in your little unadventurous life. - “Oh god no, there’ll be one for this movie too. I hate those, I can’t see myself on any screen, I’ll look like a dick again”, he grunts as he’s scrambling the eggs now. You chuckle a little, releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding until then and he looks at you hearing it. “What’s so funny ?” - “I just find it odd that you can’t stand seeing yourself like that since well, no offense but...it’s kind of part of the job ? I mean it’s not like you weren’t aware it would be something you’ll have to do, it has to be included in your contract or something, right ?” - “Maybe, yeah, I guess so”, he says hastily and you can’t help but smile guessing he didn’t pay attention to this fine print when he signed it. He puts his breakfast in a plate and starts eating. “I’ll meet you outside in 25 minutes, I have to take a quick shower first.” You nod simply as he’s biting in his strip of bacon and without further a due, you take your leave. On the clock, 25 minutes later, the actor’s exiting his trailer, hair still wet which gives him some sort of a charm but you start walking in front of him, preventing yourself from making any misplaced look. The walk is silent ‘til you reach the building housing the wardrobe department, where you immediately feel at home, weirdly enough. There is some sort of background buzzing, you can hear & imagine the people working here, like little busy bees, making sure the costumes were perfect in order to sell the character to the audience. If you were a bit more crafty, you’d like to work in that kind of environment, very creative and never dull. - “Adam hi, Y/N welcome ! I’m Dylan, head of the department”, an older man introduces himself to you, very cheerful & full of energy. He’s not standing still and already next to the clothes racks, scanning them to find the ones Adam’s supposed to try out. “We’ve got a treat for you Mr. Sackler, I’m sure you’ll love it,’ he says, completely ignoring you as you return his greetings, Adam smiling uncomfortably at you. You let them proceed to the fitting, sitting in the corner and scrolling through your phone in order to catch up with the latest news & the messages you’ve received from Stew & Shirley. When you look up, you see Adam’s frame, shielded by Dylan but since he’s taller, you still catch a good glimpse and feel your cheek blush. Luckily the doesn’t notice so you check the time and let your gaze wander the room. The amount of pieces is impressive and you’d like to try many of them on. The fabric seems so soft on one dress that’s laying on the rack in the back of the room. Dylan’s talking non-stop & it’s starting to get on your nerves and you notice Adam is feeling the same way as you see his fists clenched at his sides. As your eyes meet, you can’t help but smile to let him know you share his pain. And it seems to help him a little since he smiles back and runs his hand in his hair, unwinding. You take that as your cue to get up and indulge your curiosity, taking a closer look to some of the costumes. Youd hand grazes over the soft velvet from a cape and your mind sets off in another time & place. It’s Adam’s voice that resonates behind you which brings you back, startling you a little. - “Try one on”, he says smiling like an idiot, clearly amused to caught you off guard. - “What ? No, I can’t, I won’t fit in any of them anyway”, you reply, taking a step back as if the rack was going to attack in defense, making Adam chuckle from the motion. - “Nonsense, here, try that one”, he takes one off the rack and hands it to you. “I won’t look, I swear”, he adds and raises his eyebrows, clearly instructing you to change. He stares at you & you know you’re not getting out of this one so you go in the corner and start undressing behind a screen. Surprisingly, you fit in that dress, making you wonder how he knew it’d fit without any doubt. - “I’m done”, you inform the tall man who turns around and smiles as he takes in the sight of you. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, this was your idea”, you add, pointing a finger at him. - “I wasn’t going to”, he says, raising his hands in the air to show his good faith, “but you look good. Purple suits you”; he replies as he steps closer to take a better look. “Turn around”, he asks and you comply. Once again, you sense your cheeks blushing but you take a deep breath as your back is facing him & manage to regain composure before you finish your turn. “My lady”, he teases you, faking a bow and you slap his hand in response. - “You’re mean, as no one ever told you that ?” - “I’ve lost count to be honest”, he quips back, grinning like an idiot. - “Why am I not surprised”, you retort as you walk back to the screen in order to change back in you clothes. But as you try to unzip the dress, you realize something’s off. The zipper is stuck. You curse under your breath and try it a couple more time but it doesn’t move. Just what you needed to ridicule yourself in front of him. - “It’s stuck !”, you yelp quickly, hoping he’ll come to your rescue. And luckily, he does. - “What did you do ?”, he asks, trying to move the zipper further down. - “Nothing ! It’s just stuck ! Get me out !”, you cry out, a slight panic attack coming up for you right now. What if Dylan or someone else catch you in that dress ? You could lose your job and you can’t afford that right now. Adam feels the build up and rests one of his hand on your shoulder. - “Relax. Breathe. It won’t move if you’re about to hulk out of this dress.” You’re close to snap back at him but you know he’s only trying to help you so you do as told and take a deep breath, closing your eyes to focus on anything else in order to calm down. Within a few seconds, your breathing’s even and you feel a sudden relief in your back. The zipper budgeg, you can finally get out of that dress. You let out a sigh of content, not even realizing that it meant Adam could now see your bra. From the back only, but still. - “I’ll... I’ll leave you to it then”, the actor says as he steps back and leave you behind the screen to take off the dress on your own. You felt some hesitation in his voice, was he flustered ? No, of course he wasn’t silly, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you put on your clothes. Why would he be flustered from that ? Stepping out of your hiding spot, you cough to let him know you’re done & you both stay silent for a few seconds. That’s precisely the moment Dylan comes back (you didn’t even noticed he was gone in the first place) and he’s still talking without any signs of stopping, offering you two a good excuse to act like nothing happened. When you both leave after Adam is done, none of you talk about the dress incident and you’re relieved because you’re still wondering if what you saw earlier on was real or just what you wanted to see. The day goes on smoothingly after that, having lunch with the other PAs helps you set your mind on something else and you decide to act as if it never happened is the best way to avoid creating any trouble with the tall man you’re working for.

[liliesoftherain]

A Knight’s Honor

Ch 1 -  Hold a Star

Masterlist

Summary: You are a female squire, who is not willing to give up your dreams of Knighthood to become a slave to society to save face.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SLOWBURN

A/N: Here is the first chapter! It’s like 2am but I couldn’t get it out of my head so I started writing and realized the direction I want this to go is going to cause it to be a bit lengthy. SO I’m not sure if this will really count as a full on slow burn but I’m going to try my best! Thanks for reading!

The sky was a hushed dark, the only present source of light was the wisps of the sunbeams that peaked out from over the hills towards the east. Allowing light orange and pink tones to spread and fade into the midnight blues. The stars were also taking it upon themselves to disappear, leaving a blank canvas that was ready to painted on. You knew it wouldn’t be long before the new brilliant baby blue and feathery whites of clouds took over and spread out as far as the eye could see. It was always a breathtaking sight to see the dawn of a new day, a gentle reminder of knowing you were alive and living your dream.

“Keep movin’ lassie, ‘therwise yoo’ll be missin’ yer breakfest an’ ye dinnae want ‘at.”

Well, almost living your dream.

“Yes Sir.”

You continued to scoop the horse dung, going almost nose blind to the smell as you have been at it for a good 20 minuets already. It was thankfully the last chore of your morning duties for today and you could go straight to breakfast after this. Lazily you look back towards the sky, a small sigh escaping your lips as you continued with you work.

It was, and would always be, a dreadful chore to complete before you were able to partake in breakfast. Even though you only had to worry about it once per week, it was still disgusting to have to do when all you wanted was the smell of bread in your nose, not the smell of dung.

Yet you managed, quickly growing used to the idea and trying not to let it both you as you scarfed down whatever the lovely kitchen hands whipped up. You could not afford to to be hungry for the rest of the day, breakfast was always too early and lunch so far afterwards. If you could call it lunch. It was mostly a quick snack you were able to have for a few moments before being pulled into even more duties your Knight deemed of needing completion, duties that were a must to get done before you could even think about dinner.

Being a Knight’s Squire was all around exhausting and not what you once thought it was when you were a child. Sure, you were able to do extraordinary tasks that you only once dreamed about, such as overnight ventures to different kingdoms and quests galore. However, with your great Kingdom at peace, there were plenty of thrilling tasks that weren’t needed, like following your Knight onto the battlefield and helping to protect your home. Yes, you were greatly blessed to be born into these peaceful times, not have the displeasure of the blood and sacrifice of war, so you often scolded yourself when you found your thoughts drifting to battles and missions alike.

No, instead of dealing with disastrous enemies of front lines, you found your action of the practice field, and Lord knows you’ve seen that all too many times.

You often times loved the feeling training provided you, yet you were always disgruntled when you were frowned upon due to your gender. Not by many, in fact there were many more who believed you had every right to be here, but others tended to disagree. It was hard to force someone out of their backwater ways, and it wasn’t even just the elders who held onto this ideal, it was from your own peers as well. One peer in particular really, and it hurt you to a point to think someone you have known for most of your life could come to loath you so.

To this day you still had no idea as to why.

As a child, you had always pictured yourself as a Knight. Dreaming of the day you were able to attend wild adventures and the freedoms it would bring. Your mother, who had wanted nothing more than to groom you into the finer life, was always displeased at your father who gave you the encouragement to follow your heart. He was a giant of a man, towering over most, feared and respected among his peers. Yet he was always so loving and kind to you, and threw memories of him always stayed no matter how much time as passed since he has moved on from this world. He wanted you to understand the importance of knowing when to rely on someone, and when to rely on yourself. Your mother thought it absurd for you to know such things, saying how once you became of age, old enough to wed, you would be tethered to a man who could protect you better than you could ever protect yourself.

Which was completely and utterly injudicious.

You were most definitely able to take care of yourself, and you found no need for a man to constrain you into a submissive lifestyle that would no doubt lead you to dread the mornings you were so fond of. All because that would mean if you were awake, you would still be in the nightmare of a domesticated life.

You wanted an eternity of freedom, not a lifetime in a prison cell disguised as your home.

“Thenk ye again lassie, ye wark strong. Jist need tae quit starin’ at th’ sky.” The man chuckled, patting your head roughly with his large hand.

This man, Sir Campbell, was a Knight you helped during this particular morning chore. He was one of few to come and serve the Kingdom from a foreign land, causing his differences in tongue and spirit. While this was and always will be you’re home, the feeling of some kind of sturdy connection was formed.

He was different from his peers as were you.

It was the similarities of the differences you carried that had brought you together, you thought of him family as he did you.

“The sky is an endless adventure, Sir. Can you imagine if we were able to explore the noble skies as we did the rolling plains of foreign lands?”

He grinned at your words, an own thoughtful expression pulling on his thinned lips as he held his bearded chin in mock thought.

“Lass, ye hink tae much. ‘en again that’s whit makes ye sae sharp-witted isnae it?”

You smiled back, eyes shining with mirth at knowing you once again thought of something your elder had not.

“I’d like to think so Sir, although I get my wonder from you, as you do not think of such things on your own.”

He barked out a laugh, horses whining at the sudden noise that had caught them off guard, and echoed around them.

“Ye will be th’ death ay me yit!”

“I hope that is a day that will never come to pass Sir, not until the stars have been held in our own bare hands.”

“Ah pray ‘at day come tae pass, lassie. noo rin alang, gang enjoy yer weel deserved breakfest. Duty will be ringin;’ shortly.”

“More like screaming.”

“Aye, ‘at Sir Hizashi surly can yeel i’s true. Rin alang noo!”

You bowed your head respectfully before taking your leave once you finished putting the shovel away in its rightful spot. His laughter still ringing in your ears, causing your mood to uplift as if following suit with the edges of your mouth.

You made your way to the water spicket that was as tall as your breasts, and lifted your arms to pump the bar till water flowed from the spout. Using it to rinse your hands and face clean of a hard morning, you then dried them on your tunic, which you wore over your chain mail.

You of course wore a protective layer under the chain mail. No matter how much heat you could withstand due to your ability, you were not immune to the burns and irritations it could leave if it was placed directly on unclothed skin. You wore somewhat lose trousers, but it was only baggy enough to not be mistaken for tight undergarments, as your tunic fell down to your mid thighs. A belt holding your sword was wrapped securely around your waste, the simple leather having immense strength to hold up not only you sheath and blade, but other necessities you found yourself carrying in pouches which were also strapped on.

A simple look, but the look of a squire indeed. Not one of a high Lady of the Court.

Your feet carried you to one of your most favorite spots, the place by the kitchens. It’s were the meals were held, meals of those who lived in the castle walls yet were unable to sit at the table that was intended for those of higher status. It was an austere little place, but that did not mean it wasn’t full of life. Few rows of benches were pushed together right near a door that led into the kitchens themselves, lanterns placed along the wall behind them. It was a place that was never overcrowded, but quaint enough to be able to sit together and laugh and talk about the hardship of the days like it wasn’t a problem at all.

You spotted a man you knew very well already sitting at the only available table, and gladly quicken your pace to reach your destination faster than your fatigued body would have liked. You snatched a roll from his plate once your were close enough, taking a bite from the delicious bread as you sat to his right. He barley glanced your way before reaching out to grab another roll from the basket to his left, letting out a sigh while he did.

“Tis too early to be dealing with you.”

“Ah, you flatter me kindly Shinsou.” You laughed.

“Anything but I assure you, (l/n).” Even with his exasperated tone seeping into his guttural voice, he threw you a small smile in welcome.

He enjoyed your presence and often did seek you out for it, ignoring the few who once scolded him for it years prior. He did not care you were a woman, woman or not you could kick anyone’s behind if you saw fit. You were here, just like everyone else, training to become a Knight. While many would complain, he knew you had the most reason to. Yet you never once spoke of the hardships of training. You bared through it, proving time and time again that you wanted to be here and you deserved to be as well.

“I say, you become Sir Aizawa more and more with every passing day, tis almost disturbingly so how you two are alike in manners.” You shook your head, grinning as you grab a bowl and began to fill it with warm porridge that was present on your right. That was one of the perks of finishing earlier than expected, besides having more down time, the food was still warm.

“If I am becoming my mentor than you must know you are surely becoming yours.”

“I am not as boisterous as you believe, Sir Hizashi is a man whose energy knows no bounds. No one can thinking of beating him in such a game.” You rolled your eyes, already picturing the assault your ears were to be faced with today as soon as you went to report. Sir Hizashi was a pleasant Knight and wondrous mentor, with many talents and a vast knowledge no one gave him enough credit for. Yet, he was always so terribly loud, often forgetting his surroundings and letting loose with wild battle cries and deafening laughs that stayed echoing through the valleys for months.

“You cannot play me for a fool, (l/n). I see it grow in you each day.”

“If you see me as Sir Hizashi then you must realize you will never be able to rid yourself of me.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, a wooden cup up to his parted lips to drink the lukewarm liquid, “what is it that makes you believe such a tale?”

“Our mentors are both kindred spirits of course, they have known one another since childhood and they continue to be in each other’s life to this very day.” You beamed, a such intense look of happiness on your face Shinsou could not find it in him to pull away from it.

“How joyous,” his hand came to pinch the bridge of his nose as your dazzling look became devilish with the smug smile that taunted him so, “ you will only serve to deepen my scars of sleepless nights.”

“Oh Shinsou, I am afraid my presence can do nothing more to what is already permanently etched into your skin. Not even help it I’m afraid.”

“You may bet right.” He chuckled, looking down at you and plucking the apple from your hand that you had just picked up not a second prior.

“Oi-” He cut you off with a loud crunch of a now ruined apple, his chewing only serving to fuel your anger.

“You sly fox what was that for?”

“You always pick the most juiciest apples from the bunch, tis only natural I may want a taste for myself.” He used the red fruit to hide the twitch of his lips at your bewildered expression.

Your reactions were always the best to witness, always making an exaggerated face for no reason other than you could, or perhaps it was just because you never realized how much emotion you actually shown to others.

“I pick the tastiest apples for myself, not to share! You gluttonous cutpurse!”

The sound of loud footsteps heading in your direction caused the pair of you to halt your conversation and glance up, seeing a pair of Squires making their way to your table. You sent out a quick huff of breath, unsure if you were willing to deal with his attitude so early in the morning. Shinosu kept his mouth shut, unwilling to express his distaste as verbally as you, but still felt it nonetheless.

“Ah Shinsou! (l/n)! Tis good to see you both in high health this fine morning!” One smiled, taking a seat in front of you while the other boy took a spot to the left of him, diagonally from you.

“Kirishima.” Shinsou let out a curt nod, having no will ill towards this gentleman at all. Only confusion, if not pity, for how he has to put up with the child next to him.

“Good to see you in such high spirits as always Kirishima.” You gave a polite smile, quickly snatching your apple back from Shinsou’s unsuspecting hand.

You innocently smiled at the red head in front of you as if you did nothing wrong, ignore the glaring and grumbling from the boy beside you.

“You two are the ones in high spirits it seems!” Kirishima laughed as the exchange, seeing your pleased expression and Shinsou’s exasperated one.

“Tch.”

The noise caused a flutter of irritation to pass through you, but you ignored it and glanced at the blond who had not spoke a word yet. Focusing on filling his bowl with breakfast instead of pleasantries. He bit harshly into a roll, setting the ladled down once he finished scooping the now cooling porridge.

“Good morning Bakugou.” You spoke shortly, not wanting to be rude to the other member of the table.

“Shove off.”

You clicked your tongue, not knowing why you bothered in the first place as you knew that would be his response. Kirishima gave you an apologetic smile, changing the subject to ask about future events the current day will hold for the lot of you. He was always able to lift the mood so easily, no matter the circumstances.

It was an enjoyable breakfast while it lasted, save for the brooding boy who only chimed in with insults or annoyed grunts of disagreement.

“As lovely as this has been, I must be off now. I am assisting Sir Aizawa in his visit of a neighboring kingdom. We are simple escorts of the Chamberlain and his youngest brother. “ Shinsou sighed.

The sun was more visible in the changing sky, almost fully so. Only a sliver of it hidden from view as the sky lightened because of it, allowing the dim lanterns to be shut off and replaced by a brighter source.

“Oh,” You frowned, “I assume you will be gone for a few days then?”

“Three at most, if it can be helped.” He mirrored your reaction.

He never liked leaving you alone. He never has doubted your ability to take care of yourself, that wasn’t the issue. More so it had to do with the glaring boy sitting a few feet away, sharp crimson glaring daggers into warm violet. Bakugou was by no means the kindest man to his peers around him, but he seemed to have an extra special case of bitter anger for you that exceeded his normal gruffness by tenfold. Shinsou knew it weighed heavily on you, once friend turned foe all because of a dream. Yet you always pushed through, it was one of your most admirable traits in his opinion.

Your unwavering ability to overcome anything.

“Worried your protection will not be around to save you, (y/n)?” Bakugou sneered, his gaze never leaving Shinsou’s.

“You assume false, Katsuki. I have no need for anyone’s protection but my own.” You spat back, hating how the bastard wouldn’t even look at you.

As if he seen you as something less than a person, something that didn’t even deserve his time of day.

“Come now you two, please no fighting so early! Let’s end this breakfast in good spirits and go on with our day.” Kirishima pleaded, always being the mediator, bless his soul.

“A day is only so lovely when the face of that wench is not in my sights.” Bakugou hissed, clenching his teeth as he felt the anger rise in him as Shinsou stood and grabbed your arm.

You were half tempted to lunge at the foul-mouth boy, but Shinsou’s strong hand on your upper arm held you back.

“Leave the man-child be, let us be on our way. I bid thee good day gentlemen.” Shinsou spoke, cold eyes turning away from Bakugou to address Kirishima, the only person his goodbye was intended for.

“Enjoy your day, may it go by swiftly for you,” You spoke to Kirishima who just gave a wavering grin, uneasy at the tension that had grown. You faced Bakugou who finally had the decency to look at you, and you could see the vexation boiling in his eyes, “you hog-hearted knave.”

You left your farewell at that, ignoring the shouts he threw as you and Shinsou as you grabbed your dishes, bringing them over to be rinsed and then set inside the kitchens for proper cleaning from the kitchen hands later.

You glanced back at the table to see them both barley rising to follow what you two have just done, before turning back to your friend with a displeased frown.

“I wish you were not my voice of reason.”

“You would be damned if I were not.” He pointed out, turning to walk away.

“You are right, of course. Yet that does not mean I like it.” Your frown lifted into a tender smile as you reached out to stop him from walking off, knowing you going to have to bid your best friend farewell.

“Like it or not, I will always be.” He turned back to face you, saying those words on purpose. Understanding the weight of them. While the kingdom was at peace, that did not mean all danger was vanquished.

It was simply hidden better.

“Aw, so you do agree that we are kindred spirits? Shinsou you sappy sack of flour!”

“Hush your tongue, wretched girl,” He grinned, “You best behave while I am gone, understand?”

“Yes yes, I am able to to take care of myself and be without problems for a measly two days.” You rolled your eyes, mischief all over your face though the words you spoken were intended for innocence.  

“I am serious.” He deadpanned, noticing the look that only grew at his words.

“And so am I.”

“I do not believe it.”

“You are right to do so.”

He groaned as you laughed, shaking his head at you in mock disappointment. His look then hardened and he took your hand in his, as if he were about to shake it.

“In three days.” Seriousness in his eyes as he whispered.

This was an unspoken tradition between the both of you. A silent promise to return, return alive, in the allotted time given.

“In three days.” You repeated, your grip on his hand tightening before releasing altogether.

A smile crossed you both before you took off down separate paths, you glancing up at the sky wishing to see the stars once more without having to look back at the boy walking away. Because you knew, Shinsou was the closest thing you would get to accomplish your wild dream of holding a star. It may be silly, but if it would be anyone, it would be him: a shining star who had the world beneath his feat and the endless sky around him.

However, unknown to you, a different kind of star was staring into your back as you left. This star was as big and bright as millions of stars together and was known as the sun. And be damned if the sun was out shined by a measly twinkle in the sky he owned.

[serpentprinceravenhairedprincess]

Could you please do an in depth analyses as to why do you think Vughead is better together then Varchie and Bughead! I very much enjoy reading your threads and fanfic. You are my favorite Jeronica blog ❤❤

Awwww thank you so much, you made my day <3

Some time ago, during s2, when I was still an innocent flower with a lot of hope in trying to find the logic in Riverdale, I answered a similar question. More or less, I still stand by what I said, even tho a lot has changed meanwhile. But I’ll recap and throw in some other stuff.

1) The chemistry and sexual tension is literally over the roof. One has to be blind to set that aside. Every time they interact, I can see sparkles between them. There is such an electricity in the way they look at each other!

2) ANGST! They are the natural Romeo and Juliet and no one can tell me otherwise. It doesn’t matter how much the writers tried to push this trope on B*ghead: it just doesn’t fit because the key points are not there. But Jeronica do have the “forbidden love” quality in them, which also comes from the war between their families. Two families that are really similar but also really far from each other. The Lodges are rich gangsters who got to the top of society, while the Jones are mob leaders from the slums of Riverdale. They are basically different sides of the same coin. We have on one side the conservative mob family that lives in luxury, and on the other we have the raw life of the subalterns that longs for a more enlarged concept of family. Which leads me to the next point.

3) Family. This is the corner stone of these two characters: the strong attachment that they have to the concept of family and to the values that come with it. Both Jug and Veronica move on the same tracks: the need to preserve and protect their broken families. They want to be a part of something which they also want to change and heal. I personally love how this mix of inadequacy and need to step up to their father figure brings them on the same psychological level. This affinity, also connected to the core values that they share, it’s a shellproof base to a great romance and character development.

4) Royaly trope. Already talked about this too, and also the main reason for my nickname. Veronica and Jug are descendants of their respective families, who embody some kind of modern and distorted concept of royalty (mob and gangs). How many times the show has called them prince/princess? A LOT. They can fuckining rule Riverdale and they would be AMAZING.

5) Retromania aesthetic. One of the things that got me to ship them is this: the fact that they are the only two characters in the whole show who are given references to pop culture. Jug is always quoting movies, books and whatsovere. The same (even tho a bit less) happens with Veronica. The drive in, the speakeasy - they both embody this sort of vintage nostalgia that gives their characters a more sofisticated cultural level. They are more (dare I say) “ancient souls”?! I would both call it a refined taste and just an aesthetic. I’m a bitch for aesthetic, especially the more vintage one. The interesting thing about nostalgia, about this longing for a past that we see as golden, is that it’s based on a sense of dissatisfaction for the present. This of course, it’s a really peculiar topic that would take a post by itself to explain: it looms over the whole aesthetic of the show for a lot of reasons. However, in Jug and Veronica is particularly evident because it belongs to their personality. They look back, because they can’t really find their right spot in this world - the shoe that fits them. This is showed by the way they are always associated with old movies, classic novels, old music and vintage settings. A search for roots, as weel as for themselves, which again connects to the whole family sphere.

6) The noir episode. If you haven’t watch “The Big Sleep”, go watch it now. In the noir episode in s3 they took inspiration from that movie and basically adapted it for the episode’s narrative (as well as other noir movies). However, for Jeronica’s scenes, everything boiled down to the obvious reference to “The Big Sleep”. So Jug is framed as the charming detective and Veronica as the femme fatale. Well well well..if this is not a comparison, I don’t know what it is. The movie is notorious for the huge chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall (who also got married, btw) and, of course, for the interesting romance that takes place between them. The comparison is obvious, and suits really well. No surprise that they acted everyone else out of the screen in that episode.

Ok..I think I said enough for now. There are really a lot of reasons to why I ship them, why I think they are the best potential couple other and why I find the aesthetic of their characters more fitting than the ones of the other pairings. Let me know what you think and if you have any question, I’m more than happy to get into it ^^

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 14 ~Unscripted Love~

"Wot?" Claire gasped as she stared at Jaime, wide eyes and unblinking. Her mind was racing, flitting from past recent events to an unknown possible future and then back. So many things have transpired in the last five weeks, that she hadn't really had time to catch her breath, let alone wrap her head around the unexpected news of her pregnancy.  

And now this? If I keep this up, I'll have 10 kids before I'm 40! Jesus H.Roosevelt Christ!

"Sassenach, I asked...if ye will be my wife?" Jamie whispered softly, his forehead furrowed in anticipation, as he waited on tenterhooks for an answer.

Avoiding his eyes, Claire bolted right up, pushed the bed covers aside and got out of bed. "I need to go to the loo," she muttered, hurrying before Jamie could say another word. Inhaling deeply, she closed the door and leaned against it.  

One little two little three little Indians, four little five little six little Indians...,  Claire sang in her head to calm her nerves. It was something she did since she was a child whenever she was anxious or nervous. 

When she could finally move, she turned on the tap and lathered heaps of soap on her hands, trying to remove Jamie's ring.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Sassenach? Ye alright?" Before she could answer, Jamie came in. "Ye shouldn't be running like that...ye need to slow down now that ye're pregnant," looking her over with concerned eyes.

"I'm a few weeks pregnant for crying out loud, not nine months. So stop treating me like I'm incapacitated!" Claire snapped without looking at him, focused on removing the jewellery.

Jamie frowned as he realised what she was trying to do. "Maybe yer fingers are swollen...I read last night that pregnancy causes that. Perhaps that's why ye can't remove the ring."

She turned to face him, golden eyes blazing and face beet red. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm fat, James Fraser?"

"No, that's not what I was saying," he said calmly, leaning on the doorframe, arms across his chest, his hair tousled from sleep or lack of. "Sassenach, are ye grumpy at me?" he asked gently, trying to suppress his amusement.

"No! I'm not grumpy at all!" Claire huffed in annoyance, as she gave up removing the ring, turning her back to him to wipe her hands on the towel.

Sighing deeply, Jaime uncrossed his arms and walked over to her. Slowly turning her around, he tilted her head back with one hand and asked, "Do ye not want to marry me, Sassenach?"

"I never said that!" she retorted, trying to avert her eyes from his intense scrutiny. After a few moments of silence, she softened, releasing a long pent up breath, "Jamie, I'm so sorry. It's just that...I can hardly keep up with all the things going on. These last five weeks ...I was nearly burned alive...I've been assaulted by your uncle...I've been drugged...I was almost raped...then I find out I'm pregnant and you dropped the bomb and asked me to marry you...It's all too much, and I'm still ..."

"Ssshh...I'm so sorry too," hushing her gently as he took her into his arms, tenderly stroking her hair and back. "If we could start all over again, I ken there are things I would like to change. I wish I could have been more forthright with ye from the beginning. Then perhaps some of the things that happened wouldn't have happened. But I can't change the past, Sassenach, but I would verra much like to make it up to ye, if ye would allow me to. That is why I thought Skye would be a great idea...there will be just us. No work, no distractions, no places to go to...just us. There, we can start all over. I'm so sorry for putting the ring in yer finger...I wasn't planning on asking ye today...I only wanted to see if it fitted ye. I feel so foolish now."

"You didn't intend to ask me?" Claire asked, puckering her eyebrows.

"Och, I do want to marry ye Sassenach." He leaned down to briefly kiss her on the lips. "That's if ye'll have me. I know now asking ye today was lousy timing. We can marry anytime ye want...tomorrow, in ten years, whenever...I can wait. I thought maybe ye didna wish to marry me because ye were married before...to Frank. If that's the case, I wouldn't mind as long as I'm with ye." He paused, swallowing audibly, trying to find the right words. "The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted ye...more than anything I have ever wanted in my life. And when ye walked in at the Station, the day of the general meeting, I've loved ye ever since." He moved closer, his breath warm on her face. "I love ye with all my heart Claire, and I tell ye the truth when I say, I have never said those words to any woman before." He paused. "Weel...except to my ma and my sister...and now I'm saying it to ye." He smiled broadly, placing both her hands on his chest.

"Jaime..." she was unsure what to say, trying to find reason and logic to grasp onto.

Taking her right hand, he looked at the ring on Claire's finger, before bringing it to his lips to kiss it. "Do ye really mind wearing it, Sassenach? It looks so pretty on ye...it matches yer eyes."

Gazing at her hand, she had to agree it did look quite fetching. "It is beautiful, Jaime...I love it. But our friends are bound to ask questions when they see this on my finger...not that I mind wearing it." She frowned slightly, pursing her lips.

"Weel, ye dinna exactly say no when I asked ye to marry me...do ye think ye can picture us married in the future? Besides..." Both Jaime's hands reached out to her stomach, "...we have the wee bairn to think about as well."

"I suppose so..." she replied, biting her lip. After a short contemplation, she gazed directly into Jamie's eyes, and what she saw was the baring of his soul and the promise of an unflagging love. Her heart soared, astounded that this beautiful specimen of a man, can open his heart in all its rawness, exposed and unafraid. It was there for the taking, waiting for her to claim it. Whatever control and self-preservation she had left, it was rapidly slipping away, and it was no longer a matter of choice. "Yes, Jaime...I can see us together," she admitted.

"Weel, if ye can do that, see yersel' married to me, and ye not minding wearing my ring, is it so difficult to say yes to my marriage proposal?" he asked. It was a question that was undemanding of nature, nor was it an attempt to challenge her reservations. Not waiting for her to reply, he gathered her into his arms for a long tender kiss...a kiss that spoke from the heart.

Claire, feeling intoxicated by the feel of his hard body against her, yielded, surrendering to her own feelings and urges, releasing whatever doubts and fear she had. Slowly she responded fervently to Jamie with all her being, twining her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until they moulded together as one, fitting perfectly and in harmony. She realised then and there, that she couldn't imagine life without him as the stirring in her belly renewed, an acknowledgement to their love waiting to be born. In her heart of hearts, Claire found their moment in forever, like this was how they should have always been. Without any more further thoughts, she conceded. "Yes, Jamie, I want to marry you." The moment Claire uttered those words, a sense of deliverance took over her, just like the feeling after a confessional rite when a priest absolves past sins.

Jamie raised his head to gaze into her eyes, his face a picture of bliss and ecstasy, making her heart skip a beat. "And I, you Sassenach. And I can't wait to have ye to myself once we're in Skye."

Claire raised an eyebrow, nuzzling her face at the base of his throat. "Really? And what are your plans?"

Sliding down his hands to fondle her arse, he whispered into her ears, "I plan to have ye naked with yer hair all wild and loose...and I will make verra slow love to ye, kissing every inch of yer body until ye forget yer name."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, that is so." And then he kissed her some more, to give her a taste of his promise that is to come. 

..........

It was difficult to leave the hospital immediately. There were papers to be signed for Claire's release, police statement to be made, and to delay things further, she had a few belated visits from Geillis, Joe and her colleagues at work, much to Jaime's growing impatience. Although overwhelmed with the attention, she found it very amusing to see strapping and burley firemen bearing gifts in the form of pink stuffed toys, balloons and flowers. Even the dour-looking Murtagh didn't disappoint.

"Here," said Murtagh gruffly, handing her a giant box of chocolate truffles before leaning forward for a quick awkward hug. "See ye in two weeks, bright and early."

Before she could say thank you, Geillis let out a high-pitch screech making everyone in the room jump. "Oh my God, oh my God! Claire! Let me see that!" She grabbed Claire's right hand, raising it for everyone to see the engagement ring.

Flabbergasted, everyone stared open-mouthed at Jamie, eagerly awaiting for him to say something.

Red-faced, Jamie shrugged, giving Claire an apprehensive look and a weak smile, and before he could think, he blurted out, "We're having a baby!"

"What?" Everyone exclaimed simultaneously in astonishment, except Joe who knew already and was shaking his head in amusement.

This time everyone's eyes were on Claire. "Oh, Jamie!" she groaned, slightly annoyed that he announced her pending pregnancy. She didn't want anyone knowing until they were very sure the baby was safe from the effects of the drugs she ingested.

Unaffected with everyone's reaction and silence, Geillis was shrieking in delight, jumping up and down, clapping her hands before hugging Claire, Jamie, and then Claire again, both of them collapsing on the bed. "Och, Claire, I'm so happy for ye... cannae believe our wee fox cub is off the market... and ye, my pet, I cannae wait to spoil yer wee red-headed curly top bairn," she squealed ecstatically.

Tension and surprise soon were replaced by hearty congratulations, back-slapping and bear hugs, and Claire and Jamie began to relax and revel in sharing their happiness.

"Aah, a right Fraser ye are, my lad," one of the men shouted, "Ye dinna waste time do ye, getting one of our best worker up the duff." The statement was followed by roaring laughter, making Claire blush profusely.

"Weel, I cannae help it...she pursued me day and night, ye ken, and I cannae deny a beautiful lass," Jamie replied jokingly, before giving Claire a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Is that right, Fraser? Ever since Beauchamp arrived, ye were never away from the station. Ye didna give the rest of the lads a chance," Hugh teased, giving his friend a nudge on his arms.

"Och, it's the Fraser charm, lads," Geillis said, joining in with the banter before turning to Claire and Jamie. "So do we have a wedding date yet?"

Claire smiled shyly looking at Jamie, "No, we haven't talked about any dates yet..."

"I'm hoping verra soon, before the bairn is born," Jamie interrupted, overlooking the delicate matter of the fetus' precarious state.

Before more questions could be asked, Joe decided to intervene, after noticing Claire's slight discomfort. "Right lads, let's leave the lovebirds for now. They have a holiday to go to, and you'll see them back soon enough."

Collectively nodding in agreement, everyone said their good-byes, congratulations and good luck before they left one by one leaving Jamie and Claire once more on their own. It took almost twenty minutes for everyone to disperse, and both were relieved once everyone was gone.

"How are ye Sassenach? It wasna so bad, was it?" He asked, taking her hand in his.

"No, not at all," she replied, facing him and putting her arms around his waist, before laying her head on his chest. "I'm happy."

"That's good...I want ye to be happy," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. 

.........

At the cottage, Jamie took the brown envelope Claire had given him a few days ago from the coffee table and headed for the bedroom where she was busy packing for their leave. He stood there watching her for a moment, as she went through the wardrobe and drawers picking out clothes and throwing them onto the bed. He loved watching her, especially when she was unaware or distracted.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. "Sassenach, do ye have a moment?" When she turned around to face him, he raised the envelope with his hand. "I want to talk about this."

"Oh, Jamie...do we have to? Can't it wait until we come back," she asked half-heartedly.

He sighed. "Claire, I don't want to go into details about it. All I want to know is why?"

Giving in, she walked over to him and took the envelope from his hand and placed it on the nearby chair. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she replied, "Because I wanted to, and it was the right thing."

Unconvinced, he shook his head. "That's no' a reason, Sassenach."

Claire released him and went back to folding clothes. "Well, if you must know, Château Cheval Blanc was never mine to have in the first place as well as the many stocks, bonds and shares Frank left behind. When my father-in-law made his will, I was never in his mind. It was all meant to be for Frank and future children we would have. Nobody could have predicted Frank would die so young and having no other family to pass on Frank's inheritance, I inherited my father-in-law's wealth...I guess by default. De Marillac's shares were Frank's father's shares, and I inherited it by some loophole in the legalities of the will. When I accidentally found out you were Jared Fraser's nephew and that you were trying to buy-out the other shareholders, it was a no-brainer decision to sign them over to you. It belongs to your family Jamie, and I have no right to it."

Jamie's face was expressionless as he strode towards her. Taking the garment she was folding off her hand, he turned her around to face him. "Sassenach, ye still haven't answered my question," he said in a warning tone. "I already know all that. What I want to know is why."

She fidgeted on her feet and lowered her head, refusing to look at him. "Well, after the incident at the charity ball, I didn't know how you felt about me. Thinking that you would have moved out from here after the stunt Annalise pulled, I didn't want to have anything that belonged to you or anything that would remind me of you."

"Ye could have used the money..."

"Jamie, I am financially stable, and I've always led a simple life, a legacy from growing up with my Uncle Lamb. I do not need much, and I'm quite comfortable...really."

"Sassenach, but why?" His hands were tight on her shoulders as if by gripping any harder, he could force the real truth out.

"Jamie, I already told you why, for fuck sake!" she glared at him, gritting her teeth in exasperation.

"No, ye haven't," he replied stubbornly, standing his ground.

Claire suddenly panicked. She knew there was no way out, and the last vestiges of the secret she held close to her heart were about to be exposed, leaving her naked and vulnerable, and Jamie was not about to give up. She wanted to resist, but inside she was crumbling and disintegrating fast, like the stone quarries of Egypt when the dynamite was detonated, leaving fragments of stones scattered to the ground.

Suddenly, she fell on her knees, hands on her face, and her shoulder slumped. Whatever fortification she had built, it was all gone. "The reason why I did what I did is that because I love you, damn it!" she sobbed, her voice cracking. " I love you James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser or whoever you are."

Jamie quickly got down on his knees and took her into his arms, his heart pounding and rejoicing in a chorus. It was what he had wanted to hear and not the drug talking.

"Sssh Sassenach, I love ye too,  mo chridhe.  There's the two of us now...ye're no longer alone. Hush now, everything will be alright." He cradled her tight against him, wiping her tears away until there were no more tears to be shed.

For the longest time, they both clung onto one another, not saying a word, two souls stirring in a most subtle way as the story between them finally began to write itself.

[kkruml]

STAY CH 14

It’s been 7 months since the last post- THANK YOU to anyone out there who’s still reading this story. @abreathofsnowandwaffles has been one of my biggest supporters since literally day 1. @missclairebelle you dazzle and amaze me with every word you write. I am so lucky to have your guidance as I hack my way through this thing called fan fiction. Words are not enough- I love you both.

Mood Music

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

AO3

Previously

The lines of his face contorted slightly before shifting back into place, his indecipherable façade restored. Nodding, he forced the words out. “Would ye stay here, wi’ me?”

Stay.

Here.

With Jamie.

In truth, Jamie’s flat had become her haven, their space together. Her final thoughts while being discharged from the hospital were not of her flat, of the crisp linens neatly lining her bed. It was here, the mess of blankets and pillows strewn across his mattress. The smell of his body wash that lingered on his towel in the morning, the warm light peaking through the kitchen curtains as she sipped her tea.

The thought of convalescing here lifted a weight she hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying. Her lips softened into a smile as she nodded, “Yes.”

His posture relaxed slightly, and the corners of his eyes softened as his gaze held hers. The weight of his intensity forced her to lower her eyes back to her glass, and with a heavy sigh, she felt his hand lazily travel the length of her shoulder to the base of her neck.

“Been a long day, come here,” his voice was soft, low and melodic and pulled her close to him. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she felt his fingers slowly intertwine in the curls that cascaded from her messy bun. “Do ye trust me Claire-that everything will be okay?”

His fingers swirled in small rhythmic circles against her scalp. The combination of Oolong, heat of Jamie’s steady breath, and dull pulsing of his heart against her skin lulled her into a quiet trance.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she settled against his side. The words came easily, without effort or question. “In this I do, and in this I will.”

CLAIRE

It was unseasonably cold. Even for Scotland.

Fumbling her way from the couch towards the bedroom, Claire shuffled to the dresser. Clumsily she found the drawer knob, the worn wood smooth under her fingertips as it creaked open. Eager hands, expecting various folds of cotton, hit the bottom with a thud.

Empty.

Whisky eyes glanced over to the laundry basket, but found no mound of clothing staring back at her.

Empty?

“Ja-“ she started, feeling the warmth of his fingers against the small of her back finish the question for her.

“Aye… Sassenach?” his voice was breathy as his lips hovered just above the exposed skin on her neck.

“Wh… What happened to all of your clothes?”

Small, swirling circles against her waistline paused.

“Weel.. err.. I, uh…” his voice wavered as his fingers pressed gently into her flesh.

Through the fog and haze of the accident, she recognized that stutter. Her mind’s eye flashed a glimpse of his face the night they met- the same uncertainty etched into his words as he drummed his fingers against his leg. “Cat got your tongue, Jamie?”

A wave of hot breath skated across her skin as he sighed.

“I just thought- that maybe… ye’d like to leave some of yer wee Sassenach things here is all,” he stated plainly.

“Just what do you think I have- a cedar trunk full of eighteenth century garments?” She attempted a teasing tone, but her heart skipped a beat as she eyed the room.

A small clearing on what would be her nightstand, an empty hook on the back of the door for her bathrobe, and perhaps most notable of all, the bed. Normally a pile of covers with pillows haphazardly askew, the bedding was now neatly tucked and smoothed over- with two fresh matching pillowcases side by side against the headboard.

 “Aye,” his breath quickened as he countered, “I had a daft notion ye might want to leave a few wee things here…”

My things. Here.

“That DVD collection of yers catchin’ dust,” his voice broke through her thoughts as he continued, slightly more self-assured, “yer favorite mug fer yer tea, perhaps a brush for that bird’s nest ye have atop that beautiful heid of yers.”

She smiled to herself. Little nick nacks, seemingly trivial pieces of her daily existence it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d noticed, let alone wanted in his flat. 

“...But then the accident h-happened and- and it didna seem fit to take advantage of ye in that state.”

And then- the accident. She remembered Boston, and her desire to start things anew- in Scotland. And then she woke up in the hospital. Dark black spots shaded her memory of the earliest moments of them.

Attempting to shift the conversation, she fought the tightening of her throat as she asked, “My state?” 

A strong hand slowly snuck around her waist and settled against the crest of her hip bone, two fingers lightly tapping the delicate skin just underneath the cotton of her shirt.

“Oh aye-” the warmth in his voice a low hum that skated across her skin, “Half yer colleagues saw yer wee granny panties ye only wear when it’s laundry day.”

She scoffed in mock indignation, the last of her frustration lifting from her shoulders. Not moving, she relaxed into his warmth and sighed in contentment.

After a soft exhale, he whispered, “Mo nighean donn… I want ye here with me. “

And there it was. 

A sweet truth that had lingered just beneath the surface. 

Breath put to the very question that had played in her head since she met him. What was this? This delicate tether between them, at first as delicate as lace but now stitched firmly together with late night truths and early morning contentment. It wasn’t usual; that first night at her apartment he had said it was different, and they’d spent the last months writing their names on each other’s souls. 

The sound of his voice lingered between them, it soothed her and sent a tingle down her spine. It was a question- carefully yet earnestly crafted as to give no expectation of an answer. She felt the ground beneath her tilt slightly, and she cleared her throat to steady herself.

Three words. Three little words that matched the pulse in her wrist- quiet, constant, and restless as they bubbled and fought to break free. For weeks and months, these words fluttered on the tip of her tongue but never gave breath to them. Until now.

The sounds slowly built in her chest, enveloping her in a warmth matched by the comfort radiating from his skin behind her. They trickled free from her lips, delicate and yet certain at the same time

“I love you.”

Each syllable hung suspended in midair, she could almost see the outline of each letter as she waited for his breathing to resume. Muscles in his arms first constricted and then relaxed before he wound himself securely around her. 

“And I…” he whispered into her curls, ”you.”

In a moment that lasted both an instant and an eternity, they stood motionless. Their breath mingled and their heartbeats pounded to the same rhythm. She felt the last remnants of earlier frustration seep from her bones and she was left feeling weightless. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she savored the feeling of utter contentment.

“So... is that a yes then, Sassenach?”

Bringing his hand to her lips she smiled and said simply, “Yes.”

                                           ______

Water. Soap. Scrub. Rinse. Gown. Gloves.

The ritual of surgery was a dance, delicate steps made in rhythm to the steady rhythm of her pulse. She could trust it, a communion that had never failed her in all her years of study and practice. Countless hours in the OR had trained her hands, each movement burned into each digit. Carefully and meticulously studied and executed with an air of ease. What her body betrayed, her mind would perfect. With eyes closed, she visualized the instrument tray- scalpels parallel and waiting to serve their purpose. 

Her mind was midway through a line of interrupted sutures, fingers moving in perfect harmony with the vision in her mind when with a turn of the wrist, a hot flash of pain tore through her radius. “Mallaichte bas!”

Murky sounds, like voices underwater broke through her concentration. 

“Huh?” she mumbled, her right hand instinctively cradling her left wrist, gingerly massaging it.

“I said ‘are ye alright,’ Sassenach?”

Slowly opening her eyes, the perfect line of stitches she had imagined slowly faded and she was left with only the uneven lines of hardwood floor beneath her feet. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she managed through clenched teeth. Sensing her tone was ill placed, she sighed and softened it with, “Sorry to bother you.”

“Dinna fash yerself, just thought a fairy must’ve lured ye up a hill and brought me a changeling,” he said with a failed wink.

“What on earth are you talking about, Jamie?” her voice shifting from frustration to confusion.

“Did ye no’ hear yerself? Ye have quite the mouth on ye.” At that, her eyes darted in his direction, a smirk quirked to one side waiting for her.

“Did I offend your delicacies with my crude British tongue?” Despite herself, she quirked an eyebrow to match the lilt in her voice. Damn him. She didn’t want to be in a mood to joke. 

“Och yer not normally a close-mouthed woman Claire- and ye ken I love ye for it.” He paused at that, the newness of that word off his tongue curled his lip, and her heart skipped a beat. “But now yer startin’ to swear in my mother tongue wailin’ about black death- tis only a matter of time before ye bring a curse upon this flat.”

The sharp pain in her wrist was ebbing to a dull ache. 

Gaelic? 

The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile as she rewound the last few minutes in her head. Had she really spoken in Gaelic… instinctively? The last several weeks had held little amusement other than scouring various Gaelic materials, studying. But had she actually learned enough to start speaking without effort? Her fingers were tracing the incision on her left wrist as he sunk into the mattress beside her. 

“What’s wrong, mo ghraidh?”

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled loudly. “It’s my bloody hand. It’s useless.”

“Och.” The thick Scottish sound filled the room, the warmth in his voice seeping into her skin. “Just takes time. Hasna been that long since the accident.”

“Eight weeks, Jamie.” Spitting the words out, she felt her blood pressure rise. She was a doctor, she knew protocol. That a healed bone alone did not promise full function without rehabilitation. Still, the freedom she felt once freed from the cast was short lived, and she was left feeling weak and foreign in her own skin. 

“What if you couldn’t play music? What if your hand was…” she paused, not wanting to finish the sentence. Flashes of his perfectly ruddy skin torn violently to shredded flesh with mangled bone ripped through her mind. She shuddered at the mere thought of his perfect hand enduring such trauma. Taking a deep breath to clear her head, she started again, “What if you couldn’t do what was naturally in you to do?” 

“Are ye sayin’ ye like my music, then?” His face betrayed the measured tone of his voice, a look of pride barely held in check as his brow quirked. 

His attempt at distraction- at redirection- was kindly meant, but she was determined to hang onto her frustration. It was one of a few companions she’d had these last several weeks. 

Turning to face him, her weight shifted and he leaned in closer. “You have music… I have healing. What if I never get my range of motion, my strength back? A surgeon cannot heal without her hands.”

                                              ______

JAMIE

What if?

That wasn’t an option. No. She would be whole again. 

I have music.

She was right.

Blinking slowly, a shadow of an idea whispered in his ear. 

I have music.

Letting a smile tug at his lips, he held up his hand in a pause as he shuffled out of the room. Hearing a deep breath and loud exhale, he chuckled to himself. 

She will be whole again.

Returning with a few determined steps back into the room, he paused at the sight of her. So utterly unaware of herself, she had taken to focus on a few unruly curls hanging over her face. Her right hand studiously picking at the frayed ends, her left hand cradled protectively at her side. 

“Alright then,” he started, determined to change her focus. “Let’s see what ye’ve got Sassenach.”

“Beg pardon?” Her eyes widened, the swirl of whisky amber churning.

“Let’s have ye give it a go,” he gently slid the guitar onto her lap, angling it precisely between the curve of her breast and line of her arm. It sat precariously fixed at her side as he continued, “Ye said once they let anyone on stage- let’s see how ye fair with it.”

Slipping behind her, he laced his arms through hers, leaning into the smoothness of her body. “Now ye take yer left hand and put yer wee fingertips here”- gentling placing her fingers on the second fret before enveloping her hand in his- “and here.”

Taking her right hand in his, he pulled them down over the cords. Feeling the vibration and hearing a somewhat muted cord, but a cord nonetheless, echoed through the room. 

“And just wot do you think you’re doing?” Under the facade of incredulity, he heard a sense of wonder. 

“Ye’ve spent sae many hours scouring my bookcases looking for Laird knows what- this is a better- and more entertaining- use of yer time.”

“More entertaining, you say? For whom, exactly?” Feeling the smile in her voice, he let out a heavy sigh and nuzzled his nose into the curls at the nape of her neck. Her voice was shy as she asked, “Would you show me a few more?”

This just might work.

Slowly, and carefully, he showed her cord after cord. Pausing occasionally as her crude British tongue broke his concentration, he watched her fingers move slowly from string to string. Kissing her shoulder, and feeling confident he had shown her enough cords to pique her interest, he reluctantly disentangled himself from her.

Slowly shuffling to the hall, he turned at the doorway for a final look. He stopped to take her in. 

A look of determination set on her face. Her left hand was rotated and gripped the guitar’s neck with purpose. The loose white shirt, his shirt, hung off her shoulder- exposing the faintest of black ink on her shoulder. 

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he swiped the screen and held the phone up. He watched her form come into focus on his screen and hit the shutter button, watching a freeze frame of this moment flicker and disappear. 

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

Chapter Summary: Claire gets her first taste of the human world.

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Read chapter 9 below the cut

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Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

***

Claire clung tightly to his hand as he led her through the streets of Inverness. Her eyes were huge as watermelons, pupils blown wide as she tried to take in all the sensations assaulting her. 

Jamie thought the buildings were the first shock she was trying to come to terms with. Her neck craned up to look at them, glancing nervously at their looming presence all around them. She’d seen Jamie’s house, of course, but that was nothing like the crowded buildings of the city. Her eyes glanced upward toward the sky— likely grounding herself with the one familiar aspect. Much to Jamie’s delight, she then glanced toward him, and peace flashed across her face. 

If Jamie’s nearness offered comfort akin to the sky, he could die happy. 

The buildings were quickly overshadowed by the disconcerting nature of the people around them. She shied toward him— her body pressing to his side like it was her refuge— every time another person passed, even if they were meters away. Some of the passersby gave her strange looks, apparently seeing her odd behavior (not to mention her attire) which completely unnerved Claire. In addition to never having interacted with another human save Jamie, she was used to being invisible to them. The puir wee thing trembled at his side, but bravely continued on. 

“Dinna fash, they’ll no’ harm ye,” Jamie reassured quietly. 

She gave him a wordless nod, lips pressed tightly together, and continued to meld herself to his side. She no longer stared like a deer in headlights at every person close by, but he could tell she still snuck wary glances at those who wandered near. 

As they continued to walk on the cobblestone street, passing by shop windows with elaborate decorations and advertisements, Claire’s anxiety gradually subsided. She began to sneak peeks at the shops as they passed, and Jamie smiled to himself. As the trepidation was replaced more by curiosity, she melted inch by inch. Soon, her death grip on his hand became one of simple connection. She would pause every once in a while to study a shop window, tugging on Jamie’s hand to get him to stop. 

He catered to her every whim, even when she wanted to stop and run her hands reverently over the bricks of one building for several minutes while he struggled to explain the basics of construction. 

During their (very slow) progress down the street, a broad smile gradually formed on those bonny pink lips. Her eyes now wide with intrigue, Claire was coming alive. 

It lightened his heart immensely to see her beginning to enjoy herself and overcome her apprehension. At first, he’d worried to himself that it would all be too much for her— that maybe he’d scare her away from the human world with this single traumatic experience. But that wasn’t the case, and his own anxiety had eased along with hers. He delighted in watching her explore the world with endearing enthusiasm. 

He was pulled to a stop once again as Claire peered into the window of an ice cream shop. 

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder. 

“Och, ‘tis a place where they make food— a special kind called ice cream that humans particularly enjoy.” Jamie was starting to get better at his explanations, trying to boil them down to the simplest things she would understand. (That was more difficult than he would have imagined, mind, because a usual explanation for ice cream would have included descriptors such as “dessert” and “sweet”, but Claire of course lacked the background knowledge for that to make any sense.)

She nodded at his words but didn’t tear her eyes away from the displays of colorful ice cream inside. A smile spread across his face as he watched her take it in, his heart swelling with affection yet again for his strange lass. 

“God, I wish ye ate. If this were a movie ye ken there’d be a grand scene where I take ye inside and ye’d experience ice cream for the first time, yer world lightin’ up the instant ye taste it,” he said to himself. 

She did tear her eyes away then, to give him a furrowed-brow look of bewilderment. 

“What?” 

Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Dinna mind me, Sassenach,” he dismissed with a chuckle. 

They continued on at their snail’s pace, but before long, Jamie was nearly hauled off his feet by Claire abruptly stopping in front of a trash can. 

“What’s this?” she inquired as she reached a hand toward the nearly overflowing bin. 

“Dinna touch it,” he pulled her back rather forcefully by their joined hands, and he felt bad when she instantly latched onto his side again, thinking it harmful because of his forceful response. Her fingers were clutching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip.  

“It’s no’ dangerous,” he quickly amended, “that’s jes’ what humans do with waste. Things that arena good any more or they dinna need.” 

“Why don’t they need all these things?” Claire asked in confusion, squinting her eyes at the contents. 

Jamie wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that. “Weel, did ye no’ have things that once served a purpose but then no longer did?” 

She peered up at him and gave a shake of her head. 

“The Earth provides what we need, and when we’re done, it returns to the earth to be used again.” 

“Aye, that’s a good way to live,” Jamie murmured. 

Claire still seemed disturbed by the trash as they began walking again, but she soon forgot all about it as more things caught her attention. A passing bicycle brought up a whole new conversation, and Jamie had to chuckle to himself imagining his graceful faerie bumbling around the pedals and clinging to the handlebars. Maybe someday… 

Finally— after taking more than three times the amount of time it would have taken the average person to go this short distance— they arrived at the wee thrift shop, tucked on the corner. 

Jamie knew the owner, a Mrs. Fitz, who was a very distant relative of his. Although to be fair, everyone in the highlands was practically related. As Jamie pushed open the door and led Claire inside, the little bell rang in welcome and Mrs. Fitz instantly popped up from behind a rack of clothes, her face shining with enthusiasm. 

“Och, Jamie, lad!” she exclaimed, “it’s sae good t’ see ye!” 

She clasped both her hands over her chest in delight and gave him a wide smile. The shopkeeper quickly bustled over to him, arms outstretched for a hug. But as he tried to withdraw his hand from Claire’s, she stubbornly refused to release him, so he was left giving Mrs. Fitz an odd, one-armed side hug. 

Drawing back, she seemed to notice Claire for the first time, and blinked at her for a second. 

“Ah, and who is this ye have wi’ ye?” she asked Jamie. She looked pointedly down at their clasped hands, up at Jamie, and then back at Claire. 

He looked on in amusement as Mrs. Fitz truly took in Claire’s appearance— the wee lass standing there in his huge jacket, sagging sweatpants, and feet clad in socks and sandals. Mrs. Fitz’ eyes seemed to bulge as she looked at her, and Jamie realized he’d better give an excuse before the shopkeeper combusted. 

“This is my… friend, Claire. She’s visitin’ but lost her luggage, and we need tae get her all new stuff. Could ye maybe help us out?” 

Mrs. Fitz’ agog morphed quickly into a motherly look of sympathy. 

“Ye puir thing, of course we’ll get ye everythin’ ye need.” 

She made toward Claire as if she was about to hug her and then lead her toward the racks, but Claire hastily took a step away, bumping into Jamie in the process. 

“No’ a hugger I see, no problem,” Mrs. Fitz said accommodatingly with hands raised. 

Instead, she simply turned on her heel and headed over toward the first rack in sight— jeans. 

Claire was quiet, looking around the room abstractedly and not paying the slightest bit of attention as Mrs. Fitz prattled on about the pants, speculating about Claire’s size and which might best suit her. Jamie was trying to answer the questions on her behalf, but was distracted by the look on Claire’s face, which had suddenly lit up as something caught her eye. 

For the first time the entire trip, she let go of Jamie’s hand. (The moment felt absurdly monumental, and he found himself feeling empty without the sensation of her hand clasped in his). He resisted the impulse to gape at her with an open mouth as she wandered across the room with rather astounding boldness. Then, he spotted exactly what it was that had caught her attention. 

A gauzy white dress hung on a display hanger, it’s hem fluttering just in the slightest from the air vent above it. 

“I like this,” she announced, halting Mrs. Fitz from her perusal of the jeans. 

“Och, a dress lass, are ye? Well I think that’d suit ye jes’ fine. Why dinna ye try it on while I grab some others I think might work for ye?” 

Jamie quickly thanked her and took Claire’s elbow, steering her in the direction of the dressing room. 

“Ye can change into it back here to be sure it fits,” Jamie murmured into her ear. 

In one fluid motion, he opened the curtain of the dressing room, shoved the dress into her arms, herded her inside, and then closed the curtain again. Every second Mrs. Fitz wasn’t studying her made it more likely they’d get through this without arousing too many questions. 

It took Claire a rather long time to change, he thought. Although she did have a lot of layers to peel off. While she was still inside the changing room, Mrs. Fitz returned and deposited an armful of dresses into Jamie’ lap, all in the same size as the one Claire had picked. 

The shopkeeper was just about to open her mouth to ask him something when the bell over the door rang and she scurried away to greet the other customer. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was then that the curtain flew open and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. 

Jamie nearly had a stroke on the spot. 

She was divine. The white dress fit her perfectly, clinging to her curves down to her waist where it flared out into the draping of the skirt, the hem falling to just below her knees. A hint of cleavage teased at the neckline, skin creamy-white and looking oh-so soft. She swayed gently back and forth with a faint smile, and the gauzy material of the skirt flowed around her with the movement. It was as if the dress had been made for her. 

Under the bright lighting of the shop, Claire’s glow seemed muted to him, although certainly still there. It seemed to accentuate the perfection of the white dress and her dark hair that flowed down her shoulders in sharp contrast— giving her the air of an angel. 

Jamie was astounded. 

Unaware of how speechless she’d left him, Claire asked shyly, “do you like it?” 

He had to swallow three times before his dry throat was capable of answering her. 

“Ye look beautiful,” he forced out. 

She beamed, twirling around in excitement— which made the skirt billow up around her— and then suddenly she was launching herself at Jamie. Claire hugged him tightly, bare feet on tip-toes as she tried to reach up to be closer to him. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she breathed warmly. 

He was ecstatic that something as simple as a new dress could make her this happy. 

Mrs. Fitz chose that exact moment to return, her footsteps pattering over and barging in on what Jamie considered a rather private moment. 

“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed as Claire and Jamie parted, “ye look breathtakin.” 

Jamie couldn’t have agreed with her more. 

Claire flushed, eyelashes lowering demurely, and quietly thanked her. She had barely gotten the words out when Mrs. Fitz began shoving a couple pairs of shoes into her hands. Then, just like the whirlwind she was, Mrs. Fitz breezed off again. 

Jamie handed Claire another dress to try on and took all but one pair of the shoes from her. Then, he sat back down to wait. 

When Claire next emerged, she was wearing a black sundress with a floral design. Although the hem was above the knee, it wasn’t quite as form-fitting or astonishingly perfect for her (although he thought everything suited her, of course), so Jamie managed to better keep his composure this time. 

But the moment she turned around to show him the back, Jamie’s heart stopped beating and his blood ran cold in shock. 

He all but tackled her inside the dressing room, falling in after her and then frantically slamming the curtain closed. Once Claire was safely behind him in the privacy of the fitting room, Jamie peeked out a little to ensure no other customer had seen. 

Then, he very slowly turned back toward Claire, whose big honey eyes were staring up at him in question. 

He didn’t address her. Instead, very gently, he placed his hands on Claire’s shoulders and turned her so he could look at her back again. 

The sundress had a low back— a very low back— which exposed the two delicate appendages there.  

Wings. 

Transparent, beautifully fragile— wings. That laid perfectly flat against her back and shoulders. 

Jamie reached a finger out, mesmerized, to gently trace the outline of them. 

But the second he made contact with the edge of one, she let out a little squeal and jerked away. 

Jamie withdrew his hand as if he was burned, clutching it to his chest in shame. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldna have—” 

“It’s alright,” she said as she turned to face him, “I just wasn’t expecting… Is that why you shoved me in here? My wings?” 

Jamie blinked several times, trying to get his brain to catch up to the situation. 

Of course she had wings. She was a faerie after all. 

The sound of his name jerked him back to reality, and he realized he’d never answered her. 

“You have wings!” he exclaimed daftly, still failing to answer her question and merely staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment. 

“Oh,” she said, glancing behind her at her back casually, as if checking to see they were still there, “of course I have wings. Purely decorative though, I’m afraid.” 

Jamie was still struck dumb, but he longed to look at them again. The dressing room was too small for him to be able to walk around her, so he simply reached out and turned her a second time. 

They were beautiful. Heartbreakingly delicate looking. He could see through them everywhere except where the veins laced through, like a butterfly’s wing. The edges curved gracefully up toward her shoulders, ending in a point. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to touch them again without permission. They laid flat against her back, and he wondered distantly if she could move them. 

As if sensing his curiosity, they suddenly fluttered back toward him— nearly hitting him in the face— and Jamie jolted backward with a surprised laugh. 

Claire shot him an amused look from over her shoulder, and fluttered them again in demonstration. 

“They’re… beautiful,” he breathed reverently. 

“Thanks,” she replied bashfully, “I always thought them dull, really. Some fae have much grander wings, mine are rather small.” 

Jamie couldn’t bear to hear any disparaging remarks aimed at the perfection that was Claire, and he made a Scottish sound of derision deep in his throat. 

“Everythin’ about ye is perfect,” he stated firmly. 

Her wings had settled back flat on her back by this point, and Claire turned around to face him, cheeks adorned with a becoming blush as she adjusted the straps of her sundress over her shoulders again. 

“Well…” Jamie said, eying her up and down, “as bonny as ye look in this dress, I’m afraid we canna buy it for fear of exposin’ ye to the world. Ye’re no’ exactly verra inconspicuous...” 

Claire bit her lip, perhaps embarrassed about forgetting that minor detail when she’d showed him outside. But he was quick to reassure her. 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. No one saw ye earlier. Yer secret’s safe wi’ me.” 

He tried to give her a wink, which he was aware was a skill at which he was woefully inept, and she burst out laughing at his attempt. 

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to lean down and press his smile to hers. 

Before he could do anything foolish like act on the impulse, he quickly ducked out of the dressing room, eyes still fixed on Claire. 

He slipped backward through the slit at the edge of the curtain… and right into Mrs. Fitz. 

Stumbling away from her, he whirled around to find the shopkeeper with her hands on her hips, face red with admonishment. 

“James Fraser,” she uttered in a menacing voice that indicated he was in big trouble, “I understand that ye’re infatuated with yon lassie, but I canna believe that ye’d engage in— in— such depravity. In my shop!” 

Jamie fell back a step, hands raised defensively. 

“I wasna…” 

But Mrs. Fitz wasn’t having any of it. “I wilna condone such behavior, especially not in public when other customers are around. I’m appalled by your behavior, Jamie Fraser—” 

When she paused for breath in her tirade, face growing redder by the second, Jamie took the opportunity of the minute gap to jump in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitz, but I promise we werena doin’ anythin’ untoward. Listen, we’ll take the lot and be out of yer hair.” 

Jamie gestured frantically toward the pile of dresses and shoes, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He produced a wad of cash and held it out toward Mrs. Fitz like a peace offering. 

She looked him up and down for a long moment, eying him and the money with narrowed eyes. Jamie thought for a second that he’d be taking Claire home empty handed, but then Mrs. Fitz reached out and snatched the cash from his hands. 

“I want you out,” she said curtly. 

Jamie nodded frantically and instinctively backed away a step. Without breaking wary eye contact with Mrs. Fitz, he called into Claire, “get dressed, a nighean, we’re leaving.” 

With that, Mrs. Fitz turned on her heel and stalked away, as if she couldn’t stand to be in the presence of such a depraved lecher for one more second. Jamie sighed to himself. All of Inverness would be hearing about this within the day… no way he could hide Claire from Jenny for long. 

A minute later, Claire emerged from the dressing room, clutching the jacket to her chest. 

“Jamie, what—?” She started to ask. 

But Jamie cut her off by simply taking her hand and tugging her toward the door, his other arm juggling their purchases (which of course he had no bag for since there was no way he’d push his luck asking for one). 

Once they were safely outside in the Scottish gloom, Jamie slowed down— realizing he had been dragging the puir lass nearly off her feet in his haste to be gone. 

“What—?” She tried to ask again. 

“Nothin’ tae fash about, a nighean,” Jamie assured her, “it was only a wee misunderstandin’ wi’ Mrs. Fitz. But hopefully these dresses will do.” 

Claire, bless her, tended to take Jamie at his word, and so she didn’t press him for any more details. Quite honestly, her trust in his dismissals of things was a breath of fresh air in contrast to his sister Jenny’s stifling desire to wring every last bit of information from him. He wondered distantly just how long Claire’s innocence on this front would last. But for now she was content to let him take the lead with all things human, and he was happy to take it. 

Jamie’s strides were still long and hurried as he brought Claire back toward the car. Thankfully, she was unresisting— she’d probably had enough exploring for one day. Although Jamie knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong (save going in the dressing room with a fully clothed lass— because she had wings for pete’s sake!), he still felt like a young lad caught with his pants down around his ankles. He wanted to be away from the shop and the talk that surely would be following in their wake. 

The stream of thoughts that occupied Jamie’s brain was interrupted by Claire tripping and nearly toppling over onto the cobbles stones. 

“Woah, lass,” tumbled from Jamie’s mouth at the same time as the pile of clothes on his arm started to fall to the ground. 

With an impressive feat of juggling, he managed to pull Claire upright with one hand and only lose a couple dresses and one pair of shoes with the other. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go of Jamie’s hand so she could stoop down and pick up the fallen items. When she straightened, she pulled at the legs of her sweatpants in frustrated illustration as she said, “I keep tripping over these.” 

“Weel, ye needna suffer them any longer, a nighean,” he laughed, and he lifted the shoulder holding the new clothes, “let’s find ye somewhere tae change.” 

The “somewhere” Jamie settled on was an old bookshop. It was right across the street, so Jamie simply herded his wee faerie inside, trying to make his armful of items look as discrete and nonchalant as possible. 

The bookstore was old and musty. Something about it had a feeling of another time, as if the world stopped the moment you stepped in. The bookshelves were crowded, with only narrow aisles between, and every one was stuffed to the brim with books. The lighting was rather dim, and Jamie had to squint his eyes a bit as he took it all in. Spotting the front desk, he brought Claire over to it. 

Attending the shop was a woman nearly the same age as Jamie, with long red hair that cascaded down her narrow shoulders and over a name tag that read “Geillis”. When she looked up at them, he saw that she had the most startling shade of green eyes. Almost like a cat’s, he thought distantly. Something about her prickled the tiny hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck. 

But she greeted them quite warmly. 

“Good day, how can I be assistin’ ye?” she asked with a bright smile. 

“We’re jes’ needin’ a place tae change, do ye have a loo?” 

The lass, Geillis, eyed him up and down for a long moment before her gaze flicked to Claire. To his astonishment, the lasses made steady eye contact for a long stretch of time, green meeting whisky, and then she suddenly broke it to smile politely at Jamie. 

“Of course,” she said, “we canna have yer hen paradin’ around Inverness in that outfit, can we? It’s on the far side.” She pointed helpfully in the direction. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said, and quickly dragged Claire off. 

After seeing her inside the bathroom to change into her white dress and new shoes, Jamie took to perusing the shelves. All the books were old, likely this was a secondhand shop, and mostly titles he didn’t recognize. He became absorbed in the looking, though, so much so that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure appeared beside him. 

“Find anythin’ interesting?” Geillis asked. 

Jamie quickly composed himself after the fright, and answered, “eh… jes’ lookin’. Quite an assortment of titles ye have here.” 

He ran a finger over the spine of one of the books. 

“Quite,” she agreed, “I take pride in procuring the selection.” 

“Ye own the shop then?” Jamie asked. 

A nod in confirmation. “My name’s Geillis Duncan, nice tae meet ye,” she said, extending her hand. 

Jamie took it, shaking amicably, and replied, “James Fraser.” 

“It appears ye and yer lass have had quite the… adventure…?” She said with raised brows and a glint in her eye. 

“Oh, she’s not my—“ but Jamie cut himself off, finding that he didn’t have it in him to deny the thing he so desperately wanted. Instead, he finished lamely, “aye, we have.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what compelled him to admit it, but he suddenly added, “honestly, I’m at a bit of a loss.”  

At that moment, the door to the washroom opened, and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. As she made her way toward them, a book was suddenly shoved into his hand. 

He looked down in surprise, and then up at Geillis. 

“This one is on me,” she whispered, drawing close to his ear, “read it carefully, fox.” 

Bewildered, he didn’t have any reply. And apparently he didn’t need one. Because he had glanced over at Claire, and when he looked back toward Geillis, she was gone. 

“Ready?” Claire asked as she reached him. 

Jamie shook himself out of his startlement at the shopkeeper's abrupt disappearance and gave Claire a smile. 

“Aye, lass.” 

Hand in hand again, they walked out of the shop, the book Geillis had given him still tucked under his arm. 

*

Next

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh To Boston Chapter 8 - The Morning After.

Hello all, I am so sorry for the delay in posting this. It took a bit of time for all the corrections and rewrites that I had to do. I know some of you had read the preview but it has not changed too much.

I also want to thank everyone for their kind words and good wishes when I explained that things were delayed because my husband had taken ill.  He is well and back to himself.  I am adjusting to the new job and a little less crazy. A little I said.

I do need to thank two very special people @curlsgetdemgurls and @ladyviolethummingbird for being my betas on this chapter.  I don’t know what I would have done without them. They are the best.

I am not promising when the next chapter will be out except to say that it is underway. I dislike promising something that I can’t keep.

So without further ado, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston Chapter 8 The Morning After

Jamie Fraser laid in his hotel bed watching the dawn slowly break over the frozen sleeping city. The sky underwent a metamorphosis transitioning from the inky black of night to the vibrant colors of the day.  Streaks of hot pink, vivid orange, and fiery golden yellow glowed in the heavens splattering across an underlying electric blue.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful as to cause him to weep. But nothing could surpass the goddess who slept beside him. Claire. His Sorcha, his light.

Claire lay on her side, back curled into his chest. Their bodies fit well together. Each one piece of a puzzle when combined made a whole, a complete picture.

He ran his hands along the planes of her body becoming familiar with each dip and luscious curve. Her body, while thin and lithe, spoke of a woman’s sensuality. A hand drifted to cup that sweet round arse of hers.

Aye, plump and juicy like a fat wee hen.

He felt himself rouse just from the mere thought of her. She consumed him. The need left him wanting, needing. He knew he could take her again and again and it would never be enough.

Smiling tenderly, Jamie brushed an errant curl away from Claire’s face. Her hair, that glorious mane, spread out across the pillow a tangled, tousled mess. She would awake and be annoyed with it. There would be fussing, muttered obscenities, and futile attempts to tame it into some semblance of order. Chuckling, Jamie admitted that one of the things he loved about her (and truth be told, he loved everything about her) was her hair, as it truly represents who she is.  At times, she could be wild and free just like her curls. Most of the time she would confine her curly wig into a conservative bun. The reserved Dr. Beauchamp, her public persona. But, her hair would never stay in place. It always struggles to escape its confines and become free. He witnessed the wild and unrestrained side of his enchantress last night, giving and receiving pleasure without inhibition. She was simply magnificent. Jamie blushed at the thought of what they had done, hoping they could do that again soon.

Jamie yawned and stretched feeling each one of his vertebrae popping. He hadn’t slept much during the night. It was his duty to stand guard over his beloved as she slept. He was the Watcher of Her Sleep; The Guardian of her Dreams. Jamie snorted at himself.

“Becoming poetic are we, Fraser?”

He rolled his eyes at his own pretentiousness.

“Weel, if I’m becoming a poet, then she will be my poem.”

He grinned at the thought.

Eyes heavy and gritty from the lack of sleep, Jamie fought to stay awake. Wrapping his arms around Claire, he pulled her closer to his chest.  Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled her sleepy scent. Her fragrance comforted him allowing him to relax.  He settled himself spooning into her, back to chest, arse to groin, legs intertwined. The act while intimate soothed him. Jamie began to drift, feeling the pull of sleep and surrendered to it.

****************

The morning sunlight slowly crept along the floor clambering up the bed settling on Claire’s sleeping countenance rousing her from slumber.  Eyes squinting, she blinked adjusting to the harsh glare suffusing throughout the room.

“I should have closed those bloody drapes last night.”

Peering through narrowed eyes at the clock, it cheerfully blinked 9:43 AM. Claire attempted to shift to her side, wanting very much to return to sleep. This proved impossible as she was held in the steel embrace of a very large, very warm...very naked Scot. One arm wrapped around her chest, while the other came around her waist, tightening every time she tried to move.

“Christ, this is what it must feel like being caught in a bear trap.”

Claire chuckled to herself imagining Jamie as a great giant red bear. Jamie pulled Claire closer making huffing and snuffling noises into her hair.  

Falling into a deeper sleep, his arms became limp, the vise-like grip momentarily relaxed. Quickly, Claire changed position her head now resting on Jamie’s well-muscled torso. She centered her ear over his chest, listening.

Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub.

The sounds of the strong gentle beat of his heart hypnotic, serene. She felt content and safe surrounded by his arms, sharing a bed with him. Nestling closer, Claire became aware of a hardness pressing against her belly.

“Hmm, penile tumescence,” Claire, ever the clinician, mused “He must be in REM sleep.” She wondered what he could be dreaming about, hoping it was her.

******************

“Hello, Claire, I see you have taken a lover,” said a cultured English male voice. Tall and thin, he had the athletic grace of a tennis player. An attractive chap with an aristocratic face, he possessed dark wavy brown hair, and eyes of hazel flecked with honey. Attired in a three-piece brown suit, white button-down shirt, and striped tie, the figure jammed one hand into his pants pocket, cocked his head to one side, projecting a rakish air.

“Hello, Frank. Why don’t you go get stuffed? While you’re at it, get out of this bed,” Claire said her voice laced with anger.

Frank chose to ignore Claire’s request.

“He is rather large is he not?” Frank sneered. “Is that what appeals to you these days, Scottish barbarians? Are you having fantasies about being dominated that you need such a brute in your bed? I recall Joe Abernathy had you reading those dreadful novels. Ghastly, really. I can just imagine the title: ‘The Scottish Barbarian and the English Rose’,” he laughed contemptuously. “TSK, I always thought you to be a refined lady of gentle birth,” he said in a reproachful tone.

“Frank, you never took the time to know anything about me or what I needed or wanted. But Jamie does. Now get out of my head! Go away!”

“How sweet! Jamie, is it? Hmm, sounds rather boyish, doesn’t it,” The Englishman mocked.

“I’ll have you know he’s no boy,” Claire growled vehemently.  “He’s more man than you’ll ever be.  Jamie is kind, gentle, funny, supportive of me, and most of all he loves me. He is everything I could possibly want in a man — something you wouldn’t know anything about. I really don’t know why I am having this conversation with you.”

“You know perfectly well why Claire. You called me here to fuel your insecurities, your inadequacies. I am a figment of your imagination, your dreams. You only have yourself to blame.”

“You know you’re right.  I did call you here. It’s to tell you I am no longer the frightened, insecure girl you knew. You can no longer intimidate me or make me feel inadequate. I have grown emotionally, and I found my self-confidence  — no thanks to you.  I am happy and in love. Yes, I am in love with Jamie. So, why don’t you just bugger off? Oh, and do us both a favor, don’t come back.”

“I’ll be back Claire when you call me again.” The fetch faded into the gray mist of her dream-world.

*************

It was late morning and the sky became a dazzling azure blue, vast and limitless. The sunlight reflected off the whiteness of the snow giving it an even greater brilliance.  As the sun climbed higher, the reflection from the golden beams struck the sleeping lovers rousing them from the land of Nod.

Jamie woke first, finding Claire snuggled in his arms, head still pressed against his chest. He lowered his lips and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Her eyes blinked, as she slowly moved toward wakefulness.

“Good morning mo chridhe, did ye sleep well?”

“Yes, yes I did. And you? Did you sleep well?”

Claire hated lying to Jamie, but she was loath to start the day talking about her disturbing dream.  She would tell him everything...later.

“Aye, I did. Better than I have in a long time.”

Jamie bent forward and kissed the tip of Claire’s nose, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

“Are ye hungry a leannan?”  

“Yes, famished. Aren’t you?” Claire looked up into his fathomless blue eyes.

“Aye, but what I’m hungry for is no’ on the menu.”

“I thought you would have had your fill of me last night.”

“Nah, never mo ghràdh.”

Jamie ran his fingers down the side of her cheek and along the sensitive skin of her neck. Claire shivered under his touch.  In return, her hand went to the nape of his neck and at feeling the soft curls, brought his head down to her mouth. His lips were soft and warm. She melted into his kiss; her heart fluttering in her chest.

“I could get used to waking up like this every morning,” Jamie said his bright blue eyes twinkling.

“So could I,” Claire whispered as she stroked the rough plush of his morning stubble.

His large hands caressed her back up and down before settling on her arse giving it a good squeeze.  

Claire squeaked.

“Ye ken, Beauchamp, it was torture watching ye walk away from me in yer scrubs.  I’d see yer sweet fat arse swaying seductively as ye walked down the corridor. It took all my self-control not to throw ye over my shoulder, carry ye off, and have my way with ye on the spot,” he grinned.

Claire looked up at him offended,

“My arse is not fat, Fraser! I prefer to think of it as Rubenesque. More voluptuous, than fat.”

“Call it what ye will. ‘Tis fat. Just how I like it.”

With that, Jamie gave said arse a loving swat and got out of bed.  He stood naked by the side of the bed stretching luxuriously. Claire did enjoy watching Jamie move. His movements graceful, belying the strength and power his body possessed. Bending down, he retrieved his robe and put it on.

“Why don’t ye take a bath while I order up some breakfast for us?”

“Alright, that sounds like a good idea.”

Claire slipped out of bed while Jamie held open her robe wrapping her snugly in it.

Claire walked to the bathroom, ran the water for the bath adding a bath oil and bubble bath called Romance to the water. The bubbles blossomed up like white fragrant clouds filling the air with the scent of roses, sage, orange, and rosemary as they dispersed. Claire entered the tub, slid down until she was covered in the sweetly scented foam to her shoulders.  

“Ahh.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes, enjoying the absolute bliss of relaxing in the water. The door opened and Jamie stepped in carrying two champagne flutes, the champagne, and the strawberries.

“Mind if I join ye, lass?”

“No, not at all.  There is plenty of room,” Claire looked up at him smiling.

Taking his phone from his robe pocket, Jamie put on some soft instrumental music, popped the cork on the champagne, poured the glasses, and placed a strawberry in each. Dimming the lights just a little, he removed the robe and joined Claire in the tub. Jamie moved with a natural elegance for such a large man, nimbly descending into the water without causing a wave or a ripple allowing them to face each other.

“Do ye no’ feel a wee bit decadent, mo chridhe? I’ve never done such a thing as this.”

He closed his eyes leaned back so only his head could be seen above the mass of bubbles and let out a contented sigh.

Claire giggled at the sight of him up to his neck in bubbles.

Jamie grinned and reached along the edge of the tub finding the champagne flutes and handed one to Claire.

“What should we toast to?” Jamie paused contemplating. “Ah, I have one. Here’s to a lady of grace, a woman of strength, a lass of astonishing beauty, and the woman that has captured my heart, Claire Beauchamp.”

Whether from the heat of the water, the nearness of Jamie, the effusive compliment, or all three, Claire’s face flushed.

Touching their flutes together, they sipped the champagne. When Jamie finished he retrieved the strawberry from his glass bit the bottom, causing the juice to flow freely.  Jamie ran the berry seeping its sweet-tart fluid over Claire’s generous lips, painting them a ruby red. He pressed the fruit to her lips teasing them apart with Claire accepted his gift.  She slowly chewed it all while her sultry amber eyes focused on him. A few drops of sweet liquid trickled out of Claire’s mouth settling onto her lips. Jamie leaned forward, eyes riveted on her mouth. His tongue swirled over her lips licking the nectar from them savoring the taste of the strawberry and her.  Her lips stained red were plump, sweet, and begging him to claim them.

“I would very much like to kiss you, Claire,” his eyes never wavering from her.

“I would like that very much,” Claire replied breathlessly.

Their lips met. His were soft, warm, with a hint of champagne. Hers were supple and sweet with a lingering taste of berry. Jamie's tongue quested across her lips seeking entry which Claire gave gladly. Their tongues met in a sweet caress, touching, stroking sending sparks and shivers through each of them. They broke apart resting forehead to forehead absorbing each other in through their breath.

“Turn around, I’ll wash yer back.”

Claire did as Jamie requested settling between his legs. Knees bent, Claire, rested her forehead on her thighs providing ample access to her back.

Jamie reached for the bath sponge. Soft and silky, he filled it with water adding the sweet-scented soap to create a rich creamy froth. He slowly began to massage Claire’s back, moving in circles working the foam into her skin. He lifted each arm, stroking up and down from shoulders to fingertips. Claire’s head rolled back falling against Jaime’s chest.

“Hmm, that feels so nice, Jamie.”

“Ye like it, a nighean? Why dinna ye rest yer back against my chest too?”

Claire willingly complied. Once more, Jamie loaded the sponge letting the soapy water trickle over her chest, between her breasts, and over her nipples. Slowly, unhurriedly, he brought the sponge down tracing a path down toward her belly. Claire made small mewling sounds deep in her throat.

“Move yer legs apart, lass. ”

The silkiness of the sponge contrasted with the pressure Jamie applied to her apex.  Claire began to shift and writhe in time to Jamie’s movements. Her mouth opened breath becoming shallow. She began to whimper. Claire placed her hand over Jamie’s adding to the already delicious sensation he was creating. Her lips moved not making a sound. A curse perhaps, or was it a prayer in supplication?

“Ye like this, lass?”

Jamie’s arousal grew, the need for her surging.  

“Yes.”

Claire began to squirm, twisting her body. She needed his mouth, needing to feel it against hers. She leaned in, their lips meeting giving him a soul-searing kiss, igniting a blaze of passion that threatened to devour them both

Jamie rose up with the water streaming off his chiseled body. He looked like Poseidon rising from the depths of the ocean.

“Mo ghràdh, I must have ye or die!”

Claire raised her arms up to him.

“Then have me.”

Jamie lifted Claire from the bath. She would be his Venus, nascent from the sea.  Her arms were wrapped securely around his neck; her face buried in his chest. His strength supported her, cradling her against him. In two strides, he moved from the tub to the vanity countertop. While one arm supported Claire, the other swept the counter top clearing it of bottles, tubes, jars, and soaps sending them flying across the room. He had no care for the shamble he was creating, no attention to spend on it. His breathing was rapid and eyes now dark with lust. He placed Claire on the cool marble countertop nudging her legs apart. Jamie came closer settling between them. He needed to touch her. He ran his hand down the valley between her breasts, across her belly, and resting on her hip.

Ah Dhia, her skin is so smooth, so soft. It shimmers like a pearl newly pulled from the sea.

His hand dropped between her thighs wanting, needing to touch her. The tender flesh of her thighs opening wider inviting his fingers to roam over the satiny skin.

“Kiss me, Jamie.”

Jamie licked his lips, leaned in claiming her mouth.

Surrendering to the driving force of his kiss left her breathless, and wanting. An aching tension grew between them igniting the flames of their lust.

Jamie spied the mirror behind Claire. Dripping with condensation, he swiped at it clearing the steam obstructing his view of them. He could watch; he could see what he was doing to her.  He didn’t think he could get any harder but the thought of watching made his cock so hard he didn’t think he could feel it anymore.

Leaning back on her arms, Claire spread herself wide in invitation. Jamie took his cock in hand and began to rub it against her sensitive tissue, making her moan.  He placed himself at her entrance and in one swift motion slid home.

Claire gasped at the sudden intrusion into her body.

“God! Jamie!”

“Lie back a nighean. I want to love ye thoroughly.”

Claire complied. Taking her legs he placed them upon his shoulders. His thumb moved to the center of her arousal, stroking building sensations of molten waves of pleasure through her. Joining to her in their heated flesh, he moved sliding in and out of her, watching himself.

“Look in the mirror as I take ye. See how I love ye.”

Claire craned her head, looking into the mirror she saw the ecstasy and agony of pleasure and passion across Jamie’s face. Struggling to find purchase, her nails grasped vainly at the slick marble countertop.

“Help me up, Jamie! I want to see us.”

A large strong hand supported her back allowing her to sit up; the other pushed her head down. Legs widely spread Claire could see him take her, watching him thrust into her, possess her. They became one.

It became more than she could endure. This was the most erotic thing she had ever done, becoming both participant and spectator.  Moaning loudly, her hips began to gyrate wildly. She could hear the thrum of her blood as it coursed through her body. She could no longer focus her arousal was complete.  There was only pure sensation, pure pleasure.

“Jamie! I can’t...I...I… Oh, God Jamie!”

Claire’s nails raked down Jamie’s chest leaving angry red marks in their wake.  She felt herself flood around him. Her climax shattering. Her Scot was not far behind.

“Claire! Oh, God! Claire!,”

Jamie shuddered spilling himself into her. He leaned forward biting her at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He trembled in the aftermath of their love. They clung to each other as they descended from the throes of their passion.

Jamie looked at Claire somewhat abashed. Helping her down from the countertop, he dampened a face cloth and offered it to her.

“Claire, I never...that is, I didn’t mean... Oh, Christ!”

Face flaming, he grabbed his robe and left the room; leaving Claire puzzled.

Have I done something wrong?

Claire straightened up the room, picking up the bits and pieces that had been unceremoniously thrown onto the floor.  Putting on her robe, she arranged herself into some semblance of order and walked out into the room.

Jamie was standing with his hands in his pockets staring out the large window onto the street below.

Boston was trying to dig itself out. Sanitation trucks with large plows attempted to make the streets passable again.  Merchants with shovels and snowblowers cleared their walkways from the mounds of snow. People slipped and slid on the sidewalk while others endeavored to walk around the piles of drifting snow with varying degrees of success.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Jamie saw none of it.

How could I treat her like this? What is wrong with me to use her in such a way? She must think me a beast or an animal.  I don’t deserve her.

Disgusted with himself, Jamie hung his head in shame and embarrassment, unable to face Claire. So deeply lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear her enter the room.

“Jamie are you alright? Please tell me what’s wrong. Was it me? Was it not good? I’m sorry.”

Claire bit her lip nervously. Frank had always made her feel inadequate in bed. She did not want to disappoint Jamie. She couldn’t bear it.

Jamie turned to look at her with eyes wide in disbelief. His voice soft, halting,

“Claire, what are ye talking about? Ye did nothing wrong, lass. It was me.”

His shoulders slumped and he had difficulty maintaining eye contact.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to ye for my behavior. Or lack of it.”

He continued gazing at a place in the distance that only he could see.

“I dinna want ye to think, I mean I dinna want ye to feel that I only want ye for…”

Jamie waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the bed.

“Jamie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You did nothing wrong. Why should you apologize to me?”

“Claire, my Da taught me that women were to be respected, revered especially ah, in sex. He said that when ye love a woman, ye should pay tribute to her body as it is her right. I dishonored ye, lass. What I did was selfish. I have no claim on ye. I am no’ yer husband. I did not consider ye. And for that I must beg yer pardon.

Jamie began to pace about the room, restless running his hands through his hair.  He turned facing Claire, “Christ do ye no’ ken how much I love ye?  Ye are the air that I breathe, the blood of my heart. Without ye, I am naught but an empty shell. Your face is my heart mo ghràdh and the love of you is my soul.

“Ye see I want this, want us to be more. I want something we can build on, grow with. No’ just some magnificent weekend and then we part. That’s not good enough, Claire. Not for me and certainly not for ye.  Ye deserve better.”

Jamie was stiff and rigid, fighting to control his emotions. He did not want to lose Claire because of one foolish mistake.

Claire was touched by his concern for her and her feelings. She walked around to face him, cupping his face in to get him to meet her eye.  Jamie resisted.

“Look at me, please. You did nothing wrong. I wanted you to.”

Claire spoke softly and tenderly.

“You make me feel beautiful, sexy, desirable, loved, wanted, safe. How can these things be wrong?”

Jamie turned looking at her, a single tear running down his face.

“Do ye mean it, Claire? That’s how I make ye feel?”

Claire thumbed away the tear. Standing on tiptoes she leaned in and sweetly kissed him on the lips.

“Yes, and so much more. I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie sniffed, a crooked smile on his face

“And I you.”

He wrapped his arms around her pulling her close.

“Well, now that is all out of the way let’s have some of this delicious breakfast that you ordered for us.”

“Oh, and Jamie,” Claire said mischievously, “the next time you want to do it in front of a mirror, just make sure I can see your sweet arse in action, aye?”

A devilish grin played across her face as she turned and walked away leaving Jamie standing with his mouth agape.

[basketcase1880]

Okay, so I passed my final placement, and (finally) passed my final exam, so I’ve had some time to work on this. The bonfire that is mentioned in this chapter is something that happens local to me in the Central Belt of Scotland, I don’t know if it happens up in Beauly though. So here goes...

CHAPTER 15

 Previous

The days between Christmas and New Year passed by in a flurry of dusters and cleaning products. Especially in the sitting room where the Frasers still had their coal fire as it produced a lot of soot. Claire even got into the spirit of the cleaning, even though Ellen had told her not to bother since she was a guest.

 Claire took it upon herself to help Fergus with tidying his room and putting away his new toys from Christmas. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered to herself as she struggled to fit all his new clothes into his drawers. “You appear to have too much clothes.”

 “What was that, Sassenach?” Jamie said as he stuck his head round the door frame. “Did ye say somethin’?”

 “Yes, your son appears to have too much clothes,” Claire joked, and Jamie placed a quick peck to Claire’s lips. “I can’t seem to fit them all in his drawers.”

 “Well, why don’ ye and young Fergus go through the clothes then?” Jamie suggested. “An’ we can donate what he doesn’ wan’ or wha’ doesn’ fit to charity. Same wi’ ‘is toys.”

 “I’ll see what I can do,” Claire smiled. “Now send that boy back in here, he’s been in the bathroom far too long, and you, you can go back to the stables. I’m sure your dad and Murtagh are looking for you.”

Jamie just smiled and headed out the room to find his wayward son. He found Fergus in the bathroom, playing with his new bath toys Willie had gotten him for Christmas. “There ye’ are, m’lad,” Jamie said to Fergus as he grabbed the towel from the rail to dry Fergus up. “Why don’t ye go back and help Claire go through yer old clothes an’ ye can make room fer yer new clothes. Ye can tell Claire wha’ doesnae fit ye anymore an’ wha’ ye’ve nae worn in a while.”

 “Oui, da’,” Fergus smiled and ran off back to his room before Jamie could chastise his mixed languages.

 ***

 At dinner that night, Fergus was buzzing to tell everyone about what he got up to while cleaning that day. “M’lady ‘elped me to sort my clothes,” he said. “An’ we’re going to give them to charité. An’ my old toys.”

 “That’s good,” Ellen smiled at the boy. “It’s always good to go into the New Year with a fresh start. An’ jus’ think of all the fun some children will have wi’ the toys ye don’ play wi’ anymore.”

 “It was always hard tryin’ tae get yer da’ tae part wi’ any o’ his toys,” Willie decided to pipe in with as he placed the casserole dish in the middle of the table. “So, it’s good tae see ye’ havenae inherited tha’ streak fae him.”

 “It was da’s idea,” Fergus supplied with a smug smile as he turned to hug Jamie.

 “Right,” Brian said before any arguments could break out. “We’re comin’ up on the New Year, so I dinnae want any arguments under my roof. Besides, dinner will get cold if ye get intae a rammy.”

 That made the table laugh and they soon settled down to eat. Claire was becoming more accustomed to how things were done in the Fraser household; Grace was said before every meal, and whatever Brian said was the golden rule.

 “So, what does New Year fully entail?” Claire asked as dinner was finished. “I’ve never really celebrated it. And this is the first time I’ve been able to concentrate on the customs surrounding it.”

 “Well, in years gone by, New Year was a bigger celebration than Christmas,” Jenny began. “Christmas wasn’t even a public holiday, while New Year and the 2nd of January are public holidays in Scotland.”

 “Aye, but tha’ was durin’ the reformation,” Murtagh piped up. “The Protestant Church considered Christmas as a Catholic feast, an’ banned those in the Protestant faith from celebratin’ Christmas. Mind ye’ wi’ the excesses o’ Hogmanay, the church soon frowned on New Year as weel.”

 “An’ then ye’ve got yer First Footer,” Jenny piped up.

 “But ye dinae wan’ it tae be yer man there,” Willie interrupted as he pointed at Jamie. “Nor young Janet, Louise or mam.”

 “Aye, they’re all unlucky, as are ye, Willie,” Rabbie continued. “Yer best bet fer a First Footer wid be da or Murtagh.”

 “Hold yer horses, wid ye,” Ellen scolded. “It wid probably help Claire if she knew wha’ a First Footer was. A First Footer is simply the first person to cross the threshold to your house after the bells have rung out midnight. Traditionally they would bring gifts like coal, shortbread, salt, black bun an’ whisky, all of which are believed to ensure a house is safe an’ warm, as weel as makin’ sure the house has enough food for the coming year.”

 “It’s also believed tha’ the First Footer should be a tall dark male,” Jamie continued. “An’ women, or a’body wi’ falt ruadh were particularly bad luck.”

 “Falt ruadh?” Claire asked, her attempt at the Gàidhlig quite good.

 “Red hair,” Rabbie supplied. “So, mam would be particularly unlucky. Ye also dinnae wan’ a man or woman o’ the clergy First Footin’ ye either. They’re believed tae be unlucky. I wonder what colour Father Bain’s hair used tae be…?”

 “Hush, Rabbie,” Brian scolded. “Also, Beauly has a big bonfire that gets lit on Hogmanay. That’s where I’ve been sendin’ Jamie an’ Ian the past couple o’ days, tae help wi’ the buildin’ o’ the bonfire.”

 “That all sounds very inviting,” Claire smiled. “I’m glad you invited me to spend the holidays with the family now.”

 “Did you bring any party clothes with you?” Louise suddenly asked as an idea hit her.

 “No, the smartest clothes I brought were the ones I wore on Christmas,” Claire explained. “Why’d you ask, Louise?”

 “The party at the bonfire,” Louise explained. “You will need something warm, but smart to wear.”

 “We can go tomorrow,” Jenny piped up. “An’ we can drop off Fergus’ things to the local charity shop.”

 “That sounds like a plan for ye girls,” Ellen smiled. “Will ye be takin’ Fergus with you?”

 “Of course,” Claire replied before Jenny or Louise could reply. “We can show him what happens at charity shops as well.”

 “That’s good,” Willie said. “Let’s mam an’ I focus on the food for the festivities. I’ve got a big clootie dumplin’ tae make.”

 “No’ lad,” Brian said with an air of authority about him. “Yer mam makes the clootie fer the New Year. Ye stay away from it.”

 “Brian,” Ellen resolved. “I’m still makin’ the one fer the house, Willie is makin’ the one for the village…”

 Claire and Jamie both turned to Fergus as Brian and Ellen began discussing the plans for the coming festivities, only to find the young boy was almost falling asleep in his empty plate. Jamie smiled at Claire before lifting Fergus into his arms and carried him to his own room.

 “I’ll bath him in the morning,” Claire said as she pulled a pair of pyjamas out of the newly organised drawers. “Let’s just let him sleep. He’s been working hard the past couple of days, not to mention this will be his first New Year with his new family.”

 “Aye,” Jamie smiled. “Plus, this will give us some time alone before he, inevitably, finds his way into our bed.”

 Claire just smiled at Jamie as she processed what he had just said, she thought it sounded so natural that Jamie never even realised what he said.

Next

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Just another Sunday and just another chapter. Thanks to all of you who read, like, reblog, comment. i appreciate it more than you know.

thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

previous

AO3

Chapter 4: From Park to Parlay

There’s something rather special about this time of year with the transition from spring to summer when everything is still so fresh and green. The long, light evenings make me feel like I’ve been given an extra couple of hours in my day.

My flat has a balcony. It’s small—just enough space for a bistro table, two chairs and a few pots of herbs—but I love it. I come home from work and sit out there, sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes with something a bit stronger. Of course this is weather dependent — I am in Scotland, after all.

But sometimes, like tonight, sitting on my balcony isn’t enough. I want to be outside in all that fresh air and sunshine. Plus, one of my neighbours has acquired a new hobby, apparently. It’s either learning the violin or strangling cats. Although it sounds more like the latter, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the former. I have finally managed to identify the piece she’s having a crack at. It’s from ‘Frozen’ — ‘Let It Go’ and I really wish she would.

Besides, if I wander into the park, there’s a certain ice cream kiosk that might still be open. My mouth waters at the thought of their cherry bakewell ice cream. So, I grab a cardigan, keys and a bit of cash, and head out.

As I stroll through the park, I’m thankful that I brought my cardigan. The sun is still warm, but there’s a distinct chill in the shade. Not enough of a chill to put me off an ice cream, though.

The kiosk is just on the verge of closing for the day, but he spies me doing that stupid little pretend run that’s actually no faster than walking and waits. I smile gratefully as I hand over the money in exchange for a double cone. Turning away, I can hear the shutters closing.

There’s a bench nearby, overlooking the pond and still in the sun… unoccupied. I sit down ready to enjoy my ice cream in peace. After the cacophony of a violin bow being scraped painfully across strings, this is sheer bliss — only the sound of a few argumentative ducks and the occasional playful dog. No-one to disturb me, no-one to—

At first, all I can hear are two voices, coming from the path behind me. Nothing above a murmur — one low pitched, the other higher. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Not that I would want to.  The higher voice, a female, is definitely getting louder now. She’s not happy by the sound of it. The other, clearly male, keeps to a calm murmur.

“Are ye telling me I’m imagining things, then?”

I can’t hear the response, but it’s obviously not to her liking.

“I ken she works fer ye.  But she has her eye on ye. I’m no’ stupid. D’ye think I’m a mug?”

The voice sounds a bit familiar but I can’t place it anywhere. Perhaps we go to the same coffee shops or bars or—

“That’s it, James Fraser. I’m going, I mean it... Ye ken where tae find me… this is me, going… bye… I said bye.  Fine, dinna answer me, then.”

The annoyance in her voice registers in my brain. I know why she sounds so familiar— it’s little Miss James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever. Which means that, at any moment, one or other of them might be rounding this corner and think that I was eavesdropping.

Quickly I get to my feet ready to walk away —slap bang straight into Samsonite-owning Jamie Fraser. I take a step back. The first thing I notice is he’s not wearing a white dress shirt this time. He’s far more casually dressed in a plain white t-shirt… a plain white t-shirt now adorned with a large splodge of pink ice cream right in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, gosh, I’m — I’m so sorry,” I stammer apologetically as I fumble in my pockets for a paper serviette or tissue.

He looks up. The vexed expression on his face gives way to one of amusement.

“Claire Beauchamp,” he announces. “I didna recognise ye without yer suitcase.”

“I am sorry,” I continue to apologise as I pass him a somewhat crumpled but clean tissue.

He makes no attempt to leave, but settles himself on the bench and starts to dab ineffectually at the pink stain.

“Was it good?” He nods at the battered cone I am still holding.

“Oh yes, the best. I’d buy you one as compensation but they’re closed now.”

“It’s fine. If I feel the need I can always suck on ma shirt.” He looks down at the stain, glaringly obvious against the pristine white of his t-shirt. “Sae, how are ye doing?”

I perch on the bench next to him. Apparently we’re having a conversation.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I answer politely. “And how are you?”

“Me, I’m no’ sae bad,”  He looks annoyed, then shakes his head and gives a little half smile. “Look, I’m sorry if any of that… er…weel, if ye heard any of that.”

Do I lie? Pretend that I heard nothing? I’m not a very good liar. Geillis always says that I have a glass face, you can see every emotion clearly etched on it and I think she’s right. So I choose to answer noncommittally.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s jes’...” he pauses for a moment, considering his choice of words. “Jes’ … tricky.”

He seems lost in thought. Maybe I need to remind him that his wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper has just stormed off and will clearly be awaiting some sort of reaction from him.

“Shouldn’t you be… ?” I gesture towards the path in the direction she must have taken.

“Nah, I’m no’ going after her… no’ this time.” He adds the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, ok.”

“That's what she wants, ye ken. The attention, me chasing after her, making promises…” his voice tails off as he realises what he’s doing.

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldna be blathering like this tae ye. I dinna ken why.”

I do. Sometimes it’s easier to vent, to get things off your chest, to a stranger rather than family or friends. You can pretty much say what you like, confident that it’s not going to come back and bite you, or spread like chinese whispers around your peer group.

“No need to apologise. It can be easier explaining things to strangers, sometimes.”

He smiles. “Ah, but, I dinna think we’re strangers. After all, I’m well acquainted with yer holiday… er...shall we say, accessories.”

If his intention was to make me blush, he’s succeeded. I feel myself redden. “It was a hen party. I had to get into the spirit.”

“So ye say.” He raises an eyebrow as if to question my explanation.  “Och, dinna mind me, I’m jes’ teasing.”

I screw my face up in mock disgust and he chuckles.

“My mam told me never tae pull faces else ye’ll be stuck like that if the wind changes.”

I assume a serious expression.

“That’s much better, Miss Beauchamp,” his face becomes serious too. “But, aye, I get what ye’re saying— about talking tae people ye dinna ken. Ye’ve no horse in this race, as it were. Everyone else that I ken seems tae have an opinion.”

I’m suddenly conscious that the remains of my cone are still in my hand, now totally melted. Noticing my awkward fidgeting, he returns the crumpled tissue to me. I wipe my hands and deposit all the debris in the bin by the bench. He settles back, obviously keen to continue our conversation.

“Sae, are ye up fer giving me yer opinion then about ma situation?”

I’ve never thought of myself as an agony aunt, but I’m curious to know more about him. It’s reassuring to know other people have complications in their love lives too.

“I don’t know enough to give you my opinion, but feel free to unload, if you want to.”

He leans forward, his large hands resting on his denim clad knees and sighs. He has very nice hands with neatly shaped nails, no ragged cuticles or bitten nails. There’s a smattering of reddish hairs on the back. I always notice a man’s hands. Frank had very smooth, elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Jamie’s are much broader than Frank’s, which fits with his whole Viking throwback vibe. I force myself away from his hands and focus on what he's telling me.

“Ye see, ye get tae an age where all yer friends are in couples and having bairns. And ye feel that’s what ye should do, have a proper ‘relationship’.”

I inhale sharply at the way he says the word, so similar to my own thoughts. He glances at me, and continues.

“Ah, ye ken what I mean. And sae ye go along wi’ it when ye friends introduce ye tae a lass. And ye date… and it’s nice, but there’s always that feeling that they want something more, that they want the whole ‘relationship’ thing. They want more than ye can give. And that leads tae disappointment and arguments. They push, trying tae force ye to commit.”

He sits back and looks at me. “Mebbe it’s…och, i dinna ken. Jes’ ignore me. I’m a stupid dolt.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Honestly.”

“I mean, Laoghaire is a nice enough lass, but it seems the more she pushes, the more I back away. It makes her more suspicious. If I dinna want her, then she reckons I must be after another. What do ye think?”

Do I tell him about her answering his phone? I mean, it seems like he’s coming to a conclusion all by himself. I decide not to volunteer any more information. And I know I said I wouldn’t give an opinion, but I just can’t help it. This is all too familiar to me.

“It is difficult but, ask yourself, is this fair to Laoghaire, or fair to you? Will this keep happening? I mean, I don’t know her, but will she be satisfied with what you are prepared to give? I think you already know your answer. And I think you know what you must do.”

He sighs again. “Aye, I do. But it’s no’ a pleasant thing, is it?”

I shake my head. The image of Frank’s devastation is still fresh in my mind. “It never is.”

The bench is now in shade, and it’s cooled down a lot. I shiver and wrap my cardigan tightly around me. Time to head home, I think.

“Aye, ye’re right. Time tae go.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the evening chill, or what he needs to do about the whole Laoghaire situation.

We both stand up at the same time. He extends his hand, and I take it in mine, which is more than a bit grubby and sticky, with the odd bit of tissue still stuck to it.

“Thank ye for listening, Claire, and fer yer opinion. It’s been a big help tae me. I dinna ken what it is but I feel I can talk tae ye. And I promise, next time, it’s yer turn. Ye can vent like ye want tae me and I’ll do the listening.”

“Will there be a next time?”

He smiles. “Oh aye, I’m sure there will be.”

[renee-writer]

One Step Into the Future Chapter 2 What? Where? When?

“Jamie?” She kneels beside him and takes his pulse. It is strong and his eyelids are fluttering. Just a faint then. “Jamie, open your eyes.”

He does and finds her amber eyes staring back at him. So, he hadn't dreamed her. What of the rest? “Claire what of..”

“Yes Jamie?” He sits himself up and looks down. It is still there, whatever it was.

“What is that?” She looks where he is pointing and only sees her car. She frowns.

“What is what? It is only my car.”

“Car?”

“Jamie, how hard did you hit your head?” she is feeling under his curls again. But even the feel of her bonny hands canna distract him. “I don't feel anything but fainting and disorientation mean we should have you checked.”

“Checked?”

“At the hospital.” He still looks at her blankly so she just urges him up and towards her car. She open s the driver's door but he just stands there. It is like he has never seen a car before. She frowns, climbs out, and leads him to the passenger side. She urges him to have a seat. He sits and she places the seatbelt on him. She then reenters her side and starts the car. He is silent but jumps at the sound of the car starting. It isn't loud. Who is this guy?

“It is okay Jamie. It is safe and I am a good driver.”

“The Stones! It must be. The stories. They are true.”

“What stories?” He is distracted by the feel of movement. They are moving faster then any carriage and there are no horses. “Jamie?”

“Of travel. Of those who go through the stones, into another time.”

“You think you have went through another time?”

“Aye. Unless this is 1742.” It is her turn to be shocked.

“It is 2019. Jamie, are you saying you believe you are from 1742?”

“Nae Claire, I am saying I ken I am.”

She hurries to the hospital really worried about him now. She pulls up and helps him out. He follows her in, looking at the flashing lights, the ambulances, the doors that open as they approach, with wide eyes.

“Claire Beauchamp, we didn't expect you here today,” Dr. Geillis Duncan greets her.

“I didn't expect to be. I have a patient.” Her eyes move to Jamie.

“He is the most Highlander, Highlander I've ever seen.”

“James Fraser, at yer service ma'am.” He bows low in front of her, letting his kilt swing.

“Geillis Duncan, and it is a good thing I am married.”

“Is your husband about?” Joe Abernathy was the best psychiatrist Claire has ever worked with.

“Aye, I can page him.” Her questions are in her eyes.

“Jamie, stay right here.” He nods, still studying the electric lights, the lasses dressed like lads, the strange wheeled beds, and all the other queer things.

“He believes he is from 1742 and has came through some standing stones.” She explains to Geillis all that had happened.

“Okay. Let's do a complete physical. Make sure it isn’t something medical. I will get Joe to consult.”

“Thank you.”

The lead him to a bed. A nurse comes in and explains he must change into a gown.

“Why?”

“Hospital rules. I will give you a moment.” He carefully removes his clothes, laying them on the edge of the bed. But he has no idea how to put on the gown.

“Claire!” he calls out. She is close, standing by the curtain. She hurries in to find him as nude as a newborn.

“Christ Jamie!” her cheeks flare bright red. She has seen patients nude but she wasn't expecting..

“The lass says I must wear it but, I canna figure it out.” She comes in and helps him place the gown on. She ties it in the back then covers him with a sheet. It is short and barely covers his manhood. Hospital gowns were not made with Scottish warriors in mind. “Thank ye Claire.”

The nurse returns,” I need to draw some blood.”

“Like with leeches?” Jamie asks, startling the poor girl.

“No. The standard way.” Claire explains the process as well as she can. He nods but holds Claire's hand. She lets him squeeze it. “Quick pinch.” He jerks a bit then is still. He watches instead as his blood moves like magic into the wee glass thing. “Thank you Mr. Fraser.” She places a bandage over the small hole and slips out.

“Are you okay?” she asks him.

“I think so. Seems easier then the leeches.” She smiles. Another nurse enters with a cup.

“Mr. Fraser, we need a urine specimen.” He looks to Claire.

“She needs you to pee in that cup.”

“Ye wish me tae piss into that?”

“Well yes.” She hands it to him and he shrugs. He lifts the end of the gown giving both ladies a glimpse of what God has gifted him with.

“Jamie! Not here. You are to do it in the loo, ahh privy. Come.” She leads him out and into an empty bathroom. He looks around in wonder. “See, this is a sink. Water comes through pipes in the wall.” She turns it on and shows him.

“Nae need of drawing from a creek or a well?”

“No. And this is an indoor privy. You stand over it, lift both lids, and pee inside, whatever doesn’t fit in the cup. To, ah, defecate, you place one lid down and sit. When done you simply press this lever down and it is carried away. Then wash your hands.” She demonstrates flushing. He jumps a bit at the noise. “I will be right outside.”

“Claire nae! Please dinna go. I am scared.”

“Okay. I will turn my back.”

“Thank ye.” She does. A moment later she hears him peeing into the cup, and then into the toilet. She turns then to find him holding the cup in one hand and staring at the lever that flushes it. She takes the cup and places the lid on. She watches as with shaken hands, he flushes. He then washes his hands. She leads him back to the room.

“His blood and urine are clean. Very clean. No minute traces of the pollution I would expect to find in any modern person.” A shaken Geillis reports an hour later.

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying, I am getting Joe.”

“Hello Mr. Fraser. I am Doctor Joe Abernathy. You can call me Joe.”

“What happened to yer skin?” Joe is a dark skin black man, something that Jamie had yet to see.

“You have never seen a black person before?”

“No.”

“Well Jamie, may I call you that?”

“Aye tis my name.”

“Jamie, I am black. My ancestors came from the continent of Africa.”

“I have heard of such just nae seen.”

“Jamie, I need to ask you some questions. That alright?”

“Aye.”

“What is your full name?”

“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

“What year were you born?

“The year of our Lord 1720.”

“And what year is it now?”

“Well Joe. Twas 1742 when I woke this morning but Claire says it is now 2019. It must be sae.”

“Why?”

“Weel, there is not any of this in 1742. I had ne' seen a car, a door that opens on it's own, beds with wheels, fireless lights, an indoor privy, weel, any of this before today.”

“What are your parent’s names?”

“Brian and Ellen Fraser?”

“Your mother's maiden name?”

“Mackenzie.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Aye, a sister named Janet but everyone calls her Jenny. Had a brother named Willie but her died?”

“When did he die?”

“1730. It was the pox that carried him away?”

“Smallpox?”

“Aye.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

“Nae. My mam passed a year after Willie, in childbed. My da was felled by a sudden attack two years ago.”

“What is your phone number?”

“What is a phone?”

“Okay, where did you go to school?”

“I was educated by my mam until she passed. My sister taught me some then my da sent me to my uncle's at Castle Leoch. I studied under them for two and a half years.”

“Where do you work.?”

“I was a soldier in France until the war ended. Now I am a stable hand at Castle Leoch. Or was?”

“Okay Jamie. I will be back.”

“He is intelligent, articulate and believes every word he told me. But other then the delusion, there is no other sign of a mental illness, no paranoia, no depression, nothing.”

“Nothing but the fact that he believes himself from the past and the lab tests seem to back him up.”

“You were on the hill Claire. What did you experience?”

“It was strange. Their was a loud humming, like a hive of bees. Then silence and he was there, on the other side of the stone.”

“I deal in facts but there are certain things we can't know. Mysterys.”

“You believe him?”

“He does. His words and actions show he isn't aware he is lying or mistaken, if he is.”

“And the lab tests.” He nods.

“I can't admit him or medicate him.”

“What do I do with him?” He shrugs.

“I can't say. But he is like a domesticated animal. They way he is now, he will never survive out on his own.”

“I found him so I keep him?”

“He isn't a danger. You can take him to a shelter or..”

“Take him home with me.”

“Yes”

“Thanks Joe. I guess I have a houseguest, for awhile. I will see him on his feet.”