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anoutlandishfanfic · 6 years

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A Child of the Stones, Pt3Ch6: lèirsinn

I’m having a hard time condensing what’s happened thus far in a simple paragraph, but here we go:

Faith lives. They named her Julia. She got separated from Claire, but is now back in the same century and is at the Ridge with her and Jamie... ten years younger than she should be. But that’s not the strangest thing. The Stones are complicated.

You can find previous chapters here on tumblr or over at ao3.

Bright, blinding light shone directly into my eyes. I brought my hands to my face, trying to block it, but it persisted. I turned in every direction to avoid it, but it found me. Falling to my knees, I buried my face in my arms and huddled into a ball. This proved ineffective and I flattened out, lying prone on top of something smooth and as cold as ice. The surface smelled of industrial cleaner and blood, a dichotomous mixture that I’d only encountered in an operating theater.

A low mechanical hum broke the absolute silence and a rhythmic wheezing sound accompanying it. The combination was quite unnerving and I tried to move away from it, pushing myself across the floor until I met the wall. Sitting up with my back pressed against it I blinked rapidly as the light began to dim, revealing my surroundings.

I was, in fact, in an operating theater, but not like the ones I was accustomed to at Boston General. It was much, much larger… nearly three times the size of those I’d ever operated in before. The room boasted an observation window high above me and a great throng of doctors and nurses mingled around the table at the center of the room, obscuring it’s patient from my view. I couldn’t see the machine either, perhaps it was on the other side of the table, but it’s purpose was now clear.

It was a heart and lung bypass.

They were performing open heart surgery.

I could hear snippets of their conversation, but I couldn’t fully grasp what exactly it was they were doing. Curiosity warmed my extremities, urging me to get up off of the floor and I did so clumsily. None of the people before me took any notice and merely continued towards their goal, whatever it was. Staggering forward, I neared the surgeons, trying to ascertain what exactly was going on and why on earth I was in an unfamiliar operating theater in nothing but my shift. My mind raced to connect the dots, to fill in the blanks with each directive that was given.

Pulmonary infundibular stenosis.

Overriding aorta.

Ventricular septal defect.

Right ventricular hypertrophy.

This was tetralogy of Fallot.

It was the sort of intricate surgery only performed at Johns Hopkins and the University of Minnesota, and even then the success rate was low … its complexity and risk factors were far too high for Boston General. I’d read articles about the procedure and the successes Lillehei was having, but I’d never saw it performed myself.

As a rule, I avoided anything related to pulmonary congenital defects when I could. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped and I steeled myself for the onslaught of memories that always came with it. Julia’s blue lips, the sleepless nights wondering if my baby would see the dawn, the last time I held her close in my arms. It was the only area of my profession that I disliked, or, to be more accurate, hated to the very marrow of my bones.

Peering around the shoulder of the anesthetist in front of me, I could just barely make out the form of a small child. The more I concentrated, the more definite the patient became. I could see gloved hands working in steady, surgical perfection, quickly but efficiently repairing the patient’s congenital defects. The child’s head was almost visible in front of me and I rose up on my toes to better study their face.

An unruly tuft of auburn hair peeped out from where their hair had been carefully tucked back, their pale skin in striking contrast to such vivid color. My heart dropped to the floor as I recognized the profile of the child’s nose and brow.

It was Julia.

A sound unlike any that had ever escaped my lips echoed around me, sending pulsating, almost visible shockwaves across the room. It’s reverberations collided with the medical personnel and they disappeared, leaving me alone with my daughter. The final vestiges of my cry rid her of any sign of the operation that had been underway just moments before.

I stepped closer, all inhibitions now gone, and bent over her sweet face. My hands cupped her pale cheeks and I watched as a rosy glow lit her skin, a flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. She stirred, but didn’t wake as I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of my healthy child.

“You’re alright,” I crooned, assuring myself with my words as much as I was her. “It’s alright, I’m right here.”

Her eyelids fluttered, her lashes brushing against my cheeks. I lifted my head, just enough for me to see her face and clear, blue eyes met mine as recognition took hold. She sighed contentedly as I pressed a kiss to her brow, her nose wrinkling in that way I so loved as she grinned up at me.

Her chin tiled and she gave me a kiss on the end of my nose.

“Love Mim,” she whispered as her eyes closed once more.

Before I could tell her how much I loved her in return, Jamie’s voice called out my name.

“Claire!”

My head snapped up.

Even though I knew that Julia and I were here alone, my heart sought my husband. I turned and looked for him, his name on my lips. The empty, white operating theater taunted me, snickering in silence. A movement — a sudden flash of blue — caught my eye and I looked towards the observation window.

Two women, one elderly and the other somewhere around middle aged, stood there, gazing down at me. They were obviously related, bearing striking resemblance to each other… and to someone I knew. I couldn’t put my finger on it, couldn’t put a name to the face, but I felt like I’d met the older woman before.

Mrs Graham.

She looked very much like Mrs Graham.

What was her granddaughter's name? The one I’d met at the manse with Bree… Flora?

Fiona.

Was that Fiona at her side?

Suddenly, Jamie was there before me, his face inches from mine. I could feel his arms around me, the bed beneath me and in a moment I knew it had all been a dream. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut in a vain attempt to return to the world where my child was alive and well.

“No! No, Jamie!” I pushed against him, fighting against the darkness of the cabin’s interior, trying to find my way back to the light of that room.

“Shh, mo chridhe, ‘twas only a dream,” he held me tightly against his chest. “I’m right here.”

“Julia,” I whimpered, hoping that speaking her name aloud would somehow keep her alive.

“She’s safe. She’s here.”

My eyes snapped open, “What?”

“Twas a dream,” Jamie calmly repeated into the darkness, his tone a stark contrast to his heartbeat against my cheek. “Julia’s here, she’s safe.”

The events of the last twenty four hours flashed before my eyes, superimposing themselves over top of the image of Julia on the operating table from my dream. They blurred together into a jumbled mess and left me weeping uncontrollably, trembling in my husband’s arms.

“Oh God, Jamie.”

He didn’t speak again, only nodded and continued his rhythmic massaging of my back. His touch slowly brought me back, gently lifted me out of my grief. I sniffed and he tugged the edge of the bed sheet, offering it up in place of a handkerchief as his thumb wiped away the tears on my face.

“She’s really here?” I hiccuped.

“Aye, mo nighean donn.”

Every emotion that was pulsing through my veins was present in his voice. The confusion, absolute wonder, fear, and joy were as tangible as Jamie was beside me. I could feel the sharp, jagged edges of the concern for Julia’s safety, the warm, smooth plains of the delight in her presence in every word. I looked up, needing to see his face above mine in the darkness.

“Was it the same?” Jamie inquired gently, his smile weak. He knew the pain of recurring nightmares all too well and he’d comforted me often when I woke from mine.

I’d had them off and on when Bree was young, but they’d waned as she’d grown older. Dreams of the days just before Culloden, of the hellish nights spent in uncertainty at Lallybroch. I had others too, where my subconscious ran wild, placing Jamie and Julia in bizarre, modern scenarios.

“She was at the hospital again,” I swallowed hard. I’d had many dreams of this sort since returning to Jamie and learning our daughter had lived, yet never quite like this. “They were operating on her this time… on her heart.”

But before I could tell him more, a scream — the likes of which I’d only heard on the field of battle and it’s direct aftermath — came from outside the cabin, setting the both of us into motion.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ,” I hissed as my shin collided painfully with a low bench by the hearth.

Where the hell were my shoes?

Damn them, I’d just go without.

A crash sounded from somewhere near the door and I knew Jamie was having about as much success as I was.

“Ifrinn,” he grumbled, “damned buttons.”

“What’s going on?” a groggy voice inquired.

Oh, God.

What if Thomas’ alliance had been a ruse? What if he’d appeared only to buy whoever the hell he was time to journey to the ridge? The boy had disclosed neither the rogue’s location, nor his intents, only another name to call him by and quite the story as to how he connected with everything.

“Stay within, bolt the door, and dinna come near it,” Jamie’s tone was insistent and urgent, but held none of the panic that I felt spring to life inside me.

“Why?” Julia asked again.

In answer, another scream ricochet through the cabin.

I ran out the door after Jamie, mumbling something to Julia about doing as she was told, and slammed it behind me. The sun had only just begun to rise, its early light painting everything in dusty blue and somber purple. Two figures were standing near a tree and turned at the noise we’d made. I prayed that one of them was Ian, alive and whole.

“Watch your step,” my nephew called out, negating that worry. “The wee beast could still be near.”

The what?

“Wha’ happened?” Jamie was at their side now, staring down at the base of the tree, where, presumably, Thomas had tied up Jones, who was the source of the scream.

“Twas the biggest snake I’ve ever seen, Uncle!”

Fuck.

Here I was barefoot and a bloody fucking snake could come slithering past at any moment.

I’d encountered more than my fair share in my journey through the Caribbean, not to mention the ones I’d stared down in the desert with Uncle Lamb, and I’d yet to meet one I liked. Hate was a better word, but hardly a fitting descriptor for my feelings towards the loathsome things.

Whatever pause the announcement of an encroaching snake had given me disappeared as I caught sight of the man in question. They’d untied him and he lay on his back in the dirt, writhing much like the venomous beast that had bitten him, moments before.

I surged forward, my knees and shins colliding painfully with the uneven turf, a rock nudging my left patella in a direction that it did not want to go.

“Where?” I demanded of the three men standing immobile behind me, making no move to help their captive. “Where was he bitten?”

Jamie and Ian stared dumbly down at me, their mouths slightly agape, but Thomas stammered, “His… on his, ah, right arm, ma’am.”

I shoved Jones’ sleeve up and easily found the mark just above his wrist.

This was not from a rattlesnake, nor any that I’d seen before.

The bite was already inflamed, the puncture marks oozed some sort of yellow puss and a deep, purple bruise was beginning to form around it. I pressed down with my thumb as hard as I could just above it, attempting to localize the venom and not allow it to spread up his arm and into his circular system as much as possible.

“Do you need a belt, Sassenach?”

“No,” I shook my head as I motioned him forward, “but another hand would be helpful. Press down here as hard as you can.”

Jamie was at my side immediately and did as told, wrapping his hand around Jones’ forearm. Suddenly, something cold and smooth brushed against the bare skin of the bottoms of my feet. I gripped Jamie’s arm as I realized what it was, managing to squeak out the word snake as I tried to stay as still as possible.

He flinched and swore under his breath as the head of the beast appeared near Jones’ foot. It was thicker than my arm and a mahogany color that allowed it to blend almost seamlessly into the ground. The serpent slid along Jones’ leg, stopping about mid thigh and, quick as lightning, bit him. I screamed, backpedaling away from the monster and it’s victim, but Jamie kept his wits about him and grabbed hold of the beast by its head, clamping it’s mouth shut with both hands just as it let go of Jones.

“I, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Thomas commented uneasily.

The viper writhed in Jamie’s grasp, thrashing against him with the strength of a grown man. Predator and prey fought against each other in a primal battle for control and both were determined to seize it.

“You have a better idea, then?”

This came out as a sort of groaning grunt as Jamie struggled to keep his grip. If he let go, he’d surely be bitten and it was that thought that had me wrapping my own hands over-top his in an attempt to keep the beast’s mouth shut.

“Well, yes,” the boy admitted hesitantly from somewhere above me, “if you let go of him, he’ll leave.”

“Are ye daft, man? He’d surely bite the both o’ them!” Ian burst.

The snake suddenly began to growl, a deep, almost hollow sound that should not have come from this sort of animal, and quickly negated any and all conversation. Jamie and I simultaneously let go as it began to vibrate, the beast’s body pulsating with the resonance of the sound. It moved away from us, lifting more than half of its body off the ground and stood erect, taller than Jamie or any man I’d ever met.

Swaying slightly, it’s eyes shone down on us, an unsettling, vibrant green. With an exaggerated shudder, it promptly sprouted four legs, each one with a massive paw at the end. It eased itself down to stand upon them and it’s tail shrunk drastically as it’s head grew to nearly five times what it had been just a moment before.

The beast now stood before us, looking rather like a giant dog with scales. Just as the thought crossed my mind, it shook itself — very much like a dog does after getting terribly wet — and thick, black fur burst forth over every inch of its body. It quickly glanced towards Thomas, it’s mouth open and tongue lolling out as it panted, and then took off into the underbrush, leaving us to gape after it.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” I spat once I found my voice.

“Who, more accurately,” Thomas corrected gently. “That was Sampson.”

Jamie rocked back on his heels, shaking his head, “Tha’ was no’ your bear of a dog.”

“To start with, he isn’t my dog,” Thomas insisted.

“Then who’s is he?” Ian asked in wonder.

“Julia’s.”

“What?!” I cried.

“But you should probably follow him… if you want to catch up with her, that is,” he added.

Jamie’s voice was low as he brought himself to his full height and towered over Thomas, “My daughter is safely within the cabin and I dinna care for you insinuating that she is anywhere else, lad.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Thomas sighed, unfazed by my husband’s bulk. “She’s just snuck out and is headed for the Stones.”

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #a child of the stones au #part three chapter six #lèirsinn

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drobyshevworld22-blog · 6 years

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