#he captivated fraser for sure

[gayvecchio]

original post/insp

[filmsfromreel]

7 Great Films Snubbed at the 95th Academy Awards

This year’s Academy Awards was a controversy-free celebration. Many of the awards handed out went to deserved winners, there were feel-good moments as Ke Huy Quan and Brendan Fraser accepted their awards after years away from the spotlight and there was no doubt that Everything Everywhere All At Once’s historic 7 wins were warranted. But, like all years at the Oscars, there are some omissions that deserved to be included. While we think this year’s winners were a wonderful collection of films, it would be remiss of us if we didn’t talk about some of the great films that were barely included. 

1. Decision to Leave

Director: Park Chan-wook | Crime, Drama | Language: Korean

Arguably one of the best film’s from 2022, Chan-wook’s unique Crime Drama solidifies why he’s one of the most distinct Directors working today. The zippy pace and attention to detail are what hook you to Decision to Leave but the Director’s approach to storytelling is wholly unique – even when compared to the films nominated at this year’s Oscars. 

Park Chan-wook’s storytelling is akin to that of Paul Thomas Anderson, while they are both dramatically different in style both filmmakers often tell their stories with an enigmatic quality that, although you’re not sure how or why, you are left completely in awe of the talent on show. Decision to Leave may not be as groundbreaking as Oldboy or as pitch-perfect as The Handmaiden, but it still stands head and shoulders above a lot of films released in the same year and while it’s been nominated numerous times over the award season, it feels like a shame not to see it honoured on the big night. 

2. The Northman

Director: Robert Eggers | Action, Drama

The only logical reason that Robert Egger’s Viking epic could have been snubbed entirely for this year’s Academy Awards is that it was released so early in the year that it slipped everyone’s minds come voting season. Whether it was the striking score, beautifully constructed sets shot with stunning cinematography, captivating performances not only from the lead Alexander Skarsgard but Nicole Kidman, Anya Taylor-Joy, Ethan Hawke and Willem Dafoe, to the bold and inventive directing, there’s so much worthy of high praise.

Arguably the only aspect lacking compared to Egger’s previous outings is a uniqueness that something like The Lighthouse held – but it’s no excuse for excluding one of the best films of the year from the Oscars, especially when there is so much across the film’s production to celebrate.

3. Nope

Director: Jordan Peele | Horror, Sci-Fi

It’s difficult to pinpoint where exactly Jordan Peele’s newest film fits into the Oscars, potentially for its enigmatic screenplay, wonderful creature design or even for the scene stealing performance by Keke Palmer. But, regardless of where it fits, it seems a shame not to honour such a unique film.

The natural response to seeing one of his films is to compare it to Get Out, the film that won Peele his Oscar and became one of the most important films of the 21st Century. While Nope doesn’t feel as instant in its quality there is good reason to believe that in a few years, audiences will relish Nope for its singularity and also for Peele’s aptitude for storytelling. This is a wonderfully complex, funny and incredibly tense film that despite being snubbed for a lot of awards, will hopefully gather an audience for years to come.

4. The Woman King

Director: Gina Prince-Bythewood | Action, Drama, History | Languages: English, Portuguese

Gina Prince-Bythewood’s historical tale got two nominations at the BAFTAs, one for star Viola Davis’ powerhouse performance and also a nod for the Director herself, leaving to wonder just why it was left out at the Oscars. Davis’ performance, while commanding, was up against a number of fantastic Leading Actress performances this year. But, Bythewood’s lack of nomination seems to be a misstep from the Academy. 

There is an argument that structurally The Woman King isn’t much different from a number of action films we’ve seen but what’s more important is the representation and celebration it’s giving to it’s story. In recent years the world has been imploring Hollywood to create more diverse and dynamic roles instead of changing old ones and The Woman King does exactly that. It’s just a shame the Academy wouldn’t celebrate the film as much as we did.

5. Broker

Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda | Comedy, Drama, Crime | Languages: Korean

Many people have compared Hirokazu Kore-eda’s latest film to his 2018 drama Shoplifters. In some ways it’s a spiritual successor (Kore-eda himself calling it a companion piece), skirting some of the same themes of class structure and social standings, as well as the functionalities of family and what makes a ‘traditional’ family. Broker manages to talk about these same issues as well as infusing discussions of parental responsibility whilst keeping the mood light and fun – no easy feat.

Alongside this, Kore-eda somehow manages to make you sympathise with human traffickers – not the most malicious or intelligent, but pursued by the police for their crimes nonetheless. It might not be the home run Shoplifters was, but Broker still manages to inject some incredibly human and joyous moments in a strange tale of selling a child, all in his non-native language of Korean, not missing a step in cultural references either. Whether it was for Best International Film, Original Screenplay, or even an argument can be made for Best Director, the Academy missed a gem of a film this year.

6. Aftersun

Director: Charlotte Wells | Drama

Charlotte Wells’ nostalgic drama is less of a snub due to Paul Mescal’s touching performance getting a nomination, but the film’s quality lies in much more than its performances. At the BAFTAs the director accepted the award for Outstanding Debut and described the film as a eulogy to her Father – something that she achieves with a visceral and subtle reflection of watching someone you love suffer in silence.

As a distinctly British product it’s understandable that this film didn’t shake the Academy voters as much as the BAFTAs, but the film’s gorgeously told story is one of the best of the year. Many films that tell a ‘personal’ story rarely achieve the emotional connection that Aftersun achieves, and while it was a shame not to see more limelight shed on the film as a whole, there is no doubt that everyone will be eagerly awaiting what Wells does next.

7. Bones and All

Director: Luca Guadagino | Drama, Horror, Romance

The most obvious reason for not including Luca Guadagino’s latest film could be the fact it’s a love story road trip about cannibals – but it’s for that same reason it seems like a missed opportunity to open up the wonderfully weird story to the mainstream. With films like Everything, Everywhere All at Once making waves it seems like the Academy are changing their tone to quirky independent cinema, branching into the originality out there.

Whilst it might not have won many awards the performances from Timothee Chalamet, and more notably Taylor Russell and Mark Rylance, are enticing and exciting, bringing a grounded and relatable edge to a story that could have easily been disconnected and unrelatable. Guadagnino balances David Kajganich’s script with ease and a certain aesthetic beauty that many people first noticed in Call Me by Your Name – despite being in an unusual narrative, comes together in an intoxicating (and sometimes terrifying) coming of age tale.

[captainmdhridoyhossain-blog]

[ad_1] CCTV surveillance has been coated repeatedly on PIA weblog. Lots of the tales are miserable stories of larger surveillance and lack of privateness. One of the most worst offenders in the CCTV camera stakes is the UK. An estimate from 2020 put the selection of cameras there at over 5 million, whilst London loved the doubtful difference of getting the third-highest number of CCTV cameras of any city on the earth in line with some other file from the similar 12 months. Towards that dismal background it comes as one thing of a wonder to seek out that the United Kingdom has a proper Biometrics and Surveillance Camera Commissioner who watches over this house, a place these days held by way of Professor Fraser Sampson. He has wide-ranging enjoy within the legal justice sector; up to now he has been a police officer, legal professional and educational. Along with a Surveillance Digital camera Commissioner, the United Kingdom has a Surveillance Camera Code of Practice, which it has up to date lately. In a letter from Sampson to relevant UK government bodies, he defined that the Code carried out to overt surveillance digital camera methods akin to the United Kingdom’s Automated Quantity Plate Reputation gadget, facial reputation era, body-worn video cameras, drone-borne cameras, helicopter-borne cameras and CCTV methods (each static and cellular), the place those are utilized by sure classes of presidency government. Different operators of CCTV surveillance methods, for instance within the personal sector, are inspired to undertake the code voluntarily. An article on the IPVM site stories that Sampson spoke on the Nationwide CCTV Convention in Bristol, arranged by way of the CCTV Operating Staff of the United Kingdom’s Nationwide Police Chiefs Council, which has similarities to the International Association of Chiefs of Police. It’s a wide-ranging speech that discusses a contemporary traumatic case of necrophilia in the United Kingdom, in addition to the dangers of connecting AI-equipped units to the Web. However the core of Sampson’s speech considerations the plight of the Turkic-speaking Uyghurs in Xinjiang, one thing mentioned prior to now in this weblog on account of the intense surveillance strategies deployed towards them. Sampson too is excited by those stories, and asks a captivating query about purchasing CCTV systems from the Chinese companies involved, as is already happening widely in the UK: How a lot public cash is it moral to give a contribution to the design, construction and operation of those amenities? How a lot tax income must we hand to the surveillance firms which are owned and regulated by way of the similar State which the [Uyghur] Tribunal discovered to were at once chargeable for genocide the use of their surveillance era to perpetrate it? How is partnering with such firms and enriching their homeowners “striking ethics on the center of the whole thing we do”?” Those don't seem to be purely summary problems, however have direct penalties for the use by way of the government of CCTV surveillance methods within the West: The systemic nature of our surveillance capacity way other people want to have accept as true with and self assurance in it all — now not simply within the police or public bit, however in the entire ecosystem of surveillance. And that suggests we must be extra vigilant if we’re to deal with public accept as true with for our personal State surveillance. We want to watch out whose company corporate we stay. Lawful, moral, publicly-acceptable surveillance wishes a systemic method — and a systemic method way specializing in the integrity — of the surveillance methods and follow as an entire — and the criteria of the whole thing and everybody in it. As a result of, in a systemic surroundings, in the event you infect one section, you infect the entire. Some other facet of Sampson’s speech involved a terminally-ill man protesting against speed cameras, and being wrestled to the bottom by way of the police, which his spouse filmed.

The video therefore went viral, and gave rise to a mural, in all probability by way of the well-known pseudonymous artist referred to as Banksy. Sampson takes that incident, and makes use of it to discover some other facet of contemporary surveillance — the truth that, more and more, the general public is wearing out surveillance of the police, and sharing photographs of police movements hastily and broadly. He issues out that the general public’s surveillance now performs the most important function in lots of legal investigations, the place the primary conversation from the police is steadily an enchantment, now not for witnesses, however for surveillance movies taken by way of other people provide on the scene. In consequence, he says: We now see the police desiring now not simply photographs of the citizen however photographs from the citizen. This has profound implications for the ‘surveillance dating’. Investigations would possibly use extracts from prime side road CCTV, however additionally they depend on symbol captures from dashcams, GoPros, ring doorbells and automotive parks. Increasingly more the police are reliant at the fabricated from an aggregated surveillance capacity made up of loads of resources, maximum of them privately owned. Sampson says that if the government are observed to be unethical of their use of surveillance tactics — for instance, by way of the use of untested facial reputation tactics, or the mass retention of pictures of blameless individuals of the general public — the latter could also be much less susceptible to help the police after they request lend a hand within the type of movies. The entire speech is refreshing now not simply in its name for a moral way to the procurement of CCTV cameras, but in addition in its reputation that the general public is now not merely a passive sufferer of surveillance. Sampson issues out that electorate can use their smartphones to grow to be an energetic and vital player in policing society. Whether or not they lend a hand or obstruct the government relies in a big section on how the government deploy the surveillance this is more and more a part of fashionable existence. Featured symbol by way of Big Brother Watch. [ad_2] #Strangely #Biometrics #Surveillance #Digital camera #Commissioner #Hes #Just right

[mysteriouslytransparentwombat]

Hey, Have you entered Sultry Days And Sultry Nights with Julia Justiss to win Fall for the Minnesota Marshalls with Fraser (and a $10 Amazon Gift Card) yet? If you refer friends you get more chances to win :) https://wn.nr/hzJ3jd

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 36: Mr. and Mrs

Summary: As promised… newlywed fluff

Read on AO3

Read on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 36: Mr. and Mrs.

***

Claire was insatiable. The wee thing was on him every second of every day. She would do everything from pouncing on him when he unsuspectingly rounded a corner to jumping into the shower with him. Jamie was obsessed with it, certainly. He was completely besotted and happy to be under her enchantment. Still, he wasn’t always sure he could keep up with her. 

It wasn’t even just the usual or expected touches either. Just when Jamie would begin to forget how strange his lass was— arrogantly thinking he knew her inside and out— she would go on being her quirky self in ways that took him by surprise. 

One such example was the strange but endearing behavior that took place one cozy Saturday…

Jamie was sat on the couch while Claire was tried to wedge her way in directly behind him. Yes, indeed, she was trying to fit her body in the miniscule space between Jamie’s back and the back of the couch while the rest of the couch and numerous chairs— even Jamie’s lap, for crying out loud— were perfectly unoccupied. 

“Claire, mo ghraidh...” Jamie chuckled as he was pushed forward by her body as she worked on wedging herself behind him, “what are ye doin’?” 

“I’m trying to cuddle you, if you’d be so kind as to move forward a bit,” she huffed, struggling in her endeavor. 

“Ye’re half my size and ye want me sittin’ in yer lap?” he laughed. 

“Not in my lap. I don’t have a wish for my legs to be crushed, thank you very much. I just wanted to sit behind you so I could hold you for a bit.” Her voice was strained with the effort of her trying, and failing, to push him forward to give herself enough space to fit. 

But Jamie was having too much fun to simply end it and scooch himself up like she wanted. 

“Any particular reason why ye’re tryin’ so hard tae cuddle me, wee one?” he asked. 

He could feel Claire shooting daggers at the back of his neck as she pushed against his uncooperating shoulders. 

“Well, I like it so much when you come up behind me and hold me that I was trying to be nice, but if you’re going to be stubborn about it...” 

Jamie laughed again and decided he’d better give her the space she needed to fit behind him before she gave up and left him alone altogether. He couldn’t have that. 

Claire gave out a sigh of satisfaction as he moved forward enough for her to slide behind him. As she began to settle in, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms came around his shoulders, and the front of her body pressed flush down the length of his back. 

The cherry on top was when she began pressing kisses to the sensitive spot just behind his ear. 

“Well…” he said, trying not to let on how much her kisses were affecting him, but his voice still came out breathless, “is it everythin’ ye imagined?” 

She hummed against him, nuzzling her nose against the shell of his ear in a way that made his stomach tie itself into knots. 

“It’s nice enough. A little cramped perhaps, but I like having you in my arms.” 

“It was verra thoughtful of ye to offer to be the big spoon, sweet one,” Jamie chuckled, “but I think there are a few flaws in this plan of yers.” 

He could tell he was riling her up. Her body went tense at his words, preparing for a battle. Jamie was torn between tenderness and playfulness— because truly it was terribly adorable that she wanted to do this for him— but he couldn’t resist the temptation to play with her. Now the die had been cast, and his words had alerted her to his feistiness… or maybe it was that she could sense his plotting. Damn empath. 

“What might those be?” she asked warily. 

“Well,” he began, keeping his voice very matter-of-fact, “there’s a few logistical issues. The first being that I’m twice yer size and it would be so easy for me to accidentally crush ye like a wee bug.” 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he let his body sag back against her as a dead weight. He crushed her down against the couch, and she let out a squeal. 

“Jamie!” she yelped, her voice muffled where her mouth was pressed against his back as a result of her predicament, “ge’off!”

“The second issue is that the couch isna exactly the ideal spot. This kind of cuddling requires space, ye ken.” Even though she couldn’t see him, Jamie tapped his finger against his chin as if thinking hard, enjoying himself immensely. “Perhaps if ye cared to try the bed instead?” 

Her hands— which had previously been wrapped around his shoulders in a loving embrace— were smacking at his chest now, no hint of soft affection from a moment before. 

“Lemmeup,” came her smothered cry, “can’tbreathe!” 

Smirking to himself, he leaned forward, releasing her. 

“What was that?” he asked cheekily over his shoulder. 

“Ye bloody bastard,” Claire was cursing as she struggled out from behind him. Her knees jabbed him in the ribs as she tried to unwrap her legs from his waist to get them back underneath herself enough to escape. 

When she’d finally wrigged out from behind him, she popped out by his side and gave him a death glare. 

“You’re a brute,” she pouted, glaring over at him with dark eyes.

“And ye married me. Ye canna take it back now,” Jamie said cheerily, answering her glower with a beam. 

She crossed her arms, looking very much like a toddler who hadn’t gotten her way. Her lower lip was pushed out in a pout, and Jamie could barely smother the rising urge to kiss it. 

“Just because I’m stuck with you doesn’t mean I don’t regret it.” 

Jamie gave a playfully gesture of being shot in the heart. “Ah, mo nighean donn, ye wound me so.” 

“And you crush me when I’m trying to hold you,” she shot back. 

“Aww, I’m sorry, lass. Come ‘ere, I’ll make it up to ye.” Jamie opened his arms to her, his voice dripping with played up regret. 

Claire stood abruptly, shooting him a smirk over her shoulder. 

“I think I’ll go cuddle with Adso, thank you very much. Maybe then you’ll learn to appreciate what you have.” 

“That’s yer choice…” Jamie dropped his voice to sound serious, “oh, and Claire? One other thing?” 

She stopped in her tracks, turning back to him with a suspicion written clear over her face. 

“What?” 

Jamie stood, looking down at his fingers where he was playing with them in feigned innocence, “there was one more flaw in your plan.” 

“What’s that?” 

She took a step back, already suspecting his misbehavior. 

“I like bein’ the one to hold you far too much.” 

He lunged forward, grabbed her around the waist with both hands and tugging her body against him all in one smooth movement. She was giggling as he did, struggling playfully as he wrestled her to him and held her captive at his front. He walked them both backward until the back of his knees hit the couch and he was able to sit down, bringing Claire down along with him. 

In order to secure her in his lap as she tried to wriggle free, he tightened his arms around her middle, trapping hers underneath. He grinned into her hair, squeezing her. 

“Much better,” he said. 

He pressed kisses down the side of her neck, letting out little hums into the skin until her struggling stopped and Claire went still. Curious to see what she would do, Jamie loosened his arms around her. Not enough to let her get up, but enough so she could maneuver a bit. 

It turned out that what she wanted to do was turn and face him. She shifted within his hold so she straddled him, and the moment they were face-to-face, Jamie would see that her expression had grown soft and her eyes had that far away look in them that they got when she was particularly infatuated. 

“This is rather nice,” she admitted in a murmur as she leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw. Then another. 

Jamie nearly laughed out loud. 

His wee faerie. So predictable. She couldn’t resist him holding her any more than Adso could resist the smell of tuna. 

Her kisses were growing more insistent now, beginning to turn heated in a way that was sure to scramble Jamie’s wits at any second. 

“So ye dinna regret marryin’ this brute after all?” Jamie asked, trying to keep up the show and keep his voice steady in the face of the magic of her lips. 

She pulled back, making Jamie’s skin tingle in her absence. “Maybe not so much…” she relented, “I suppose you win this one, Mr. Fraser.” 

“Victory is sweet, Mrs. Fraser.” 

***

Next

[harry-cadogan]

THE SEASON SO FAR as told by Henry “Harry” Cadogan

“Now really,” Harry sighed, lifting his eyes to give Primrose a baleful look. She arrived in London in a flurry, and already the parlor was strewn with her affects. Immediately, she had taken to him -- minding her younger brother, goading him, pushing him toward opinion. “You wish me to rate them?”

It was -- as it turned out -- a rhetorical question.

Adelson Jacobs → ⭐️⭐️☆☆☆ “A damned fool and an irritatingly good equestrian.”

[ When Harry Met Adelson™... at an outing of the Two-Trot Club, a society for equine enthusiasts. While they immediately bonded over this, their friendship did not last: Adelson is a curmudgeon on the subject of love, and Harry finds this a truly lacking characteristic. ]

Alexandre Mortier → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Dresses well, seems to have an unholy penchant for red wine. Ah, the French!”

[ When Harry Met Alexandre™... they have not yet! Though I presume they have encountered each other at Brooks’s, where Harry is fiendish about oysters and card games. ]

Anthony ‘Tony’ Fraser → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ “A true gentlemen and brave to boot! I should like to dine with him any evening.”

[ When Harry Met Tony™... at Brooks’s! With oysters! Harry immediately took to Tony’s cheerful attitude and foreign flair, and he thinks they are two kindred spirits, galavanting around the Ton in search of love. ]

Archibald Howard St. John → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Quite reformed, once out of Beatrice’s clutches. We are a complimentary pair.”

[ When Harry Met Archie™... Archie came to 131 Kean Street in search of his elder sister, Beatrice, with whom he had a friendship. What luck -- instead, he found Harry! Harry considers him an odd fellow with a good outlook upon the world. He enjoys their conversations and confides in him. ]

Atticus ‘Kit’ Thorne  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ “Absolutely capital! A rake, a riot, and really quite dreadful at paper-projectiles.”

[ When Harry Met Kit™... at Oxford! They were troublemaking lads who seemed to egg each other on to further adventures. He’s glad to find him in London, though their objectives seem different. ]

Aurelia Merchant  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ "Quite lovely of face, though we have not yet met.”

[ When Harry Met Aurelia™ ... they haven’t yet! Though I am sure Harry noticed her at the Regatta. ]

Caroline Hale  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Attractive and useful! Though she did side with the modiste’s assistant quite readily. Women.”

[ When Harry Met Caroline™... at Mrs. Bell’s modiste! The assistant was refusing to hand over a package to him for lace, and Caroline kindly intervened to assist him. ]

Catherine Lockhart  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Reminds me of a songbird, all chat and bright smiles.”

[ When Harry Met Kate™... they haven’t yet! Harry surely noticed her at the Regatta, or Margate thereafter. He finds her youthfulness charming. ]

Conrad Mowbray  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “A capital lad, surely!”

[ When Harry Met Conrad™... they haven’t yet! But when they do: this star rating might change. ]

Dulcinea Hallivand 🦉 → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Bless a woman who knows what she prefers.”

[ When Harry Met Lady Hallivand™... Harry sat through one of Lady Hallivand’s lectures on maritime birding in the spring. He found it interesting, though her affectation 

Diana Bartlett  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ “A marvel.”

[ When Harry Met Diana™... at Pleasant Pairings, a blind-date event held at Gunter’s Ice Cream Shop. They immediately engaged in a game of mystery identities, and Harry has been captivated ever since. ]

Emmeline Thorne  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Excellent taste in lace and weather events.”

[ When Harry Met Emmeline™... at Mrs. Bell’s, again! She entranced him with lace selection, a vision of the future, and her pretty smile. ]

Frances Fitzroy  → ⭐️⭐️☆☆☆ “It is amazing that such an icicle can dance.”

[ When Harry Met Frances™... at the Queen’s Ball! He found her quite attractive, but she laughed at exactly zero of his jokes. Off the list. ]

Henry ‘Harry’ Cadogan  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ “The best lad.”

Henrietta Fortescue  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “All I know, I’ve heard in rumor. Seems she’s quite a popular one.”

[ When Harry Met Henrietta™... they haven’t yet! He’s heard some stories of our Coquette, though. One wonders which are true. ]

Jeremiah Ackerley  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “One wonders how he’s managed this far, really, being so poor at badminton.”

[ When Harry Met Jerry™... at the badminton courts! Harry now considers their weekly matches an unbreakable appointment each Saturday morning. ]

June Croft  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “How curious a name. What will they think of next? September?”

[ When Harry Met June™ ... they haven’t yet! But soon. One hopes. Particularly as she’s familiar with one of his best lads, Kit. ]

Lucy Herzog  → ⭐️⭐️☆☆☆ “For a princess, she has abhorrent taste in men.”

[ When Harry Met Lucy™... only in gray matter! He knows that she is friends with Adelson, which he finds baffling. ]

Margaret Mulgrave  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Quite foolish in her beliefs, though she manages to be enrapturing all the same. Keep her away from a mallet, for cert.”

[ When Harry Met Margaret™... at Margate, playing croquet! He is rather fascinated by her, and almost protective in a brotherly way -- which suits, for they shall soon be cousins-in-law. ] 

Nicholas Brooksbank  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Prefers not to have fun, but can be coaxed into doing so. Capital.”

[ When Harry Met Nik™... at Oxford! Harry and Nik are polar opposites at times, and had a way of clashing while in school. It will be fun to see how they get on now that they are proper adults. ]

Ophelia Vane  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ There is no comment here, save for a lifting of brows and a sudden interest in his fingernails.

[ When Harry Met Ophelia™... in their adjoining courtyards, one perfectly lovely May morning. Harry had lost his hat in the petunias the night before and Ophelia returned it to him. He has been her captive ever since. ]

Richard Harcourt  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “Upstanding, decently decadent, and sporting a much better haircut than when I saw him last!”

[ When Harry Met Richard™... in childhood! The boys have been distant cousins for some time. ]

Sarah St. John  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ “An excellent lady of commerce, though she is dreadfully distractible.”

[ When Harry Met Sarah™... buying a cream-salve for his skin after a particularly disastrous encounter with a dull razor. He’s indebted to her supplier. ]

Sebastian Herzog  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Can one even speak poorly of a prince, much less one in absentia? He seems quite strapping and built for sport. A shame he left.”

[ When Harry Met Sebastian™... they haven’t! Though I am sure Harry made his acquaintance at one function or another. ]

Sidney Wyatt  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Appears to be a person, yes.”

[ When Harry Met Sid™... they haven’t! All Harry needs in his life is Jerry. ]

Sophia Weston  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “I thought widows were meant to wear bl-- ouch, Primrose! That was my ear!”

[ When Harry Met Sophia™... they haven’t! Though he’s surely noticed her presence at the Queen’s Ball and Regatta. ]

Victoria Howard St. John  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Effingham’s lady-wife. Always seems to be glowering at an angle. Perhaps it is unhappiness at home? I know I could not bear Effingham’s chat all day.”

[ When Harry Met Victoria™... they haven’t! CAL YOU HAVE TOO MANY CHARACTERS. ]

William Hastings  → ⭐️⭐️⭐️☆☆ “Good man, good man. Bit hard to pick out of a crowd, though. Is he Irish? He’s mastered a clever goodbye.”

[ When Harry Met Will™... they haven’t, formally. But Harry has noticed him, particularly as a fellow gentleman at the Regatta amidst all of the fanfare. ]

[renee-writer]

Chasing Waves Chapter 43

AO3

“I hope it is good news.” Claire waits anxiously for the Detective Sergeant. John Grey has called and said he had news.

“I am sure it is. They are quite good at their job.” Jamie reassures. Inside, he is hoping the same. Not that he wants her to leave. No, just the opposite. But not living in fear would be nice for her.

He arrives twenty minutes later. Jamie answers the door and ushers him in. “Miss Beauchamp,” he tips his hat to her before taken it off. “May I sit?”

“Yes, of course. You have news?” She and Jamie sit across from him.

“I do.”

“Would you like some tea?” Claire is nervous about what he is going to say. A bit of a delay.

“No, thank you. Relax Miss Beauchamp. It is good news.”

“Good?” Jamie let out a breath he doesn’t recall holding.

“Yes Mr. Fraser. Mr. Bonnet fell right into our trap and is now in the dark where he belongs.”

“You got him?” She can’t quite believe it.

“We did. He sits in jail awaiting trial.”

“Oh thank God!”

“Will he get bail?” Jamie asks.

“We are going to fight against it. With a felony stalking charge as well as criminal mischief, it isn’t likely. I will let you know if he does. We’ve proven it was him waiting for you under the boardwalk that day. You are quite lucky.”

“I had a wonderful bodyguard.” She is shaking with the release of the nerves and the knowledge of how close she came to being his captive again.

“A grand thing.” He moves to stand. “I will let you know if he gets bail.” They both stand with him. Jamie offers his hand.

“Thank you. You’ve no idea the relief you have brought.”

“You’re welcome. I have some. He broke a man’s nose during the arrest and tried to kick out the squad cars window. Bonnet is one dangerous man. Everyone is safer with him off the street.”

Claire hugs him. “They are. Thank you!”

He leaves and they both seem to melt into the couch with relief.

[murtaghsbeard]

Season 5 ep 10 - Mercy shall follow me

Old Pippin and Bonnet discuss their plans to get Bonnet’s record expunged and get custody of the plantation-owning toddler, Jemmy. Old Pippin is a lawyer evidently, but clearly a bad one because when he asks Bonnet to be compensated for his legal efforts he allows Bonnet to tell him “you’ll get some money somewhere down the line on the condition that the desired outcome of my complex plan is achieved.” That is not good billing practice, old Pippin!

Also your client is talking about bumping off people who stand between him and his money, so maybe read between the lines here. Old Pippin is getting swindled in the short term and probably getting dead in the long term.

Oh, no! They’ve dressed Ian up like some sort of Quaker! He interrupts a very Outlander conversation of “this man we are dealing with is a shady character and he may try to double cross us.” “Yes, that is very likely to happen, but let’s not bother to make any kind of contingency plan about that likely outcome, because .... I don’t feel like it?” “Ok” “ok”

Claire tries to get a new syringe made in Wilmington. But some malevolent force tdb is watching them

The girls go to the beach and have very forced dialogue about whales. The pod of whales does not inspire them to stick close together.

Roger begins to feel more macho about killing Bonnet, who does not show up to his pre arranged meeting with the Fraser’s Ridge lads. Just as well. Roger isn’t very good at fighting still.

Bonnet has gone whale watching as well it turns out. Brianna is thwarted by an unloaded pistol and gets kidnapped. They are on Bonnet’s private island. “My son’s father is Roger Mackenzie” she sneers. Why are you always dropping everybody’s full names, girl! That is what got you into this mess. You gave Bonnet your full name, address, social security number, and return envelope at your visit to the jail, which has put all this into motion.

Brianna grabs a fire iron, but then does nothing with it. Instead she puts on a fancy dress, deciding to play the long game I guess. Bonnet wants a lesson in table manners, but alas, this is not Pretty Woman. Now Brianna gets clammy about this sociopath knowing the names of everyone she holds dear.

Brianna opens some boring book about farming, but begins reciting Moby Dick from memory. I’ve never been inclined to read Moby Dick, so I can’t say for sure, but I assume she is paraphrasing and changing the story as she goes and she doesn’t start out in the first person. Will she snare Bonnet in a literary trap? She keeps this going for 200 pages?!? Sounds absolutely exhausting. Seems very elaborate just to provide some moral framework for this villain to perhaps take to heart. What is her end game? He will change his ways because of this cautionary tale about a sea captain?

Is Bonnet duping her? Sea Nightmares and an orphan backstory? Seems very crafted to elicit sympathies and get her to let her guard down.

The prostitute breakfast maid would suggest they are not so isolated as “private island” might suggest. Brianna’s problem is that she assumes Bonnet is dumb.

Maybe he is a little dumb and mostly weird? I can’t quite figure out if he is clever or devious without being clever (if that is possible). Does he really believe in this fantasy with Bri? Everything we know about him thus far suggests no, he wouldn’t be naive enough to believe a woman he has kidnapped at knifepoint will be his loving life partner, but the scene is telling us yes, this is his belief.

Very brief sex with the breakfast tray prostitute seems a bit of an unhinged choice. I do prefer it when the villains are clever. That’s why Randall and Sandrigham are god tier Outlander villains and Geillis and that snooty French duke are not. I find this whole episode very perplexing. Bonnet is effective as a villain, not just because he is ruthless and violent, but because he is canny and has skill at manipulating people’s sympathies and ambitions to achieve his own goals. It seems strange that he leaves himself open completely to that same kind of manipulation with Bri who is not particularly convincing when she tries to play up the romance farce. Would he really be so fooled by her motivations?

It’s all very strange, as it seems like they should be having a battle of wits and deception, but it all falls away and we have only what we first start out with: captor and captive.

Jocasta is up to some scheme. She orders old Pippin to dole out her fortune to every person under 40 at Fraser’s Ridge. Old Pippin is the worst criminal. He is practically bursting out of his chair in outrage as she bequeaths pound upon pound until he screeches “you can’t give away my money!” Jocasta got him to admit conspiracy in under two minutes.

Thank beezus for Ulysses. He comes in to asphyxiate old Pippin when he gets pillow happy with Jocasta’s face. A beautiful voice and charming company aren’t his only talents. We now know the glory of Ulysses’ biceps. Looks like old Pippin is swindled in the short term and dead in the short term.

Seems Bonnet is trafficking stolen women. He decides to sell Brianna to a sea captain. Was this his plan all along (if so, why the charade?) or a pivot following the failure of his original plan? On the beach they are intercepted by the Fraser Gang. Roger catches up to Bonnet while everyone else hangs back (???). Roger lands a punch on Bonnet, which the editor makes us watch twice. This very generous editor also bestows the gift of slow mo on Roger’s scuffling.

I’m sorry. They are planning to put Bonnet on a boat to sea? Like you have rifles. Have you learned nothing? Just shoot and be done with it. Oh, now Brianna wants him to go to trial. Why why why. You want to trust politicians?

Bonnet does get sentenced to execution. By drowning, but nobody sticks around to watch? Oh wait, Brianna turns up with a rifle to do what she could have done on the beach???

[scapegrace74-blog]

Lie Alone

A/N  In commenting on the last installment in the Metric universe, I said that Jamie’s date with Claire was complete dating wish fulfillment on my part.  Which got me thinking about their next date and what other personal preferences I could cram into this story.  And yet it’s definitely Claire’s turn to take Jamie for a spin, which meant that... well, you’ll see!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Blanco White (another guest artist!) that inspired the title and which features in the fic can be heard here: https://youtu.be/SNp7sb5vXTs

Big shout out to @holdhertightandsayhername, who introduced me to this artist in her marvelous fic The Sands of Time.  

June 21, 2018, London, England

Sassench:  Do you have plans later Fraser?

Wee Fox Cub:  depends r u making a better pffer?

Sassench: Meet me out front at Joe’s.  5pm.

Wee Fox Cub: :thumbs up emoji:

Sassench:  And Jamie?  Wear something tight.  Preferably leather.

Wee Fox Cub:  ...

***

He couldn’t imagine what Claire had in mind, but he’d cancelled his plans to watch the England South Africa test match with the lads and was instead haunting the kerb in front of her temporary lodging, wearing fitted black jeans and his leather jacket, despite the sunny mid-summer weather.  When his date hadn’t emerged from the building by 4:05, he pulled out his phone.  An approaching mechanical thrum interrupted him mid-text.

The first thing he noticed were her boots: black, with a thick rubber sole and chunky heel.  These were zipped over leather pants that clung to her coltish legs like a second skin, matching the matte gleam of the motor between them.  A leather jacket, the tailored twin of his own, hugged her narrow waist.  By the time his eyes had scrolled upward, a visored helmet was being removed, and Claire’s familiar hair and teasing brass eyes appeared.

“You’re staring, Jamie,” she remarked.  The fact that the voice was his roommate’s usual no-nonsense tone, seasoned with a touch of humour, was a necessary dash of reality.  

“Aye,” he admitted.  “Tis a verra beautiful... machine ye’re ridin’, Sassenach.  Is it yers?”

Her curls danced in the sunlight as she shook them out.

“God, no.  Joe only let me borrow it after I promised to cover his next two on-call shifts.  But don’t worry!  I practically grew up on a motorcycle.  I’ve had my license since I was sixteen.”

He filed this information away in the cluttered part of brain entitled Things I Never Expected to Learn about Claire Beauchamp. Accepting a second helmet, he swung himself onto the seat behind her.  His legs bracketed her hips in an unfamiliar, but by no means unpleasant, inversion.  Claire revved the motor, sending a shiver up his spine.  His arms wrapped around her waist, and they pulled into the slow flow of traffic.

“Comfy?”  Her voice startled him, low and intimate, coming from directly behind his ear.   He realized belatedly that the helmets were furnished with a communications system.

“Aye,” he asserted, although comfortable wasn’t exactly the word he’d use for his current state.  Somewhere between apprehensive and exhilarated would be more accurate.  “Will we make it tae our destination afore sundown, do ye think?”

She chuckled warmly, reaching back with one hand to tap him on the knee.

“Never you fear, my lad.  I have our urban escape route all planned out.  We’ll be flying in no time.”

She wasn’t wrong.  After a series of abrupt stops and starts, they dipped below the Thames in a well-lit tunnel, the echo of passing lorries muting all other sound.  Soon after that they were picking up speed on a wide motorway, the bike crouching against the wind.  He watched the throbbing mass of the city peel away, slowly giving way to greenery and the pastel light he associated with freedom.  He thought they were heading south along the Orbital into Surrey, but beyond that he had no notion of their whereabouts.  

Giving himself up into her care, he settled against Claire’s back, the crescent of her arse fitting neatly into the bowl of his thighs.  He was aware of being aroused, but it was a hazy rather than a sharp feeling, blunted by contentment.  If Claire was offended by the firmness pressing into her rump, she gave no sign.

After several hours of almost meditative motion, they turned onto a country lane, overhung by a leafy canopy.  Tidy Tudor buildings overlooked the road, their leaden windows glowing orange in the setting sun.   Their motorcycle joined a parade of vehicles ascending a low hill in a series of sharp turns.  Each time the bike navigated one of these, he was forced to tighten his grip on Claire’s torso, which by now felt like an extension of his own body.  He glowed like one of those panes of glass, molten and reflecting back the warmth that radiated from the core of who she was.  

The forest thinned into green hillside as they reached a parking lot.  He couldn’t help but feel disappointment as he observed the crowds.  Wherever they were, it was obviously a popular destination.  On the bike, he’d felt peculiarly isolated, alone with Claire, their conversation eased by the intermediary of the microphones.  Now he’d have to share her with the world.

He groaned as he unfolded his long legs to stand upright, and Claire grinned.

“They don’t make motorcycles in your size, I’m afraid.”

“An’ wha’ size is that, Sassenach?” he hummed suggestively while stretching his arms high above his head, untucking his shirt in the process.

Claire’s eyes dipped to where his belly was briefly exposed, then lower.

“Large,” was her bold answer, and he shot her a wickedly pleased glance.

After a beat she visibly gathered herself, reaching into the storage compartment behind where he had been sitting and pulling out a small bag and his plaid, which had somehow stayed in her possession after the fire.

“Are you up for a short hike?”

“For ye, Sassenach, anything.”

They meandered through an oak wood, then up a series of crude steps, until finally arriving on a grassy slope, the land falling away steeply to the south.  Low ridges and shallow valleys furled below them like gentle waves, reaching out to the horizon where the sun was preparing to set.  The air was fragrant, the ground releasing the heat of the day.

“One of my many boarding schools wasn’t far from here,” Claire explained as she spread the blanket near their feet.  “I must have been fourteen or so, and having a terrible time fitting in.  Uncle Lamb came to visit, probably at the headmaster’s behest, and this is where he took me.  I don’t remember what he said, but by the time we left, I felt better.  More at peace.  In lockstep with the larger order of things.   I’ve come back, now and then.  Any time I needed to find that feeling again.”

As she spoke, Claire emptied the small bag of its contents.  He recognized the logo from a deli they both frequented on two wrapped sandwiches, along with a pint of strawberries, some crisps, a lemonade and a bottle of his favourite summer ale.  She’d thought of everything, and it snagged at his heart.

“Tis bonnie.  I’m honoured ye wanted tae share it with me, Sassenach.”

They ate slowly, savouring the simple meal as the sky above their heads smudged from orange to pink to ever-deepening shades of purple.  One by one, the stars twinkled to life, like so many travelers lighting their fires for the night.  Away from the city, they numbered in the thousands, each a signpost on someone’s journey.  His mind spread out to fill the space between them, taking his thoughts to Lallybroch, moments from his youth long forgotten, the steadying hand of his parent’s guidance.  Claire was right.  Something about the place invited serenity.  He sighed with pleasure, tension he hadn’t even acknowledged draining slowly down his spine.

Claire’s hand crept across the blanket, and their pinkie fingers met, then overlapped.  As the air around them cooled, the breeze picked up, and he felt her shiver.

“Ye’re cold.  We should be on our way, aye?”

“Wait.  There’s one more thing I want you to see.”

He could think of several more things he wanted to see, but they were well hidden by leather and her guarded nature.  He’d known when he proposed this season of courtship that the road to Claire’s heart would be long and arduous, with many twists and lay-bys.  There could be no rushing the voyage.  He was confident the destination, should he be granted entry, would be worth any hardship.  And thankfully the views along the way were spectacular in their own right.

He’d been watching her profile out of the corner of his eye when the horizon burst into multi-coloured song.  Purple starbursts and red streamers exploded across a black canvas, followed by a pulsing yellow orb.  In the milliseconds before his consciousness caught up with the evidence, he was captivated.  Then he physically recoiled, expecting pain in the form of a cascade of memories.  Instead, the symphony of light continued without a sound.  He looked at Claire in awe.

“The wind is to the north, so it’s blowing the sound in the other direction.  I checked before I picked you up,” she explained.

The fireworks continued for another ten or fifteen minutes.  He’d never be quite sure, because he was lost in sensation.  The beautiful display was completely over-shadowed by the beauty of the woman beside him, her tiny finger still laced with his own.  

“Ye ken tis I who’s supposed tae be courtin’ ye, don’t ye, Sassenach?” he commented when a final fury of light gave way once again to stars.

“Says who?” she sniffed, but he could see the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.  

After performing a mental inventory of any and all physical impediments, he leaned slowly into her side, his intention unmistakable.  His heart thrilled when Claire met him halfway, her mouth damp and tart from the lemonade.  It was a kiss that walked the boundary between chaste and sensual, and he wished it could last forever.

“Thank ye, Claire.  Truly.”

At a loss for words for once, she dipped her head in acknowledgement.  They silently gathered their things and walked hand-in-hand to the bike.

The ride back to London was swift, with music taking the place of conversation.  A particularly beautiful song, poetic and wistful, left him feeling that Claire was speaking to him through its words; words she could not yet find the courage to say.  Accompanied by only a single guitar, a male voice rose in wistful intensity.

So I lie alone, and risk each night, I long to let you in But there's a life I lost, drifted out, before You let me in.

His fingers found their way beneath her jacket and rested on the warm skin of her belly.  He felt her soft skin give a shudder, like a ripple of wind across the still surface of a pond.

The motorway ribboned out beneath them.  The journey had only just begun.

*

*

*

*

Because this is a multi-disciplinary blog, here’s a shot of the view that Jamie and Claire enjoyed in this fic, which is Box Hill in Surrey (taken from Google Earth, as I’ve never been).

And here’s Claire’s bike!

[lady-o-ren]

Unpublished Drafts Challenge - your words are so special though 💙

I have zero idea how long this has been sitting here (damn ye notifications!) So the gift is part of the elder tree chapter that will never be seen ever....but I also don't remember if I posted this snippet before so.... Maybe not so special 😬 There's actually more to this but I can't find the latest edit 😱😱😱 it's been forever and I don't know what I did with it. So just the semi good part here.

//

Underneath the Elder Tree ch 6 snip

The younger Fraser wasn't slung over the boughs of the great tall trees, fingers splintered by their bark, ants crawling across his nose. Nor were his breeks covered in muddied leaves while trudging aside the gentle flow of the creek searching for that elusive hopper.

Instead, Willie had spent the days misty hours alongside Claire in the Fraser's small garden. They had gathered bushels of carrots, garlic bulbs and tall onion stalks for their evening supper while his father looked on with a wary eye that reached his stomach, still reeling from her failed attempt at parritch churned to glue. . . and had proceeded to his chores when fixed with the flare of her feral amber eyes.

The lad however gazed upon her as a besotted bee would to a bloom.

As a child longing for a mother.

Even now in the quiet of their cabin warming from a bubbling soup, the allure of outside adventure paled to the simple contentment of watching Claire perched by the window, battling her curls unraveling from their plait.

Willie however was captivated by them.

Thought they were a great wild occurrence like the crashing of waves against the rise of granite cliffs, with the white of her fingers lost in the darkness of their depths straining to tame the tangled scape. He wished she'd leave her curls unbound like now and always, so he could twirl a winding rivulet around his finger that he imagined must be softer than fleece.

He had been told that his mother Mary had hair that flowed long and straight, colored as a sparrows feather beneath a summer struck sky, with eyes like theirs, round and keen, and so very, very kind. Even her heart was partial to the birds, more so than any other creature that dwelled in the wilderness, his father knew not why.

"There was never much time to ask," he so often would say when Willie asked of her. "Only, she seemed attuned to their notes of song I think. Their mournful whimpers, soaring serenades. . ."

Trailing off, his father's lips pressed tight together, regret bruising his eyes when meeting Willie's expectant ones. They dimmed from blue to sullen grey as the silence grew, falling to his lap where his wounded heart had plummeted, throbbing along the shallows where his mother was kept sacred, tethered together from memories he would never have.

"I should'a asked yer mam, William," he rasped lowly. "That and more. A great deal more."

With Claire though Willie made sure to commit to memory all that he could lest he forget her too as the days continued onward. He sought to know what pleased her, what she found most unpleasant. Observing all that she was.

Like now as light filtered through the dewed windowpane, Willie noticed the crook of her pinky as she began to braid her hair, a frown scrunching her face. His own were shaped with that very bend. He showed it to Claire with a wiggle and wide brimming grin, oblivious to what ghosted behind her eyes giving them a sheen as she laced their fingers to make the magic of a wish come true.

"Just like that?" Willie stared with wide-eyed enchantment at their shared touch.

"It's silliness really but maybe this one will take." She leaned close enough to be sweetly kissed to her moon curved cheek. "I'm still no jinn, mind you."

Even so he closed his eyes daring a wish to the ones above to claim her his until his sight became speckled in a prism of light, never knowing her gaze too sought to commit him to heart.

Then she nudged him with a flex of her fingers, a smile he heard in her voice. "Your wish must be something wonderful to squeeze me so."

Willie's eyes fluttered open with the curved tips of his ears glowing pink. "Aye, most wondrous," he admitted, holding his hand to the hopeful patter of his heart and spoke no further than that.

Bright dapples of red at the window then caught Claire's eye and she wiped away the condensation revealing a sight that pinched her cheeks. Willie too rubbed his cuff against the glass where he saw his father having conversation with an inquisitive fox (sniffing at the axe that he leaned upon, sticking up from an old tree stump), trying to convince it back to where it came from.

The fellow red furred creature however didn't take kindly for man's dominion over where to roam about, flashed its sharp white teeth in a threatening sneer and throaty snarl, where it then promptly snapped at his boots.

"A dhonais chrìne!" He howled, heels clacking high in the air that sent the fox to a yelping scurry back to its den but had Claire and Willie in rib aching laughter that even his father heard, whirling around once settled down to the leaf strewn ground.

"A pair of cackling hens ye both are!" He shouted in mock offense. "Could'a lost a toe to that fiend! Squirming in the dirt I'd be and still ye'd laugh!"

That they all did. Claire more so than Willie had ever seen.

He then watched his father pry his axe from the battered stump, stealing bashful glances back toward the cabin - to Claire, who blew her warm breath to the glass where he faded away behind the cloud. She finished tying off her plait (maybe this time the knot would keep), still smiling from what Willie knew gave her as much happiness as he.

Did his father know that?

Did she?

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 10

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held The best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

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

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

A very special thank you to Michaela for providing a perfect moodboard!

Chapter 10

“Mama?” 

Her eyes drifted open from sleep by the sound of Faith’s voice, soft and baby-like. Claire grunted tiredly, but nevertheless drank in the sight of the baby girl sitting up in bed by her pillow. “What are you doing here?” She asked. A smile bloomed on Claire’s face as she took in the sleep-tousled curls and Faith’s flushed cheeks, one marked with a deep red line from where she’d slept on it.   

Faith didn’t answer her question ‒ Claire didn’t expect her to ‒ but she did respond with a soft smile of her own, slow and languid. Claire rolled from her side to her back as Faith leaned forward and gathered the girl up on top of her chest. Her head rested just above Claire’s nightgown, her cheek pillowed against her mother’s skin. She yawned then and seemed to melt into her on the exhale, her eyes drifting shut. 

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” Claire turned to kiss the girl’s forehead. “Since the day you were born.” How many times had they laid like this, and felt all was right with the world in that moment? Too numerous to count. 

Faith’s fingers curled around the edge of Claire’s nightgown and she looked up to catch Claire’s gaze. “Hello, lovey,” she murmured. Her fingers gently teased Faith’s wild curls away from her face. 

“‘llo, Mama,” Faith echoed and then hummed as Claire continued to play with her hair, never breaking eye contact, though her eyes crinkled with joy. 

My whole heart. 

“Faith, I lov‒”      

Her breath came in a stuttering gasp, eyes flying open in the dark. She reached over and found only the edge of her hospital bed. 

She was alone.  

Her body curled in on itself while she clutched a pillow to her chest and smothered her sobs there. 

The weight of her grief settled in around her as the last vestiges of her dream fell away, and her new reality became starkly clear. 

She was alone in 1948 ‒ a time in which everyone she loved was undoubtedly dead. And without Jamie, Faith, and Fergus… without Murtagh and the Murrays… with only dreams and memories to haunt her, she wished she could curl up and die right there in that bed. 

She wanted it ‒ wanted death to come swift and easy, to bring her at once to whatever came next, where Jamie promised he would be waiting for her. Where he would find her.

But there was no impulse to act on this wish and in some rational corner of her mind still functioning, she knew there was only one thing standing in her way, keeping her tethered to this world. 

The baby. 

Part of all that would be left of Jamie. Of their life together.  

But even while she would live for the baby, she couldn’t think of it growing inside her without the sharp twist of a knife in her gut. 

Her arm muscles ached from the hour she had carried Faith. Had that only just happened that morning? Her mind felt foggy from the drug-induced sleep but her body wouldn’t let her forget. One hour after eight months apart and then… 

She clutched the pillow tighter, and the howl that tore from her throat didn’t even sound human.

One hour after eight months apart and then never again would she hold Faith in her arms.

Only in her dreams…   

On her second day in the hospital, Frank arrived. Seeing his face again was jarring, both in how it grounded her in this time, and made her blood run cold at its uncanny resemblance to another face that still haunted her. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Frank said in a tight whisper. He reached for her hand and eased himself carefully into the seat at her bedside. She was dumbstruck at seeing him and could hardly manage to look him in the eye, but when she did, there was no anger or hurt staring back at her. Only his love, his broken heart over the missing years, and his widespread relief to find her once more ‒ though these feelings were likely to change when she told him the truth.

“I’m pregnant.” The words slipped out into the space between them and Claire studied his face, watching for any hint of the quiet anger she knew he could possess. Better to rip the bandaid off than try to hide her condition. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I spoke with your doctors.” His gaze dropped to where he still held her hand and he squeezed it gently, collecting himself. He was rattled by the news, she could see, even as he tried to present a calm front. “Darling, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m here now. We’ll get through this.” 

His meaning snapped into place with stunning clarity and Claire’s breath left her in a rush. “I‒ I wasn’t attacked or… or held captive.” Her hand withdrew from his grasp and settled protectively over her still-flat stomach. “This baby isn’t‒” 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he cut in quickly to quiet her and gave her a stiff smile. But she saw the flash of doubt in his eyes all the same. He didn’t believe her. “We don’t have to talk about the particulars just now. None of that matters, anyhow. I won’t leave you.”

She recognized the old habit in him of skirting around the uncomfortable ‒ and this was certainly uncomfortable ‒ but his assumption sat like molten hot lead in her stomach and her face suddenly felt flushed. 

“Really, I’m sorry to have upset you, Claire,” he said quickly before she could broach any sort of explanation. “God, I’m just so relieved to see you.” He cleared his throat, glassy-eyed. “I’ve been in contact with Reverend Wakefield. He was thrilled to hear about you and he’s prepared some rooms for us to stay there while you convalesce.”

She let the matter of her pregnancy go for now. It would take hours to tell him the truth of it, and even then he might find her to be insane by the end. And the mention of Reverend Wakefield lit a spark in her ‒ he had a library’s worth of resources and also‒ 

“Is Mrs. Graham still in his employ?” 

“Mrs. Graham?” Frank looked mildly perplexed. “I didn’t ask, but I would assume so...” 

  He could see the change in her right away ‒ like a light had gone out from within. She kept to herself that first week, spoke only in an exchange of pleasantries. Even though she was there ‒ she was actually physically there with him after three years  ‒  she seemed a different person entirely. 

At first, Frank thought it must be the shock of returning, but as the days passed at the Wakefield residence and Claire remained distant, it seemed whatever she experienced while she was gone had altered her forever. 

Beyond the mention of her pregnancy, he had no notion of where she’d been or what had happened to her, but a picture was beginning to build in his mind’s eye. She hadn’t been physically harmed, according to her doctors, but she had been malnourished, perhaps from neglect. And someone had gotten his wife with child. Frank breathed in sharply. He thought that bit of news would sink in, but a knot was still in his stomach. With signs pointing towards her mistreatment, he couldn’t imagine that Claire had run off with someone, that she would’ve chosen to leave him, but… 

But there had been that moment when he told her he knew about the baby. Something in her eyes had flashed before him and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had encountered the very edges of a mother’s protective fury for her child. It had stunned him and truthfully unnerved him a little. Not that she would already care for the little thing ‒ they had both longed for a child for years ‒ but that he should be the one on the outside. If she’d been attacked… what would cause her to want to shield the baby from him? He’d already assured her that he would stand by her, but somehow that statement felt like it had done more damage with Claire.   

Frank turned toward the windows in Reverend Wakefield’s study and watched for a moment as Claire sat out in the garden, her head bent over a book. 

The Battle of Culloden. Somehow that had become an obsession of hers since her return and he couldn’t make sense of it if he tried. 

…What the hell had happened to her?    

Claire registered Mrs. Graham’s presence as the afternoon tea was brought out to her, but she didn’t look up from the pages of her book to greet her. As the kindly housekeeper set a cup of tea on the table, Mrs. Graham suddenly broke the silence. 

“Och, lass, you’ll only create nightmares for yourself poring over those accounts.” 

Claire finally met her gaze and swallowed thickly. “There might be clues in here, or even an account of the two of them if I’m lucky. I’d rather know what happened to them. It’s not knowing that keeps me up at night.” 

Mrs. Graham smiled pityingly at her. “Aye…”

“There were wanted posters for him put up all over England and Scotland during the rising, you know. Not just for him ‒ all famous traitors to the crown who were involved in the rising ‒ but… he’s the only one I can’t seem to find any mention of after Culloden. If the British cared enough to make him a traitor, to… to vilify him as they did, you’d think they would’ve looked for him. You’d think someone would’ve bothered to write that down. It’s not like ‘Butcher Cumberland’ to let grievances go.” 

Mrs. Graham took a seat next to Claire. “Ye told me that ye didn’t think Faith traveled at all‒” 

“I mean, I don’t know for sure and I’ve never traveled with someone before, but… I can’t describe it, but there was a moment in the in-between and I was alone. I don’t think she traveled at all, but I can’t even know that for sure.” 

“Still,” Mrs. Graham patted her hand. “Ye would ken better than I. And if she didn’t travel, then she was with Jamie. Maybe the two of them got away safely.” 

“I want that to be what happened,” she rasped, her eyes burning with tears. “God, I want them to have survived it. But I begged him to run with us and he wouldn’t. He said he was doomed to die one way or another and he wouldn’t risk us. I know he would give his life to protect her. I know he would do everything to keep her safe. But these men?” She waved the book in her hands ‒ an account of Cumberland and his troops in The Rising and immediately afterwards. “Pages and pages of how they slaughtered the Jacobites and destroyed the Highland way of life. I don’t need to read every account to know what little disregard they would have for my daughter’s life if she and Jamie encountered them.” 

Hot tears were spilling down her face, and when Mrs. Graham sniffled softly beside her, she found the older woman softly crying as well. “I canna imagine what it’s like for ye. But I worry that this is consuming ye, my dear. And what’ll that do to the bairn ye’re carrying?”  

Claire swallowed roughly and her tear-clouded vision dropped to the book in her lap. How could she not be consumed by this?        

“You have children, don’t you, Mrs. Graham?” Her voice wobbled as she asked the question. 

“Och, aye,” Mrs. Graham replied awkwardly. “My husband and I had three bairns together.” 

“And if you lost one… if you were separated from one and you had no idea what became of them, could you just put that to bed? Would it be enough for you to love the next child as though you’d never known the first?” 

Her words were spoken softly but they had a scalding effect and Mrs. Graham drew in a deep breath. “No,” she said at last. “No, I dinna think I could let it go.” 

“I know they’re both long dead by now. I know. But I need to know if they were killed that day or shortly after or if… if Faith was able to grow up… if Jamie lived and was able to raise her.” Claire’s arm folded tightly across her chest, holding herself together. “I didn’t… didn’t tell her goodbye,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper and Mrs. Graham made a soft sound at that. Her hand suddenly brushed back Claire’s curls in the first display of motherly tenderness Claire could recall receiving from someone in a long time. “I… I only told her it would be alright. Those were my last words to her. Even when we left her at Lallybroch, I… Jamie said his goodbye to her but I never thought I’d lose her forever. I heard him promise her that he would make sure we were reunited someday and…” She shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “It was Jamie so I believed him. I told her…” Her chin quivered before her face disappeared behind her hands. “I told her it was only goodbye for now, not forever. I lied to her. I left her.” 

Since she’d arrived here, she’d kept her crying confined to her room at night, but here with Mrs. Graham, her resolve crumbled and a sob broke free. 

“Oh, my dear.” Claire was pulled rather gently by the shoulders and gathered against Mrs. Graham, who stroked her hair and murmured softly. 

“I’m her mother and I never said goodbye or told her again how much I loved her,” she cried. “The least I can do is find out what happened to her and‒ and make sure she isn’t forgotten. Maybe in some way, she’ll know. That I looked for her and that I loved her.”

“My poor dear,” Mrs. Graham murmured above her, seemingly at a loss for what else to say. Claire held her arms tight about her, the only physical comfort she’d known in days. 

“I know it’s hard now and I don’t pretend to know what ye’ve been through.” She gave Claire a small, fortifying squeeze. “But in time… I’m glad ye’ll have this bairn. It doesn’t mean ye won’t miss them, but ye won’t be alone. And ye’ll have a piece of them with ye. This new bairn won’t be exactly like yer Faith, nor will he or she replace her in yer heart, but ye’ll notice things about yer second born ‒ how she’s different from Faith, how she’s alike ‒ and that will keep Faith alive, too. Hold onto that, aye? When the days are hard, hold onto that.”   

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a choked whisper, and felt Mrs. Graham stiffen. 

“What do ye mean, dear?” 

She pulled away slightly, still sniffling, and Mrs. Graham held her hand, as if knowing she still needed a soothing touch. “I can’t‒” Claire shook her head slightly. “I can’t move on from them. I can’t stop looking until I know. But…” she breathed in deep and exhaled shakily. “I‒ I haven’t figured out what comes after that. I can’t think about the baby just yet. I wish…God, I wish everything else would just hold until I knew. That time would just hold for me.” 

Mrs. Graham smiled sadly and patted her hand, seeming to digest her words. “Ye don’t have to figure anything out just yet,” she said at last. 

“Thank you,” Claire murmured. “For everything.”      

  “Reverend?” 

Reggie Wakefield looked up from his letter to find Claire Randall before him with a small stack of his own books clutched to her chest. He made a sound of startled joy at the sight of her and motioned for her to join him at the table. “I haven’t seen anyone so interested in my collection in such a long time, Mrs. Randall. Does my heart good to see ye enjoying them.” 

In truth, he had spoken with Frank at length about her curious obsession, but as odd as it was, he wouldn’t dream of voicing any of those concerns to such a kindly and elusive woman as Claire Randall.  

“Have ye found everything ye needed, then?” 

“Actually, I…” She stopped herself suddenly and smiled politely at him, hesitant. “Well, first, thank you for being so kind to allow me to go through your collection. I did wonder if you had any other books that perhaps I hadn’t looked at yet.”

“Well…” He scratched at his jaw absentmindedly as he thought about it. “I believe I gave ye every book on the subject of the Battle of Culloden and its aftermath. The rest would focus on the earlier risings and what preceded the ‘45, ye ken.”  

“I see,” she said softly, sounding very sad to him. 

“But I’ll have another look, just to be sure. Perhaps I missed one or two books that could be of use to ye.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, full of relief, and a stunning smile followed shortly. She was an odd sort since she’d returned, but it was plain to see that she was hurting and even if he didn’t understand it, Reggie felt inclined to help the poor young woman however he could. There were rumors ‒ nasty rumors ‒ flying about town since she turned up last week, including scandalous speculation around her condition. He’d done what he could to put those to bed, to address his opinion on the matter by opening his home to the Randalls. And while he hadn’t a single clue as to her whereabouts for three years, the more time he spent with Mrs. Randall, the more indignant he grew over the gossip that swirled around her. It was all so uncalled for. 

He was so caught up in this reflection that he didn’t register what Mrs. Randall had said to him. “Sorry, my dear. What did you say?” 

Oddly, her face flushed and she looked as though she might not repeat it. But she surprised him by blurting out, “Did the British kill any children after Culloden?”

His brows reached his hairline and he struggled to answer.

“I know they showed little mercy to those who fought on the Jacobite side,” she added quickly. “But I’m wondering if there’s anything about how they would’ve treated family members of known Jacobites… like perhaps their children?” 

He drew in a slow breath and prepared his answer, but his gaze caught hers at the last moment, and he saw something there that stopped him in his tracks: a deep pain and desperate hope mingled together. “Why don’t I help you look into this, hmm? We can work on this together.”

She seemed taken aback by this offer at first, but smiled again. “Thank you, Reverend. That’s very kind of you.” She looked down, her fingers tracing the corner of one of the books. “Can I… can I actually ask for your help in trying to find someone who lived during that time?” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” he chuckled. That was something he could do for her. 

“I’ve been trying to find some record of her. Her name is‒ was…” She hesitated for a moment, needing to collect herself. Something about her reaction had his hairs standing on end. “Her name was Faith Fraser. She may have been called Faith Murray, if... well, I don’t know for sure if they would’ve raised her. Or…” She straightened suddenly. “Or if she married… I wouldn’t know her name at all.” She seemed to sink under the weight of this realization and Reggie took pity on her. 

“We’ll start with what you know,” he added kindly, patting her hand. “Even a marriage record should have her maiden name.” 

“Yes,” Claire said rather distantly. “Yes, good.” 

“Do you know whenabouts she would’ve been born?” He prodded gently, trying to engage her as a distant look had crossed her face since the mention of marriage. She drew in a deep breath and began to answer him.  

“May 12, 1744. She was born in Paris but her family moved back to Scotland before the end of the year. She lived on the family’s estate called Broch Turach for a time, though it was sometimes referred to as Lallybroch.”

“Yes, I know the one‒”

“Ownership of Lallybroch was changed over to her cousin, James Murray, dated in 1745, but his parents would’ve managed it until he came of age. That’s Ian and Janet Murray,” she rattled off easily. “The Murrays also‒” She swallowed roughly, struggling to get the rest of it out. “If her father died or was taken away, I believe the Murrays would’ve raised Faith. Her father was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and he was a known Jacobite...” She glanced out the window suddenly, focusing on the trio of birds flitting about a nearby tree. “He didn’t fight in Culloden, but he would’ve been near there at the time of the battle and I’d… well, I’d like to find out about both of them, you see, but James Fraser is quite a common name then and I’ve been struggling in my research to find him. I’m hoping if we can find Faith… we can find Jamie, too.” Mrs. Randall looked back suddenly to catch his curious gaze. “Is that enough to start?” 

“Oh. Oh, yes, my dear. That should do,” he said swiftly. “Tell me,” he began cautiously, measuring his next words. “Why are we looking into Faith Fraser? Who is she to you?” 

A strange expression crossed her face, making the well-intentioned Reverend regret his mere curiosity. 

“Who is she to me?” She echoed his question in a hoarse whisper. “She’s everything.” Her eyes were glistening with tears and he couldn’t begin to explain how odd this whole conversation was. “So I need everything that you can find about her and Jamie. Please.”

“Aye, Mrs. Randall. I’ll do my best.” He smiled weakly to ease the tension but she never caught his eye.  

Frank thought that with time, the Claire he once knew would return to him, even in just small glimmers. But days passed and she remained committed to the routine she’d developed here early on; she kept to herself, taking breakfast in her own room, and when she did appear in the sitting room or garden or the study, it was always still with those damn books. 

She pored over them constantly and prowled the bookshelves for titles she may have missed. She avoided conversations at meals, her eyes downcast at her plate, though the Reverend carried on cheerfully with him at every supper as if none of this was strange. 

Claire had taken Mrs. Graham into her confidence early on, sequestering the housekeeper into Claire’s room for hours that first day they arrived. Since then, she was the only person Claire really talked to. 

Until recently, at least. 

Somehow, Frank was on the outside from his own wife while Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham ‒ two people who had been strangers to Claire a few years ago ‒ were brought into her circle of trust. 

Worst of all, the Reverend wouldn’t discuss with him what it was that he was working on with Claire, skirting his questions and assuring him it was only a little history project, not unlike their own when Frank had first visited him. 

 She wouldn’t even talk to him outside of pleasantries when they saw each other, and he was torn between wanting to wait for her to initiate, and wanting to look beyond this time at the Wakefield house and live their lives again.

Because whatever the hell was happening here, it wasn’t really living. 

“Claire?” He rapped lightly on her door and waited for a response. “It’s Frank.” 

After supper, he’d had a dram with Reggie, which had turned into two drams and then three, and now his head swirled a little even as he rested his forehead against the door jam. 

This was the antithesis of Reggie’s advice ‒ give her time, man, it hasn’t even been two weeks ‒ but his feet seemed to lead him to her door of their own volition. 

When he heard Claire’s soft “come in?”, his heart leapt to his throat and he hesitated. He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say to her; he only knew he wanted her to tell him something.  

He pushed in and found her in one of the two chairs by the fireplace in her room, and she was tucking loose sheets of paper into a book and setting it aside. For some reason, the fact that she was still studying up on Culloden into the night made him inexplicably annoyed. 

She looked up at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he was here.

Why was he here? 

He had composed this conversation so many times in his head over the last several days, wanting to initiate it more with each passing day… needing to know but also wanting to be delicate with this new Claire, as everyone had been telling him. And then there was some small part of him that didn’t want to know at all. 

But the whisky had loosened his tongue and he found himself blurting out the words without much tact to them at all. “Where the hell have you been, Claire?”

She felt her stomach drop at his question ‒ though really, she shouldn’t have been surprised. At some point, she would need to tell him, but the very thought of telling him the truth sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Mrs. Graham had been someone Claire could trust, but to almost anyone else, she knew her story sounded insane. If she hadn’t lived it herself, she might not have believed it to be true. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said quickly when she froze, waving his arm a little too wildly. So he was tipsy, then… “I‒ I don’t want to pressure you to talk if you’re not ready. I‒”

“Have a seat, Frank.” 

He shuffled over to the chair opposite her and sat with folded hands in front of his face, elbows propped on his knees. “I really didn’t mean to… the truth is, Claire, I don’t care where you were or what happened. I’m just so relieved to have you back. But… I feel like there’s this wall between us now and I just want you back. I want our life back.” 

She breathed in slowly and dropped her gaze, a little ashamed that her own desire didn’t echo his. Maybe it would be better if he knew, even if he judged her. Even if he didn’t believe her. At least then there would be nothing to hide and she could accept whatever his feelings were once the truth was out in the open

“I’ll tell you,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you everything but please let me tell it all at once and have it over with before you ask any questions.” 

She slid her gaze back to his and found his expression to be unreadable, but he swallowed roughly and agreed. 

  She talked for hours, pausing every now and then to drink so her throat wouldn’t dry out, and when she finished, the sky outside her room was streaked with the first soft pink lines of daybreak. 

She had stuttered over the last moments of her time in 1746… of her goodbye with Jamie and waking up alone without Faith. 

While she talked, Frank kept his promise and only listened, sometimes in the chair with his gaze on the fire, which he tended to all through the night, and other times he paced the short length of her bedroom. He was pacing at the time that she finished her story and a heavy silence fell between them like the drop of a curtain. 

 Having said the words out loud again for the second time, Claire suddenly wished she could be alone, feeling the grief tsunami on the periphery, about to sweep through her again. God, she ached for them in a way she didn’t know was possible. 

But Frank was still in the room with her, quiet in a way that meant he was still sifting through his thoughts. At last, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your history books and Reverend Wakefield… You’ve been looking for him.” 

“And for Faith. For both of them, yes.” 

“What happens if you find a record of them?” 

“Then I’ll… I’ll know what happened to them.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yes,” she said hotly. “I just want to know what happened to them.” 

“You won’t try to go back?” 

Oh. 

She breathed in sharply. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she lied, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. The whole point of this had been to tell him the truth. “I don’t know if I can travel again,” she added, which was the honest truth. “It’s… it’s hard to describe. But it feels like it takes something from you each time and the screaming‒” 

“Screaming?” Frank looked curious now, his interest in this unknown finally piqued. 

But the remembrance of it had a shiver running through Claire. “I can hear the voices of those who haven’t made it through and were lost to the stones.” Even with all that they’d talked about overnight, that statement might have been the strangest thing she’d uttered yet. 

His expression turned equal parts horrified and fascinated and then faded all together with a short nod of his head. “Hmm,” was all he had to say to that. He strode over to his chair and seated himself across from her. She got the distinct impression that he was entertained by the idea but wouldn’t put any stock in what she had just described. 

“And what if… you don’t find any record of them?” He asked carefully. 

“Are you asking that because you don’t believe any of this or because‒”

“Claire, I’m asking…” He cut her off and then took a deep breath, choosing his next words. “I’m asking because someone needs to. You spend every waking moment with your head bent over one of these books or writing your notes or discussing with the Reverend where to look next. How long will you keep going if nothing turns up? How long will you make me wait before we can actually start our life together again?” He had started off cool and collected, but had turned frantic with his pleading by the end. “I just got you back,” he added. “Have you any idea what it’s been like for me, Claire? Having you ripped away without a trace and never knowing what happened to you? And all the while, everyone was telling me that you’d up and run off with another man!” 

Stunned by his outburst, it took her a moment to speak. “I’m sorry, Frank. Truly. I didn’t intend for it to happen and I wish there was some way I could’ve told you I was alright while I was gone. That I was safe.”

“But you didn’t wish to come back to me,” he said bitterly. It was petty, even for Frank, but neither of them had slept yet, she reminded herself. 

“I had a child.” She was patient but unapologetic in pointing that out. Frank wouldn’t meet her eye. “I had a whole family with Jamie. And Jamie was‒”

The love of my life.

She swallowed back those words. There were other ways to phrase it, especially considering her audience. “I loved him very much. I didn’t plan for it and I’m sorry for the ways this has hurt you, Frank, but I can’t change what happened.” 

“But you are here now, Claire, and you’re with me.” He finally met her gaze again. “And I’m grateful for that. For a second chance. I only worry for you with how… how consumed you are with this.”

“Well, at what point did you stop looking for me, Frank? What’s the magical number of days before it’s acceptable to move on?” 

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him in the face, and she felt a small pang of regret for those words. Somehow, he still possessed the ability to provoke something juvenile in the way she responded to him, and she hated that. “I never‒ Claire, that was different, and I never stopped hoping you would return! But I did have to go back to work at some point, and in your case… Christ, you never talk about the baby but it will be here in a matter of months so perhaps we should start.”

The mention of the baby struck a nerve that lately everyone had been poking and prodding ‒ as if this baby existed on its own. As if it wasn’t made by her and Jamie on a cold February night, seeking warmth and solace in each other. And for Claire, any thought of the baby came with thoughts of her first baby. They couldn’t exist separately in her mind. “Until you know what it’s like to bring a child into this world and have her quite literally ripped from your arms, you don’t get to tell me when to stop looking. Faith is this baby’s sister and that doesn’t go away when the baby is born.”

To his credit, Frank looked properly chastised by her words. “Claire,” he began softly and then took her hand gently between his own. “I only mean to say that you might never find them, and I worry what that will do to you if you keep at this pace of searching. And what will you do when the baby is here? Drag him along to the library with you?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern,” she snapped.

His hold on her hand tightened. “Not any of my concern,” he scoffed quietly. “No, why would that concern me? You’re only my wife.” 

She leaned back from him, pulling her hand free with her, but was startled to see tears in his eyes accompanying the bite of his voice. 

“Do you even believe me about any of this?” 

“Does it matter if I do?” He countered. “You’re back with me now and‒” 

“Yes, and pregnant with Jamie’s child.”

“I know. But he isn’t here with you, is he?” If he was intending to hurt her, his words hit their mark. “And besides, I… Look, I know this child isn’t mine, but I want to raise it with you.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes.” He was more adamant than she expected. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since you’ve come back and that’s all I want for us now ‒ to raise a family together.”  

She tried to picture it, this life he was so insistent that he wanted with her. How would Frank handle a baby? How would he handle teething and sleepless nights and‒ 

Instead, what flooded her mind were the images and memories of her life before: Jamie taking turns with her on the rough nights with Faith. Carrying her in the crook of one elbow as he strolled about the grounds of Lallybroch with Ian. Telling her stories at night, during the long winter months and well before she could even comprehend what he was saying. She was enraptured with his voice, though. Claire remembered that so clearly, how Faith would stare up at him while he talked, studying his face with keen interest and cooing softly every now and then. Jamie would pause at every sound she made and smile, making up some interpretation of her noises to add Faith’s opinion of the story. Och, aye, ye’re right. Wasna verra nice, was it? 

She fell more in love with Jamie, seeing him as a father ‒ a role he was born for and something so integral to who he was at his core. 

Could she… have that with Frank? Could she just raise a child with him, all the while being haunted by the memories of Jamie and Faith at every turn? Would Frank even love a child that wasn’t his, after years of insisting he couldn’t? 

To her horror, tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped at them furiously. “I think it’s too soon to have this conversation. I’m‒ I’m sorry.”

He let out a resigned sigh, as if he expected this, and stood. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more about this another time.” He made for the door and paused, giving her one more look back. “And Claire?” She met his gaze, hoping the fresh wave of grief wasn’t too plainly obvious on her face. “At some point ‒ and soon ‒ you have to start living again.” 

The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed hollowly through the room, and his last words to her hung in the stale air. 

Her hand found its way to her belly, which felt slightly curved now under her palm. For weeks, she’d been living with the knowledge of this baby’s existence but hadn’t allowed herself to think beyond what would happen when it was born ‒ not in the way that she had when she carried Faith and couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to hold her child.

She hadn’t had a thought like that once yet with this baby and the guilt wormed its way in amongst the myriad of emotions she was drowning in. 

“I do love you,” she found herself whispering. “And I promise I will take care of you.” She felt a little silly, talking to the baby… but who else could she share her thoughts with? “It feels like my heart is missing, and I just need a little more time to get used to that. And we have that, don’t we? Despite what everyone wants to tell me, I understand time better than most. When you arrive, I’ll be ready for you. And I’ll love you enough for me and Jamie both.”

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 5

Thanks to @statell​ for your help and guidance

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Casper.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t remember, probably.”

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

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

“Yes, sir. It was a copycat, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good afternoon, Mister Fraser.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is so good to see you, Jamie.”

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

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

“Do we get on that then?”

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

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

“Time for trunks or something more comfortable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jamie watched her mouth and nodded yes.

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

“Maia, what do you have on?”

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

“Uniform.”

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

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

Maia thanked her and left them alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is happening with Frank Sassenach?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo]

On Sad Loudhailer Guy from the 2012 movie

So apparently there’s an old post about this guy doing the rounds now where people try to defend him because... he looks sad?

The original poster’s blog has unfortunately been deactivated and Tumblr seems to be glitching out when I try to reblog it indirectly for some reason so I’m just gonna make my own post. Here’s a link to a reblog of the original. I’m responding more to the OP than that reblog but like I said, the original url is deactivated so I can’t even link to it.

Okay, this portrayal is obviously unique to the 2012 movie so I'm not going to bother talking about his counterparts in the Brick, in the stage musical or in real life. Also I have nothing against Hadley Fraser, all I know about him is that he was a pretty good Grantaire in the 25th anniversary concert.

That said, here are my issues with this post:

1) If you don't like watching children being murdered, DON'T MURDER CHILDREN.

Seriously, who's forcing him to kill Gavroche? And even if there was a gun to his head, saying he must kill this literal child, he still shouldn't kill a literal child. But there wasn’t and this was 100% unnecessary. He made that choice. He could have told his men to hold their fire or even just given a few warning shots and left it at that.

The post seems to imply that Gavroche just had to be killed, which... yikes.

2) If he's so upset about having to kill the students, why didn't he take Enjolras and Grantaire as prisoners?

They were unarmed captives, there was absolutely no reason to execute them. They should have been arrested and given a trial.

National Guards killing their prisoners IS historically accurate but they didn't do it because they were ordered to, they did it for revenge and for fun. Infantry officers, who were apparently less bloodthirsty, had to stop them from killing all of the prisoners at Saint-Merry.

3) The fall of the barricade wasn’t inevitable from the start.

There was literally no way this guy could have known for sure that the revolution would fail. There was nothing inevitable about it when Sad Loudhailer Guy first arrived at the barricade. It had literally just started! If this guy didn't want the revolutionaries to be killed, he didn't have to actively fight to destroy their chances. He didn’t just show up when the fight was nearly over and there was nothing he could do, he was right there fighting them from the beginning!

There were officers in real life who did actually negotiate with the insurgents and did in fact leave them alone at least in the beginning of the insurrection, just to wait and see. As far as I know they weren’t even punished for this.

He could have even, you know, defected and joined the insurgents if he really admired them so much. Several national guards did do that! But this guy chose his side. He isn't willing to die fighting for the republic but he sure is willing to risk his life fighting for the king, apparently!

4) Are you SURE about that firing squad bit, though?

So I can't say I know exactly what would happen to a National Guard officer who refused to follow orders. But based on what I DO know I find the idea that they'd just be straight up executed for that really unlikely.

The National Guard was a citizen militia, technically including all male citizens between 20 and 60 years old but most of the population would in fact be part of the reserve. Those drafted to active service were mostly wealthy middle-class men who had the leisure time to participate and the means to equip themselves. Refusing to serve would result in a few days in jail – which isn't great, don't get me wrong, but it's actually a lot less than you'd get for dodging the draft right now in my home country for example.

The National Guard was also known for being a decisive force in revolutions, losing their support would be horrible news to a government. So I feel like executing them for simply failing to follow an order would probably be a baaad political move from the king.

I also really feel like with the decent amount of research I've done concerning the aftermath of the June Uprising, I should have run into at least SOME accounts of this happening if it really was the case. And I've seen nothing. Maybe I just haven't done enough research but I'd definitely like to have a source on execution being a real threat (just for refusing to slaughter your own countrymen!) before leaping to conclusions.

I mean unless you just prefer to decide that the 2012 movie takes place in an alternate universe where this was the case, just so you can feel bad for this guy... well have at it, but that's YOUR headcanon and you don't get to shame people for justifiably hating a child murderer.

Also I'd hope that by now we knew better than to repeat the "just following orders" rhetoric.

Yes, people who do terrible things are people too. That doesn’t make them less terrible. And yes, I like having moral greyness in my fiction too. It’s okay to appreciate a morally grey character without having to justify it by “proving” that said character is actually a good person. It’s okay to have problematic faves.

TL;DR: Sad Loudhailer Guy wasn’t some kind of victim of circumstances. He had a choice and he chose to participate in repressing the uprising and to shoot a child and to kill unarmed prisoners. Nobody forced him to do those things. It doesn’t matter how he felt about it, actions matter more than feelings.

Sorry about the salt, my patience for these kind of arguments is just entirely spent at this point.

[desperationandgin]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Rating: Mature

Also Read on: AO3

Summary: After an accident that changes Claire Randall's life, she comes face to face with the man who saved her.

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first fic for the inaugural Winter of Want! Thank you so much to @smashingteacups​ and @missclairebelle​ for being my partners in crime! Also, thank you to them as well as @happytoobserve​ for being betas! And thank you so much to @fierceweebadger​ for the beautiful moodboard she made! I'm so grateful to all of my people ❤ 

On with the story!

The Cellist

The first time he’d ever seen Claire Randall she was a broken woman, close to being consumed by flames, blood matting dark curls to her forehead and neck. She’d been hanging upside down by her seatbelt, and he’d worked to get her out while the rest of his crew battled the fire and pulled the driver from the wreckage.

A husband and wife who’d been heading home, according to the upside-down (but still functioning) GPS. Witnesses explained the husband swerved to miss a deer, sideswiped an oncoming truck, and flipped the car down an embankment. Sparks set the dry grass on fire, and by the time help had arrived, strangers were attempting to use any spare water they could to stop the blaze’s progress.

Jamie’d known the husband died instantly, but when he asked the lass what her name was during a moment of consciousness, she’d looked right at him and he had no doubt she would live. The sheer will in those amber eyes was too intense to go out, too stubborn. It had only been a second, but in that brief moment of awareness, she’d said her name as calmly as if they were on a still sea.

Claire.

She’d lost consciousness again after that, and Jamie had relinquished her to the medics. After his shift, he’d checked with the hospital, discovered she would live, and gone home. He’d thought about visiting her, but he was a stranger and her husband was dead. It didn’t seem like the time to introduce himself, though a part of him, perhaps, hoped that she would reach out to him, want to meet the person who saved her. The call never came, and he prayed the young widow was able to move on with her life, find some sort of happiness again. His dreams reminded him of her periodically, but over the next five years, all that he could remember were those eyes.

Until he walks into the Firefighter’s Charity Ball and there she is, on a stage flanked by seven others. Amid various Christmas decor, the woman he’d last seen bloody and fragile, plays the cello, the symphonic strains of O Come, All Ye Faithful filling the room thanks to the small octet. He stares, unable to look away, lips parting to see her so vibrant. So alive. She looks bonny, better than, with her curls floating like a cloud around her head. She’s in a simple black dress with the barest hint of her calves showing as she plays, and he’s sure he’s never wanted to know another woman this badly in his life.

Taking a sip of whisky as he admires the way she plays, the song fades, and she begins to put aside her bow. Before Jamie can look away, her eyes land directly on him.

She has no idea who he is.

He can see it in the way her gaze drifts immediately, looking out at the crowd before refocusing on her sheet music.

She has no idea that the man who saved her life is standing right in front of her.

It’s an hour before the musicians take a break, and Jamie finds her immediately, trying to decide how to approach her. He can’t very well ask her to recall something so horrible, so he introduces himself as a stranger, eggnog in hand to offer.

“Ye play verra beautifully, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he praises, holding out the glass. He’s formally dressed in his uniform and doesn’t miss the way her eyes land first at his chest, then make their way up slowly, taking her time.

At least he knows she’s interested.

“Thank you,” she replies with a soft smile and dip of her head. “I’ve always loved playing this time of year.”

“Does yer wee group make the rounds often around the holidays?” Jamie asks as he takes a sip of his drink, casually slipping a hand into his pocket, trying very hard not to think about wanting her.

Claire lets out a breath of air through her nose, a laugh, and smiles around the rim of her glass, shaking her head. “My wee group and I are part of the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. I’m first chair.” It’s an illumination dropped as casually as if she’d said she majored in English.

His eyes widen, adding her occupation and position with the orchestra to the list of things he knows to be true of her. (The others being her sheer will to survive and her determined gaze.) “That’s quite the achievement; I didna realize ye could ask for parts of the whole at an event.”

“Well, you can when you’re married to the conductor,” she informs him. “The event planner for tonight just happens to be, and this is a good cause, so I’m sure strings were pulled. No pun intended.” Claire meets his gaze with a softened one of her own. “Thank you. For risking your life to save others.”

He thinks she might tell him her story, a perfect segue for him to introduce himself, but instead, she simply tells him her name.

“I’m Claire Randall. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and his first thought is that she never remarried, though he mentally admonishes himself immediately.

“Jamie Fraser. And ye dinnae need to thank me, though I appreciate it. Do ye get to enjoy yourself this evening, or is it all business?”

“Oh, I’m strictly the help,” she replies with a dazzling smile that makes his knees weak and his heart pound.

Christ, he feels like an eejit trying to come up with a way to keep her talking, to not go anywhere and leave him without her warmth. “If that’s the case then, how would ye feel about taking down my number?” Something, anything to keep a connection between them.

Watching his face, Claire finishes off her eggnog before checking the time and setting her glass down. “I feel you should wait until after the event is over and walk me home. I’m only a few blocks up. Then we’ll see if your number’s earned a place in my phone.”

The way she smiles at him before turning to go back toward the stage makes him feel as though he might be the only person she’s ever smiled at in exactly that way.

Jamie’s plan, initially, had been to leave after dessert, two hours well-spent mingling. Now, as the third-hour rolls by and people begin saying goodbyes, he watches the mini-orchestra perform one last medley of songs. It’s a good opportunity to study how focused Claire is when she plays her instrument, how her fingers seem to float, moved by something supernatural. He notices now that her arms are solid and toned, idly wondering how many years she’s been playing. He longs to hear her alone, the spotlight only on her.

As the playing concludes, Claire’s eyes move from the sheet music to Jamie, the intensity of their stare causing the air to seemingly crackle around them. Neither of them moves, and so she’s watching as he frowns and looks down, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He isn’t the only one — five others seem to stop what they’re doing and check for something.

It’s immediately clear that he has to leave.

Knowing the party is over anyway, Jamie makes his way to the stage, meeting her halfway down.

“You have to go?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, watching as she reaches into the folds of her dress and pulls out a business card. Taking it from her, Jamie wastes no time, grabbing the pen from his breast pocket, writing his number, and returning the card. “Let this be on your terms, Sassenach,” he assures her, then lightly snags her hand, kissing the top of her knuckles softly.

He’s gone before she can ask him what the hell a Sassenach is.

The next night, armed with wine and her laptop, Claire sits (in the company of her ‘she adopted me’ black cat, Sesh, and a Joni Mitchell playlist) and Googles one Jamie Fraser of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service. Clicking over to an image search, she takes a sip of wine and hums at the first photo on the page. It’s him, most assuredly, running in a marathon, sweaty, biceps proudly showing, and somehow looking directly into the camera.

“I sincerely hope there was an emergency last night, Sesh,” Claire mutters, feeling a pang of shame for the thought, but not for long; soon enough it’s replaced by sheer want, before even that’s replaced by a guilt different from the first. She’s been reassured, not by one friend or even two ganging together, but four, that she deserves to be happy again or, at the very least, deserves a good roll in the hay with someone.

Those had been Gillian’s words, agreed-upon emphatically by both John — and in the ultimate betrayal — Joe plus his wife. She knew five years was more than enough time, but since the accident, there’d been no reason to seek out something that would only leave her feeling emptier than she had before. No one captivated her attention, no one made her want to get to know them better. She’s been happy to not risk her heart again and live in a quiet bubble alone.

Until last night.

She’d glimpsed him after finishing the first song of the evening, her eyes attracted to that shock of red curls in the audience. When he’d approached her, she found herself unable to keep the flirting from rolling right off of her tongue. He’d undone her somehow in the span of perhaps twenty minutes, all told. She remembers his hasty exit, which reminds her to open a new tab and begin typing into the search bar.

Sass-

“Oh, bloody hell. What was it?” she mutters, trying to recall it, to sound it out phonetically.

Sass-in-ach

Claire goes with it, appreciates the Showing Results For Sassenach correction, and reads aloud, mumbling the words. “‘An English person.’ That’s not very creative, is it?” Though she has to admit, it sounded nice coming from him. It’s different, and she wonders if he calls every English person he meets the same thing.

Going back to her original search, she clicks out of the images, skimming the links until one catches her eye. The date, in particular.

January 24th, 2014.

The day of the accident.

Putting her wine down and sitting up straight, Claire hesitates a fraction of a second before pulling up the story. She’s immediately greeted by an image of her own crumpled and overturned vehicle, and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at it, trying to remember herself inside. John had taken her to see it two weeks after the funeral, helped her get the things out of the boot (her cello, protected in its case, a suitcase and carry on from her recent trip to the States), and she hasn’t seen it since. When she’s finally able to scroll past the image, she reads about details she can’t remember, and then there’s Jamie, being praised as a hero.

“‘I only knew I had to get the lass out of the vehicle, so I paid no mind to the flames. I had to trust that my colleagues had control of the situation while I managed to cut the passenger free,’ explained Jamie Fraser, one of the first responders on the scene. Thanks to his quick action, the female passenger is said to be making a full recovery. His efforts will be celebrated by Chief Fire Officer Blunden—”

She doesn’t bother to read any further. Every thought she has seems to fall on top of the next until one finally becomes clear: Jamie Fraser saved her life.

“Oh, my God.”

Sesh seems unbothered, slow-blinking up at her as the pieces come together. He’d seen her, sought her out. Did he remember her? Know who she was at the event? It’s only after she’s dialed the number he wrote on her card that she realizes it’s very nearly one in the morning. “Fuck.” She’s moving her thumb to disconnect just as she hears a muffled grunt. Freezing in surprise, the phone goes back to her ear as she speaks quietly.

“Hello?”

“Was that a suggestion, Sassenach?”

His voice is low and thick with sleep, but somehow his humor’s still quick, and she coughs, wetting her lips. “No, no, only that I didn’t mean to call you so late. I lost track of—”

Christ, cut to the chase, Beauchamp.

“Do you remember saving my life?”

The silence on the other end hangs for what feels like hours, but she hears the faint sound of what she assumes is Jamie sitting up in bed, readjusting the grip he has on his phone.

“Aye, I do. Do you remember it, Claire?”

Closing her eyes, she tries, but her memory stops just after Frank picked her up from the airport. “No. You pulled me out of the car?”

“I cut ye free and then got ye clear of the accident.” He pauses, sitting in the dark of his flat, worried about her. “Ye dinnae need to think about it, Claire,” he tells her gently.

“You saved my life, Jamie, that’s what I’m thinking of. They asked me when I was in recovery if I wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t — I’d just lost my husband, I wasn’t thinking about meeting anyone.”

When Jamie speaks again, his voice is soft and even, meant to soothe. “There’s no reason ye need to explain anything. It was five years ago, Sassenach, and yer life was changed forever. I’m no’ going to hold anything against ye.”

For four heartbeats, quiet lingers between them before Claire speaks again. “I realize tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you’ve probably got plans of some sort, but I would like to see you if I can.”

If there’d been a hint of grogginess left in him, he’s fully awake now, squinting in the dark. “Ye dinnae have yer own plans?”

“Well, my husband died.”

Grunting in surprise at her response, Jamie rubs a hand over the top of his head, thinking. “I dinnae have anywhere to be until noon on Christmas Day, so my Eve is all yours, Sassenach, if ye want it.”

Christ, she doesn’t know if he meant to sound alluring or not, so she stays neutral. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Do ye ken where Victoria Park is?”

She’s nodding before she remembers she needs to respond aloud. “The park with the bowling greens?”

“Aye, and the walking paths. There are benches, good for sitting and talking for a while if ye’d like.” He meant it when he told her before that anything between them should be on her terms, and that was before she connected the dots. He doesn’t know what it is to lose a spouse, but he imagines the prospect of speaking about it is daunting.

In the silence that waits for her response, Claire looks down at the gold ring on her finger, thumb lightly stroking the cool metal. She tries to imagine it, her heart being wide open again and susceptible to breaking. Closing her eyes, she remembers that Jamie smelled vaguely of citrus and sage and the specific blue of his eyes was like an afternoon sky on a cloudless day. Comforting and warm.

It’s an easy decision when the memory of his gaze on her causes a flush.

“I would like that, Jamie.”

_______________________________________________________________________

They decide to meet at ten in the morning when the park is between hosting late A.M. joggers and parents with toddlers. She wanders toward the spot they’re meeting, under a grove of trees home to a row of benches. Slowing her pace as she approaches, Claire gives herself a few steps to admire him, the cut of his hips and the way his muscles move even under his coat.

Christ, he’s made an impression.

And then she remembers that this is the man who saved her life, features softening when he looks up and spots her.

“Ye made it. I was worried the directions were too vague,” he admits, standing to greet her.

“In the summer there’s a beautiful patch of wild yellow flowers just across the sidewalk. It’s gorgeous, I used to come often when I first moved here.”

They walk back to the bench together and sit, though neither one of them knows exactly how to begin the conversation. Eventually, it’s Claire who breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For not trying to find you after the accident.”

Jamie’s shaking his head before she’s done speaking. “Ye dinnae have to apologize for it, as I told ye last night.” He stops short of saying he was doing his job, but it was more than that. He knew it the moment she looked at him. “I did check in on ye, just to be sure ye’d be alright. But I kent there was no’ much I could do or say to make anything better for ye.” And he hadn’t wanted to drop in unannounced only to make things worse for her in some way.

Studying her hands, she drags her thumb along the lifeline, closing her eyes. She remembers getting into the car at the airport. Begging Frank to turn off talk radio so they could have a conversation. She remembers him laughing at something she said, and then, nothing. “I woke up in the hospital and couldn’t remember what happened. They told me there’d been an accident, and I think I knew my husband was dead before they said it.”

He moves his hand to cover one of hers without thinking, so when she squeezes his fingers he holds on tightly, aware now of the weight of her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist under his thumb.

“I didn’t touch my cello for a year afterward. I’d somehow convinced myself it was my fault, that if I hadn’t traveled to play, he wouldn’t have picked me up from the airport, there wouldn’t have been an accident.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe that now, but it felt better to blame myself for a little while.”

She’s kept her grip on him, squeezing again as she takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“When I finally got to ye,” he begins quietly, looking down at their hands, “ye were unconscious. I went to cut off the seatbelt and yer eyes opened, ye looked directly at me. I asked your name, and ye said it, so…” Jamie trails off, unable to find the right words for it. “As though ye’d been waiting for me to ask. Then ye were out again and that was the last I saw of ye.”

Her eyes fall to their hands as well, and she turns hers over so that their fingertips are touching.

“But I kent ye would live. I could see it in yer eyes, that ye’re a lass wi’ spirit,” he tells her with a soft smile. “And I ken ye know it now, but it wasna yer fault, Claire.”

She does know, but hearing it feels like balm on an aching wound. “Thank you for saving my life, Jamie.” Lifting her gaze, she studies his face and admires the sharp angle of his jaw, the tawny scruff there.

There’s something between them, he can feel it as if a living, pulsing thing. He’s aware of each breath she takes, the rise and fall of her chest; he feels it as surely as his own body moving, both of them separate pieces of a complete being.

“I’m glad that it was me, Sassenach. I cannae explain it, but—”

“But it was supposed to be you,” Claire finishes. Jamie was meant to save her, no one else could have.

Raising her hand to his lips, Jamie frowns lightly upon pulling back. “Your hands are like ice, Sassenach. Let me buy ye something warm,” he offers. “There’s a wee cafe nearby.”

In truth, if it were a way to spend more time with him, it didn’t matter what they did or where they went.

Claire smiles, charmed the moment he said wee.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was inevitable, really, that they fall into bed with one another. Under the pretense of dinner (which they did eat; an easy meal of pasta in lemon sauce and good crusty bread for soaking up the remnants), she’d agreed to go back to his flat. They’d both known it wasn’t going to be about the food for long.

She sleeps now with her head resting on his outstretched arm, facing him. His hand has been numb for hours, but he wouldn’t dream of moving her, not now. Not when he has the pleasure of seeing up close the light dusting of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. He can see the way her eyelashes curl upward slightly, and he revels in the feel of her breath falling against his skin. Reaching out, Jamie’s fingers lightly brush a stray curl from her cheek, his touch as gentle as possible so as not to wake her. Her skin is so delicate, like fine porcelain, and he slowly drags the tips of his fingers down her side. There’s a scar that begins on her hip, and he follows the feel of it down as far as he can reach. From the accident, she’d said, just before he’d leaned down to kiss the mark right in the center.

When Claire shifts, Jamie freezes, hand hovering as she finally moves off of his arm and tucks herself onto her side, with her back to him now. When she seems settled, he slowly moves onto his side behind her, curving his body into the hollow of hers. Tucking his legs behind her knees, he rests his hand on her hip, the other arm stretched protectively over her. Taking a chance, he ducks his head and kisses the beauty mark on her shoulder, his touch as light as he can make it. Then he finds he can’t stop himself from continuing his tender assault across her skin. She moves again, and his hand rests against her stomach, lightly holding on as he goes still.

“I’m not likely to go anywhere,” she whispers in the dark, hint of a smile in her voice.

Discovered, Jamie presses firmer kisses to her skin, giving up any pretense of being careful. “Good. I didna plan to let ye up from this bed soon,” he warns.

Smiling, Claire rolls herself under him, both of them shifting until he’s comfortably above her. Glancing toward the window, she raises an eyebrow, only able to see him in the dark because of a faintly glowing streetlamp. “From the looks of it, we still have plenty of sleeping to do.”

“Aye. Plenty of late night left. Which means plenty of time to sleep. In a bit.” He has no plans of letting her get back to it right away as his head ducks and lips press to the middle of her chest.

“You don’t seem very tired.” Already, she’s flushing, trying to anticipate where his mouth might go next.

“I’ve found my second wind, though I have a verra distinct feeling that it won’t be hard to want ye all the time.” He drops a kiss to the curve of her breast, marveling in the way her flesh softly yields.

“Does that mean you’d like to see me again?” she queries, voice soft, not wanting to assume.

Immediately, Jamie raises his head, eyes meeting hers so that she can see the truth of his words.

“I’d like to see ye every day for the rest of my life, Sassenach. If it suits ye.”

She’s so shocked by his words that she laughs; not at him but at the idea that she can laugh again, in the company of a man who wants her. “I’m sure we could work out some sort of arrangement, though I realize this time you have right now is a luxury.”

“It is,” he murmurs, resuming the self-imposed task of kissing her skin, dipping low to begin a slow descent. “But the consecutive days off are verra worth it, ye ken? If I have you to look forward to, I reckon I could get through anything.”

She sighs in contentment as her legs part to make a home for him. “You look forward to me?” She smiles softly, just as her breath catches at a well-placed kiss to her pelvis.

“Only someone wi’ out all five senses wouldna look forward to ye, mo nigheann donn.”

Claire stops him with a soft tug of his curls, and when he raises his head she arches an eyebrow, curiosity in her eyes.

“‘My brown-haired lass,’” he answers, knowing her question and bringing one of her legs over his shoulder, parting her with his fingers.

“I very much enjoy it when you speak to me in Gaelic,” she manages, getting it out while she can, knowing she won’t have the capability of thought soon.

Once more, Jamie raises his head, giving her a cheeky grin. “Laigh air ais fhad 's a tha mi agad.” (Lie back while I have ye.)

She has no idea what he said, but the timbre of his voice, the way his eyes darken — she knows it was filthy, but her amusement gives way to a soft gasp once his mouth finds the slick, heated center of her. A hand immediately moves to the top of his head, lips pressing together as she holds her breath for half a heartbeat and then cries out, back arching. Unable to help herself, she presses her thighs to the sides of his head, only easing up when one of his hands grips her hip tightly. His other rests on her belly, holding her down, keeping her grounded.

His head attempts to move with her body, following each spasm of her hips. He tastes her first climax; she coats his tongue and chin but he doesn’t stop, and when she comes again it’s around two curved fingers, the feel of her going straight to his cock. There’s a third, smaller shockwave, given while tucked against his chest, his hand between them.

Panting against his neck, Claire takes her time coming back to herself, basking in the feel of stretching when thoroughly satisfied. “You are very, very good at that,” she finally manages, very nearly purring in relaxation.

“Weel, I do aim to please, but admittedly, it’s no’ hard to want to make ye writhe like that all the time. Christ, the sounds ye make, and the way yer entire body grips me just so.” He’s hard and wanting, aching just a bit at the minutes-old memory. “Ye have no idea the gift ye are.”

His words strike her, and she pulls back, gaze soft as she reaches out, fingertips lightly pressing to his cheek.

“I’m only here because of you.”

Jamie wants to refute it, to insist that she did all the fighting to stay alive. But the truth of it is, she had needed him. She couldn’t have gotten out of that vehicle herself.

“Still. Ye lived, and I ken it was no’ easy for ye.” Lightly, he reaches out to drag his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Ye needn’t ever worry that ye cannae still grieve him. If this was too soon, too much—”

Claire stops him with the tip of a finger pressed to his lips. For a moment’s pause, she simply looks at him, holds his gaze and makes it clear that she would like to speak. When his lips press softly to her finger, her hand drops and she pushes him lightly onto his back, straddling his hips. That’s all she does, reaching for his hands and holding onto both of them, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t recall saying anything was too much or too soon. What I can tell you is that for five years, I haven’t let myself feel a thing. Loneliness is a choice, or so they say. And I chose it because it’s a hell of a lot better than losing so much all the time.” She looks down, the hint of more loss than she’s willing to share playing across her features. “I thought it would stay like that, always.”

She’d convinced herself she was fine with it, that the less she risked, the fewer heartbreaks she would need to endure.

“That plan was working out very well for me until I met you,” she informs him, eyes creasing in the corners as she smiles before speaking seriously again. “I thought I’d lost the ability to feel anything close to this, after a while.” Want and lust and need for another person; all of those things had felt like lost causes.

“What is it about you, Jamie?” As she asks, her hips begin a slow rock against his. “How did you find me?”

He’s captivated by her words and movement, groaning at the feel of her gliding easily along the length of him. “I didna find ye at all,” he manages, raising his head a bit to watch himself disappear into her, finally, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Neither of them moves, her eyes closed while his are focused firmly on her face while he fights the urge to move right away.

“Ye came into my life, Claire, and ye never truly left.” A part of him has held onto her, even if it was only a single feature that haunted his dreams. Her soul imprinted on his, and he knows now that he’s complete with her, that it never could have been another way for him.

When she opens her eyes, they’re blown wide with pleasure, pupils dark and lids heavy. He’s staring right at her, and one of her hands reaches for his, bringing it over her chest. She rides him, slowly at first, while her heart pounds against his palm. The pulsing tempo increases beneath his touch as leisurely pleasure begins to turn into something more focused, more urgent. She leans forward, letting go of him only to brace her hands on his chest. He’s holding back, she can feel it, his belly tense beneath her.

When she speaks his name, it’s on a panting breath, and when his eyes open, he knows what she wants, can see it. Reaching out, his hands rest on her hips, and he looks at her one more time to be sure. When she nods, he shores up his grip and then slams into her once, hard, losing his breath at the cry of sheer pleasure it tears from her. He does it again, then again, pistoning his hips upward forcefully, quickly, driving noises from her so beautiful he’s not sure he’ll ever hear anything that could compare. He’s causing her to make those sounds, and he’ll be a damned man if he doesn’t strive to hear her as often as possible.

Jamie slows and Claire takes over, straightening her spine and beginning a pace that means she’s close; she has to be, because there’s no way in Christ’s name he’ll ever make it if not. His hands move up her body and cup around her breasts, squeezing enough to make her tighten around him involuntarily. His groan mingles with her cry of pleasure, and he wills his eyes open, needing to see her. When he does, he’s sure there’s not a better sight in all the world.

Her head is back, exposing the length of her neck, skin begging to know the imprint of his lips over and over again. Her hair sways back and forth, mussed curls seeming to tumble in all directions, and when her head falls forward, Jamie can see that she’s chasing her pleasure, forehead knit right in the center. She’s there, she’s close, and he sneaks one hand between them to touch, rolling that small bud of nerves beneath his thumb.

That’s all it takes for her to shatter, body pitching forward and nearly curling around his. Her breasts sway right before him and he doesn’t fight the urge to lean in, burying his face there. As her body tightens around his, pulling him in, his name becomes a choked cry, unable to get it out without whimpering in the middle.

She drops her hips one more time and Jamie tenses, arms wrapping around her frame. Her name is nothing more than a strangled sob as he spills into her, teeth lightly scraping her shoulder. He can feel her shaking against him but can do nothing about it; he’s not entirely sure if he’s able to move his arms and legs.

Eventually, there’s enough of a chill on cooling skin that Jamie reaches for the blankets, covering them up again. The silence between them is comfortable, and she stays right on top of him, unmoving as he begins to doze.

“You know, I’ve realized something,” she whispers, voice sleepy sounding and far away.

He hums, low in the back of his throat. “What’s that, Sassenach?”

As his fingers drag up and down her spine, she turns her head to press a soft kiss to his chest. “It’s clearly after midnight. Which means it’s technically Christmas Day.”

Opening his eyes, Jamie finds himself looking right at her, and his smile is easy, eyes alight with it.

“Well then, a nighean.” He leans in close, whispering the words across her lips, thankful for her, an unexpected gift. “Happy Christmas to ye.” He nuzzles her cheek, reaching down to playfully pinch her arse.

Her laughter fills the room, eventually carrying them to sleep.

[mo-nighean-rouge]

Gone - V

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference puts them all at stake.

A/N: Huge thanks to @ianmuyrray for dedicating a lot of time and patience to help me clean this up, as well as @lady-o-ren for always saying something kind.

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Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | AO3

Previously:

Murtagh was being pulled down from Donas by two Redcoats. As they set his feet on the ground, he met Claire’s eye, his own full of guilt and shame.

She slid down from her own horse and sidled up to Jamie’s back as he tried to make himself impossibly bigger to hide her, lowering Faith to her arms.

Over his shoulder, she studied the English officers in the dim light. There was something oddly familiar about one of them.

April 17, 1746 | Scottish Countryside

“Please.” Jamie’s voice rang clear in the still morning. “Leave him be.”

Claire’s eyes flooded as she watched him march toward the scene in surrender. She pressed her forehead into Faith’s mangled curls to hide her tears.

“I’ll wager ye know who I am,” Jamie said decidedly. “Take me, and let my companions go free. I’ll no’ fight.”

The silence was deafening as each party studied the other.

“James Fraser,” the ranking officer bellowed from his mount. “Notorious Jacobite.”

One of the younger men holding Murtagh in a vice grip paled at the obvious confirmation.

“Then this could only be the Stuart Witch in your company, Mr. Fraser?” The officer continued, breaking into a dark chuckle. “It seems we’d be foolish to let any of you get too far today.”

“No!” Jamie shouted, but it was too late. He thrashed violently even as three men surrounded him. All Claire could see was the sun shining against his brilliant red hair as the men dragged him away.

The remaining soldiers approached Claire and Fergus, gripping them indelicately as they led them on a solemn march toward the camp just visible through the clearing. Even though no one tried to remove her, Claire tightened her grip around Faith’s middle until the little girl began to squirm and whimper.

Each unfriendly face they passed jeered at them, recognition of the long-awaited captives flashing in their eyes.

They were all forced into a semi-circle together, surrounded by their captors.

Claire lowered herself to the ground, hit with another bout of nausea. Little wonder, as they’d had nothing to eat since supper the night before.

“Mama?” Faith whined softly, the impatient tones of a temper tantrum in her voice.

Jamie dropped to his knees beside them, using dirty palms to check each of them over for injury. “I’m sorry. Sae sorry Claire. So verra sorry,” he whispered, shaking.

Claire palmed his cheek in return. There was nothing he could have done. They had chosen their path, knowing the consequences it might bring.

She leaned into him and together they shielded Faith, sure these were their last moments but uncertain what they might bring. 

Claire barely registered the weary young man from before as he slowly backed away from his post and then dashed toward the largest tent at the edge of camp.

The commanding officer approached their huddle. “Captain Jacobs, at your service,” he sneered. “As long-sought after criminals in a losing battle, we’re certain you have plenty of information to share with us. Who knows, in the end your cooperation just may give us leave to be more lenient.”

Claire felt Jamie tense, her own breathing growing shallower. All they’d lost already, and their lives still on the line.

“Now,” Jacobs began. “I’d like to question each of you individually, starting with…” his cold eyes narrowed on Claire.

A throat cleared behind him, and the captain straightened. “Colonel.”

The colonel inclined his head as his inferior officer bowed.

“If you’re quite done, Captain… James and Mistress Fraser, I presume?” he asked them formally. He turned. “And Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser. And…” he tilted his head at the sight of Fergus. “Hello, young man. If you’d all accompany me to my quarters, it seems we have much to discuss.”

Jamie gave a slight nod. His face was the mask Claire knew would cover his thoughts, but he quickly rose, pulling Faith and her up with him.

As they walked, Faith dove toward Jamie and he caught her easily. Her eyes slipped closed at last, tucked against her da’s chest. It was likely for the best, as Claire herself hardly wanted to see what happened next.

________________________________________

 As they ducked under the entryway of the large tent, the colonel motioned them toward a long table. 

They’d need to keep their story straight. Balancing Faith’s slumbering form in one hand, Jamie ruffled Fergus's hair with the other, imploring him to keep quiet with a stern glance. Then Jamie reached for Claire, who accepted his touch, gripping his thigh firmly with her free hand.

After ensuring the tent flap was secure behind him, the colonel sat opposite them at the table. “I believe I’ve been remiss in introducing myself.” He straightened in the high-backed chair. “Colonel Harold Grey, Duke of Pardloe.”

Jamie frowned at the surname. Why did he know the name Grey?

“I’m told you’re all in acquaintance with my younger brother,” Grey continued. The young soldier from earlier stepped around a fold in the tent, flushed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, meet John William Grey.”

Surprised and a bit uneasy, Jamie and Claire glanced at each other before fully acknowledging the young man.

“Mr. Grey, pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

“Mr. Fraser, Mistress Fraser, I trust you are both in good health.”

“Aye lad, at least my wife tells me so.” Jamie stroked Claire’s palm with his thumb.

John Grey nodded, smirking. “I suppose I should have guessed as much that night at Carryarrick, Sir.”

“As my brother reminds me,” Colonel Grey began, rubbing his temples. “He swore to you an oath of honor in exchange for his life.” He paused, looking from one Fraser to another. “It seems to fall on me to fulfill that promise today.”

“Just what will that mean, Colonel?” Jamie asked, his voice dropping to hide his nerves.

“I wonder if you’re familiar, Mr. Fraser, with Captain of Dragoons, Jonathan Randall?”

Claire’s nails dug into Jamie’s thigh as he shifted in his chair. “We’ve heard a bit in passing, aye. Most of it isna good.”

“Is he as nasty a man as they say?” Claire asked, trying to hide her emotions.

The colonel rose and fetched a decanter, pouring himself a drink before offering one to his guests. Jamie and Murtagh accepted, while Claire refused. Jamie knew she’d have a hard time stomaching ale on an empty belly.

“I’m afraid that everything you’ve heard, Mistress Fraser, pales in comparison to the truth. Allegations of abuse have followed him for years. But he always manages to shake them off before the consequences reach him.”

“That’s a shame.” Jamie swirled the drink in his mug. “But how does it relate to myself and my family?”

“We received word just this morning that Captain Randall met his end before the battle yesterday.”

Claire inhaled sharply.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the colonel continued, pacing back and forth. “There was an outbreak of influenza in the camp. Terrible conditions, as you might imagine.”

Jamie shrugged, lifting one shoulder in response.

“As it turns out, he left behind a young widow with no other family to speak of. Mrs. Randall will be on her own to establish her inherited estate in Paris. She is also expecting his child.”

“I can’t imagine,” Claire whispered, rubbing her own belly underneath the table and trying not to shudder at the casual use of her friend’s married name.

“So, to conclude, I’m offering you both parole to her property in France. If you accept, you’ll leave on the next ship.”

“Mmmph.” Jamie nodded slowly, considering.

“Otherwise, I’m afraid there aren’t many options left in Scotland than the noose. For any of you.”

Jamie leaned forward, careful not to jostle Faith. “And what about my godfather, Murtagh?” he asked, his voice low.

The colonel turned his attention to the man in question. “I suppose any additional service would be to Mrs. Randall’s benefit.”

“And the children?” Claire asked. She rubbed Faith’s back.

Fergus perked up at this, looking between Claire and the colonel.

Grey cleared his throat. “As long as Mrs. Randall is willing to accommodate them, I see no issue in sending them along with you.”

“Ye should know,” Jamie warned. “I signed my estate away to my nephew. There will be no need to harass its residents.”

The colonel fixed his gaze on Jamie. “I have no desire to disturb properties that no longer belong to you, Mr. Fraser.”

Jamie and Claire exhaled together. “You have our gratitude, Colonel.”

Grey nodded. “To tell you the truth, I’ve watched many men fall over the past months. If only a few…” He cleared his throat again. “You’ll be detained here until our ship leaves in three days’ time, but you may move about the grounds as you wish. We will post any letters you wish to write before you leave. They will, of course, be read by myself first.”

________________________________________

 Claire knelt by the stream with Faith in her arms, the remnant of a gooey bar of soap clenched in her palm.

“Time to get cleaned up, lovey.” She trailed a wet finger down Faith’s cheek.

Faith giggled, dropping her chin to her chest to get away. When her mother paused, she looked into Claire’s eyes and placed a hand on her cheek. “S’okay, Mama?”

Claire paused and gathered her baby tighter to her. “Yes, my love. Things are looking up for us.” She pulled back to meet her eye. “But you are safe no matter what, do you understand?”

Faith nodded, turning around and leaning back as Claire lathered her hair with soap.

“Stay close, but out of the water,” Claire reminded her gently as she started her own ablutions. She needn’t have worried though, as a quick glance over her shoulder assured her that Jamie was standing guard at the tree line.

She grimaced as she felt water hit her back. She turned around in time to see Faith standing by the shallow of the creek, splashing. She shook her head and chuckled, sweeping Faith up and spinning her around, her little girl giggling madly.

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

Claire stripped down to her shift as night finally fell over the camp. Fergus was tucked into a separate tent with Murtagh. The dour old man had scoffed at their accommodations, but Claire caught the grin he tried to hide as Jamie pulled the blanket snug over Fergus’s shoulders.

She checked on Faith one more time, snoozing soundly on her pallet at the other end of the tent. Smoothing out her bedroll, she dropped down next to Jamie, who had left on only his shirt. Even as she curled into him, he continued staring a hole through the wall of their tent.

“Ready to get some rest, soldier?” she asked, smoothing her hand over his freshly shaved cheek.

Jamie caught her hand in his, and placed a kiss on her palm, but said nothing.

Claire sighed. This was no good. “You know I’m feeling different than last time. You don’t suppose it could be twins?” She caressed her belly.

He jerked around to face her, then rolled his eyes when he caught her smug grin. “Och. So ye’re a wee jokester tonight, eh?”

“What is it?” she asked, stroking the hand she had healed for him with delicate fingers.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said softly.

She tilted her head. “Whatever for? Things looked dodgy there for a moment, but we’ve a way out now.”

One side of Jamie’s mouth ticked upward. “Aye, and I’m grateful for that, but once again it seems that being here has put ye in danger.”

Claire shifted to hold his face in her hands. “We’ll be fine,” she whispered. “There’s nothing we can’t do, together.”

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut. “I just canna help thinkin’ it was my fault.”

She hesitated before nodding, slowly, with an air of finality. “You’re right.”

He went still for a moment, her sarcasm taking a second to fully settle on him. 

Claire shifted to drag their bodies fully together, nestling against his neck. His arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“You nearly gave up everything to make sure the children and I were safe.” She bit his earlobe. “When we get a chance to be alone,” she purred, pulling his mouth close to hers by the collar of his shirt. “You’ll find out whether I’m more inclined to punish or reward you for it.”

Jamie smiled at her and gripped her bottom. “I’ll hold ye to that.” He met her with a kiss, rubbing circles into her lower back. “I do love ye, Sassenach.”

“Mmm, you’ve mentioned that a time or two.”

He rolled to his back, folding her into his side with her palm over his heartbeat.

Claire could feel the heady tug of her exhaustion, and she was ready for sleep. But Jamie’s fingers tapping on her hip wouldn’t cease.

“Jamie?” 

“Ach, sorry.” He stilled his hand into a grip instead.

“What’s on your mind??” Claire wondered.

Jamie looked at her in surprise. “Sassenach,we’re surrounded by men that have likely no’ seen a woman in months. I willna give them a chance at ye.”

“We’re 15 paces from Colonel Grey’s tent. I don’t think anyone is bold enough to try anything.”

“Mmmph. That Captain Jacobs. Dinna like the way he was looking at ye.”

Claire sighed, thumping her head against his shoulder. “Even in sleep, you’ll know if he shows up.” She scratched the back of his head, knowing his eyes would droop as she did.

His body relaxed. “Will ye wake me if anything’s amiss?”

“Of course. And I can defend myself, you know.”

“Aye.” He smirked. “But ye shouldna have to.” He pressed a kiss to her temple before letting his eyes drift shut at last.

________________________________________

 Jamie’s family patiently stood to the side as Colonel Grey conferred with the harbormaster -- almost patiently.

Faith wriggled in Jamie’s arms as she rubbed her eyes and adjusted her position against his shoulder again. Fergus paced back and forth under Murtagh’s nose, causing the older man to mutter under his breath.

And Jamie himself twitched in the breeches provided to him by Redcoats. Colonel Grey insisted that tartan was outlawed and didn’t want his prisoner wearing a kilt in front of his colleagues. Jamie complied, albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t just the loss of his kilt that bothered him, nor Claire’s tartan shawl that he’d spread her out over more times than he could count. It was their last day in Scotland for an indeterminable amount of time. He couldn’t say when the next time he’d see Lallybroch or even a patch of heather would be.

But then Claire tightened her grip on his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. Regardless of what he was going to lose, he’d managed to keep his wife. His family. Everything else could bide.

Jamie came to attention as Grey turned back toward them. He didn’t like the look on the man’s face.

“Colonel?” 

Grey’s face was drawn. “It seems that demand for passage is quite high. Only official prisoners are allowed transport.” He met Jamie’s eye. “Now, your… Fergus… I can assign parole status, but your daughter…”

Jamie felt himself begin to quake. Claire went white beside him.

“I’d be more than obliged to have some of my men deliver her to your family estate while I accompany you to France…”

“Ye said you would leave Lallybroch alone,” Jamie bit out.

“It would remain safe, Mr. Fraser, it would be a simple business matter— ”

“We go as one, or not at all. I canna…”  His eyes fell to Claire’s silver ring, remembering all it represented. To leave part of his heart in another country for years… The carpet bag in Claire’s hand caught his eye.

The piece was clean, if threadbare, also provided by Grey. Perhaps it was fortunate after all that their belongings had barely covered the bottom.

“I’ve an idea, if ye’d be agreeable, Colonel.”

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

The bones of Jamie’s hand ground into Claire’s as they crossed the dock toward the awaiting ship. His other arm held the carpet bag against his hip.

“Halt,” barked the harbormaster . “We have orders from the Crown to check your cargo. They suspect you lot may try to smuggle contraband to whatever miserable place you’re headed.”

Grey nodded as the dockhands moved to pop his trunk open, but cleared his throat as they reached for the bag Jamie carried. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The harbormaster, a fellow Redcoat, looked at him suspiciously. “And why would you say that?”

Grey leaned toward the man sternly. “I’ve checked their belongings already. I don’t imagine the discipline that would follow second guessing me is worth peering inside Mistress Fraser’s medical kit. You can only imagine the ghastly methods that pass for medical treatment in the Highlands -- dead toads, mummified crickets, and something that strangely resembles a man’s toe…” He shuddered.

“You folks are free to board,” the harbormaster blanched.

Murtagh and Fergus carried little cargo, and nothing the dockhands were willing to risk investigating.

They hastened onto the ship and locked themselves away in their respective cabins, while Grey went to introduce himself to the ship’s captain and explain their unusual situation.

Jamie watched the carpetbag wiggle as Claire undid its fastenings, followed by the appearance of a curly head.

Before Faith could react, Jamie plucked her from it and pulled her to him, embracing her so hard she squawked.

“Wonderful, Lovey.” Claire crushed herself into their embrace.

“Da is sae proud of ye, a nighean,” Jamie whispered into her ruffled curls. “I ken ye dinna understand now, but ye will someday.”

Faith raised her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

“Yes, you were very brave.” Claire smiled. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”

________________________________________

 Claire smoothed the blanket over Faith’s slumbering form, then stood up from the bottom bunk and closed the door softly behind her. She knocked on Murtagh’s door and asked him to listen for Faith.

She climbed to the deck of the ship, spotting her husband leaning over the railing in the darkness. She wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“You’re not thinking of abandoning ship are you? All this effort would have been quite a waste.”

Jamie turned in her arms and wrapped her in his own. “Nae. ‘Tis just such a beautiful a night.”

“Hmm. Any seasickness yet?” Claire turned in his embrace, her back to his chest.

“Not yet. I think my heid’s working too hard to catch up with all that’s happened.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “And all I have to be grateful for. But what about ye?” He rubbed his hand in a circle over her belly.

“Nothing to report yet.” She shook her head. “But I have a feeling it might return with a vengeance in the morning.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help ye with it,” he murmured into her hair.

“Just be with me,” she sighed.

They looked out over the moon-lit water together, swaying gently.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” Claire whispered. “When we took that first ship ride?”

Jamie exhaled. “No’ at all. I could scarcely imagine putting the parts of me back together to make a whole man. But ye did that.” He turned her to face him, lifting her chin to meet his eye. “Now the Scotland I knew is gone, but me and mine and hale are provided for.” He placed a hand on her bottom. “And my bonnie wife has already given me two and a half bairns to cherish.”

Claire laughed as her lips met his. Not even a week ago, she’d expected to find herself pregnant and alone with a toddler, preparing to face a man she’d let go of first physically, then emotionally.

Instead, they’d fought for each other, and their family. Though they would part one day, it wouldn’t be today. Nor any day soon, if they had anything to say about it.

epilogue to follow

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Jamie and Claire are invited to a cèilidh.

The Ceilidh

He always loved to watch her dance, the way she moved made his heart stop in his chest. Not being very graceful, he often abstained, letting his brother-in-law take the lead whilst he and his sister sat on the sidelines. So when the hospital had invited them to a staff ceilidh in aid of a local children's charity, Claire had batted her eyelashes at him, begging softly for him to accompany her this time instead of Ian.

And Jamie couldn’t resist.

In preparation for it, and not wanting to fall over and make himself look foolish in front of her colleagues, he had begun attending lessons with a local tutor. With the event only weeks away, he’d attempted to fit in as much practice as possible without straining himself.

“Ye arena moving yer feet, lad!” His teacher often told him, chuckling as he led by example once more.

It wasn’t the fear of his neighbours that made him pick Angus as his tutor rather than a woman, he thought as he twisted his bowtie until it sat straight, more that he needed a male perspective. Someone who might move in a similar way to him. Though, of course, it turned out that Angus was an incredible dancer and had none of Jamie’s own signature moves (if you counted cementing your feet to the floor and shimmying your arms from side to side as a ‘move’).

“Very dashing, Mr Fraser…” sneaking up behind him, Claire wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his neck. “Promise me the first dance,” she whispered, her touch making his tense muscles relax, “before any of my cheeky colleagues try to sneak you away.”

“I dinna think ye should be worrit about me being stolen, lass.” Glancing over her shoulder he could see her reflection in the mirror. He gasped at the sight of her. A beautiful red dress clung to her, the thin straps sliding over her shoulders. Attached was a basque-like top that flared out at the waist, the tool skirt billowing to the floor interlaced with the most delicate black floral pattern.

Turning, Jamie took her in his arms and pulled her close. “Ye take my breath away, Claire, always. Verra beautiful. I think I should be worried about *ye* being stolen, aye?”

Rather than taking a taxi, Jamie elected to drive. Needing the distraction (and very much needing to abstain from imbibing any alcohol) he let the journey there take his mind of the nervousness that was creeping up his spine. He had just gotten to a stage in his lesson that he felt confident in private but the Scottish dances he’d be participating in during the evening were much more public and he worried that he wasn’t quite ready for an audience.

Instead of letting the silence unnerve her, Claire gazed out of the window, watching as the city flew by. She understood his need to approach the evening from a place of calm. Carefully linking her arm through his where it rested on the gear stick, she ran her fingers deftly over the top of his thigh, the circular patterns keeping her entertained for the duration of the drive.

It wasn’t until they were situated in the large hall with a glass of water each that some colour seemed to return to Jamie’s cheeks. The chief of surgery started the evening with a very captivating speech. She spoke at length though he found it difficult to remember anything she had said.

As the band gathered and the music began, someone he didn’t recognise started proceedings by detailing the moves that accompanied the first (vigorous sounding) dance…

...and to his horror it was one he hadn’t heard of.

“Can I--” he began, an excuse on the tip of his tongue.

“You promised, dinna fash…” winking as she imitated his own scots phrase in a very questionable accent, she took him by the hand, placing his drink on a nearby table as she directed them towards the expansive dance floor.

It wasn’t long before it was filled with so many bodies that Jamie wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to keep track of his own body amongst them all. Claire, though, didn’t seem phased and looked over at him with a very confident smile.

Calling for a close start, she pulled his hand, making him stand toe to toe with her as the music changed in pitch and rhythm. Instead of his fear ramping up, the feel of her hand against his made everyone seemingly disappear. There was a strange normalcy to it though they hadn’t danced properly since their wedding, one that soothed him.

Before he even knew he’d done it, his feet had started to move in the right direction.

He took the lead for the first time, his movements guiding Claire as she raised her eyebrows in mock-shock.

They spun and twisted, turning around the dancefloor with the other attendees in a clockwise direction, and then anti-clockwise as directed.

He didn’t fall, nor did he maim Claire - which was something of a shock even to him. A giggle rose in his throat as the music changed again. There was very little time to complement himself on his own success, but he noticed the pleasure behind Claire’s eyes as the evening wore on. Electricity buzzed between them and he knew he’d have to explain himself once they were home; but for now both were simply able to rediscover and utilise this new energy. There were a few encounters with other dancers (being a ceilidh, he’d always known there would be) though they were limited enough that it didn’t cause him to lose his footing or his new found confidence.

“Well…” Claire exclaimed as they climbed back into their car, feet aching and spirits light, “that was something I didn’t expect. Is there something you want to tell me?”

It wasn’t accusatory, she was more amused that he’d gone out of his way to expand his horizons for her - though she shouldn’t have been surprised.

Coughing to hide his momentary embarrassment, he saw her smiling at him from the corner of his eye as he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the empty streets. “It wasna wholly unlike that moment in Friends where Treegar needs Joey to help him learn to dance, aye. Except I didna have to bribe anyone to do it wi’ me.”

“You hired a tutor?”

“Aye, I did.”

“For me?”

Nodding, he felt his lips turn up into a coquettish smile as she leaned across the central console and placed a delicate kiss against his cheek.

“Then I hope,” she sighed, covering a yawn with the back of her hand, “once we’re home you’ll do me the honour of dancing with me again. I quite liked it, but I much prefer having you all to myself.”

“How can I say no to that?”

The rest of the drive continued in companionable silence and it wasn’t long before the car was locked away safely in the garage and Jamie and Claire were happily behind closed doors. Pulling the curtains together in their lounge, they were in one another's arms, their lips caressing gently as they swayed in the soft lamp-light in no time at all. They swayed, all the while their feet barely leaving the floor.

“I dinna think this is dancing, Claire.” He groaned as she let her hand slip to hover over his arse.

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” he returned, letting her guide him towards the sofa as she slipped the dress from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. “Not at all.” If this was the treatment he got for learning to dance, he thought, his mind a haze as she clicked the light off, letting the darkness consume them, then he’d happily do it all over again.

The last conscious thing Jamie remembered as Claire lay herself over him was the soft ‘I love you’ they whispered against each other as the breath was stolen from his chest, their lips locked solidly together and their legs entwined in the grey shade of their darkened living room.