#even though hell punished him for it when he got caught in edinburgh

[lenaellsi]

i've mentioned this before and it's a Hot Take maybe but. i don't think it's fair at all to characterize crowley's "you and me, what do you say?" speech from s2 as being equivalent to "fuck the earth run away with me to the stars right now" a la season 1

i guess i can see why it might come off that way, with gabriel and beelzebub having just left and crowley drawing the comparison to them, but a lot of people have sort of extrapolated from that this dichotomy where suddenly aziraphale is the one who cares about saving the world and crowley only cares about himself and aziraphale. and while i think crowley certainly prioritizes their mutual safety and is more likely to get spooked when faced with threats from heaven (i wonder why) crowley also loves earth?? he talks about it all the time.

the last time there was an apocalypse, crowley was the one who proposed saving the world, and he had to talk aziraphale into it. and like...he was planning breakfast at the ritz, wasn't he? he didn't want to leave. obviously "you can't leave this bookshop" meant "you can't leave me," but it also LITTLE bit meant the bookshop, and earth.

the circumstances of s1 were very different than the end of s2. crowley only wanted to run in s1 when 1) the end was about 4 hours away, 2) from his POV he and aziraphale had no idea where the antichrist was, so they wouldn't be able to stop anything even if they did stay to die with the humans, 3) aziraphale was about to Talk To Heaven the same way crowley tried to before the Fall, 4) demons were actively pursuing him for purposes of torture and annihilation. and in the end, he STILL stayed.

idk. if we're going to give aziraphale the benefit of the doubt for the Many Things he said in that convo, then i think we can afford to give crowley the benefit of the doubt that "we need to get away from them" and "go off together" might mean something more along the lines of "please don't go back to heaven, stay with me, it can be the two of us against them all." THAT was what crowley's emotional arc this season was leading to, with the flashbacks and his big revelation in ep 5, the same way aziraphale's was leading to leaving. every single one of the flashbacks had crowley choosing to help someone else at great personal risk--why would that lead to the conclusion that he actually wants to leave without trying to help? (of course, he did want to abandon gabriel. but I don't think that was even a little bit irrational after aziraphale's failed execution. walking away from the heavenly host who has done nothing but hurt both of them is not the same as walking away from earth. it's still a problem--ignoring heaven and hell will not, ultimately, fix anything--but again, it's not the same as abandoning humanity on a whim.)

TL;DR I don't think it's a fair reading to say that crowley's proposed solution to The Heaven And Hell Problem is "fuck humanity, let's give up." i think he was proposing working together against heaven and hell with the option of an exit strategy if everything went wrong, which is what he ALWAYS tries to do. (see: arrangement + holy water.) his need for an escape route and his tendency to prepare for the worst is something that is definitely hindering him in, for example, his relationship with aziraphale, but it also makes sense. because, you know. the last time he tried doing anything about heaven he got his wings lit on fire. so.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh To Boston - Chapter 10 - Getting To Know You

Good evening all,

I’m back with Chapter 10.  I tried something different here and I hope you all like it. There are some words I used that I got from Google Translate, I hope they are correct. The story also includes references to middle eastern culture. I also hope these are correct.  I did my due diligence and researched the culture as best as I could. If there are errors, I do apologize.

We are nearing the end of this story.  I am wondering if after I finish it should I continue with a Part II?  Would you all be interested in continuing to read about these two or should I move on to something else? Your opinion matters to me.

Any thoughts or comments you have about the story, please let me know. Constructive, respectful criticism is welcome.

 I need to thank @curlsgetdemgurls for putting up with me, encouraging me, and being the best beta around.

So without further ado, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 10

Getting To Know You

SPLAT!!!

Something struck Jamie squarely in the center of his back. He had a suspicion of what hit him and who did it. Turning around he found Claire standing several feet behind him with the most angelic look on her face and her hands behind her back.

“What are ye doin’ there a nighean?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She had the appearance of pure innocence.

“Oh, Jamie! I saw it happen. Those little buggers. It was a drive-by snowballing. They ran off that way.” she pointed with her chin toward the street. 

Against his better judgment, he turned to gaze in the direction that the supposed miscreants had fled.

SMACK!!! 

Another snowball struck Jamie just below his hairline. The snow had yet to freeze and remained soft and powdery. The cold missile exploded sending a shower of fine-grained flakes across his neck tightly gripping his warm skin with icy fingers.

“Ifrinn! Now, Claire! I…” Jamie grumbled, wiping off his forehead, fingers cold. 

THUMP!!! 

Hurling her third projectile, it impacted successfully at his mid-center. 

“OOF! I’ll get ye for this, ye wee minx. See if I dinna,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He meant to get his revenge.

“Catch me if you can!” Claire squealed as she turned to run as fast as the snow-covered walk permitted.

She was no match for Jamie’s long stride and powerful leg muscles.

“Got ye, ye wee besom. Now, tell me what I should do with ye?”  He caught up his Sassenach wrapped his arms around her, gripped her in a tight embrace, lifting her up.

“Anything you want to,” she smirked. 

Claire dropped her head down and gently kissed him on the tip of the nose. Her eyes shining bright with mischief.

“I can think of any number of things I’d like to do to ye, but none of them can be done in a public place.”

She lowered her head kissing him tenderly on his wide sweet mouth. Her lips parted, tongue sweeping across his, seeking entry. Granted. Their kiss deepened. The world, the cold, the snow all melted away.

“For the love of Mike! Get a room will ya?! This is a public park.” A voice barked out from some distance away.

The lovers broke apart, each looking at the other giggling.

“We have one!” they called back in unison to the anonymous voice.

“Then go there and use it, for Pete’s sake.” There was no malice to the voice rather it sounded amused and happy for the couple.

“Aye, I think we will. Thank ye for the advice.”

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

The lovers continued their slow-paced walk.  Hands linked, fingers intertwined, they stole shy glances at each other. She found his crooked smile charming. He thought her smile sweetly radiant, warming him to the backbone. The walkway was narrow causing them to frequently brush against each other or they wanted to believe. 

They talked about everything and nothing, truly getting to know each other. Even though they had worked together for the past year, they knew precious little about each other.

“Have I ever told ye about my family, Sassenach?”

“No, not really,” Claire shook her head. 

Jamie, a born storyteller, told her about his family and childhood at Lallybroch. 

“My Mam, she seemed to favor me for some reason.” He added quickly, “No’ that she dinna love Willie and Jenny, but she would always look at me, smile and tell me that I was special that I was born to do something important. She said she kent it the day I was born. She would look at me and say, “Jamie lad, I want ye tae study hard, harder than ye want tae or think ye need tae. Someday ye will do something that will affect a lot of people. Ye need tae be ready.'’ I always thought all Mams said such things to their bairns. I dinna ken what I was supposed to do, but I studied hard just as she asked.”

“Now my brother Willie, I idolized him.  He could do no wrong as far as I was concerned,” Jamie said with a wistful look on his face, his eyes glistening. “Lord, I was a true pest! I followed him everywhere he went, never chased me away. I mimicked everything he did or tried to. He was to be the next Laird, no’ me,” he said with some guilt in his voice. “He woulda been the better choice for it.”

“Why so?”

“He loved the land, the farm. No’ that I don’t, mind ye, but he woulda stayed at Lallybroch. No’ like me. I kent I had something else to do.”

He went on to tell her about playing with Ian his best friend and his sister Jenny. Bossy one she is and a true meddler. Jenny took over the household when Mam died. He told her tales of going fishing in a burn, sword fights with sticks, climbing trees, and a broken arm from falling out of a tree.

“Did I tell ye about the time Ian and I set the barn on fire? Accidental like, ye ken?” He looked rather sheepish in the telling. “Weel, it happened just after I turned fifteen.”

“Did ye get it,” I asked anxiously as I grabbed Ian by the arm pulling him into the barn.

“Aye, I did.” Ian looked around making sure that they were alone. He looked nervous. 

“We’re alone here ye numpty. Where is it?”

He pulled out a fairly crumpled handkerchief from his jeans pocket. The unwrapped bundle revealed a cigarette, somewhat bent, but intact. A half empty book of matches was withdrawn from his other pocket.

Standing there the two boys looked at the cigarette with great reverence. It was the symbol of their burgeoning manhood. They thought of emulating cool Hollywood icons, Steve McQueen, James Dean, Paul Newman, or Marlon Brando with a cigarette hanging from their lips.

“What if we get caught, Jamie? Our Das will kill us.” Second thoughts raced through Ian’s mind wanting to forget the whole idea.

“Nah, we’re safe here. They’re in the fields and willna be back for a few hours,” he grinned.  “Ye watched yer faither smokin’ one. So, how do we do it?”

Sighing, he acquiesced to the plan. “He does something like this.” Ian placed the cigarette in his mouth, letting it dangle trying to look ‘cool’. Instead, he looked like a bird with a worm drooping from its beak.  He struck the match and the smell of sulfur floated about the barn. The flame ignited the end turning the tip red and glowing. He took a tentative inhale causing the paper to blacken. The fragrant scent of burning tobacco lifted and borne upon the air current. He choked, coughed, and his eyes began to water. His wame twisted and turned with the collywobbles.

“‘Tis good,” he exclaimed lying, not wanting to look unmanly.

“Ye try.”

Jamie dubiously scrutinized his friend/brother. “Ye dinna look so good.” He took the cigarette afraid to look the coward, took a deep inhale, held his breath, eyes bulging wide, and expelled the blue-grey smoke in one giant cough. He continued to cough, sputter, gag, and felt the bile rise to his throat.

“I dinna ken why anyone would wanna tae do this! It tastes nasty, burns my throat and makes me wanna puke.”

At that moment, the laddies heard the return of their fathers from the fields.

They looked at each other with abject horror on their faces, knowing they would soon be caught.

“Damn it, Jamie. I thought ye said they would be gone for a while.” Ian grabbed the cigarette threw it down trying to stomp on it but did not see where it had dropped.

“He told me they would be gone for about an hour or two! They must have finished early.”

They ran to the barn door just in time to see their fathers cresting the hill.

“Did ye put it out?”

“I dinna ken. I think so. It got buried in the hay.”

“Jamie, lad where are ye? Have ye finished yer chores?” Brian Fraser called out in his deep rumbling voice.

“Och, Brian, ye ken they’re probably off on some mischief.” Auld John chuckled. “Ye ken what they’re...what’s that smell? Like something’s burning.” He raised his long straight nose in the air and began to sniff.  His eyes drifted toward the barn. “FIRE!!!!”

All the heads swiveled toward the barn. It was on fire. 

“Christ,” Jamie exclaimed looking at the back of the barn where they had just been. “Ian get water, I’ll get the horses out. NOW.”

Ian nodded his head and ran hell-for-leather to find the hose to drag it into the barn.

The horses were stamping, snorting, large heads tossing in agitation, eyes wide rolling wildly in their sockets while trying to break free from their stalls.

Donas, the massive ill-tempered black, gnashed his teeth. 

“Sin, na biodh eagal ort a-nis. Tha mi an seo.”     

Jamie took his shirt off threw it over the head of the black leading him out of the stall. He ran back leading the other two horses to safety.

Ian had returned with the hose dousing the fire putting it out.

Their fathers had arrived breathless from running to find everything under control.

“Care tae explain this?!”

Squaring his shoulders, standing to his full height and taking a deep breath (while commending his soul to God), Jamie told the truth taking the full blame. “I talked Ian into taking one of his Da’s cigarettes. The blame for everything should rest on me. I’m sorry Da.”

“Ye canna take the whole blame. I had a part in this also. ‘Tis my fault as much as his. I’m sorry too Da.”

Jamie stood with his hands clasped in front of him awaiting judgment and punishment to be pronounced. Likewise, Ian stood straight, hands at his side, ready to hear his sentence like a convict before a judge.

“Bairn, get ye tae the rail. Brian’s hands went to unbuckle his belt.

“Both of ye.” Auld John said in a tone that would brook no argument.

 “No. Sir.”

“Defiant too, I see. Whatever has gotten into that thick skull of yers, son? Are ye testing me?” Brian asked his face red with fury.

“No, sir. I am no’ testing ye. I just think that I should be punished as a man, no’ as a boy. I have admitted my wrongdoing, seen the error of it, and willing tae take my punishment as a man would, sir.”

 “Oh, ye think ye are a man now? Would a man be as careless and start such a fire, hmm? I think no’. Over tae the fence and let’s get on with it.”

“No, Da. Ye need tae punish me as a man, no’ as a boy.”

The two fathers walked away from the boys to confer with each other.

“Man!” Brian snorted sarcastically. “I’ll gie ye a chance tae prove yer a man. As a man, ye should choose yer own punishment. But, I warn ye, if it is not serious enough ye will be over that fence faster than a thought going between a lad and a lass.”

This was an unexpected turn of events.

Jamie and Ian also went to consult with each other and came back with a plan.

Jamie cleared his throat then began, “We have caused considerable damage tae the barn, so we thought we could repair whatever was destroyed in the fire on our free-time after school and weekends. We’ll clean out the old storage shed tae make room for the horses tae stay until the barn is repaired and we’ll take care of the horses, feeding, watering, grooming them, and mucking out the shed. In addition to our regular chores.”

“Ye ken that means ye have to give up yer after-school activities and sports.”

“Aye, Da we ken. We want tae prove we are responsible for our actions and make amends. We’ll explain to coach why we canna participate.”

The two young men stood patiently awaiting the acceptance or rejection of their proposed punishment.

Their fathers looked at each other and smiled. 

“Get ye gone, lad. Tell your sister that four men are hungry for their supper.”

Jamie turned to look at his Sassenach after telling her this tale.

"Strange, the things you remember. The people, the places, the moments in time burned into your heart forever, while others fade into the mist. I've always known I would live a life different from other men. When I was a lad, I saw no path to take in front of me. I simply took a step and then another. Moving ever forward, ever onward. Rushing towards someplace, I kent not where. Then one day, I turned around and looked back. I realized that each step I'd taken was a choice. To go left, to go right, to go forward, or maybe no’ go at all. Every day, every man has to make a choice between right and wrong, between love and hate, and even between life and death. And the sum of those choices becomes your life. The day I realized that I became a man.”

There was a faraway look on his sweet face, seeing memories of a time long gone.

“My Da was a strict man, but fair. That day I saw him bend and it made me mindful of what it meant to be a man. A man is one who cares for his family, his community, his friends, his land. He takes responsibility for his actions every day of his life. From that day, I kent I wanted to be just like him. I took things more serious like after that day.”

Jamie paused in telling his story drawing Claire to him gathering the strength to continue from her nearness.

“It...It was after my parents and Willie deaths that I decided to become a doctor.  I thought I should do something to help other people, ye ken. Since my heart was broken, I thought I would become a heart surgeon so I could fix other people’s broken hearts and give them a second chance. Does this make sense tae ye, Claire?”

“Perfect sense.”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her even closer to him anchoring himself to her. He rested his chin on the top of her wooly cap. “Do ye think me becoming a doctor and helping people is what my Mam meant about doing something important that would affect a lot of people?”

“I don’t know if she knew you would become a doctor, Jamie but you help so many people because you are. That is something important. The one thing that I do know is she would be so proud of you.” 

“Thank ye, Sassenach, for listening.” He clasped her close to him feeling her love permeate out into him warming him to the bone.

He kissed her tenderly on the lips then gave her a little push back looking into her warm amber eyes. 

“Enough about me. What about ye, my Sassenach, what was it like growin’ up for ye?”

Claire reciprocated in kind.  Telling him of her Travels with Lamb.  She laughed saying she always thought that maybe it should be the title of a book. Besides Lamb, there was Firouz, a manservant in her uncle’s employ. Far from being just a steward, Firouz became a beloved second uncle.

Her uncle undertook her education with Claire studying by lamplight each night. On her own, she learned enough of the local language and customs which allowed her to play with the village children. She also learned how to do many things not normally suited for a young lady of gentle birth, digging latrines, hauling water, building campfires, cataloging artifacts, and generally helping her uncle with his excavations.

The trio traveled the world together. India, Egypt, Peru, Mexico were by far the most frequented archeological sites. There once was a summer spent in Paris, while Lamb helped organize an exhibition at the Louvre.

“When I first went with my uncle I was five years old. Poor Firouz, he more or less became my nanny. I spent all my time with him whilst my uncle worked in the field.”

“Come little one! We must hurry to the market before the Aljaddat buy everything.  If we do not get there soon, whatever is left will not even be fit for the dogs.”  

The child’s legs were no match for the long graceful strides of the man. So, she simply gave up and sat down in the dirt road in her pretty pink dress, white pinafore, white ankle socks with lace trim, and black mary jane shoes. The dust and sand blew around her, covering her in a fine layer of dirt. Her face was gritty, and her curly hair a magnet for grim. The road traffic, braying donkeys and bleating goats, people on foot, children running amongst the animals and pedestrians, passed around her without so much as a glance. No one paid attention to the strange forlorn little girl sitting on the ground.

The man continued to talk believing that the child remained at his side. He stopped when she did not answer him and froze. He looked around and she was gone. Where did she go? Firouz, fearing the worst, began to run quickly retracing his steps only to find her sitting waif-like in the road. He ran to her picked her up cradling her to him. He ran his hands over her, checking her for any obvious sign of injury. Thank Allah, she was sound.

“What were you doing, child? Why were you sitting there?”

“I couldn’t walk that fast.” She looked up at his face speaking in a tiny tremulous voice, “I thought you left me too.” Claire buried her face into the crook of his neck, sobbing.

‘You are a foolish man, Firouz’, he berated himself. ‘She is so small, how could she keep up with you? And after everything that has happened to her? You must be more careful.’ He felt guilty for almost losing the Professor’s niece. But he was a bachelor in the service of a bachelor. What did he know of children, especially a little girl? 

“Do not cry Aziz, I will never leave you.” He wiped her face with the sleeve of his tunic. “Let us go to the market, I will carry you.”

“My name is Claire, not Az...Azz”

“Aziz, little one. To me you are Aziz.”

“What does that mean, Aziz?”

“It means beloved.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled.

“Come, let us go, before there is nothing left, only food not even fit for the dogs.”

Claire, snuggled against him and gave a little giggle.

Five Years Later -

“Come onnnn, Uncle Firouz, what is taking you so loooong?” Claire now age ten, ran ahead of her Uncle. She was indistinguishable from the other street urchins, dressed in loose white gallabya decorated with colorful embroidery and a floppy hat on her head. The sun had kissed her once porcelain skin turning it a warm golden brown. Her hair glowed with strands of gold, copper, and auburn scattering amid her dark brown curls. The child was thriving and happy, Firouz thought and was pleased. Although, there were moments when he could still see terrible sadness in those remarkable topaz eyes.

Claire ran back to her Uncle grabbed his hand pulling him toward the market. “Uncle Firouz if we don’t hurry then the Aljaddat will buy the best and ...”

“We will get what is not fit even for the dogs,” he said with a laugh. “You do pay attention, Aziz.”

Claire’s shining eyes looked up at him with affection, “Yes, Uncle I do.” 

Claire ran amongst the stalls picking, choosing, and bargaining just as her Uncle had taught her. It amused him to watch her haggle, hands on her hips, pretending that the quality of the merchandise was poor and negotiating for a better price. She was an amazing child this child of his heart.

 After purchasing what they needed, they walked to a cafe where her guardian would sit and take coffee with a friend.

“You have done well Aziz and earned a treat.” He reached into a pocket gave her some coins. “Go and buy yourself something. But do not be long, we must get back to the camp.” He touched her cheek tenderly, “Now shoo.”

To Claire, the bazaar was a magical place. The sights, the sounds, the smells that wafted around her enticed her to come nearer much as a moth dangerously circled close to a flame. All the tents, shops, and stalls were decorated with colorful pennants and banners, blue, red, yellow, green, offsetting the drab desert colors of neverending orange-yellow sand and dreary beige landscapes. Flags swayed gently in the breeze beckoning her forward like a finger curling in temptation. Many of the shopkeepers knew her by name and called to her hawking their wares.

She didn’t know what to do with her few coins. Should she buy herself a treat of some candy or a sweet bun? Perhaps she should save it as Lamb’s birthday was near and she wanted to get him a little present.

She wandered the maze of the marketplace, looking at this and that but finding nothing she wanted. Suddenly a gust of wind rose up around her carrying a spicy, herbal smell on the air that she had never noticed before. The aroma pulled at her with an almost mystical proportion weaving around her transporting her to it. She followed the fragrance to a tent where a woman was busy grinding something. She shyly crept forward watching the woman work.

“Do you wish to watch, child?”

Claire nodded. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making medicines.”

“Why?”

“Because some people come to me for help when they are sick.”

“But there are doctors and hospitals for that.”

“Some people prefer the old ways, the more natural ways, and sometimes people cannot afford to go to doctors or hospitals. So, they come to me.”

Inching closer, she peered into the bowl. She wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar odor.

“These are coriander seeds.”

“What’s it for?”

“It can be used for many things. Like relieving pain and stiffness in joints, headaches, stomach aches, like when you eat too many sweets!” The woman tickled Claire’s belly and laughed broadly showing a number of missing teeth.

“Would you like to try?”

Her head nodded vigorously.

Pulling up a stool for Claire to kneel on, she began to show her how to grind and crush with a mortar and pestle. They laughed at some of the seeds escaping over the rim of the bowl.

The sound of grinding and scraping filled the little enclosure. The healer showed her novice different herbs and spices explaining what each was used for and how to make tisanes and ointments with each. 

A great shadow darkened the entrance, “What are you doing with my niece, witch?” said a deep male voice brusquely.

“I am not a witch!!” the woman spurted out angrily. “It is always the same. Women who have knowledge of healing are condemned as witches.” 

Claire looked from her Uncle to her new friend in complete confusion. “Uncle, she was only showing…”

“Enough, Aziz, we must be going. It is getting late.” Firouz spoke more sharply than he had intended. 

“Yes, young one, it is late. You must go back with your Uncle.”

“Will I see you again?”

The woman looked at Firouz who scowled fiercely at her. “No, child, I will be gone by the morning.” Carefully, so as not to be seen, she slipped a small pouch into Claire’s hand and whispered, “Something to remember me by. Do not show it to anyone. It will help you when you heal.”

Claire gave a little nod, slipped it into a pocket murmuring thank you.

“We are leaving Aziz. Come.” Firouz took her small hand in his large one guiding her out of the shelter.

“Why were you so upset, Uncle? She was just teaching me her ways of healing. It was interesting.”

“Aziz, women like her are often looked upon as witches. The villagers might think of you in the same way if they see you with her. It could only bring trouble for you if they do. I only want to protect you, my precious girl,” he said with a sad smile.

 That night Claire spoke with her Uncle Lamb about what had happened.  He thought it all stuff and nonsense as he did not share the villagers’ superstitions. 

“Claire, the most important thing you need to learn, even though we do not share their beliefs, it is to respect them.”

“Even if their beliefs are wrong, Uncle?”

“Even if they are wrong. You must remember, my heart, that these people have never been more than a day’s ride away from where they were born. They live in small villages, and among the oases.  They don’t know anything else other than the superstitions and beliefs that have been passed down over the centuries. It is hard to blame them as they don’t know any better or different.

“But shouldn’t we tell them it’s wrong?”

Lamb considered for a moment what to say, “My precious girl, you have a kind heart, this I know and you would like to help people, but changing long-held beliefs takes a very, very long time to take place. It can happen, but not as quickly as you or I would like. Have faith that someday it will come about.”

“That was the lady’s name...Iman. She told me it means to be faithful.”

He pulled his niece onto his lap, cuddling her close to his heart. “I love you my Claire, you are my heart’s own child.” He kissed the top of her curly head.

Lamb sat in quiet contemplation before speaking again.

“Firouz, I think we should encourage Claire’s interest in healing.  What do you say?” 

“As you wish, Professor.”

“There is one proviso, my dear girl, and that is if Firouz or I think you should not go to visit one of these healers, you will obey our instructions.” Lamb raised an inquiring eyebrow to her.

“I’ll listen to you and Uncle Firouz. I promise. Thank you, Uncles.” Claire snuggled into Lamb’s chest, feeling safe and loved.

“As we traveled to different countries, I spent time with the local healer, herbalists, shaman, or curanderos learning how they healed the sick and what herbs they used. I think that Iman set me on my path to becoming a healer, a doctor that afternoon.”

“I have one question for ye Sassenach, what was in the pouch?”

“Ah, well there was dried mint and thyme leaves, coriander seeds, and a small uncut, unpolished sapphire. Sapphires help to channel healing energy from one person to another.  Very essential for any healer to have, wouldn’t you say. I kept the pouch in memory of Iman, my first medical teacher. The herbs are all dust now, but the sapphire is still there.”

“Yer a verra fine doctor, Sassenach. Iman would be proud.”

Claire kept her arms wrapped around her Scot, holding him close, resting her head on his chest.

“Thank you, Jamie, for always being there for me.” Standing on her toes she reached up and tenderly kiss him.  She relaxed into his embrace feeling loved and cared for.

They stood holding each other within the sanctuary of their cocoon enjoying the warm feelings from sharing parts of their life story with each other. 

Their heads rose listening to the stramash slowly headed their way.  A voice carried on the swell of the air currents. It sounded like a woman scolding someone, scolding, a child. The voice sounded familiar. It carried a certain lilt to it. Scottish. 

“Rabbie, ye wee gomeral! Dinna stick yer brother’s head in the snow, aye. He canna breathe in there.”  

The figures drew closer, a man and a woman, an elderly couple. Accompanying them were two children, two boys and rambunctious ones at that. Always one with a good eye for detail, Jamie was certain he had met the couple before. The man had a jaunty set to his cap, a commanding height, and the spectacles were placed on the tip of his nose. The woman also was tall, but not as tall as the man, grey hair, and had a certain fullness of figure, grandmother-like. 

“Sassenach, ‘tis Harry and Maizie from the plane. I dinna think we would ever see them again,” he said a wide smile playing across his sweet mouth.

Jamie raised his arm waving it furiously loudly calling out, “mo charaid.”

***********

Oh, Jamie! I saw it happen. Those little buggers. It was a drive-by snowballing. They ran off that way.  --  I adapted this from the movie Mrs. Doubtfire and the drive-by fruiting. RIP Robin Williams

Sin, na biodh eagal ort a-nis. Tha mi an seo  -- Hush, don’t be afraid. I am here now.

Aljaddat   --  Grandmothers

Aziz  --  Beloved

Gallabya  --   is a traditional Egyptian garment native to the Nile Valley.

Iman  --  to be faithful

[littlelottiexsloan]

case  file     ;  Charlotte Sloan

nicknames     ;  Lottie

associations    ;  Civilians

occupation    ;  Student of Veterinary Science

birthdate    ;  26 years old

hometown    ;  London, England

current  location     ;  Downtown

pronouns     ; she/her

mirror image     ; Kaylee Bryant

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices ;

 — And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay?

I have been in Sunset Port a few days. I came to finish my Veterinary degree here. Why I stay? Why shouldn’t I? My brother and his fiancee live here. I get to know my nieces and be close to the ones I love. As far as I see it I have tons of reasons to stay.

 Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port?

I’m sure you can. Family tends to mean a lot to most of us. Like I said I’m a here to finish my degree. So I am a student. I’m also looking for a part time job so if you’ve heard of anything, any tips are welcome. Otherwise I’m just curious and excited to explore this new city.

 Admirable! Now, I'd have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?  

Uhm well in a general sense you mean? I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete. Can’t say I know much about it to share, I’m sorry.

 Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?  

I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t come knocking on my door.. I’ve heard of her in the papers of course, but we haven’t been formally introduced. If she would though I’d treat her like any other guest. Offer them refreshments and ask what they might need of me.

 Interesting. Well, I think I've kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

Okay I know some people think them a bit over the top but I’d say Somebody to Love by Queens.

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: death, cancer

Charlotte Sloan. Named with the intention of creating a free and independent woman, her name meaning 'free'. The tale of her birth, during a full moon, was a night her mother loved to tell the tale of. Because it was the night when she finally became a mother, and threw herself into the role with passion, a bit much some might add. She had great aspirations for her daughter, set ideas of who she was to be and where her life should take her. But she never stopped to ask if her daughter wanted to reach those aspirations, or who she wanted to be. Hell, she didn’t much seem to care that her baby girl might want something different for herself. The most important thing was always what she, and Selene’s father wanted for their child.

Not surprisingly, Charlotte grew up being chastised, advised, steered and scrutinized by her mother, and sometimes her father. She often felt set up for failure, given that she was indeed not the girl her mother wanted her to be. She wasn’t outgoing or a natural leader. Nor was she bold and outspoken. Whenever someone tried to put Charlotte at the center of attention, big or small, the girl was painfully uncomfortable. Anxious and frightened even. But to a fault she did her best to do what her mother wanted. Even if she spent nights crying over it, antagonizing over every little misstep that would be met with displeasure. As a soft spoken, kind but often introverted child Selene much preferred the company of nature or animals rather than people. She liked observing and taking note, but wasn’t fond of stating her opinions to people she didn’t fully know or trust. Growing up she was cosseted and sheltered in many ways, always carefully watched and protected as the youngest child of  Edward Sloan and his third wife. Whenever she was with her siblings though, Charlotte was happy. Being around others in her family without her parents ever looming presence allowed her to be more carefree, joyous and playful. Traits in herself which she looks back on and wonders if she’ll be capable of reclaiming one day.

All her life Charlotte has done what she is told. With two domineering parents who in their own ways thought they knew exactly what was best for her, she found that both disappointing them or rebelling against them demanded getting into arguments and conflicts she’d rather just avoid all together. She isn’t fond of conflict in general and will rather back down and do what she’s told to do. Its been seared into Selene’s very core how her opinions or thoughts doesn’t really matter. When she was younger she did try to voice her thoughts or state her opinions, but she was always ignored or brushed off. The only ones who seemed to really listen to her were her japanese grandparents. She loved spending her summers with them in their family home on the island of Okinawa. Her mother let her go, despite not being fond of what she was sure her parents taught her daughter. Propriety, chastity, quiet manners and too much respect for elders. Though she might have been glad of that considering how void of rebellion her daughter showed in her teens. The only time she did rebel against her parents were briefly in high school, when she fell in with the wrong crowd. Charlotte was then considered a follower, someone who could be persuaded to come along despite knowing it was wrong. She wanted to be liked, to have friends that weren’t as proper or focused as her middle school ones. Her friends convinced her to join them in stealing from boutiques and stores, and for a while their after school curricular activities went by unnoticed. They stole more, drank and partied, broke curfew. But then they were caught stealing.

As a minor, Charlotte was lucky her father could buy her way out of any charges. Though the consequences were severe. She was sent to boarding school in Scotland to make her straighten out for the second half of her sophomore year and senior year of high school. The school itself located far out in the country side. Away from everyone and everything she loved back home. Her time away gave Charlotte the room to explore other sides of herself, such as her sexuality. Most of her teens she had found that boys didn’t really interest her like they seemed to do the other girls. During her small rebellious phase she experimented with a few boys, but that one hook up she did end up having left her feeling.. empty. Like nothing about it was right for her, and while the guy seemed to enjoy it, she didn’t. At her boarding school, Charlotte had her first girl crush, and she experimented with more than one girl, excited because being with them felt good, in all the ways she’d been told she was supposed to feel with a boy. Though she knew that admitting she was gay, only attracted to women, would only be possible with the closest of friends. Her parents would never approve and neither would her grandparents. In fact, her father had repeatedly vented, both to her and her mother, about his older rebellious son, doing the greatest sin of all. It was so painfully clear that he had cut Etienne off for being bisexual, and Charlotte was terrified of what might happen if he were to figure out that she wasn’t straight either. All her life her parents had been very clear about the path she should take, and that did not involve girlfriends, but boyfriends and straight marriage.

While at first she had loathed being at the school, it was caring for the animals there that got Charlotte trough. At first she was set to care for them as a punishment for skipping class. But after that first afternoon with the horses, pigs, cattle and goats, the big city girl was eager to return. The creatures needed her, and they had to be read and carefully treated for her to understand their needs and wants. It was like learning a new and exciting language, one that inspired her to start reading about animal behavior, biology and training. To Charlotte, this time in her life was pivotal, as it inspired her to put her dreams of becoming jewelry maker on the shelf, and decide to study to become a Veterinarian.

Luckily her parents didn’t disapprove, much. Her mother tried to persuade her to become a surgeon instead, vehement that it was a better profession for Charlotte. But for once, her daughter didn’t automatically break under a bit of pressure or comply without question. Instead the girl quietly argued why she was set on Veterinarian school, and continued focusing on her undergraduate degree after high school. She studied at The university of Edinburgh, though when her mother was diagnosed with cancer last year, Charlotte moved back to London adamant to continue her studies, but remain close to her parents. She thought being close would make her mom fight harder, would mean she might make it. But Christmas Eve came and her mother passed away. Beaten by the cancer that had infected her body. At first Charlotte was at a complete loss. All her life her mother had been her guiding force, the one to oversee and often make every little decision she faced. Now there was just her dad, and he had always been less insistent, more lenient, not the loud voice that her mother had been. Though when he suggested that Charlotte might benefit from studying abroad, she took his advice to heart. Much to his chagrin, she decided to come to Sunset Port to continue her studies at Veterinary School. He tried to talk his daughter out of it, though for the first time in a long time, Charlotte felt as if she could tell him no. As if she actually did have a choice.

Coming to the city, Charlotte is trying to allow herself to be excited to start a new life in a new place. After all she’s going to be close to her older brother and his soon to be wife and adorable twin girls. The two haven’t been all that close as adults but she does feel as if he’s not totally averse to having her around. They used to like each other as kids and while she feels like she has a lot to catch up on she does know that she loves him and is looking forward to living in the same place. Actually its a comfort to her that she’ll have family around to lean on. While she is still grieving the loss of her mother, Charlotte keeps finding out new things about herself, life and others as she is feeling oddly liberated. Before life was very set, her path narrow and lined with strict lines. Now the road is wide open, and she gets to decide what happens next. Its both thrilling and terrifying all at once.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Four)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

Links to past installments:  (One) (Two) (Three)

[Jenny] 

“Jen, love?”

I started and jumped from the pillow in the dark, my whole body seizing and splintering wi’ panic—

But it was only Ian, of course, half-asleep at my back. He pulled me closer against him and kissed my shoulder.  “Yr—tossin’ and turnin’ about like—S’matter?”

“Nothin’…Nothin’, only somethin’ I ate,” I whispered, tryin’ to catch my breath.

“Get—ye somethin’?” 

“Nay, lad, I’ll—I’ll do,” I panted, my blood racing and pounding. “Go b—back to sleep, mo ghriadh.” I pulled back the quilts and made to sit up. “I’ll—go take a turn— settle meself.” Nearly midnight, it must be. 

Ian groped clumsily for me and caught my hand. “Lov’ye…”

Tears prickled in my eyes, sharp and hot against the air of the night. God, the tenderness of him—the sweetness and care and love this good man lavished upon me, always—

“D’ye think me a good person, Ian?” I whispered into the dark between us. 

“Mm?”

My throat felt sore, the words as raw and frail and desperate as my pathetic heart. “Am I truly good? Or have I only been good at pretendin’ to be…while I’m no more than the verra worst kind of filth?”

The question rang out into the silence; unanswered. He’d have reassured me, had he actually heard, had the soft, familiar whiffle of his snorin’ not already resumed. It was as well not to be coddled wi’ comforting lies. I kent the truth well enough. 

Oh, but how I ached to wake him, to tell him at least of Claire and the evil that I’d done; to let him hold me tight and safe while I wept into his chest; let the comfort of him surround me, soothe me, as he convinced me wi’ gentle kisses and soft words that all would be well, that he’d carry the burden wi’ me—that I wouldna be alone, ever.  

Alone like Jamie. 

Alone like Claire.

This was my penance: this coldness—this regret—this utter, writhing, blistering shame. I’d taken away any chance for their happiness, so for the rest of my life, I had to bear it; to atone, myself, however I might. Emptiness, carried alone: a fitting punishment for my crime. 

I kissed Ian’s brow, slipped out of bed, found my shawl, and made my way down the stairs toward the study. I reeled a bit on the treads, my head achin’ and spinnin’, and small bloody wonder, for I’d drunk heavily all the evenin’. 

At first, it were only that I was preparin’ myself for the task at hand, hopin’ the drink would brace me, give me courage for when I found the right moment to face Jamie. Every time I looked at him, though, the gentle hunger in his eyes that lit over bein’ wi’ family; the smile on his face as he played with the wee bairns, as he joyed in the balm of home—of love—God, my coward’s heart had bucked and fled, at every opportunity. 

And by the time I might have finally confronted things, the drink had taken hold, bringing my fears to bear, and I’d staggered up to my bed long before anyone else, and dreamt of screams of pain—and sorrow—and—

Now, I was surprised and relieved to find as I reached the bottom of the stairs that I was hardened, a wall of conviction slowly rising up around me, protectin’ me. Jamie need not know; Jamie must not be told. It was too late, after all; Claire was too far gone. I’d done wrong, to my everlasting shame. I’d committed a terrible, cruel evil against them both. But what good would it do to torture him wi’ that knowledge, now? When he had no chance of findin’ her? None. T’would be only agony to him, that wisp of hope, now vanished by my hand. 

No. He couldna ever be told. It was the kindest thing I could do, now, to keep the secret from hurting him further. 

All that remained was for me to find a way to live wi’ myself—drink and distraction; and there was always a good decanter of whisky in the study along wi’ the books. I pushed through the study door and was no more than two steps in before I collided wi’ something solid and—

“JESUS!”

“WHAT IN—?”

My candle was somersaulting through the air and onto the good rug, and just as suddenly, quick fingers snatched it up again before it could catch.

“I’m so sorry, Jen,” Jamie was sayin’, settin’ the candlestick on the table next to one of his own before turnin’ back to grin at me, all sheepish in only his shirt. “I couldna sleep and came down for a dram and was looking at the books just there by the door, and—” He stopped and blinked, surveying me in alarm. “Lass, you’re white as a sheet and shaking like— Are ye hurt, dove?”

“No, its—I’m fine—” I shrank back from his touch, from the heartbreaking sweetness of the endearment.

Tell him.

Only—agony to him, now. 

It’s far pa—past—(breathe)—too late—damn me to hell for it. 

I turned hastily for the door. “I didna mean to intrude upon your quiet, Jamie, I’ll just—”

“No-no-no, dinna be daft,” Jamie laughed, eagerly, stepping swiftly around me to block the door. “Stay! Sit wi’ me a time—have a drink.”

“No, really, I should—”

“Jen, we barely got to speak all this evening,” he said, and there was more than a touch of hurt in that soft voice, those soft eyes. “Please? Stay wi’ me?”

Brother, if ye only kent what I was, you’d cast me out into the cold this moment, and have me walk until the very sea swallowed me up. 

And I’d deserve it. 

[Jamie]

“Come on, wee fool,” Jamie said, gently, but in truth, he was begging. He wanted her to stay. He needed her to stay, to help drive this terrible sadness away, tonight. 

At last, she relented, and let him close the door. He held out his arms to her, and after a very long moment, she came to him. “It’s very glad I am to see ye, lass,” he whispered into her hair, trying not to let his voice crack with just how glad he was of it. 

“Aye—well—” 

Lord, why did she sound so tentative around him, tonight? She had been cool toward him all the evening, busying herself with the meal and with clearing it, and with taking another whisky, offering him one, but then bustling onward to the next task and retiring early before they could exchange more than a dozen words. 

“Tell me true.” He gently took her by the shoulders and held her far enough away to look her in the eye, beseeching. “Have I done something to wrong ye, lass?” 

She gaped at him, going even paler than before. “Wrong me?” 

“I dinna think I’m mistaken in noticing you’re no’ pleased to see me, this visit. So I’ll ask again….Have I done something that’s wronged ye?” Even moments ago, she had seemed barely to touch him as he embraced her. “I’ll do anythin’ I can to make it right, I swear it.” 

“Never.” To his astonishment, her face fell, and she made a little sound almost like a sob as she at last hugged him tight, a real embrace. “You would never do anything to wrong me, Jamie.” 

He held her close, the sense of home finally settling around him. His blood—his sister. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said, muffled into his chest, “I am glad to see ye. I’m just—no’ quite myself, tonight.” 

“Is something amiss wi’ ye then, dove? Are ye feeling ill?” 

“No, I’ll do.” He could have sworn she shuddered, but she pulled back and put her hands on her hips to study at him with brows drawn, as she always did, the dear, wee busybody. “Lord above, you’re too thin, ye great toad.”

“Are great toads typically thin?” he laughed, placing a kiss on the top of her head and moving to settle onto the plump cushions of the settee.

“Aye, and your voice all scratchit like one, to boot,” she laughed with something like her usual fire, curling her legs under her on the armchair facing him. “But truly, do ye get yourself fed at all, in Edinburgh?”

“Aye,” he said, passing her a whisky glass, “not grand fare, mind,” he winked, or tried to, “but dinna fash: I make it a special point of policy to eat every day.”

“Well, that’s good. Do it more, aye? You’re—” She shook her head, looking actually pained as she took him in again. “You’re….wasting away, Jamie.” 

He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s why I must visit my sister, whose excellent cooks will always get me fattened up again.” 

“I must thank ye again for seeing my wee Ian safely home to me.”

“’Course, Jen,” he murmured, “happy to do it. The lad continues to be quite the handful, I see.” 

“God,” she groaned, “I’ve not the faintest idea what’s to be done about the wee eejit. S’like tryin’ to trap a breeze upon a mountaintop. I’m sure he’ll ask to be allowed to go back wi’ ye wi’ our blessing this time, but—” 

“I’d no’ mind it, owermuch” He tried to sound casual, not as desperately eager as he felt. “In fact, I verra nearly let him talk me into letting him stay, this time.”

“Wheedles something fierce, does wee Ian,” Jenny agreed ruefully. “I suppose ‘tis good for his hope of catchin’ a wife one day. A boy that’s so plain best ken how to wield charm to his good uses, at least,” she said with a grimace and a deep draught from her glass.

“Aye, that’s so,” Jamie laughed. “He can argue the black off a boot. Though, it was less to do wi’ him than me,” he added quietly, a moment later. 

“How’s that?”

“I’d have been happy for the company.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but it was a shrug of unease. “It’s quite lonely, there in the shop.” His emptiness rang into the very corners of the room in the saying of it. 

Jenny heard it too, and put on a cheery, winning manner as she scoffed, “Nonsense, you’ve got Fergus, aye?”

“Fergus is a great help, true, and an even greater comfort to me,” he agreed. The boy—Christ, he was fifteen years or more past being a *boy,* but Fergus would always be so, to Jamie—was his pride and his right hand. 

“But, of course, ye may not ken how often Fergus is gone from Edinburgh seeing to—other business. Scarce half the days of the month, do I see him, in fact.” He shrugged. “And of course, I’m alone in my rooms, after the shop closes. Wi’ only myself for company, the conversation tends to be a trifle repetitive.” 

He meant it as a wee jest to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, for either of them. There was a fair-sized lump in his throat. Jenny’s hands were tight around her glass, her eyes down. He knew he shouldn’t speak so, so wretchedly self-pitying, but damn him, he needed to have someone hear him and understand.

“Sometimes, I go an entire week or more wi’out anyone—not a soul— speaking to me as if they knew me. And it can be longer, even, wi’out anyone saying my real name to me….In Edinburgh, ken, I’m Alexander Malcolm.” 

She gave a weak smile, whispering, “Sawney.” 

“Aye. And folk smile and bow and say, ‘Good Day, Mr. Malcolm.’….‘Shall we see ye on Saturday, Sawney?’….’When are ye thinking of taking a wife, Mr. Malcolm?’” 

The empty glass shot from Jenny’s hands and spun ‘round on the carpet. Neither of them moved to pick it up, and Jamie found he couldn’t stop talking. 

He swallowed. “Before the cave—prison—England——”

Lord, that he might be safe. 

“—I didna truly ken how much it meant to me to be….known. Myself. And after everything that’s happened these twenty years, I now find most days as though—” He shook his head. “—as though I’ll just fall away and vanish into naught, from lack of it. I havena….” He dropped his eyes, too ashamed to look her in the eye as he spoke the darkest desolation of his heart, “I can hardly even name the broken pieces of me, any longer…..let alone hope to put them back together.” 

Jenny blinked hard as though holding back tears. Lord, no, there were tears in her eyes, to his shame. He wasn’t saying these things for pity. It was simply the truth of his heart, and it was a true gift to be given the grace to say it aloud, rather than having it tear him apart in the quiet of his mind, day after day. And yet it pained him to grieve Jenny so, to give her any more reason to fear and fret for him. 

He started to say so, but she suddenly blurted, “Maybe—” She was pale, and Jamie could swear she was trembling. “Maybe ‘tis time to—to come back to Balriggan.”

“No,” he said at once with half a laugh, standing and walking over to one of the bookcases.

“Jamie…”

“No, I said.”

“I ken things wi’ Laoghaire—”

“There’s no’ moving me on this,” he said, more sharply. He had no desire for her to dream up another scheme for rehabilitating his personal happiness. “I’ll continue to do right by them, of course, see them taken care of but…No. I’ll no’ try to find comfort, there, again.”

“Jamie, mo chridhe, please just listen—” She was right on the verge of weeping, from the sound at his back. “I ken she’s not—that she’s… what she is…but I dinna want—” There came the sound of Jenny throwing up her hands in desperation, “—Ye shouldna spend the rest of your days alone, Jamie, wi’—wi’ no JOY! The thought of—”

“There is no joy to be had at Balriggan, sister. Not that kind.” 

“If—” 

He turned to her and gently grasped her shoulders. “You’ve known me all my life, Jen,” he said softly down into her face, contorted as it was with shockingly-vehement feeling. “I’ve been wrong about many things; been hasty and reckless and a fool, when my emotions got ahead of my better judgment, or before I kent proper facts—” He cupped her cheek, his voice hoarse. “—but trust me to ken my own heart, at least: to be alone, to be empty, is better than—than that; to lose what pieces of me still remain to—anger…bitterness….”

She stared up into his face, lips pursed, eyes red and glistening, voice trembling uncontrollably. “But can ye no’—?”

He released her and kissed her cheek, putting all his self into being strong and brave-faced once more, as was his duty. “Dinna fash yourself about me. I’m sorry I let myself carry on down such a maudlin road, this night.” 

Jamie smiled, as warm and broad a smile as he could, as he walked past her back to the settee, meaning to sit. “But it means a great deal to me how much ye do trouble yourself for my sake, truly. I ken ye always mean the best for me, Jenny, and I’m—”

The sob burst out of Jenny like a cannon blast in the night and Jamie whirled, reaching for an absent dirk. “Jen, WH—”

Her face was a broken thing behind her hands. “I’m so—sss—so SORRY, brother.”

“Sorry?” Jamie felt as though he’d been hit by a charging horse. That wasn’t pity in her ‘sorry’: it was true apology. “Whatever for??”

“For the fool that I am,” she sobbed, the tears flowing over her fingers. “After all ye’ve been through—your own sister ought—OUGHT to—Christ, Jamie, I’m so—ashamed.”

“Jenny, dove, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he reached for her, “what on earth  are are ye going on ab—?”

“Wait here—” she managed to choke, already staggering for the door. Her eyes were wild and she put out a staying hand as she went. “Dinna move, just—Just—wait!!”

Too stunned to do otherwise, Jamie stood unmoving on the study rug, mind racing, absolutely at a loss to guess what had come over her. 

When at last she came back through the door, she was white as death, a paper, or envelope, perhaps, clasped against her breast. 

“Jenny, you’re frightening me. Tell me at once what’s happened.” 

“I’ve done—” Her chest seemed to cave in around the envelope, wracked with her sobs. “I’ve done a terrible wrong against ye, brother.” 

“Nonsense,” he vowed, moving toward her to sort things out. “Whatever’s the—”

“Don’t,” she hissed, halting him with a frantic shake of the the head, her teeth gritted. “Just—stop.”

He raised both his hands to her in desperate plea.“I dinna understand, Jenny.” 

She closed the distance between them with halting steps and forced the envelope into his hands, holding her own tight around them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, for it was an expression he’d never seen there—absolute anguish and absolute shame. 

His eyes dropped to his hands. Aye, a thick envelope, the face bare and unmarked. 

He turned it over and saw the single word there written:

J a m i e

He might have been screaming—he might have been crying—he might have fallen into a dark pit, with the earth closed in over him.

He was on the ground, his leg aching from where he’d fallen against something. The envelope stared up at him from the floor and he stared back. 

those five letters 

written in Claire’s hand

a thin interlace pattern pressed into the blood-red seal.

Jenny was sobbing. “She was here— Claire was here, Jamie—”

“Claire’s gone—” he was screaming or whimpering, “Claire—is—GONE—”

“She came back.”

“—GONE—”

“No, she came for ye—CAME here—

Nothing made sense

“—And I did such grievous wrong by ye in the things I said to her.”

There was no damned SENSE in the words that she—

C l a i r e

Jenny kneeling before him. 

Claire—

Jenny, grabbing his hand, hard. “She said it would give ye peace, what’s inside.” 

’CAME for’—?

Jenny, pressing the packet against his chest wi’ his own hand, holding it there, tight. 

CLAIRE? 

Jenny’s face, mere inches from his, breaking apart with weeping—all but mute from the violence of her pain. “I'm—so—sorry, Jamie.” 

A kiss on his cheek, and then she was gone.

Watching like one paralyzed as the envelope fluttered once more to the ground onto its face. 

J a m i e

…his real name. 

He lunged, but he couldn’t even lift the envelope. His fingers felt like claws—lacking thumbs—lacking everything except brute force. He managed to rip off the seal and force open the pages, but he could only press it flat onto the floor with both his hands, hunched over it like a starving beast over its kill. 

And though he’d feared it some nightmare, his soul burst like the lungs of a drowning man as he read—as he believed— the words beneath him:  

“My own Jamie,”