#really just wanted more of claire and jamie fucking around in scotland

[dreamaboutwhathappens]

i read the first outlander book and loved it so much and then started the second one and i’m so devastated

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 6

A/N  Well, here it is.  The last chapter of Ginger Snap.   As an unplanned fic inspired by a vanity license plate, I’m happy with how it turned out.   There will be a short epilogue posted in the next week or so.  In the meantime,  thank you so much for coming on this unexpected ride with me!   This chapter’s themed title is Fire in the Belly.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

The next five months were some of the most difficult of my life.  

After our talk, Frank and I agreed that it would be best that we parted ways.  The Southside flat was close to the university, plus I’d never truly felt at home there, so it made sense for him to keep it.  Fortunately, we’d never combined our savings and I still had money tucked away from my time as a medical resident in Boston.

Geillis wanted me to move into her sprawling Murrayfield home, at least temporarily, but I knew that I needed a place of my own.  To stand on my own two feet, as it were.   Which was how I found myself moving my few belongings into a modest Morningside walk-up as the rest of Edinburgh celebrated Hogmanay with fireworks and drunken revelry.

I scheduled the written component of my medical licensing exam for February.  This was likely foolhardy, but I’d already wasted enough time.  As a result, almost every waking hour was dedicated to studying.  The flat remained an empty box whose naked beige walls bore witness to my rudimentary existence.

Geillis called regularly, reminding me to eat and to occasionally step outside for a breath of fresh air.  Returning up the high street from one of our weekly coffee dates, a bright flash in a shop window caught my eye.

I stopped and stared as the afternoon sun lit the vase like a shard of stained glass.  It was a profound shade of blue: the colour of a field of indigo, of the night sky in a Byzantine icon, of Jamie’s eyes when he laughed.  It sat on my windowsill, filled with the season’s first daffodils, as I pored over practice exams.

***

“Geillis, I passed!  I fucking passed!”  An elderly woman seated across from me on the bus muttered under her breath about vulgar Sassenachs, but I was too elated to care.

“Of course ye did, ye brilliant disaster.  Now I can brag tae the neighbours I have my own personal physician.”

“Not so fast, Duncan.  I still need to pass the clinical exam, and that’s no small thing.”  My gut twisted just thinking about it, but unlike the written exam, there was little I could do to prepare.  Either I knew how to perform as a doctor or I did not.  The long months since I’d last treated a patient loomed like a large shadow over that question.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the window Claire,” my friend dismissed blithely.  “Ye’re gonna do great.  When do ye head down tae yer homeland, then?”

“May first.”  The practical examination took place in Manchester and needed to be scheduled three months in advance.

“Sounds like ye’ve got some time on yer hands.  Whate’er are ye going tae do with yerself?” Geillis asked in a singsong voice.

Fortunately for me, spring was Edinburgh’s most pleasant season.  Its many gardens and laneways erupted in carpets of buds and blooms.  The air smelled fresh and green, like biting into a tart apple.  I took long walks and fell in love with the city I now called home.  There were secondhand bookstores to explore and a weekly craft market where I gradually amassed an assortment of items that made my flat feel like a home.  With each passing day, my existence felt more and more like a life; one I defined for myself.

I also started to explore my options for employment, hoping for a job offer from one of the city’s hospitals that was conditional upon my successful completion of the licensing process.  It was to that end that I found myself walking down the corridor of The Royal Edinburgh hospital after what I hoped had been a rather successful interview with the deputy director of surgery.

“Claire?”

I recognized her voice immediately.  Before turning around I closed my eyes and sent out a fervent appeal to the universe.

“Jenny, hi.  How are you?”

She looked just the same, her straight black hair such a contrast to her brother.  Next to her stood a man, but not the man I had conjured the moment I heard her voice.  I was unclear whether that meant my prayer had been answered or not.  Seeing my gaze stray, Jenny jumped to introductions.

“This is my husband, Ian.  We’re here fer treatment on his leg.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”  

“Jes a fitting fer a new prosthetic.  Jenny keeps beatin’ me o’er the head with the old one, ye see.”  I laughed, instantly liking his easy-going manner, so in contrast with Jenny’s intensity.

“Ye must be the Claire I hear sae much about,” he went on, and I wondered what had been said about me in the Fraser household.

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ian smiled warmly.  “Only good things, I promise ye.”

“What brings ye tae the hospital, Claire?” Jenny interjected.

I explained how I was in the process of qualifying to practice medicine in Scotland, provided I could pass my exams.  Jenny and Ian were both delighted, congratulating me as though I’d already accomplished my goal.  As we spoke about Wee Jamie’s latest exploits and the ongoing growth of Ginger Snap, I couldn’t help notice that Jenny was staring at my hands.  At my left hand in particular.  Finally, I couldn’t resist temptation any longer.

“And, how is Jamie doing?”  I tried to sound casual, but I was certain my faltering voice betrayed me.

“Very well,” Jenny replied.  “Busy, as ye can imagine, but he thrives on chaos.”

I nodded, trying to be satisfied with the news that he was well.  It was the most I could hope for, really.  Jenny eyed me shrewdly before continuing.

“He’s a good man, my brother.  Any lass would be verra lucky tae have him.  I’d like tae see him settled, but he refuses tae be rushed.  Says the right woman is worth the wait.”  She paused before adding,  “I reckon ye ken wha’ he means.”

“Yes,” I breathed.  “I know exactly what he means.”

***

I took the overnight train from Edinburgh to Manchester.  It meant I was likely to arrive at the testing centre deprived of sleep, but I rationalized that most of my residency could be characterized as one long evaluation under similar conditions, and I hadn’t killed anyone yet.  Still, as the velvety darkness slipped by outside my window, studded by the lights of passing farms, my doubts got the better of me.

I texted Geillis, looking for moral support.  For once she didn’t reply immediately.  There was one other name on my laughably short list of contacts.  I deliberated for all of a minute, but the late hour and creeping panic made me impulsive.

Hello.

Best to start with something innocuous, rather than the slightly more revealing “I miss you.  I think about you every day.”  A reply bubble appeared immediately after I hit send.  At least I hadn’t woken him up.  A small tempest stirred in my gut.

Arsonist.  Hello.  How are you?

I tried to picture him.  Was he at home?  Working late?  Or, in a scenario that played out far too often in my mind, on a date?

I’m alright.  Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m going to puke and cry.  Not necessarily in that order.

Och, lass.  Do you need me to come over?

Damn it, this man.  I had done nothing to deserve his unswerving loyalty but mislead him and then disappear for months on end.  And yet here he was, willing to come to my aid on the flimsy pretext of a late night text.  Guilt and tenderness warred for possession of my heart.

That may prove a bit difficult, Jamie.  I’m on a train to England.

There was a long pause, and then a two letter reply.

Oh.

I realized at once that he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion: that I had left Edinburgh for good.  I rushed to correct the error.

I’m taking the second stage of my examination to practice as a NHS doctor tomorrow.   It’s all hands-on situations, and the licensing facility is in Manchester.

Arsonist, that’s wonderful news!  I’m so proud of you.

I blushed, then leaned my heated cheek against the chilled pane of glass.  It had been a rash impulse, but this conversation was exactly what I needed.  I wasn’t alone in this.  Geillis and Jamie were in my corner.

What has your stomach in a twist, then?

What if I’ve forgotten what to do?!  It’s been almost a year since I’ve so much as used a stethoscope, Jamie.  The exam is eighteen real-life situations and you’re given eight minutes to respond to each one.  Not a second longer.  I’m just...  what if I fail?

And there it was.  The kernel of fear that lived at the heart of everything I did.  What if I failed?   What if my best wasn’t good enough?

Claire, listen to me.  You’re a doctor, just as I am a chef.  It wouldn’t matter if I had not set foot in a kitchen in ten years, I would still remember how to cook, and I know that it’s the same for you.  I believe it with everything in me.

On some level, I knew that he was right.  But it still comforted me tremendously to hear it from someone I trusted.

Alright.  That helps.  I should let you get to bed.  Thank you for talking me off my ledge, Jamie.

Anytime, Arsonist.

As I got ready sign off, another text bubble appeared.

Oh, and Claire?  Don’t burn down their wee laboratory, okay? ;-)

I laughed out loud, muting my phone and reclining my seat.  Outside, the stars shone brightly, tiny fires in the firmament to guide me on my way.

***

It was a lovely late spring day, and the retractable doors to the fire station were open to the warm breeze.  I could hear Angus’ voice as he led a cooking demonstration for a group of young women; a bridal shower by the look of their ridiculous costumes.

“Mind the coriander, lass.  Tis a verra powerful aphrodisiac, ken?  I willna be held responsible if ye canna resist my considerable charms after ye eat yon soup.”

There was an outburst of giggles as I rounded the corner and entered the reception area.  Jenny was on the phone.  She halted mid-sentence when she saw me walk in.  I rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to stay calm.

“He’s in the storeroom, in the back,” Jenny prompted before I could even offer a greeting.  I smiled gratefully, relieved I didn’t have to make small talk.  I had only so much courage stored in reserve, and I didn’t want to use it all up before reaching my destination.

The storeroom was long and narrow, lit by a single naked bulb and girded with shelves.  Jamie stood with his broad back to the door, his curls absorbing the light like amber.  He had a clipboard in one hand, performing some kind of inventory.

“Jes how many lentils dae ye reckon we need, Janet?  There’s nine cans of them here already, and ye have us ordering ten more.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I loved his voice, the undulating grit and silk of it.  I had to remaster the art of speech before I could reply.

“It’s not Jenny.  It’s me.  Claire.”

He froze, and if it weren’t for the sudden rapid flow of his breath I would have assumed he hadn’t heard me.  My nerves got the better of me and I blurted out, “I like lentils.  You should listen to your sister.”

“Claire.”  More sigh than word.  He slowly turned.  It was when our eyes met that I knew nothing had changed for him.  It was still there, after all these months.  That look that told me I was the map to his journey, the focus to his vision, the reason to his why.  

Hopefully he could read that same certainty on my face.

“I passed my exams,” I began.  “I’m a doctor again.”

“Ye never stopped bein’ a doctor.  This jus’ makes it official.”

“I’m still a disaster in the kitchen,” I continued.  “Last week I ruined two saucepans.”

“Tha’s only a tragedy if ye dinna have someone willin’ tae cook fer ye,” he replied with a strange squinting motion I understood was meant to be a wink.

“I’m still learning who I am.  How to be true to the person on the inside,” I confessed.  This is what had kept me away for so long, worried that I would escape from Frank’s orbit just to be caught up in another.  Jamie never once expected my submission, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t offer it out of habit.

“I’ll let ye in on a secret.  Sae is everyone else,” he replied.

Without realizing it, we’d both been moving until we were crowded together amongst the dried herbs and canned goods.  My hand rested against the solid metronome of his heart.  Just one more confession to go.

“I burn for you in a way I’ve never burned for anything before.”

There.  It was said.  A thousand wings of rapture beat against the cage of my ribs, clamoring to break free.  Jamie carefully pushed a loose curl behind my ear before cupping my jaw.

“Wee arsonist.  Come, set my life on fire.”

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lie To Me - 7

There is room for secrets, but not for lies. Is there a place for their love?

AO3 :: Previously

Geillis finds her in the darkness of their shared flat, sitting on the floor sobbing desperately with her head on the small coffee table.

“Love, what is it? I could barely understand ye on the phone!” Geillis says, alarmed.

“He’s fucking married, G.” Claire wipes her sleeve across her eyes, but it isn’t enough. She leans back against the couch, letting tears course down her temples into her hair.

“What?!”

“I was at his flat. He took me there after… well, some arsehole tried to mug and grope me when I left the hospital—” Geillis lets out a groan and sits next to her on the floor, but Claire waves her away—“I’m fine! That’s the point, Jamie was there, somehow.”

“Fucking stalker,” Geillis growls.

“That’s what he said.” Claire hiccups, holding more tears at bay. “But he saved me, G. I went into shock.” She ignores another of Geillis’s grunts. “We went to his flat, he gave me whisky and was making tea in the kitchen when I discovered he had hidden his wedding picture.”

“What does she look like?”

“Really?” Claire wants to laugh at Geillis’s inane non-sequitur. She knows it’s also G trying to distract her. “Blonde, I think? I didn’t really stop to look closer. I left the picture next to my glass on his living room table and left.”

“Nice.” Geillis wrapped her arms around Claire. “I’m so sorry, love. That he was such a prick, I mean. I feel partly responsible. I gave him yer number and pushed ye to go out with him!”

“I made my own choices, G. None of it is your fault. I just never thought I’d be that woman.” Claire glances at her mobile, silent and useless on the table. She had turned it off when she left his flat, after using it to call Geillis. She had missed calls, voicemails, and a few texts; she had responded to none. She is unfortunately familiar with betrayal, and doesn’t want to hear the usual excuses, platitudes, lies. It seems he isn’t going to show up at her home, and for that Claire is glad—he has a small sense of shame, after all.

“What happened to yer attacker? Did the police show up? Did ye file a report?”

Claire pauses. “No. There was—I didn’t even stop to think, but Jamie, he… he made a call. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to the other man.” She breaks down sobbing.

Geillis holds her a long time. Over her friend’s shoulder, she can see bruises dotting her wrist. If it hadn’t been for Jamie…

X-x-X

“There’s a patient for ye in four, dearie.” Mrs. Baird hands Claire a chart. “Some sort of accident involving his hands, he wasn’t very forthcoming with information.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m off at six today, and please let me know how the concussion does through the night.” She walks over to the recessed exam area and pulls the curtain back. That glint of hair is unmistakable and Claire stops in her tracks. It’s Jamie.

He looks as though he hasn’t slept, eyes hollow, unshaved and unkempt. Something tugs at her heartstrings, but she immediately tamps it down, steel in her spine and in her glare.

“Sassenach, please, I must—”

“No.” Such a simple word, no. Claire turns heel towards the nurses’ station, where Mrs. Baird stares at her in confusion.

“I can’t treat this patient. Is there anyone—”

“I’ll do it.” Geillis, out of nowhere, marches to the room and slides the curtain shut. Claire can make out the barest of venomous whispers, including fuck and prick. G is apparently ripping him a new one; the sound of a sharp sudden smack has her speeding back to the exam area against her will.

She peeks inside and Jamie is sitting there meekly, head hanging down, a reddish imprint fresh on his cheek. Claire feels a small vindictive thrill of satisfaction, but that is gone when Jamie glances up and catches her eyes.

“Seems I probed a little too hard,” Geillis says sweetly, hands on her hips. “His hands are a bloody mess. Serves him right.” Jamie nods in agreement, his gaze holding fast.

Claire steps in, unable to stop herself. “But they didn’t look so bad, last night…” She clamps her lips shut, remembering last night. She remembers the shadowed face of her assailant, too. “What happened to him? In the alley?”

“What?” Jamie looks confused.

“The bloke that tried to mug me! There were no police involved, who did you call?”

“Oh. Aye. There’s a colleague at Leoch… his job is to fix things. Anything ye need. Legally. Or otherwise.” Jamie looks sheepish. “Dinna fash, the man is safely behind bars.”

Claire huffs, arms crossed defensively. “So what happened to your hands?”

“I… I met a tree. In Hyde Park. I was upset. Not at ye, of course, never, but at myself. At whatever possessed me to think I could lie to ye,” Jamie says, quiet and ashamed.

“I don’t give a bloody fuck,” Claire hisses, livid at the nerve of the man who thought he could just show up at the hospital and expect her to drop everything and listen to a single word he had to say. “You’re married, and you bloody well should have told me before I slept with you!”

“I tried, but—”

“Jesus H Christ, you tried? My own husband cheated on me! Did you honestly think for a second—” Claire sees him wince at this information and she stops cold. She doesn’t have to explain, she doesn’t have to make him understand.

“C? Let me bandage him up and then I’ll have security throw him out.” Jamie opens his mouth to protest but a single look from Geillis makes him reconsider. “I’ll put the prick on the blacklist, ye willna have to—”

“I married her to protect my family,” Jamie says in a low tone. Claire and Geillis both turn to him, stunned at the admission.

“What?” Claire asks flatly. She is still protective of herself, but caught off-guard by his words.

“Will ye let me just explain why I didn’t tell ye? It wasn’t to trick ye, I swear on my mam’s grave.” Jamie looks at them pleadingly, and Geillis is the first to move.

“Ye ken, I think I hear Mrs. Baird calling. C, I’ll be right outside if ye need me, aye?” With a quick squeeze of Claire’s hand, she leaves them alone once more. Tension hums thickly in the air, and Claire decides the sooner he speaks, the sooner he’ll go.

“Doctor-patient confidentiality?” Jamie asks, and Claire nods curtly. “Her name is Laoghaire. She is my wife in name only. We dinna even wear weddin’ rings, I—she entered into this arrangement knowing it would be a sham marriage. I ken she loves someone else, Joseph Cameron. But we dinna go around advertising how we manage our relationship.”

“An open marriage, is that it? Or why is it a sham?”  

“I was… forced to wed Laoghaire. There are circumstances beyond my control. What I said before is true, I meant to protect my family, our livelihood. I ken it all sounds suspect, but—please. If ye dinna believe me, I’d like ye talk to Murtagh Fitzgibbons. He’s my godfather, Chief Superintendent for Glasgow Police Scotland.”

Claire fights against the lump in her throat. She finds herself wanting to believe him, but is much too tired to make sense of it all. “Police? What is this, Jamie? Why?”

“Ye make me feel things I haven't felt, want things I shouldna want—and dinna deserve.” Jamie swallows hard. “I’ve never met anyone that comes close to ye and I’m afraid to reach out and have ye, knowing I’ll lose you.”

Claire bites her lip. “How can I trust anything you say?”

“Because I’m likely to be killed by telling ye the truth.” 

[thesassenachswiftie]

A Preview of Reputation (Lover Prequel)

The chaos of progress report grades, the holidays and you know, surviving a global pandemic have been keeping the muses away, so I haven’t been writing much. A few months ago I started writing the prequal to “Lover” where Claire and Jamie first meet. I haven’t been able to start posting it yet because the first couple pre-Jamie chapters involve Claire and Frank being very much in love and it’s not something I’ve been super inspired to write. However, I did write the scene where Claire and Jamie meet, and since it takes place on New Year’s Eve, I figured I post a preview! Without further ado, here’s a rough, unedited preview of Reputation: Chapter 3 “Gorgeous”

Claire was on her second glass of wine when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t ken anyone would be down here, they’re all outta whiskey upstairs and I was told there was more down here.”

Fuck. You’re so gorgeous it actually hurts. Claire couldn’t believe the man she’d been avoiding all night was standing before her, alone in the basement, lit only by the backlight of the bar.  “Help yourself” she answered, gesturing behind the bar with a flourish. “You ken?” she giggled “What is that, Sco’ish?” she mimicked in a poor, slightly tipsy attempt at his accent. 

He slipped behind the bar and pulled the whiskey bottle off the shelf. “Are you making fun of the way I talk, lass?” he chucked with a twinkle in his eye, picking up a glass as well. 

“You should take it as a compliment.” she lilted with a flirtatious smile. “By the way, There’s ice in the fridge if you need it” She didn’t want to flirt with him, but it seemed to come out naturally--and being several drinks in, she didn’t have much restraint.

“Thanks. You don’t exactly sound like yer from around here either, Sassenach” he pondered. Heading towards the ice maker with his glass.

“Sass-a-nack.” she pronounced slowly, savoring each syllable on the tip of her tongue. “What on earth does that mean?”

“It means something akin to ‘outlander’ it’s just that ye don’t really seem like you quite belong here, perhaps that’s why yer hiding in the basement? Where are you from anyway? I can’t quite pin down your accent.”  He was back at the bar now, setting his glass down.

“Allow me” she implored, taking the bottle from him and pouring. “My parents were English, but they raised me in Boston, after they died when I was 14 I traveled the world with my Uncle, I suppose I picked up on a little bit of everything.”  She handed him the glass, “one whiskey on ice, sir.”

“Ah, so you’re a true Sassanach then? From everywhere and nowhere all at once” They were drawing in closer, Jamie drawing closer to where Claire was perched atop the bar. 

“I suppose you’re right, I never thought about it that way...” she trailed off.  God, how did he seem to understand everything about her moments after meeting her? 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, sometimes I let my mouth run off without thinking” he apologized, touching her hand in the darkened room.  The moment he touched her, it was like electricity surging through her veins.  Her face was flushed, her pulse was quickening.  Those ocean blue eyes were looking straight into hers. I think I might sink and drown and die. She couldn’t say anything to his face, cause look at your face, you’re gorgeous.  Their eyes and hands lingered on each other as they sat there in silence.  After what could have been a moment or an eternity, he lifted his hand from hers.  “Christ Sassanach, say something, if I’ve offended ye badly I’ll leave.”

“What can I say? I’m fine, no harm done, I’m just not used to people really seeing me like that is all.  I promise I’m not upset.”

“Good. I’d hate to hurt ya.” he said, finishing his whiskey and giving her a stunning smile that made her feel butterflies in the pit of her stomach.  It was getting too intimate and she had to change the subject.  

“So what brings a Scotsman to our lovely cul-de-sac?”

“Well, I’m just visiting my sister for the holidays right now, but I’ll be spending my summers here for the foreseeable future as well.  Ya see, my brother-in-law, who also happens to be my childhood best friend was in an accident.” he saw the look of concern on her face “don’t worry, he’s fine, just he injured his leg pretty badly and can’t do the farm work he used to. I came down this summer to help him plant and harvest before I had to go back to my wee tree farm.”

“In Scotland?” questioned Claire. 

“In England actually, not too far outside of London.” corrected Jamie.

“Ah, the motherland, that’s respectable.” she replied “It isn’t too much, managing two places so far from each other?”

“My godfather Murtagh oversees my place back home while I’m gone, the thing about trees is, they pretty much grow themselves.  I really just need to be there for the holiday rush.”  Claire looked at him quizzically “It’s a Christmas tree farm, ya ken?”  Claire could picture it perfectly: rolling snow covered hills,  families dragging small children along on sleds, trees being twined up on top of cars, twinkling lights decorating a barn.

“Sounds lovely” she expressed. She found she was noticing how large his hand was around the whiskey glass, wondering what it would feel like to have it wrapped around around her waist, gently caressing her face, what those fingers would feel like tangled up in her curls, what they would feel like inside her--

“Oh Claire, there you are.” Frank interrupted coming to the bottom of the basement steps, “What are you doing down here?”

“Frank, darling” she beamed, her face flushing. She felt like she’d been caught although she did nothing wrong. “I just needed to take a break from these heels for a few moments.”

“Who’s this?” Frank asked, eyeing the imposing Scotsman who abruptly sprang upright from his position leaning at the bar as soon as he heard that beautiful woman call this man ‘darling’.

“This is Laoghaire’s date, Mr….”

“Fraser. Jamie Fraser. Pleased to meet ye.” he stammered, extending a hand towards Frank. “Frank, was it?” 

“Frank Randall” he replied, accepting the handshake. They were polite to each other, but Claire felt a tension between the two of them, as if they were trying to one up each other, staring each other down.  Claire couldn’t help but picture them snorting and stamping like bulls, which it seemed could happen at any moment. 

“Ah Randall! This wouldn’t happen to be your lovely abode, would it?”

“As a matter of fact, it is, and my lovely fiancee’s, of course.” he professed smugly, sidling over to Claire, who was still seated on the bar and wrapping an arm around her waist, claiming his territory. 

“Aye, it’s a lovely home--you’ve both done a great job, great bar as well.” He said, gesturing to the whiskey bottle and heading towards the stairs, understanding the implicit message Frank was sending.

“Darling, we really should get back to our guests, it’s not appropriate for the hostess to be hiding in the basement.” Frank chided, helping Claire off the bar, and casting a cold glance in Jamie’s direction. 

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me: Chapter Five

Thanks for your continued support for these sweet artsy bairns! Here’s the next installment! I read all of your kind comments and they mean the absolute world to me.

READ ON AO3

Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

Claire was just walking up to the picturesque green of Louisburg Square, where her townhouse sat facing the gardens, when her phone began an incessant buzzing. She had her hands full after stopping at the market for dinner staples (otherwise known as a box of Velveeta Shells & Cheese). She was fumbling with her purse and muttering a not-so-quiet “Shit,” when she dropped her keys on the porch. When she stooped lower to get the keys, more toiletries from the market spilled onto the ground and rolled down the steps while her phone continued to buzz. “Oh fuck it all to hell… Oh hello, Mr. Grant!” Claire’s next door neighbor was a kind man, but always appeared perplexed -- whether by her uncontrollable hair, clothes splattered with dirt from the shop, or simply by wondering how she came to be the owner of one of the most coveted real estate properties in New England, Claire would never know.

“Hello dear. Are you alright over there?” His brow was knit as Claire shoved her scattered belongings back into their various bags all while muttering under her breath as to not offend the old man’s sensibilities. She stood, and realized he had most definitely already heard her vocabulary choices.

“Oh, I’m fine, just one of those days!” One of those days where you fall head over heels for the strange guy you met last night and then all your shit falls on the sidewalk because your brain is short-circuiting.

“Well as always, if you need anything, I’m just here and happy to help.”

“Thank you! One day I’ll absolutely take you up on it -- I’m usually less of a mess!” She tried to joke it off, but it sounded a little too much like she was trying to justify herself to neighbor, and herself.

Mr. Grant smiled. “Of course, dear. Ah, you seem to be very popular today!”

Claire’s phone went off for at least the fifth time. She tried to reign in her annoyance, said her goodbyes to the man, and using her foot to kick a back of groceries inside the doorway finally made it inside. She dug around her bag for the phone ready to lash out at whatever telemarketer couldn’t take a hint, but stopped.

Two missed phone calls, four missed texts. The caller left a voicemail for each call. She pressed play on the earlier one.

“Hi Sassenach, uh, Claire, I guess I should call ye Claire since that’s yer name, huh? Shit. Hold on… Okay, let me start over. Hello Claire, this is Jamie. James. James Fraser? From the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken? Of course she kens, ye damn eedjit… Me! Not you! Oh god this is literally the worst call I’ve ever made in my life. Fuck it, I’m just going to try again.” The voicemail abruptly ended. Claire was in stitches at his earnest attempt to just talk to her. At least he wasn’t lying when she heard him say she wouldn’t have to wait long at all for message from him. She pressed play on the second voicemail.

“Hello Claire, I hope this message finds ye well. It was verra nice to see ye today at my shop. It may be the cool, relaxed thing tae do would be to not call ye right away, but ye make me feel anything but cool and relaxed and under control. Ye make me feel… like there’s something different between us, mo nighean donn. As I told ye in the shop, I dinna think I can wait another week to see ye. If you would do me the honor of saying yes, I would verra much like to take ye out for dinner and drinks. Or anything ye wanted to do, really. Dinner and drinks was just my idea… okay I think I’m getting flustered again so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Okay thanks, talk to you soon hopefully, bye. Oh, and this is Jamie Fraser.”

Her laughter had died out the moment he said how she made him feel. Is that really how he felt about her? Did he mean it? Claire had a feeling that Jamie Fraser from the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken didn’t ever say things he didn’t mean. She fell into the couch facing the big bay window, and breathed. Her breath came in heavy, her heartbeats fast. Her thoughts were swirling and her mind racing and everything felt light around here. A little breathlessly, she opened her text app to a number she didn’t recognize.

[+16178256192]: Hello Claire, this is James Fraser from Fraser Literature and from karaoke last night at The 21st Amendment.

Claire actually laughed out loud now. As if she could forget who he was! He had turned her world upside down at the bar, she sang in his shop, she gave him her phone number less than an hour ago! She added his number to her contacts before reading his following texts.

[Jamie]: Okay that was weirdly formal, sorry

[Jamie]: Could ye do me a favor and just delete the first voicemail?

[Jamie]: I was hoping we could maybe set up a time for the date I mentioned earlier at the shop? I would really like to see ye again before next week.

[Jamie]: And maybe before we have to hang out with the Spanish Inquisition. ;)

Claire laughed through her nose at that last one; apparently, Jamie had been grilled about their relationship? Interaction? by Rupert and Angus like Claire had been by Joe and Geillis. She reread all the messages he’d sent her before responding.

[Claire]: Hello James Fraser, owner of Fraser Literature and karaoke. I do indeed remember and even if I didn’t, you’ve reminded me several times in your many incessant texts/voicemails. ;)

Three dots immediately popped up, disappeared, popped up, and a next text appeared.

[Jamie]: I told ye to delete the first voicemail! You weren’t supposed to hear my rambling!

[Claire]: Uh huh, seems likely. ;) Maybe I have a super power that renders you useless around me?

[Jamie]: Well lass you're not far off.

[Jamie]: How’s about that date? What are you doing tonight?

[Claire]: Lol, you’re not tired of seeing my face yet?

[Jamie]: Not yet, not ever.

[Jamie]: Sooooooooo, dinner? ;)

Eventually, they decided on a little Italian place close to Claire’s place. Claire paced around the upstairs bedroom, trying out an outfit only to rip it off and throw it in a pile on the floor. She’d walk to the bathroom, evaluate her look, give a deep breath out her nose, and was now at the point of yelling about how she had no clothes. But, she remembered. In a garment bag at the back of her closet hung a blood-orange dress. A square neckline gave way to a triangle dip in the middle, the hem came just to the middle of her thigh with a cinched waistline.. She smiled, sadly. The last time she wore the dress, she was still in med school. Frank had asked her out to “a dinner with a few medical friends” and promised she could make a few connections to help her down the road. Claire ended up discarded at the door until Frank needed to show her off to a classmate or professor or colleague. She learned he hadn’t told anyone she was also studying medicine, telling her he “wanted to let you stand on your own, darling.” The last time she had worn that dress, she realized she wouldn’t resign herself to a life of being second-best to her partner, to a group of strangers, or to anyone. Tonight was the perfect time to remind herself she was taking things into her own hands yet again -- with Jamie at her side. Her smile turned genuine, and she pulled it off the hanger.

-- -- --

Jamie knew this was unusual. Claire wasn’t the first girl he’d ever been interested in, but if he had any choice in the matter, she would be the last one. Rationally, he should’ve been talking himself out of planning a future with the girl from the bar, but he couldn’t help himself. When he was in high school in Scotland, he kissed a girl who smelled like hairspray and spun sugar and he didn’t like that at all. He kissed a few lasses before rugby games and they’d tell him it was all for good luck. He enjoyed them (didn’t every red-blooded teenage boy enjoy kisses before sports games?), but enjoyment was the extent of it. In college, he had met Annalise. She was smart and kind and lovely, and so bonny. She’d loved his family, loved him. And he had loved her, too. Their relationship started after their first year at school when they became close friends and confidants. She was truly one of the best friends he’d ever had, outside of the lads. When he said he was leaving Scotland to pursue his dreams in the states, she said she was being “abandoned”. Jamie considered asking her to come with him to build a life, but reconsidered. After many long conversations, many tears, many honest words… they had decided their relationship was based in comfort. They loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They loved each other because of their close friendship, their proximity to each other at school, their families’ friendship that developed because of their own. When Jamie confronted Annalise about his realization that he would forever be grateful for her, but didn’t see a romantic future together, she had cried and told him she was so happy -- she felt the same. They split amicably and continued to call and text when they could. Friendships like theirs didn’t just dissipate.

With Claire, things felt… different. Emotional, raw, honest, profound. It felt like something he couldn’t quite place. Something he didn’t have words for. The mere thought of her made his pulse quicken, made his breath catch in his chest. Their connection last night at the bar, their physical connection at the bookshop (god, how it felt to be touched by her…) , their easy banter over text, and then when she gave him her address… he had to sit down. He knew her address exactly. He’d passed it every time he went home, or went to work, or went anywhere at all. She lived in Louisburg Square, across the garden and just to the right of a place he knew intimately. She lived across the garden and just to the right, of his place. They were neighbors. He never knew. He thought back to telling her how they must have just been missing each other for years, but god, he never knew how close they really were.

Jamie finished tying up his leather boots and took a look in the mirror. Hair brushed back, curls falling at his neck, a light blue button-up, a leather jacket. Not too bad. Still not good enough for her, though. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, and left his townhouse. He made his way up his side of the square, and stopped not ten feet up the sidewalk. He saw her. From the second floor, Claire was illuminated by soft light in the window, gauzy curtains framing her. He could only watch in awe as her head tilted to the side to fit an earring to her ear. She reached for a brush and started to comb out a curl. Jamie sighed contentedly when he noticed her hair was still down, curled around her face, wild as ever. Claire gave up with the brush and settled herself to smoothing down creases in her wee dress with delicate hands. Hands that had touched him, healed him, had literally written her name over his heart. She was... ethereal. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he managed to send her a message:

[Jamie]: On my way there Sassenach

[Claire]: No worries, take your time. See you soon!

Jamie rounded the center garden and up to her steps. The light from the window was still glowing, but he could no longer see her. One more text:

[Jamie]: Just outside

He walked up the steps, raised his knuckles to the brass knocker, and paused. First step to forever… His phone buzzed.

[Claire]: I thought I said to take your time? ;) seriously, how’d you get here so fast? Just a sec and I’ll be down!

He did knock then, answered her text to say there was no rush, he wasn’t going anywhere. Behind the door he heard a literal run down the stairs and he stifled a chuckle. There was a jingle of keys, a fairly loud, “Shit!” as the keys hit the floor, a scuttle of shoes around the entry, and the door opened.

Here we go, lad.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter One

Life has been running a mile a minute and I feel like it’s been a century since I’ve contributed to ~Outlander fandom/fic discourse~. So! To get back into the swing of things, I’m going to re-post an old AU of mine: Our Story (shout out to @gotham-ruaidh​ for giving me the courage).

I’ve chosen this one because A) I’m proud of it; it’s the only multi-chapter fic I’ve ever finished, but also B) it’s basically a timeline of my first year in NYC, which will (maybe?) make for some interesting commentary. I’ll post a chapter every other day and include my self-indulgent author notes at the bottom (songs, anecdotes, whatever dumb shit I come up with).

Yes, you can read the entire fic on Ao3 . . . but what’s the fun in that? ;)

Chapter 1

[December 24th, 1989]

It is the beginning of their story, the first time Jamie sees her. The dividing line between 'what was' and 'what would be.' The setting is a Christmas party: an Edinburgh flat, roaring on the cusp of a new decade. Champagne bubbles float in flutes and greetings. 

The players are just two university students, dancing across a stage of shaggy green carpet. Garlands of tinsel trip their feet.

And the opening scene? Well. It goes something like this:

She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins. It is the hard-won earnings of an hour’s wade through mothballs, she says, of a knee-deep dive in a charity shop bargain bin. All of this she relays to Jamie with a smirk, a precocious, all-knowing smile that he will come to know so well.

The lights dim, and her eyes flicker. Lit coals in the flat’s half-dark. She smells of fresh rain, of flowers just beginning to open, and the scent forms a sweet, perceptible weight in the air. It settles on him, around him, when she leans forward, straining to hear his stuttered—

“Hello,” Jamie says, or tries to. He forgets his vowels and it comes as, “Hlllll?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

Claire starts when his hand takes hers, crunches it firmly inside his palm. For Claire, this moment will never lose its clarity, and in the years that follow she will argue that this is where their story begins: nestled in the slight curl of Jamie’s lips; his voice, as smooth as the whisky he offers to pour her; another ugly sweater, this one boasting a lager-stained Santa and a hem of unraveling wool. The red string hangs there for her to tug and close the gulf between them, and she does. Twenty one (him) and twenty two (her) years of strangerhood reduced to nothing—and then, so suddenly, transformed into knowing.

They make small talk in the corner, mentioning the weather (“seasonably cold”) and her biology exam (“after break”). Eventually Claire asks, ���Do you know anyone here?”, and bracketed inside this question is her secret hope that he does not. She wants to believe that Jamie is on her side, that it is only the two of them (it has only ever been the two of them) against the world. She is so used to feeling alone in crowds—but here! Oh, but here in the rainbow glow of tree lights, she feels a part of Something. She holds onto it, wishing her hand was as big as his so that his curling lips and his whisky voice would never seep through her fingers.

“Dinna ken anyone,” Jamie confirms, “though I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

He inclines his head towards the mass of bodies, all gyrating in a singular, chaotic wave. Music plays in the background, oppressive and electronic, as a third year belts Bowie between tokes. Jamie lets it fade away, forgets it all—the noise, how to blink, how to breathe. Forgets everything except her.

Claire wrinkles her nose.

“The problem with these people is that they think they’re interesting.” She is yelling into his ear but even so, it seems strangely intimate. Every word exchanged is a secret between them, one they tuck inside their pockets, will place under their pillows when they lay their heads to sleep. “But they aren’t. Not even remotely!”

“Weel, fortunately you’ve met me now.”

“Mmm. But are you truly interesting or only remotely?”

“That’s for you to decide, lass. You being the expert on such things.”

Claire grins at the floor. “You haven’t even told me your name, y’know.”

“James Fraser,” he says, all too quickly, and he’s unreasonably embarrassed. James, he thinks. How many ‘James’ were in this very room, wearing equally hideous and soiled sweaters? How many ‘James’ had she met in Scotland? Would she even remember him, one of 337 (to be precise), after this night? (She would, of course. During her biology exam, she will think of James Fraser and leave fifteen questions blank. She will get a C—a grade as average as his name.)

“But you can call me Jamie,” he adds over the roar.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp!”

And Jamie laughs—a beautiful laugh, the best laugh, a laugh Claire will spend the rest of her life wanting to hear (she will have to work harder on certain days).

“If I call ye anything, it’ll be ‘Sassenach’. Whereabouts in England are ye from?”

And Claire smiles—a beautiful smile, the best smile, a smile Jamie will spend the rest of his life trying to earn (finding success and failure in turns).

“Oxford by birth,” Claire says. “But from nowhere, really.”

She pauses, hearing the third-year shout, “Bowie, man! Greatest artist of all time!” and swears the kid is wrong. It’s God who was the greatest artist, and this six-foot deity with his lager-stained knit was his chef d’ouevre.

“Do you want to make this night interesting, Jamie?”

“Remotely interesting?”

“More than remotely.”

“That depends. What d’ye have in mind?”

Claire reaches for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes; she squeezes back. She leads him through the throng. He follows, licking his lips and at her heels.

(Who knew it could ever be this easy? Falling in love.)

Note: I started this fic with a variation of the last line (“Who knew how easy it was to fall in love?”) and worked my way backwards. I only had a vague idea of what I wanted to write: a cross between Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies, David Nicholls’ One Day, and the movie Blue Jay. Ah, ambition! I ultimately veered away from the last one, but leaned very heavily on Fates and Furies (more on that later) and stuck to One Day’s idea of tracking a relationship over the course of multiple decades. I thought I could do this in a couple of chapters, but after I wrote this opener—in the middle of the night; anxious as fuck because I was a one week away from moving to New York (also more on that later)—I chucked my original five-chapter outline. Still had no idea where I was going with it though.

In retrospect, I like this chapter as a whole, although I realize Jamie/Claire sound like pretentious snobs (the result of my Fates and Furies obsession!) and wish I carried the red string image throughout the rest of the story.

[evolving-dreamer]

Hi there❤ I read you're watching Outlander and I'm so happy this series has new fans! I'm actually doing a rewatch of the first two seasons, my absolute favourites. They're just p e r f e c t. However, rewatching 1x15 and especially 1x16 hurt just as much as it did the first time -maybe more 'cause this time I knew what was going to happen and I focused on every expression, every detail...💔- so, I wanted to know your impressions of those episodes, those scenes, the finale. How did you react? Did you see it coming?

I LOVE THIS ASK, NONNIE

Ok, I'm about to finish season 3, so my head is elsewhere rn. (@bellamyblakru this is safe for you to read, no spoilers here)

First of all, I may get what you're saying, I miss the ol' times when claire and jamie were getting to know each other and they were just living their lives in Scotland and all they had to worry about were the occasional red coats. I really loved their firsts interactions, promises, and the realization that they really wanted to be together.

It all seemed so simple, so lovely. Yet again, that's how every great series start, isn't it? The story has to evolve, obviously, but I miss it.

About season 1 final episodes... nope, I never saw that coming. I have to say that Jamie really is one lucky guy, he always ends up getting away from the prisons they put him in. But it makes me sad that he's spent the better part of his life incarcerated or being tortured or simply as a fugitive.

When Randall had him, I was so, so mad. Because they literally had the chance to kill/incapacitate him when he had Claire imprisoned, but they were all in for the peaceful rescue. And Claire wanted to keep history intact. I say, fuck around and find out. The bitch randall deserved worse. And in this specific world there isn't any kind of "time travel police" and there haven't been real repercusions in the future. It's literally as if the storyline has been written in stone, so you really can't mess things up. It's as if no matter what you do in the past, it's already been taken into consideration in said storyline. So yeah, I wanted them to get rid of randall no matter what.

OHHH and knowing that he ended up in that prison bc he was 'following Claire's song' dude that really was sad. Murtagh's plan worked, but not quite. (Shout out to Murtagh, Rupert, and Angus those cuties).

It impacted me what jamie went through in the prison, and it made me feel even more sad that the rape happened right after Claire found him. It wasn't like 'oh, we found you and you'd been through that already' nope, they literally got his hopes up, he fought for the woman he loved with renewed force (killing a man with a chair??? That requires some encouragement) and then Randall raped him. Also I... didn't expect it to have such an impact on claire and jamie's relationship. The man really was a sadist and managed to affect them like that.

AND even after everything he'd done to Jamie, Claire AND Fergus, claire was still trying to keep the man alive. Idk how they managed to be so civil at first when they saw him in France.

In general, I had some idea of where this series was going, even if I generally avoid spoilers at all costs. It was almost impossible not to see some pictures of claire and jamie together, but older, so when I saw 2x1, I just knew they were eventuallly gonna get back together. AND I knew they were gonna travel to France, but I never expected it to be as long and as impactful as it ended up being.

For jesus h. Roosevelt christ, I thought this series was all about scotland, I never imagined they were gonna travel as much as they have.

BTW, this couple has an amzing knack for finding each other through time and space. It's really impressive and worth mentioning.

I know this is too long, thanks for asking and reading, nonnie, it's just that, as you know, this can be really emotional. My DM is open to keep talking about this!!

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Ch.26: Over the Sea

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?

We’re coming down the home stretch folks! Our get away car is in the harbor! We just gotta get em there! 

You can find a Master List of chapters here on tumblr or read the whole thing on AO3. 

February 21st, 1744; The Abbey, Scotland Jamie.

I stifled a groan in Claire’s curls as the church bell tolled three, my arms reflexively tightening around her as I tried to ignore the fact that it was time to get out of bed.

I hated to wake her.

The night had not been an easy one for my wife — were they ever these days? — and Claire only just managed to fall back asleep, but I knew she’d need a wee bit of extra time to dress this morning… as her appearance was vital to our ruse.

Smoothing the tousled curls away from her brow, I placed a kiss on her temple, then trailed one after the other until I reached the base of her neck. She stirred at my touch, her eyelids flickering and one corner of her mouth pulling upwards towards a smile, but didn’t wake. My hand lowered to her hip, then slid along the distended curve of her abdomen as my lips found hers.

Her own hands moved then, reaching and finding me in the darkness.

“Good morning,” I murmured into her palm, brushing a kiss across it as her hand drifted round to the back of my head.

One eye cracked open to scowl at me at this greeting, her words slightly jumbled but still coherent, “Thisn’t morning, y’oaf. Dark’out.”

I curled my lips between my teeth to keep from grinning at her offended expression, the innocence of slumber still lingering on her face and made her appear very much like a spoiled, pouting child.  

Claire felt my suppressed amusement and struggled to open both her eyes. Her brow furrowed with the effort it took to spear me with what I’m sure was meant to be her best look of consternation, but it fell short. I kissed her soundly in an effort to keep from laughing outright, rousing us both completely and bringing us directly back to why we’d risen at this inhospitable hour of the morn.

She sighed a moment later, a wistful look dancing across her now clear eyes.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” I swallowed hard, excitement mixing with the fear of the unknown as my stomach churned.

“Time to leave.”

... Half past 4am.

The wind howled around us as we stepped from the shelter of the abbey out into the open courtyard, cautiously picking our way across the frozen cobblestones. It’s nasty chill bit at any patch of exposed skin it could sink its teeth into and my cheeks and hands were already red and raw from ensuring the rig was properly loaded with our things.

I hastily grabbed for the carriage door, lunging for it before it was really in reach as I was eager to get Claire out of the cold, but she was of a different mind.

“You won’t say a word if we’re stopped, will you?” she inquired, pulling up short and studying my face intently. “Or only in French if you must? That cap’ll do to hide your hair, but there’s no mistaking your voice.”

My hand instinctively went to the back of my neck, feeling the rough wool of my knitted hat. It would keep me warm, certainly, but pulled low as it was, it went a long way to hide the telltale auburn hair that was plastered all over my broadsheets.

“Aye, er, oui Madame,” I promised, squeezing her hand reassuringly with a forced smile as I helped her onto the first step.

Wobbly as a new foal, I steadied her as she picked her way into the dark carriage. Murtagh held his lantern high, giving her light to see as she eased herself into the padded cushions and meticulously arranged the folds of her cloak.

“The same goes for you, hmm?” Claire’s head snapped up to look at us, her gaze locking onto my godfather’s. Her eyes narrowed in a rather unreadable expression of consternation mixed with something akin to a challenge as she continued, “Not a word from the both of you. Let Francis do the work and the talking until we’re aboard ship.”

I caught the twitch of my godfather’s lips out the corner of my eye — despite his heavy beard and the early morning darkness — and marveled yet again at the relationship the two of them had formed while I was away.

“And I can quite handle myself, thank you very much,” she added in afterthought and under her breath, almost as if to reassure herself as it was to us.

Claire caught the mirth bubbling up beneath my gathering nerves and reached out her hand to me. I took it in an instant, leaning in and keeping my voice low, even though I was sure no one but our present company could hear us.

“May your brilliant mind and unbridled tongue keep us safe, my love,” I blessed her in French, then dropped my hand to the swell of our children. “And may you both bide until we are safe.”

She crossed herself, the barest hint of a shudder running through her, and I dove into the carriage beside her, pulling her into my arms and vowing, “No harm will come to you, Claire. I give you my word.”

“I know,” she murmured back after a moment and I loosened my grip.

Sitting back, she waved me off.

“We need to leave if we’re going to catch the tide,” she insisted with a smile that gained confidence by the second. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I blinked at her for a moment, which made her laugh — a heartily welcome sound — and I shook my head with a smile of my own.

“Oui, Madame,” I stepped back onto the ledge of the doorway, “I am entirely at your service, my Lady Beauchamp.”

She nodded curtly and dismissed me fully, all but shoving me out into cold with a single look.

I grinned at her and exited the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind me. Turning, I moved to join Murtagh on the bench up top but hesitated a moment before climbing aboard.

That they might be safe… both she and the children.

My eyes slid shut, my heart offering up the rest of a prayer that I could not put into words.

“Come along, a bhalaich.”

Murtagh’s command was urgent yet gentle and I reflexively moved to do so, hastily crossing myself before climbing up beside him with a fluidity that hadn’t been mine since before my injury. I nodded to him and with a flick of the reins, he set us into motion.

I held my breath as we passed through the main gate and left our safe haven behind.

There would be no going back.

We hadn’t traveled long before we encountered the first crofter’s hut, still shut up and slumbering in the early morning dew. I scanned the road ahead and caught sight of a small copse of trees off to the left side. This particular stretch of road wasn’t bounded by forest, so it would make a perfect lookout post, should a soldier or two want to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the abbey.

And they certainly would.

My gut clenched as we approached, wishing the lanterns posted on the corners of the carriage were bright enough to see what we were about to ride into. The mare on the right snorted to her teammate and I flinched. It took everything within me to not grab the reins from Murtagh’s hands and turn us around.

“Steady,” Murtagh coaxed in the language Claire had instructed us… one I knew he didn’t particularly care to use.

To anyone listening, it’d be logical that he would have been speaking to the horses, but I knew it was intended for me.

… Claire.

The carriage began to slow and I spat out an emphatic, “Fuck!”

I bit down hard on my lower lip, the sharp pain competing against my rolling stomach and spasming back. The deep, frozen ruts of the lane did little to ensure a smooth ride to the harbor and the combination of my raw nerves and the carraige’s jolting, jostling motions were enough to set me completely on edge.

Lifting a hand to the ridiculous bonnet atop my head, I adjusted it slightly and then arranged my skirts around me. Our success was dependent on my looking every inch a respectable woman of wealth and I was determined to have everything in place when that door opened. We came to a complete stop long before I was ready and I forced myself to take as deep of a breath as was possible in my current state.

Here we bloody go, Beauchamp.

Male voices began to bark orders, sending a shiver down my spine, and I steeled myself for the gust of frigid air mingled with danger that was sure to come at any moment. I didn’t have to wait long, for the door opened in the next second and I saw the face of Lady Margaret’s most trusted footman, Francis.

His expression gave nothing away as he offered his hand in assistance — the as yet unseen redcoats obviously requested I present myself — and I donned my most affected air, slipping into the personage I’d crafted in my wakeful hours of the night.

“Tell them I wish to speak to their commanding officer,” I sniffed, drawing my cloak tighter around me, “and do shut the door, Francis, or I shall catch my death of a chill.”

One brow twitched and I caught the briefest of smiles flicker across the chap’s face before he disappeared back into the night, doing exactly as I’d asked.

More voices sounded in conversation outside the carriage, taking on an air of confusion as a whole, with the exception of Francis’ Lowland lilt.

“Ye better do as th’Lady asks, ye ken,” he warned and I couldn’t help but grin in the dark in spite of my nerves. “She’s not one t’bide... an’ she’s a ship t’meet.”

There was a shuffling of feet and a clanking of metal, but one person had obviously moved off and all discussion faded away into nothing. A few moments passed in anxious silence until a new disgruntled voice suddenly asked, “Have you found something, then?”

Bile rose at the back of my throat as I thought of them finding Jamie up above me, but I didn’t waver from my plan.

Negatory remarks followed the new voice’s inquiry and the officer — for indeed, he must be — was informed of the situation.

Francis opened the door again and I launched into my tirade, “What is the meaning of this inconvenience, Captain?! If my ship departs without me, I shall ensure that you are stripped of your position, paraded through the streets barefoot in nothing but sackcloth and ashes, and unable to find a place of employment as anything but His Majesty’s scullery maid!”

The officer stood slack jawed just outside the door in perfect response to my tirade, obviously not expecting a well-bred, highly enraged, loyal British subject on the road at this hour.

“Do come in and explain yourself,” I huffed, beckoning him forward, “you must have a reason for holding up honest traffic in the middle of the night like a Highland bandit.”

His mouth snapped shut at this and his brows rose all the way to the edge of his wig as he climbed inside, a lantern in hand. I blinked at the sudden brightness, but it only helped to permanently affix my scowl.

“Now, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” I titled my head to the side, feigning interest while looking very much like an addled bird, I was sure.

“Captain George Brooks, my lady, of, ah, His Majesty’s Third Battalion,” he cleared his throat, stammering slightly. “I, well, I sincerely apologize for Private Richardsen’s rather forward behavior and, well, the delay.”

He studied me quite openly, his gaze taking in my fine clothing and warm cloak. The captain seemed to take me for what I appeared to be, for he quickly continued, “You see, Madam, we have word that an escaped convict has sought sanctuary within the abbey and are stopping and searching every conveyance that leaves the place.”

I stiffened at the word convict, but used it to my advantage.

“I must tell you, Captain, that I was the guest of the good brethren and can assure you no such man exists,” I leveled him with a look that made him squirm. “And, certainly, no one of such quality is among my men.”

“I consider the Scottish brutes to be a detestable sort and am on my way now to leave this godforsaken country,” I sniffed, forcing myself not to choke on the absolute fallacy of my own words.

Captain Brooks nodded at this, but it was clear from his gathering frown he had questions for me.

“There’s a respectable tavern in the village where my men are quartered,” he shifted, leaning forward slightly. “Why stay with the heretics when other suitable — and dare I say safer — lodging was available?”

I snorted, feigning disgust, “I’d rather sleep in the gutter than under the roof of a Highland villager, Captain… and as for the heretic Papists, you forget that a good many of His Majesty’s subjects are such.”

He caught sight of the jet rosary on display around my neck and had the good grace to wince.

“My apologies, Lady…,” he trailed off.

“Beauchamp,” I supplied for him, ready to rattle off my concocted scenario. “My husband is Lieutenant Commander Alexander Beauchamp of the Royal Navy and I’m meeting him in Portsmouth… that is, if you and your men will permit us to be on our way.”

My companion shifted uncomfortably once more, groveling, “Yes, well, I see there is no reason that you should not be allowed to travel on. I shall send a man ahead to alert the guard at the port. They’ll see that you board and depart without interference.”

“How good of you, Captain,” I commented, forcing a smile as a sudden wave of nausea overtook me.

Hurry up, Captain, or you shall be wearing my breakfast.

... Jamie.

The captain strode out the door of the carriage, nearly knocking Francis off his feet, and beckoned wildly to his lieutenant. I tensed, nearly grabbing the reins out of Murtagh’s hands, but instead steeled myself as I caught his orders on the wind.

“Ride ahead,” he motioned for a horse to be brought round, bellowing, “Tell Phillips to let them through without trouble and ensure no one delays their departure... And If I hear that so much as a seagull spoke out of turn to the Lady Beauchamp, I shall have both your head and your commission, Hawkins!”

Lieutenant Hawkins swung into the saddle with a barked yes, sir and was barreling down the path ahead of us a moment later.

I blinked in surprise, then let the darkness of the night hide the beginnings of a smile that warmed my face.

Well done, mo nighean donn.

…

Claire.

The remainder of the ride to the harbor was something akin to cruel and unusual punishment.

The road had gotten better some time ago — the carriage no longer pitching from side to side with every rut we hit — but I still felt every stone, every bump we drove over. The muscles of my lower back and left hip spasmed with a ferocity that I had never experienced, protesting their rough handling in a language that I could not ignore. My stomach rolled, my chest heaved, and it was everything I could do not to lose my cookies all over Lady Margaret’s velvet cushions.

Breathe, Beauchamp.

I slid my eyes shut. It was dark as the deepest cave around me, but somehow the feeling of closing my eyes still gave me a barrier to the outside world.

You did it.

We’d passed through the checkpoint undetected, sent on our way the very man in charge of the entire operation. I couldn’t let my guard down yet, though, couldn’t celebrate this victory until we were really, truly well on our way on the open sea.

I shook my head, trying to fixate on something steady, something outside of the tossing, tumbling barrel I was currently deposited in.

Jamie.

I did allow myself to smile then.

What did he think of it all? Of our walking through right under the redcoats' noses?

I was thankful he had Murtagh at his side through the whole ordeal, but I still wished I could have been with him. For my presence beside him to steady his nerves.

Who are you kidding, Beauchamp?

You couldn’t have climbed up there next to him if your life depended on it.

Well… maybe only if it truly depended on it.

My hands moved, my arms cradling the curve of my distended abdomen as I shifted against the seat cushions. Climbing aboard this conveyance had been interesting enough… I didn’t want to think of what getting aboard the Demeter would entail.

The footman Francis was a short, sender slip of a thing, and while that suited his career perfectly, it wouldn’t suffice should I need assistance boarding the ship.

No one would think twice of Jamie’s strong form helping me… would they?

My heart lurched to a stop, skipped a beat, then thundered on as the carriage began to slow and I realized the next hurdle was upon us. We didn’t stop, but continued to crawl along for many minutes, allowing me time to right myself and prepare for act two of my facade.

When Francis did open the door… I was ready.

… Around 5am, Aboard the Demeter; Jamie.

A dhia, what a woman.

I shook my head in amused astonishment as I watched Claire’s rigid form dismiss Colonel Phillips with a flick of her hand, then turned to the captain of the ship and pointedly asked for shelter from the cold. We hadn’t the time to inform him of her ruse before we boarded, but he gruffly acquiesced and motioned for her to follow him into the cabin.

Seeing that Phillips had disembarked and none of his men were looking towards the ship, I slipped into the shadows of the gathering dawn and trailed after them.

“I do apologize for my tone on deck, Captain,” I heard her sigh as I entered the small, cluttered room. “We sincerely appreciate your kindness and understand the risk you’re taking in bringing us aboard.”

“Aye, well,” he shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what to make of my wife, “‘Tis nothin’ much… so long as ye stay within an’ out of my men’s way, ye ken.”

I’d gathered in our short time on deck that the crew’s opinion of my wife was something akin to an omen of bad luck — as a woman aboard ship often was — and had no intention of letting her out that door again until we were disembarking onto French soil.

Claire turned as the ship’s captain left, realizing I was there for the first time and her face completely crumpled. She looked as though her body was about to follow suit and was at her side in a moment, gathering her into my arms and tucking her head securely beneath my chin. I could feel her begin to tremble from head to toe against me and looked wildly around for a place for her to sit.

Not readily finding one, she clung to me as we stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly with the motion of the ship.

“Ifrinn,” I muttered when I found I could finally speak, “I shouldna let you do tha’, mo chridhe.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” came her soft reply, muffled by the front of my coat.

I shrugged at this, knowing she was right, but wishing my heavily pregnant wife hadn’t had to be the one to navigate us through the lion’s den.

“But ye did verra well, indeed,” I had to admit, more than a hint of pride coloring my voice.

She snorted in objection to this and I grinned, turning back her hood and shedding her of that ridiculous cap in one movement. Placing a kiss amid her curls, my hand cupped the back of her head.

Lifting her chin, she looked up at me, fatigue evident in her eyes. I kissed her soundly then and she turned in my arms, looping her own around my neck with a contented sigh.

“Are you cold?” I asked, placing a kiss on her warm neck but had felt her chilled cheek against my own.

“No, not very,” she rested her head against my shoulder. “It’s much better in here.”

I nodded, agreeing as my gaze lifted and I began to examine the quarters we’d been given.

Captain’s quarters they may be, but it was also clearly a storeroom for a good portion of  his cargo. Crates stacked upon crates loomed around us like a forest of trees, with bundles and baskets cast about on the floor in unorganized chaos. There didn’t seem to be a bed to be found  in any resemblance of the word and this gave me no amount of disquiet.

Resigning myself to a sturdy crate that was roughly sitting height to my left, I slowly moved Claire in that direction, easing her down onto it as I went in search for better accommodations. She flapped a weary hand at me, encouraging me on my way as she loosened her stays and let out a shaky breath.

I wove in and out of the stacks of goods, desperate to find a place for my wife to lay down. There were large wooden trunks and canvas wrapped parcels, small wooden crates and barrels of various volumes and heights… but no bed. I discovered something resembling a hammock slung in one corner, but as that would never do, I dismissed it immediately and continued my search, doubling back and returning a different way than I’d come.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice had me leaping over a canvas wrapped bundle and grabbing for the bucket I’d caught out the corner of my eye. I reached her just in time for her to deposit her breakfast in the receptacle, her eyes wide and cheeks gone an unearthly pale.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” I gushed, keeping a stray curl from getting in the way of things. “I shouldn’t have left yer side… tis the same wi’ me, too.”

In truth, our current rhythmic motion was nothing compared to what we’d experience once we left the harbor, but I had the good sense to let that be.

Claire shook her head, glowering into the depths of the bucket and grumbled, “It was that bloody roller coaster.”

“Mhmm,” I commented noncommittally, not entirely sure what that was but fairly confident she meant the carriage ride here. “Aye, well, ye’re off it now.”

She retched again, as if the very mention of the conveyance had set her stomach into motion again.

“Shh, my own, it will be better in a moment,” I assured her in Gaelic as I knelt beside her, smoothing back the hair from her face and rubbing her back.

Offering her my handkerchief when she appeared to be done, I took the fragrant bucket from her and set it aside, though within arm’s reach should she need it again.

“Are you alright?” she squeaked, the color beginning to creep back into her cheeks.

I stared at her, my brows nearly to my hairline as I asked incredulously, “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” the frown was back, but I could see that the wheels were churning furiously behind those amber eyes. “You were just paraded in front of an entire battalion of redcoats… that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

I shook my head, shrugging off her concern, assuring, “I’m fine, Sassenach. They didna give me so much as a second glance, thanks to you.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

A slow smile tugged at my lips at her slow, deliberate enunciation of every syllable of this declaration.  

“Aye, I ken jus’ what ye mean,” I reached for her hands, twining my fingers between hers, “an’ I think ye ken me better than I ken myself, at times.”

She snorted at this, dismissing the notion.

“If I do, then it’s the same with me,” she muttered, wiping at her face.

I grinned, squeezing her hands tightly.

“Oh, aye, mo nighean donn… I do, indeed.”

[narastories]

Happy 291st Birthday, Lord John Grey! - A Natal Chart Reading for our dearest English Lord

This is very different from what I usually share here. By now you are all aware that we are celebrating the 291st birthday of Lord John Grey of Outlander.

For this occasion I took it upon myself to do a natal chart reading for him.

This is astrology applied to a fictional character, you have been warned. Continue at your own discretion.

Disclaimers:

I am not an astrologer

This is made in the spirit of appreciation of this character and his story. The purpose of this is pure fun on my part and hopefully to entertain some of you as well. Plus, maybe to provide some character-study-style insight or inspiration.

The character of Lord John Grey belongs to Diana Gabaldon - duh 

John’s birth date is canon. The time has been arbitrarily chosen by me. Yes, it is important, because there are a lot of moving parts to a natal chart. I have literally cycled through the day by the hour, compared charts and decided on the one that I’ve found most fitting to his character. Which, is by the way best practice, when you do not know your or someone else’s exact birth time, but are somewhat familiar with their character. And considering that even if our dearest Lord John were an actual historical figure, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have his exact birth time from 1729, so I don’t feel bad about my process.

The examples I may give here are both from the books and the show, but nothing too specific that would be considered spoiler.

Lastly, this is all my interpretation both about the astrological meanings and of his character. Feel free to disagree with me. Politely, if you please.

So, in good Outlander time-travelling fashion let’s transport ourselves back to the day Lord John Grey was born and look up to the sky to see what it has to tell us.

Sun in Gemini

Lord John is a Gemini, which makes him clever and witty. He takes pride in his intellect and uses it to reach his goals. He is extremely adaptable, and instantly finds his footing in the most various settings, whether that’s London’s high society, a remote village in Scotland, or a two week fishing trip in the wilderness of the Colonies.

As someone born under the sign of the Twins there is a natural duality to his personality, that we can observe many times. He is capable of great tenderness, yet he can also be extremely fierce. Brutal is perhaps not the right word, but as much as he is a gentleman, we do see him engaged in physical fight, where he is by no means unskilled. You can’t say it’s always self-defense either.

He often has an internal conflict between heart and mind, between duty and emotion.

Geminis make good actors, and Lord John is exceptional in that too. He has to be as a gay man in the 18th century, which creates another duality between the life he’s supposed to live as a solider and as a Lord, a respected member of high-society and all the things he craves but has to hide.

As a Gemini he is a great communicator. Good with people, small talk comes easy for him, but engaging in a deep intellectual conversation is what really fires him up (Shakespear, anyone? :P) He is pleasant to be around and has a good sense of humour. His skills are diverse and he makes friends easily as he moves from one adventure to the other.

Geminis are prone to restlessness, which Lord John demonstrates beautifully by fidgeting with every little knick-knack that accidentally lands between his well-manicured hands. (Why does he stash them away in his pockets? I’m afraid astrology has no answer for his accidental kleptomania.)

His Sun is in the Ninth House of mental and physical explorations. Long journeys of the mind and the body are prominent in his life and essential to his personality. He speaks multiple languages and uses them to express himself on a very personal and natural level - aka swearing in the language most appropriate to the level of shit he’s gotten himself into this time.

Libra Rising

His rising sign is Libra, which sheds light on how he presents himself and what he wants to be known for. People with Libra Ascendant have natural grace and a good style. Lord John has all of that and finds himself often in the spotlight for it. He doesn’t have to struggle to be successful, but more than anything he wants to be known as a kind and loving person, and I would argue he succeeds in that.

His rising sign is important, because his natal chart is ruled by Venus, the planet of love and beauty. He has a romantic nature, and has the ability to connect with anyone, anywhere at any given time.

Libra rising people are said to be very attractive and compatible with almost anyone and as we say around here Lord John Grey would have chemistry with a lamppost.

This doesn’t just extend to romantic partners, although he is the happiest when in a romantic relationship. He puts others at ease and is genuinely likeable.

He feels obligated to balance the situations he finds himself in, therefore he is a natural diplomat always striving to harmonize and negotiate. It also makes him a good listener.

He has a great sense of fairness and injustice angers him. He is social, has a generally positive outlook on life and is inspired by nature and art.

Moon in Aquarius

The moon sign represents the hidden side of someone’s personality, their emotions, their needs. It is also jokingly referred to as the “drunk you”, so let’s see who Lord John is after a few glasses of good Scottish whiskey.

At first glance there is nothing scandalous here, Aquarius is the most favorable sign for the Moon to be in. This gives him sensitivity and good perception. He tries to understand others’ perspective, and is rather idealistic.

However, people with the Moon in Aquarius are prone to sudden outbursts. How many times does he put his foot in his mouth and gets punched or called out to a duel for it? Yeah…

He can also push other’s over the edge emotionally, exactly because he is so perceptive, which actually does happen when he is drunk. This is not out of malice, but either out of pure authenticity or just because he knows it will get the other person out of a place of stagnation.

He hides a rebellious, progressive and unconventional soul under that well-tailored waistcoat of his and it does come out sometimes.

Ideally he needs to have a healthy outlet for this, a partner who appreciates his sometimes idiosyncratic nature and occasional eccentricities. In turn he won't flinch in the midst of the most challenging situations, because he’s not afraid of chaos.

He wants to find solutions that work for everyone and can neglect his own needs in the process.

If that wasn’t enough air for you, he also has a-

Grand Fucking Trine in the air signs

Which is a pretty big deal. (Moon in Aquarius - Pluto in Libra - Neptune and Mars in Gemini)

These influences all help and strengthen each other. He has a brilliant mind, his Intellect is exceptional, he has a deep concern for law and duty, and an unusually sharp sixth sense of unearthing shocking revelations.

He has a magnetic personality, great ability to express himself, and therefore leaves a lasting impression on others. He is able to inspire and lead others and his need for harmony and cooperation makes him a great negotiator.

Lots and lots of air influence, which also means that in the battle of the mind and the heart unfortunately the mind wins and he lets his heart break instead.

Let’s get back to Venus and love for a sec.

With this much air in the chart for him everything starts in the mind. He experiences desire in the mind first. He must have a great intellectual connection with someone, before their relationship could blossom into a romance (Venus in Gemini). His entry point to sex is also through words (Mars in Gemini). Think about all the witty foreplay and low-key dirty talk in the LJG books. And also, khm chess games...

Where does that occasional intensity and dominance come from, you ask?

Well, he does have Uranus in Scorpio (semisquare Venus in Gemini, semisquare his Sun in Gemini) which would explain why he is not always displaying the lighthearted, fun, fleeting ways of a Venus-in-Gemini lover. He does have a lot of sexual partners. But then we’ve already established that he would have chemistry with a lamppost.

His chart is heavy on the 9th and 10th houses of long distance travel, career and public standing, and these are probably the most important aspects of his life. He is a comparatively lucky person, with a lively social life, charming personality and strong morality (Jupiter in Cancer).

His great trauma lies in what squares Neptune and Mars in the 9th house. There is an opposition between his sexuality and dreams, and what ideas he is allowed to express publicly. He is sensitive to what others think (Mercury in Cancer), picks up signals very well and is therefore acutely aware of what he can and cannot say.

Here lies the greatest disappointment and loss in his life (Saturn in Pisces). He chooses to make personal sacrifices for the benefit of others.

His Chiron is in the 7th house of partnership and marriage, which I also find interesting. This minor planet get’s called the Wounded Healer. It makes me think about what Claire and Jamie says about wounds and Lord John. And it also makes me think about his marriage.

Well, if that doesn’t make for an interesting personality, I don’t know what does. I hope this has been at least half as fun to read as it was to write. Let me know what you think.

[iihappydaysii]

Jamie is attracted to Lord John, which makes him very confused and angry, in this essay I will… okay, but I’m actually going to write this essay, so buckle up.

Last night, I read Jamie talking to the others at Castle Leoch in Outlander about his experiences as a teenager with the Duke of Sandringham. First of all, the duke is disgusting and needs a very swift kick to the balls—but even so, Jamie doesn’t take the duke so seriously. He finds an amount of humor in it, even if it’s in part just how he’s chosen to deal with it. Also, Jamie is surrounded by men that, though they’re far from “allies”, they’re not being particularly hateful about it. Of course, all of this discussion occurs before the rape and torture Jamie experiences from Black Jack Randall. This filled in a piece of what I’ve been trying to understand about Jamie’s relationship with Lord John.

Before Lord John, the Duke and Black Jack are Jamie’s experience with—I strongly hesitate to say gay men—but Jamie sees a connection between these three men based on their attractions to men, however disturbingly they present in the Duke and Black Jack. The Duke preys it seems to be exclusively or near exclusively on young men. Claire upon meeting him says that it’s all the boys under eighteen that seem wary of him, as they’ve been warned (I’m increasingly glad that as far as we know the Duke got nowhere near young Lord John). Of course, we have Black Jack who is an 18th century version of a serial rapist/serial killer. Jamie experiences a horrific trauma at his hands. Not only did he rape and hurt Jamie physically and very, very seriously, he also found ways to make Jamie find pleasure in it. And thinking of Jamie’s casual reaction to the Duke’s inappropriate advances, it makes me think Jamie’s particular reaction to this form of torture isn’t based on a simple baseline homophobia.

A) Jamie feels guilt for getting “pleasure” out of it because he’s married and faithful to Claire. Also, how could she ever love him if he did (his thoughts)? B) What does it say about him that he could find any kind of release/pleasure at the hands of such a horrific man and in the midst of an incredible amount of pain? C) Later, after the rape and torture, if he experiences any attraction towards a man—as it seems he might towards John, I’ll explain more later—how can he ever know if those feelings only exist because of Black Jack? And, even if he can parse that out, he can’t stomach the thought that he shares anything in common with the Duke or his rapist.

Enter Lord John Grey. Jamie likes him, despite the fact that he’s the Governor of the Ardsmuir Prison, despite the fact that he once tried to kill Jamie. At first, there’s mistrust and contempt there, but eventually, they grow to like and respect each other and enjoy time spent in each other’s company. Dining together, swapping stories and playing chess. Given Jamie’s strong reaction to John’s simple touch to his hand (a death threat, followed by basically years of contempt). If Black Jack had never happened, I think, at worst, he would’ve given an 18th century “Sorry, man. I don’t swing that way.” John would’ve apologized and that would’ve been that. Jamie knows John is no real threat to him. Jamie has little that can be leveraged against him, as Black Jack was able to leverage Claire against him. Our sweet David Berry gives us a false impression of the size difference between Jamie and Lord John. He’s near a foot taller and physically dwarfs John. Not to mention, in the show, Jamie says defiantly to John (before their friendship) that he can do his best to torture him but there’s nothing he can do that hasn’t already been done. He doesn’t seem particularly afraid.

I’ve mentioned this before, but its mentioned in the Lord John series that John is actually pretty good at figuring out who’s into dudes and who isn’t. He’d have to be to survive long, doing what he does, especially as he doesn’t go to the brothels. He ‘gets it wrong’ with Jamie and it’s likely a mix between wishful thinking/strong feelings and simple misinterpretation, but John is smart and he senses something. So he acts on it in as gentle a way as possible (not knowing anything of what happened to Jamie with Black Jack, he won’t realize Jamie has been raped at all until he guesses it in that painful scene in BOTB, which I’ll discuss in a moment. Firstly though I want to mention some things that come later that relate to suggestion that Jamie is attracted to John in some way, beyond John believing so enough that he takes such a large risk. For one, Claire will end up sensing something between John and Jamie, enough that it bothers her and she recognizes it for what it is, at least what it is for John. For two, we know there’s a connection between violence and sex for Jamie, we can see it in how he is ‘in bed’ with Claire. Anytime John’s attraction to Jamie gets brought up, he responds violently, despite John not being any actual threat to him—something he knows for certain by the time John is saying “We were both fucking you”—and yet, how does he react then? Violence. (I can’t fuck you, so I’ll hit you. Two sides of the same coin for Jamie.)

Later, he’ll even admit to Claire that when he was falling apart after William was born that it was John who was able to put him back together again, and that he’s angry about it. He’s angry that John can touch his heart in that way.

Anyway, let’s rewind a bit, so we can discuss why exactly Jamie would be so angry about any possible attraction to John based on how he sees gay men (and how he believes he’d have to see himself if he were to accept the way John is able to make him feel).

The scene where John comes to Jamie for help figuring out what to do about Percy’s impending trial is where we can see this issue most clearly laid out. First of all, Jamie has a VERY strong reaction to realizing Percy was John’s lover.

I can’t in honor see him hanged for a crime whose guilt I share—and from whose consequences I am escaped by chance alone.

This is all it takes for Jamie to realize that Percy is John’s lover. Though John doesn’t directly state that, Jamie senses it, is smart enough to figure it out—and does not react well. (Also, the word Jamie uses is ‘catamite’, which is a term from ancient Rome and Greece that means ‘a boy kept for homosexual practices—and John corrects him to lover).

They begin to argue it at this point, basically the concept of whether or not men can be lovers. Jamie, whose experience is limited to the Duke and Black Jack, knows intimately that what those men experienced was not love, but selfishness and power trip to varying degrees. He’s projected that on to all men who experience attraction to men—a burden he would have to hang around his own neck as well—if he were to feel a similar (as maybe he did when John touched his hand in Ardsmuir… in that moment, before he pulled away.)

Only men who lack the ability to possess a woman or cowards who fear them—must resort to such feeble indecencies to relieve their lusts.

It’s an attempt to goad John, to insult him. It doesn’t particularly work as Lord John doesn’t possess any great deal of shame around his being gay and knows that isn’t true. He’s not afraid of women and could most certainly possess one if he wanted to. John doesn’t take the bait as intended and deflects to talking about love. What do you think love is?

He needs to keep his love for Claire separate from anything he could or could not feel for John and Jamie goes on to speak of one of his other experiences with gay men, though John doesn’t know that this relates to an exact experience (this can also relate to Black Jack because of Fergus). But I think Jamie, at this point, is pretty certain that John is no Black Jack. His negative reaction to Jamie (in a sense) forcing John to whip him Ardsmuir was a good example to him that John doesn’t get pleasure out of that. But still, if John has this attraction to men in common with Black Jack and the Duke, he must have others, right? So, he turns to accusing John of ‘preying upon helpless boys’.

Lord John threatens to physically fight him for that comment, which is very fair. It’s a horrible and gross accusation that he absolutely does not deserve in any way.

Jamie’s reaction to this is interesting. Armed or no, ye canna master me.

Of course, this is when John says something really motherfucking dumb without realizing the implications because he doesn’t know Jamie’s history of trauma.

I tell you sir—were I to take you to my bed—I could make you scream and by God, I would do it.

This conversation goes all to hell because John thinks he’s arguing against homophobia and what he’s really arguing against are fundamental beliefs Jamie now holds to protect himself against his trauma and any feelings he may or may not have for John. (and it just must really suck to be in love with someone who thinks such terrible things of you, through not fault of your own).

(Also a quick aside about Grey wanking after this, like it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of a sense in reality. Especially as we know Grey will be very angry about this conversation for a long time after. However, in a literary sense it goes to reflect that idea of violence as sex or violence as a way to express sexual attraction. If Jamie’s release of the sexual tension of that scene was the punch, John’s was this.)

Of course, they’ll rebuild their friendship slowly, over the years at Helwater and in Scotland. Enough so that Jamie will gift John with one of his most precious things—his son William. This time will end with an offer of his body in exchange for John to care for William (though it is a test to make certain John’s not a creep and if he is Jamie plans to kill him). John, of course, turns Jamie down because as Jamie will later say to Claire, “he would not take counterfeit for true coin”. This is the moment where Jamie separates John from Black Jack and the Duke. And, at least for a moment, is able to separate himself from them too. Enough that he does something he does not have to do, that there’s no real reason for him to do, he kisses John.

Grey felt the big hands warm on the skin of his face, light and strong as the brush of an eagle’s feather, and then Jamie Fraser’s soft wide mouth touched his own. There was a fleeting impression of tenderness and strength held in check, the faint taste of ale and fresh-baked bread. Then it was gone, and Grey stood blinking in the brilliant sun.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 505

ADSOOO!!! AND CLAIRE!!! AND ADSOOOOO!!!

My floofer was not amused when I woke her up to show her the cat on the teevee. Bqhatevwr, boo boo, you’re stuck with me. #TeamSocialDistancing

Oh, I guess the voice overs are back in a big way. Super...

And also like, this whole running bit about God and stuff would work so much better if they’d included Jamie and Claire’s faith a bit more throughout the show. *cough Jamie’s prayer cough*

Do we have to pour one out for science!jizz? This is the book bit where the science!jizz happened, but maybe they’ll do it later? Probs not. Le sigh.

Marsali being all excited with Claire and Claire being all fuck yeah I found it gives me the warm fuzzies. I LOVE THE TWO OF THEM A LOT OK.

This montage makes me dizzy. Not a fan, tbh.

Oh hey, the old Hancock building! With a park that looks nothing like Boston, haha. But I appreciate the effort lol, my main office is like a block from the old Hancock building. Not that I’ll be seeing it any time soon. Living that work from home life until the plague times are over.

But for real, social distance. No joke. Stay the fuck home.

I love 60s Claire if only because damn girl, look at dem legsss.

Hi, I’m Der and I’m very shallow sometimes.

But Claire has objectively great legs.

Omfg, Roger, stop being a butthurt whiner. You suck at being a soldier. You know you suck at being a soldier. And instead of being like yeah, let me learn and get better, you just bitch about it.

Sam is gonna kick his horse in the head at some point. Why the fuck does he dismount like that. It’s literally bugged me since season one.

So they’re pardoning everyone. Probs not Murtz though. Cool that instead of doing a continuous ramp up to the inevitable confrontation, they’re going the book route of lol, jk, all this was kind of a waste of time for now...

Really, Knox, you did something excessive? Cool way to say murdered a dude.

Ok well if Knox is getting the Ardsmuir roll, then he’s def gonna die, right?

Jamie’s 100% gonna intentionally miss Murtz’s face.

Boom, called it.

I do not like spiders. Please move this VO along, Claire.

I’m fucking glad we finally get Doctor!Claire. We should have gotten more Doctor!Claire in season three. Jamie got to have all aspects of his 20 years examined but fucking Claire’s side was literally just about Fred and how shitty he is.

Fuck you, season three. Fuck yeah, Doctor!Claire!

“It’s my married name.” Lulz. And not the married name she wants...

GRAHAM SAYS THE THING JAMIE SAID WHEN CLAIRE WAS STITCHING HIM UP IN SEASON ONE AND I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT IT OK.

Graham makes me miss when the show was in Scotland like whoa. I miss the Squad. There are so many characters now that are like kind of always around but they’re not part of the Squad. And the main Squad is always separated. So like there’s barely any big group adventures anymore where we actually give a shit about everyone involved.

I JUST WANT THE FOLKS I CARE ABOUT TO HANG OUT MORE, OK!

Needle!jizz 2.0 is gonna be the closest we get to science!jizz, isn’t it. Whomps.

Can the show please just be a period procedural with Claire and Marsali being badass doctors? Thx.

Because for real though, Marsali being like “scalpel” is my favorite thing ever.

I feel you, Jemmy, I’d cry if I were stuck hanging out with Roger too.

I DO NOT LIKE SPIDERS, CLAIRE.

“My lass is more concerned wi’ words and deeds.” Which is why it baffles me that she’s still with you, bro, because your words and deeds fucking suck.

How Bonnet doesn’t accidentally swallow the diamond is beyond me.

Ok so if your wife was violently raped and you know she’s had some PTSD about it, because you’ve seen the drawings and stuff, you should maybe act completely the opposite way from how Roger is acting.

“And you kept it? A gift...from Bonnet.” Yes, you giant fuckwit, your traumatized wife went to hang with her rapist for shits and giggles and accepted a present because she really wants a memento to remember him by. They’re on such good terms and all. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! HOW IS HE SUCH A DOUCHECANOE?!

You do not get to judge or question how someone processes their trauma you raging asshat.

He is such a fucking Fred.

Do I think what Bree did was smart? Or a good decision? Hard no. But it’s what she thought she needed to do to move forward with her life. And so she can do whatever the fuck she wants. Yeah, words have consequences and it was a stupid move, but Roger needs to step all the fucking way off.

“You’ve never said as much to me.” “I didn’t think I needed to.” I HATE ROGER SO MUCH. I HATE HIM WITH THE PASSION OF A THOUSAND FIERY SUNS. HOW DO THE WRITERS NOT REALIZE THAT THEY’RE MAKING THE CHARACTER WHO’S SUPPOSED TO BE THE SECOND ROMANTIC MALE LEAD AN IRREDEEMABLE PIECE OF SHIT. OH WAIT BECAUSE THEY HAVE LOTS OF PRACTICE FROM FRED 1.0 THAT FRED 2.0 IS JUST A NATURAL PROGRESSION.

Lol at this “Boston” priest sounding vaguely southern. Is he one of the pedos the archdioceses just kept shuffling around?

(I’m not a fan of organized religion and being forced to grow up Catholic sucked a lot for me. I did some therapy about it.)

Ok so is Claire’s knife on her belt the hand job antler knife? I mean, Jamie doesn’t give it to her until Echo, but I’m gonna pretend like it’s the hand job antler knife. Also, some witches use a white handled knife called a boline to cut herbs and stuff so it’s fitting that Claire constantly-being-witchy-to-her-own-detriment Beauchamp has a white handled knife for collecting herbs.

“Yeah, Frank and I... no, we had a very complicated marriage.” Well that’s one way to put it. *keeps rage bottled up on the inside*

“Frank and I, we still managed to make it work, for Bree’s sake.” Except it didn’t fucking work. He was terrible to you. You basically put up with 20 years of emotional abuse for the sake of your kid and then he used her as a weapon against you. Because he is garbage. Much like Roger.

Claire is always the bigger person. She was with Fred and now with Roger. Like, I’m still pissed that she never got to let out her side of things. She just keeps framing it through rose colored glasses, never speaking ill of Fred when he didn’t do that for her.

WE DO NOT DESERVE CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP AND NEITHER DO MOST OF THE MEN ON THIS SHOW.

Fergus deserves milady.

They’re really going hard with the Roger, Bree and Jemmy have to go back stuff. Are they gonna bump them going back up to the season finale this year? They bring it up basically every fucking episode. I’d be down with moving that along tbh. Except then we’d have to have just the two of them as their own story line and I hate that part from the books.

“We are but humble servants to the law.” Really, Javert Knox. Would you say your duty’s to the law?

“Those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward.” Yes, bible and shit, but also a veRY FAMOUS LINE FROM A VERY FAMOUS SONG FROM A VERY FAMOUS MUSICAL.

“Scotland, eh? I never stopped missing it.” HARD SAME, GRAHAM. HARD SAME.

Pledged their oaths to the militia. Not the governor. Miiiinor detail, haha.

“It is a relief, to finally put down the sword and pistol and pick up the axe and shovel.” So, Jamie, you’re saying you’re gonna walk behind the plough-share, you will put away the sword?

Oh hey, it’s Joe! Another person we should have spent more time with in season three.

“Something about Graham Menzies...” Maybe the fact that he could easily have been part of the OG Squad?

I MISS THE OG SQUAD.

“Principally that men like Fitzgibbons never change.” Really, Knox, men like [him] can never change? A man, such as [him]?

“OUR DUTY IS TO THE LAW. WE WILL SEE JUSTICE DONE.” OK BUT THEY’RE LIKE LITERALLY TRYING TO SHOEHORN IN ALL THE LES MIS LYRICS THEY CAN LIKE THE TIME I DID THAT WITH I’M ON A BOAT IN THAT ONE RECAP...

“What kind of deceitful devil wears the guise of honor and talks of justice and mercy?” Valjean Fraser, at last we see each other plain...

“Believe of me what you will,” there’s a duty that he’s sworn to do. Protect his Murtz.

“As god is my witness, I will do what must be done.” You never shall yield? ‘Til you come face to face?

“Damned if I’ll be in league with a traitor.” Would you rather live in the debt of a thief?

“But I will not stand by and watch my kin hunted like a dog.” Like a dog on the run, Jamie?

Called it! Broski needed to die. You’re not gonna make sure the letters are burned all the way, Jamie? Like didn’t that dude who brought in the letters see you there? This seems like it’s gonna backfire *rull* quick.

Also, speaking of dead bodies, is Rando McWhatshisface still in the basement?

Is Adso Gavroche in this scenario?

Jamie Fraser, murder to kitten snuggles in 0.3 seconds.

IF YOU HURT ONE HAIR ON MY LITTLE BEBE’S HEAD, I WILL END YOU, JAMIE.

Slash finally, I thought this episode was turning into Waiting for Gadsot...

(I made myself chuckle a little too hard at that one, tbh.)

“I found him in an alley, couldn’t leave him behind.” AKA how Jamie Fraser adopts all of his children, haha.

“How would you feel about taking a trip to London with me? Your father wanted to bring you there before he died.” You mean, when he threatened to steal your kid from you? It fucking speaks so highly of Claire that she won’t ruin Bree’s impression of Fred. Even though Bree knows by now that he was a terrible person.

“Thank you for my gift.” YOUR GIFT LOVES YOU TOO, CLAIRE!

(And I’m still a sucker for the Claire calling Jamie “soldier” bit.)

[scapegrace74-blog]

No Light, No Light (Claire’s Anthem)

A/N  To recap where we’re at in the Metric Universe, Jamie and Claire are living separately while their building gets repaired after a fire.  Jamie has confessed to loving Claire, and she hesitantly agreed to give a romantic relationship between them a chance.  The dates have gone well.  Really well.  Maybe a bit too well...  Rated M, because they deserve it after all I’ve put them through.

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

The amazing song by Florence + The Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title and features in a few lines can be heard here: https://youtu.be/HGH-4jQZRcc

August 24, 2018, Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Outside the train, the landscape slid by in an emerald smear.  It had been raining earlier, but as the sun dipped westward it broke from beneath the clouds, setting the greens afire.  The view was violently beautiful, but Claire stared instead at her face, pensive and wan, reflected in the smudgy window.  There was an almost laughable lack of connection between herself and the taciturn man to her left.

It hadn’t started out that way.  After a near-idyllic summer dedicated to their mutual enjoyment of each other’s company, this trip to Scotland was meant a culmination of sorts.  A validation that they were moving towards something momentous.  A delineation between their past as friends and their future as... something more.   

Jamie had first mentioned the idea in passing while they waited in line for a gelato in the shadow of the Gherkin on a hot July day.

“T’would be braw tae introduce ye to Lallybroch before ye return tae yer studies, Sassenach,” had been his exact words.  Claire had learned to appreciate Jamie’s deft navigation of the shoals of her caution.  An invitation to meet his family would have garnered an immediate negative response, but an invitation to his family home received an ambiguous hum.

Several weeks later, they were searching Netflix for a movie they could agree on while cat-sitting for Joe and Gayle.  Said cat was lounging on the sofa cushions between them when Jamie casually raised the ante.

“Tomorrow I’ll be buyin’ my ticket home for the August bank holiday.  The trains north will be packed, so I was thinkin’ I’d grab a second seat.  Just in case, ye ken.  T'is refundable, sae there’s no harm.”

By the end of the evening, the cat had fled the room, Claire’s shirt was down to its last button, Jamie’s summer tan couldn’t mask the flush of blood that raced beneath his skin, and the idea of spending a weekend away together sat like an unopened present on the closet shelf of their minds.

Last Monday, between her day shift and his graveyard, they had met for coffee to discuss the details of moving back into their flat.

“Jamie, my name is on this lease.”  Claire set down her cup rather abruptly on the table, spilling a few hot drops over her fingers.

“Aye, tis.  I asked the landlord tae include us both.  Considering all the delays an’ the nuisance, tis the least they could do.”  Pausing to hand her a napkin, he balanced his fingertips over her scalded knuckles.  It’s yer flat too, Sassenach.  No matter what.”

The gravity of the moment hung heavy in the air.  Neither spoke for a while, letting the hum of ambient conversation dull the edges of their nerves.  Claire slid an unsigned copy of the lease into her satchel.

“I, uh, I ken this mayna be the best time tae be bringing this up, but I’ll be away home come Thursday, back on Monday.  There’s still a ticket in yer name, should ye wish tae come wi’ me.”

She looked at him then, so earnest and open and hopeful, the sunlight from the street burnishing his hair coppery-gold.  He’d crept in like a thief, disturbing the tidy boxes of her life and leaving traces of his passage on her heart.  A thief who gave instead of took, and whose only crime was to love without recompense.

“What would it mean, if I went to Scotland with you?” she asked quietly.

“It would mean everything to me,” he admitted.

That hadn’t been what she was asking, but it was her answer all the same.

The day before they were due to depart, Claire had been eating a late afternoon snack in the hospital cafeteria when a familiar tall form in running gear caught her eye.  She couldn’t suppress the frisson of delight she felt as he made his way towards her table, a whiplash of appreciative female gazes following in his wake.

His infectious smile of greeting faltered and then disappeared as he caught sight of what she was reading.

Oh.

The monthly rental property magazine had been left behind on her table, but she’d be lying to say she was browsing it purely out of idle curiosity.  The weight of seeing her name next to Jamie’s on their new lease had been pressing down on her since Monday.  

On the one hand, it was a tremendous relief - no longer could the outcome of their courtship render her homeless - not that she could imagine Jamie ever being as cruel as Frank.  But it also implied a commitment, a state of permanence between them, that quite frankly scared the shit out of her.  And so she had been perusing her options, not with any serious intent, but because it gave her comfort to know they existed.   Jamie had dropped by unannounced at the worst possible time.

A crowded cafeteria wasn’t the place to start making excuses, so after a stilted exchange about meeting the next day at Euston Station, Jamie departed, a small storm cloud of ire floating above his head.  

By the time they met the following morning, that cloud had darkened to a gale, blowing all hope of casual conversation before it.  Jamie’s disposition was generally sanguine, but when he put his mind to it he could glower like the Viking gods he resembled.  It made for a silent journey.

“Ye can just go ahead and say it, Claire.”  When it came, his voice was diminished by resignation.

“I’m curious what it is you want me to say,” she replied.

“That ye willna be moving back inta the flat next month.  If that means we willna be seeing each other at all, well, I’d rather ye tell me before I go introducing ye tae my family as my girlfriend like a fool.”

When she turned to face this accusation, the first thing she noticed was the absence of light behind his typically radiant blue eyes.  It neutralized the acid on her tongue.

“Those are awfully dire conclusions to be drawing from some rental adverts, my lad,” she quipped.  Then, almost begging.  “You promised to be patient with me.”

“Aye, I did.  But ye also promised tae try, Claire.  I canna help but feel that ye’re just marking time, waiting for me to fuck up badly enough that ye can say, well, that’s that then, another disappointment, and retreat tae yer solitude.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, although she’d never have stated it so baldly.  As with every emotional conversation she had with Jamie, his words left her feeling naked and exposed.  He saw her so well.  She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his love for her, because what else kept a man coming back once all the ugliness was on display?

“I hear what you’re saying, Jamie.  I think you know this isn’t easy for me.  Just being here with you on this train, Christ.  I almost called you twice this morning to say I wouldn’t be coming.”

“But ye didna.  Why?”

“Because the only thing that scares me more than being with you,” her voice rose in pitch, “is being without you.  I’m here, but it’s taking bloody everything I have.  So please do not ask me for more,” she pleaded.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder and she came to nestle against him willingly.

“I would never ask ye for that, a ghraidh.  I only want ye tae learn tae let go of yer fear, as it serves for nought.  I learned that the hard way with my accident.  T’wasn’t anything I earned nor deserved, but it happened nonetheless.  We canna chose if we win or lose.  We can only chose how we fight.”

She listened to his heart, steadily thumping beneath the muscles of his chest.  To think, he could have been taken away before she came to know the dimensions of its strength.  It sent a chill down her spine.

“I ne’er told ye, that first night we met a’ the pub, how ye reminded me of a fierce lioness.  All golden eyed and imperious.  An’ when I saw those same eyes, peering at me o’er a surgical mask the night of the blast, I understood I would live, because ye did.  Ye’re a fighter, Sassenach.  I kent it from the start.”

“God, Jamie, I was an utter shambles at the time,” she confessed.  His faith in her was overwhelming.

“Aye.  But ye were goin’ down swinging.”

***

Ian Murray, Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law, met them at the train station in Inverness.  As they navigated the country roads, his conversation with Jamie had the ease and teasing short-hand of timeworn friendship. Claire was content to sit quietly and listen, the inconclusive discussion on the train looming large in her peripheral vision.

It was well past dark as they arrived at Lallybroch, giving the structure an air of timelessness as yellow light bathed the courtyard from windows high above.  The battered wooden entrance swung open to the welcoming chaos of barking dogs, children’s laughter and lilting Gaelic voices spilling into the night.  

Claire hung back, pretending to help Ian with their bags as Jamie jogged forward to embrace a dark-haired woman who barely reached his shoulders, lifting a giggling toddler from her hip and high into the air.  The dogs spun around his legs, practically tripping him as he tried to climb the stairs and answer his sister’s rapid fire questions all at once.  Halting before the door, he handed his nephew over before Jenny disappeared inside, the dogs at her heels.

Feeling absurdly nervous, Claire mounted the stairs and accepted his outstretched hand.

“So, this is it?” she asked inanely.

“Aye, this is it.  Welcome to my home, Sassenach.”

***

They’d eaten on the train, so after a hasty introduction to the rest of the family and a promise to become better acquainted over breakfast, Jamie and Claire headed upstairs.  It occurred to her on the second landing that she had no idea where he expected her to sleep.   Their status as temporary lodgers in other people’s homes back in London had made the question moot.  

Visceral memories of their increasingly heated goodnight kisses caused Claire to trip on braided rug.  Jamie turned as she was righting herself.

“Aye, well, here we are.  The lavatory is jest across the hall.  If ye need anything, the laird’s room is up these stairs.”

“The laird’s room?  Wait, who’s the laird in this story?” she was momentarily distracted from her agitation by this unforeseen detail. 

“Well, me.  But dinna get any grand illusions.  Tis only a leftover title from when Clan Fraser ruled o’er these parts before the Rising.”

Her mouth was moving before she fully considered her next words.

“And does that make me your lady?”

Instead of laughing off her glib comment as she hoped he would, Jamie’s face grew somber.

“Nah.  Tha’ position is presently unfilled.  In this house, the laird sleeps next tae his lady, always.  G’night tae ye, Sassenach.”  And with a soft kiss that barely ghosted her lips, Jamie retired to bed.  Alone.

***

The next two days were a glimpse into a way of living whose existence Claire had previously discredited.  Communal mealtimes, where each family member had an assigned role, from buttering the bread (Jamie’s three-year old nephew and namesake) to clearing the table (Ian, and by their second meal, Claire).  Morning and evening chores that left the adults drowsy and smelling slightly of the chicken coop.  Siblings bickering, slamming doors and then laughing about it by suppertime.  Outings to local landmarks in the rain, a cheerful row of matching Wellingtons and wax cotton jackets tramping along well-worn paths.  Visits to neighbours, carrying a Pyrex dish of some culinary offering and returning four hours later, stuffed to the gills and carrying a different Pyrex dish loaded with leftovers.

Seeing Jamie take his place at the centre of this family dynamic was a shock.  She’d only ever known him in an urban setting, where he was one man among millions; noteworthy for his decency, his peculiar fondness for blood pudding, and because he was hers.  At Lallybroch, he grew before her eyes, taking on new dimensions that challenged and teased her understanding of him.

This was his concept of home.

This was his template for love.

***

On Sunday afternoon, the clouds had lifted to reveal a robin’s egg sky.  Claire accompanied Ian on a circuit of the upper pasture.  A border collie named Jem bounded down the hill ahead of them.  Ian was an easy companion, and they were mid-conversation about the impact of the Scots in the history of medicine when Claire pulled up short, words evaporating in her throat.

There in the hay field just below stood Jamie.  Long rows of golden sheaves that had been cut the past week were now drying in the late summer sun.  Armed with nothing but a pitchfork, Jamie had obviously been working for some time.  He wore boots and loose trousers, but his shirt was long abandoned.  Sweat glistened in the fine russet curls that covered his breastbone and over the sun-kissed curves of his shoulders.  He was so beautiful, it hurt to breathe.

“He’s himself again,” Ian remarked.  “It lightens my heart tae see it.”

Claire tore her eyes away from Jamie.  Ian was watching her with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Well, he obviously loves being here, with his family...” she dodged.

Ian shook his head.

“Nah, t’isn’t that.  Since his accident, he’s been... altered.  Jamie was always the golden one, ye ken?  Smart, strong, funny, kind.  He wore it well, but it gives ye a sense of... invincibility, maybe?  Tha’ blast ripped apart more than his back.  I think it made him doubt who he is on the inside.  Ye’ve helped him find tha’ man again, Claire, and for that we are in yer debt.”

She couldn’t look at Ian then, for fear that he would see just how much she wanted what he was saying to be the truth.  To be essential to someone who meant so much to her, to be enough purely by being herself, it was more than her feelings could contain.

It was what Jamie had been trying to tell her all along.

***

The third stair between the guest room and the laird’s bedroom creaked, and Claire froze, eyes darting guiltily down the corridor to where Ian, Jenny and their children slept.   Nothing stirred beyond the drumming of her heartbeat, so she crept the rest of the way, tapping quietly on the solid wood door.

Jamie’s voice was alert as he beckoned, “Come in, Jenny.”  She clutched a thin sheaf of papers to her chest and entered the room.  The only illumination came from the hearth, where a low fire still blazed.  It cast its light on a large, masculine room, with deep blue wallpaper, heavy damask drapes and an immense four poster bed.  Jamie sat up against the headboard, the glow from his iPad echoing in his downcast eyes.

“It’s not Jenny.  It’s me,” she whispered.

With a visible flinch, the iPad fell to his lap.

“Claire...”

He stretched her name out like honey from a jar, trickling sweetly from his mouth.

She wanted to run.  From this plush room, this welcoming home, this uninvited sanctuary of tenderness.  Her legs quivered with the impulse.  Instead, she plunged forward into the room, right to the edge of the bed, and thrust her offering towards Jamie, who followed her movements as though she was defusing a bomb.

“Whas’ this then?” he asked, peering down at the document.

“It’s our lease.  I signed it.  And faxed a copy to the landlord.”

There, she had done it.  The pebble that would start the landslide.  There was no turning back now, and it was pure relief.

Jamie was silent for so long, staring down at her signature, that she began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep.  When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy.

“Are ye sure, Sassenach?”

A drunken encounter in a pub.  Agony radiating from his bright blue eyes on a hospital gurney.  Her rain-soaked salvation.  A roommate.  A friend.  His steady patience as they tentatively grew closer. And now something more, something bigger than she knew how to articulate, sneaking around the margins of her fear.  

She wasn’t sure of much, but she was certain that Jamie’s love could never hurt.  The rest, the panic that she could lose him or disappoint him, that was just the price of paradise.

Instead of answering the question directly, she walked around to the opposite side of the bed and gestured to the empty mattress beside Jamie’s long body.

“Is this place still vacant?”

His smile was radiant.

“For ye, Sassenach, always.”

***

It was like no other sex she’d ever experienced.  Intimacy, up until then, had been a transaction, an exchange of debits.  This was a cancellation of accounts, an obliteration of any mutual debt.  They loved each other with the pure, mindless joy of a wave meeting the shore.

Which isn’t to say that it was perfect.  It felt strange to touch Jamie in more than a friendly way.   Not at all unpleasant, but strange.  Like going to the theatre to see a well-loved play, and suddenly being thrust onto the stage.  The hesitance behind Jamie’s touch told her he felt something similar.  

In a particularly awkward moment, they were jostling and bumping to remove each other’s pajamas when her hair got caught in the buckle of his watch.

“Ouch!” she yelped.  He pulled away, stammering apologies, which only made things worse.  After a few failed attempts on Jamie’s part, she reached up and unclasped the watch band, giving him two hands to work with.  By this point they were both giggling, the gravitas of the moment lost.

“Ye’ve a great deal of hair, mo nighean donn,” Jamie groused as he lay the offending watch on his nightstand.

“Complaining already, Fraser?”

“God, no. Ye’re... would it be sentimental tae say ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

She was lying naked, but for a pair of skimpy knickers, the firelight caressing her limbs where they were splayed against the dark sheets.  Jamie’s visual perusal of her body held a potent combination of lust and reverence that warmed her blood.

“I suppose I can tolerate a bit of sentimentality,” she conceded, rolling towards the bulwark of his naked chest.  Her fingers played down the corduroy ripples of his flank.

“You’re beautiful too, Jamie.”

The mood in the room shifted again.  Soon they pitching across the mattress, trying to touch in as many ways possible.  Their skin grew slippery with sweat.  At some point, underwear must have been removed, because she could feel the coarse abrasion of his pubic hair against her thigh, alongside the tensile ridge of his erection.

“Claire,” he gasped as their hips ground together in frenzied pulses. “If ye dinna want me tae go any further, I need ye tae tell me now.”

She reached between them, taking the heft of him in her palm, feeling a spasm of need shudder through his frame.

“There’s nothing about you that I do not want, James Fraser.”

A cavernous groan, a frantic search for a condom in the bedside drawer, the tearing of a foil wrapper, and then a breathless hesitation.  She opened her eyes to see Jamie looking down as though she was the morning sun.  There was nothing left inside her but dazzling hunger, filling the spaces where her fear once resided.

Here was the start.

[magnoliasinbloom]

Crash Course Love

Infinite thanks to @lcbeauchampoftarth​ and @anna-swims​ for being awesome betas. 

AO3 :: Previously

3: Surprise [Claire]

Despite the fucked up situation, it was the best I’d felt in a long time. Seeing Frank’s pictures burnt and in the bin was strangely cathartic, even if I didn’t remember setting them on fire. There was probably a lot of Frank’s shit around that I had overlooked that I could also burn.

Jamie and I stood awkwardly in my tiny kitchen for a few minutes, his Viking warrior frame towering over me. I had a hard time meeting his deep blue gaze; it wasn’t uncomfortable, just strangely intimate given our surprise encounter this morning, and possibly last night. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Um, well. It’s Sunday…” I trailed off. I didn’t have anything to do, but didn’t really want to prolong the morning-after-that-wasn’t.

“Och, aye, I’m sorry.” Jamie looked embarrassed. “I should go. Do ye work on Sundays?” He patted his pockets, probably searching for his phone or keys.

“No, but I should go down to Sainsbury’s for groceries. It’s just a short walk. St. Enoch is a couple of blocks away if you need it.” I began washing the bowl in the sink.

“I usually take the tube, but I do have a car. It’s mainly for driving up to see my family, though. I took an Uber to the pub. Since I’d planned on getting pissed—ifrinn!” he exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” I dropped the bowl, startled. It didn’t break, but it clattered noisily.

“I was supposed to meet my sister Jenny for lunch at St. Judes.” Jamie turned his phone to face me and I saw it was already noon. He ran a hand through his hair in desperation, making it even more tousled.

“No problem. I can take you in the van.”

“The van? Ye just said—”

“I’ve a van, for my flower shop. Beauchamp’s Blooms,” I said, not a little proudly.

“Yer last name’s Beauchamp?” He pronounced it the French way, and it sounded beautiful, but I corrected him.

“Bee-cham. I guess we were French at some point in history, but we’re English now.”

“So what’s a bonny sassenach such as yerself doin’ in Scotland?”

Sassenach. I bristled. “An Englishwoman like myself followed her dickhead boyfriend who had a teaching position at the University of Glasgow. I opened my own flower shop, got dumped, and now, I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. Unless it bothers a Scotsman such as yerself.” I imitated his brogue as much as I could, injecting it with a fair amount of venom.

Jamie turned bright red. “Och, Claire, I didna mean any disrespect. Sassenach just means English, or outlander. It’s nice to see ye’ve made a home here, and a business as well, despite yer hardships.” His tone softened. “Have others made ye feel unwelcome here in Glasgow? I apologize on our behalf.”

“A couple.” I sighed. “I Google-translated sassenach the second time it happened. Sorry if I came off touchy about it. When they said it, it didn’t sound very nice, that’s all.”

“I think ye should appropriate the word then. May I call ye sassenach? As a wee nickname?” Jamie smiled impishly.

I laughed. “Alright, why not?” I dried my hands on a tea towel and laid it next to the sink. “Well, let me find my keys and we’ll be off.” I found them in my purse and hoisted it on my shoulder as we left my flat.

We traipsed down the steps of my apartment building slowly, no doubt his head pounding as much as mine. The aspirin had helped some, though.

“Are ye a photographer then, Sassenach?” he asked conversationally.

“Oh, the pictures. No, Frank took those. It is—was—his hobby.  I personally like herbs, flowers, and medicinal plants. I’m a botanist, actually. Hence, the flower shop.”

“Ye kept some on the walls.”

“They were the best ones. And the flowers, those are mine. I think we can spare them a fiery death.”

“I couldna help but notice…” I glanced at Jamie, who was turning all shades of red as he rucked up the hair on the nape of his neck in embarrassment. “Ye have this tattoo on yer back, like…”

“Oh, yes.” It was my turn to go a bit red. “It’s a gladiolus. It means strength.”

“Bonny.” Jamie smiled crookedly at me while he pushed the entrance door to the building and held it open for me. “It’s funny, I dinna even ken where in Glasgow I am. I havena been…” he trailed off as we came down the steps onto the street. The chilly November wind nipped at our exposed faces.

“Is it familiar now?” I laughed, jingling my keys. I sobered up when I saw the look on his face. “Are you alright?”

“Och, aye. I—it’s just that yer apartment building’s right next to my—”

“James?” A high-pitched, accented voice pierced the air.

“—ex’s building,” he finished weakly.

I turned to the source of the voice. A woman about my age walked towards us. She had sleek brown hair—perfectly coiffed—and fashionable matching boots and purse. Her eyes were green, and were trained on Jamie, who stood next to me, pale and silent.

I tried to whisper discreetly, “Jamie, that’s your ex?”

Before he could answer, the woman was upon us. “James! I thought it was you! What are you doing here?” She gave Jamie a kiss on each cheek, hugged him tightly, and pulled back before he could react.

Jamie swallowed visibly. “Hello, Annalise.”

Oh, no. I could sense anxiety rolling off Jamie in waves. He was speechless, while there was something smug about Annalise’s own smile. The cow probably thought he was stalking her; still pining, after all this time. No wonder Jamie looked so panicked.

He was almost shaking, while Annalise waited for him to explain why he was there. And she was pointedly ignoring me completely.

Oh, this wouldn’t do.

“Hello! Did you just move in? I’m Claire, I haven’t seen you around!” I chattered brightly, channeling one of my old friends from university. Keeping it light and bubbly, but still honed like a knife. I practically shoved a hand in her face, forcing her to step away from Jamie.

Finally, Annalise took my proffered hand gingerly with her fingertips, like it was a dead fish. I flashed another insincere smile, even though I wanted to wipe my own hand on my jeans.

“Well, Claire, as it happens, I’ve lived here for quite some time now.” Her tone was condescending and forced. “James and I… we used to go out awhile back.” She glanced at Jamie as she said this, and he stared at his shoes. He looked trapped and desperate.

Admittedly, I had known him less than 24 hours, but he had helped me forget about a hellish night and torch some of Frank’s memories; I was his unconditional ally now.

Fuck her. Let’s do this.

“Oh really? Jamie, darling, you didn’t mention that!” I giggled and pressed myself against Jamie, lacing our fingers together.

Jamie only had time to look at me with wide, stunned eyes before Annalise butted in. “James, you are dating her? Since when?” Her nostrils flared, though she tried not to show her agitation.

I ignored her implied insult. “Hmmm, let’s see… about six months?” I replied. I leaned in and kissed Jamie’s surprised open mouth. “Best six months ever, am I right darling?” He still tasted faintly of booze.

“I, um, I think that…” Jamie stammered.

“So, we have not seen each other in almost a year, have we James?” Annalise crossed her arms over her chest, heel tapping. Where did this bitch come off acting self-righteous? I nuzzled Jamie’s neck lightly and turned to Annalise.

“Well, we’re moving in together. We just clicked, and everything happened so fast and it’s so intense, but just wonderful!” I gushed. I gave Jamie a light pinch on the arm; he shook his head as if to clear it, and I took the opportunity to stand on my tiptoes (damn his Viking height!) to plant another kiss on his cheek this time.

“Moving in?” Annalise’s naturally high-pitched voice went up another octave, sounding strangled.

“Oh, yes, which reminds me, we’re late for the meeting with that realtor, so we should get going.” I nudged Jamie and stepped on his foot.

“Ann—Annalise, it was… good seeing you… again, and I, um…” Jamie gave me a side-long glance, urging me to help us escape.

“James, you never liked for me to call you Jamie,” Annalise said, still ignoring me.

“Actually, I do like it. ‘Twas you who didna care to call me that,” he managed, finding his voice at last.

“So, anyway, nice to meet you, Annalise! Have a good day!” I grasped Jamie’s forearm, locking it with mine and dragging him away.

Annalise stood there for a moment or two, before stomping off on her chunky-heeled boots, coat swinging. I tugged on Jamie, who was still out of it.

“Come on!” I hissed in his ear, and then we rounded the corner. Jamie slumped against the faded brick wall, and I let go of his arm.

“Oh Christ. It’s like I couldna even think, she made me shut down…”

“Breathe, Jamie. She’s gone.” I patted his back gently.

“It’s just… I didna think she still had that effect on me,” he said, wincing.

“The power to make you hurt?” I supplied. A feeling I knew all too well.

“Aye,” Jamie grimaced. He inhaled deeply until some color returned to his face.

“Are you feeling better now?” I asked, stamping my feet in the cold. The wind was still whipping against us.

“I think so. Where are we goin’, by the way? I thought the van was—“

“Well, I wanted to walk away from your ex in the opposite direction, so she wouldn’t know which was my car.”

“Why?” Jamie looked puzzled.

“You know, in case she felt inclined to scratch it with her fingernails or key the paint job, throw eggs or something.”

“Och, exacting revenge on the new girlfriend?” he teased, nudging me with his massive shoulder as we turned back; the coast was clear and blessedly Annalise-free.

It was my turn to stutter and flush red. “By the way, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You know, with the kissing and hand-holding. Annie there was getting to me too.”

“Nah, ‘tis fine. That was some quick thinking. Thank ye for rescuing me like that.”

“My pleasure.” I stopped in front of the delivery van. “Here we are.”

Beauchamp’s Blooms was printed on the side of the van, in curly script, with purple orchids and violets in the background. Jamie traced his finger over the letters.

“I like it. The purple suits ye.”

“Those flowers are some of my favorites. Orchids mean love, luxury, beauty, strength. The violets symbolize that the giver’s thoughts are occupied with love about the recipient.”

“Ye speak the language of flowers,” Jamie said with a smile.

“It’s an easy one to learn,” I replied simply, before we climbed into the van and drove off. As Jamie fiddled with the radio on the van, I let the sounds wash over me.

For the first time in months, it felt like things would be alright.

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, Arc II, Wild Horses, Chapter 14.

So... The next chapter is here and there is some revealing of what has been going on at Hellwater. I worried about this chapter as these details have been in my head for months now and I wanted to make sure they were been explained properly - or that the dialogue included what it should. Thank you to my go-to gal @balfeheughlywed for reading this for me, encouraging and asking the necessary questions.  I have badgered the expert eye of @notevenjokingfic for the past few chapters and I am so grateful to have her input, the plot nearly swallowed me up and she straightens me out when I get silly! @ladyviolethummingbird is such support with this fic, thank you as always.  You’re appreciation and patience with this story has been incredible, thanks for reading.

On my return journey from Willie’s school with grocery bags clutched in hand I approached my front door step distractedly until I noticed the large body sitting on my doorstep.

 Jamie's tall frame sat crouched on the cement step outside my apartment, his forearms hung loosely over his knees, his head bowed down into his body, either asleep or staring at something on the ground. I could still make out the auburn golden curls at the nape of his neck, and I absently wondered when he had gotten it cut?

 I had anticipated that he would come, as soon as the reporter spoke the words detailing the Dunsany's arrest a few days ago, I knew Jamie would come as quickly as could be arranged. If not for me than for Willie. Now faced with the reality of the man, I had loved and hated and dreamt of since I had left Scotland. I was suddenly paralysed. Fear gripping my insides, and my heart beating painfully against my chest.

I steadied my breath for a moment before I dared to move forward. My palms were suddenly wet, and the grocery bags slipped forward losing their traction within my grasp, they made a ruffling sound causing Jamie's head to jolt up.

 His eyes widened as he scrambled to his legs quickly.

I put one foot forward to move, but Jamie was already walking down the path towards me in long even strides, I froze waiting for him. Clearing my throat in preparation to speak, I hadn't time to utter a word as he crushed me to him, and I felt a ripping sensation in my heart at the half-choked sob that framed my name in his mouth.

  "Claire –

  Jamie's hands ran down the length of my back before dipping his head into the curve of my neck as if preparing to cocoon there.

 I was so dumbfounded I hadn't even put down my grocery bags, my arms hung awkwardly at my sides, Jamie just held onto me as a child would to their favourite rag doll. My head dropped slowly, and I nestled against his cheek, feeling his jaw tremble against me. I lost the bags then and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could.

I don't know how long we stayed like that as if holding each other up. Jamie's voice made a rustling sound low somewhere near my neck. It was definitely Gaelic , and it came in long relieved sighs.

 I pulled away, my lips curled up looking at him curiously,

 "What are you mumbling?"

 "Just saying thanks", he said eyes twinkling.

 "To who?"

 "To all the different gods I prayed to on the way here", he tilted his head against my forehead –  

 "tis only right now I can put my arms around ye." He attempted a wink which drew my eyes back to his eyes. They were watery and tired and they were trying to read something on my face.

 "Are you ok?" I asked stupidly, "I mean you weren't hurt or anything – "

He blinked rapidly and sniffed before his lips curled upwards.

 "Nay Sassenach, not physically anyway –."

I gave him a nod in understanding and rested against his forehead for a moment, taking in his scent and warmth. Just to enjoy him, no matter what would come later.

 Jamie raised a hand to push one of the errand curls behind my ear, his fingers grazed over my cheek, and his eyes darted to my lips. I couldn't go there yet.

 "I didn't expect you to be here "I dipped my head to avoid him seeing my cheeks flush –  " so soon I mean"  I was babbling, aware of his eyes on me.

 His finger found my chin bringing my gaze back up to him.

 "Wild horses couldna stopped me."

 "I tried phoning you" I stumbled over the words too preoccupied with the way his gaze held mine.

 "They took it, - evidence ." He answered while rubbing his nose along mine.

 They?

 There was so much I needed to know. So many blanks he had to fill in. The relief that he was alive and well, and unharmed had quenched the burning anxiety flowing around my body, only to realise now that his physical well-being was looked after, I still had other issues to worry about.

 My mind had reconciled itself with the fact that I would have an explanation about Hellwater, maybe not one I wanted. However, the restrained phone conversation I had with Jamie about Geneva Dunsany was not going to be the final version, some part of me had always known that.

Fear crept back into the spaces that had been soothed a few moments before at the mere sight of him.

 No matter Jamie's motive if he had done something with Geneva Dunsany to gain information, there would be no more him and me, or us. It would be a final unrepairable rip, made all the more painful because while he may not have done it in want, lust or even love, he would have done it knowing there could be no him and I after the fact. Any deal he had struck involving something like that, would have offered up our relationship on a platter.

I moved out of his embrace and looked up at him through my eyelashes. "You had better come in."

_______ ______ __________________

  I hadn't been aware that I had started to empty the contents of my shopping bags into cupboards until I felt Jamie's large hand slide over mine while I reached to place a jar in the cupboard above me.

"Leave them, Claire?"

It was laughable but I suddenly I didn't want to know.

Lowering myself cautiously into the chair opposite him, his hands clasped together as if in prayer, blue eyes watching me intently.

He knew I was off, and he knew I was scared.

 "Did ye get the book?"

 I nodded and couldn't help a small smile curve my lips. "Yes, it was quite the hit."

Shaking my head, "I still can't quite believe all that must have happened"- I paused briefly licking my lips – "to you." I finished pointedly.

 Jamie's brows rose, furrowing as he shook his head "not just me Claire, it happened to you too, and Willie – our family."

 A flash of red coloured his cheeks, our family was said more as a question than a statement. Were we still one?

  "Start from the beginning, I need to know how it all – "for want of a better word I settled on the obvious "– began."

 Jamie nodded and reached a hand out to one of mine, examining it for a moment. His finger was rubbing lightly over the space where his ring used to rest, and I felt a deep pressing pain stretching my chest as I wondered if I would ever see it there again.

"At our engagement party –" he blurted out suddenly, and I could feel my self-bristling, had he known what he was doing all this time?

 "I was in foul humour –   " he continued.

 His hand left mine to wave up in the air, his forehead creased as he frowned, remembering " ye were so heartbroken at what I had done, I was pissed at myself for being so stupid – what ye must have thought of me."

 He gave me a sorrowful look and continued.

 "I saw them all congratulating ye, and how ye shrunk away – he let out a strangled sigh "I dinna blame ye, I wouldna want to marry me either."

 My brows creased in confusion and not stopping to try and reassure him I stopped him in his tracks.

 "What has our engagement party and my apparent loathing to marry you got to do with William Dunsany and his daughter?" he wouldn't hear her name from my tongue "- getting arrested." My voice was like ice, and I didn't realise the annoyance that was burning up inside of me until I began to speak.

 Jamie's eyes flashed in understanding, and he raised a hand halting me.

"Sorry – I just meant that I went outside to calm down before I insulted every guest mam and Da had invited, and that is when I got the first inclination that there was more than just dodgy contracts at play in Hellwater."

 "Ok so tell me."

 "Geneva followed me outside –" my face must have expressed something  because Jamie waved his hand and said, "I mean- she claimed it was to say sorry how things had gone down over the contracts– she leaned into my ear and told me I should look at the positives."

 He breathed heavily through his nose. Rucking a hand through his hair as I could see him replaying what had happened over in his head.

 "I told her to go fuck herself if I recall correctly –" he sucked in his bottom lip and laughed snidely. "she isna used to people telling her no."

 I engulfed a strangled breath and released it slowly, willing myself to remain calm.

 " –  while she was walking away she threw some comment at me about "It being a pity because I would have a lot of money at my disposal for this project - I could make a name for myself." he curled his finger into air quotes ‘ with this once in a lifetime project' he corrected.

 Jamie shook his head disbelievingly – "at the time I was in such a temper, I dinna really focus on what she said – it was only later when I got to  Hellwater – I suppose I was more desperate then to find their flaws – or something that would get me out of there."

 I sat back in my chair, and Jamie grasped for my hand again.  "It was only when I started thinking of how she had worded it that I realised she had said it so underhandedly, almost looking over her shoulder" – he gave me a cynical look "I kent then whatever she meant about money at my disposal – she would be controlling it and in the hopes she could control me if I was intrested."

 I rose and grabbed a glass from the cupboard filling it from the tap and downing it in one, not even thinking to offer him any.

 "I was sae focused on legal routes to wrangle my way out of their grasp, I failed to see that if they got me to Hellwater under coercion, they had to have their hands dirty elsewhere."

 I flashed him a smile, and he shifted nervously. "Smarter than you look, Fraser."

Jamie sat forward with purpose now," I researched everything I could find out about them, and the bit of information I found was something I knew all along but dinna register."

 I smiled shyly at him, seeing the look of achievement fill his eyes.  A tender look flashed across his face, and he forgot lost his place in the story for a moment.

 He slowly allowed his finger to crawl over the back of my hand; he reached my wrist which he turned upright and brought it to his mouth.

 "it is so good to be sitting here looking at ye, being able just to reach out and feel ye Claire – it probably sounds daft but yer like a dream." I couldn't stop my face lighting up, and we stayed in that moment beaming back at each other. Eventually, a little voice inside my head told me I needed to know the rest.

 "What didn't register? " I asked after a time.

 "Gordon Dunsany was found dead in Panama."

 I crooked an enquiring eyebrow at him. "Panama" – Jamie said patiently while drumming a finger against my kitchen table " a tax heaven –  " a sly smile lightening his eyes – "probably one of the most well-known things about it."

"Oh"

 "Aye, well that and at the time Gordon was found dead, he was the financial controller for Hellwater estates."

 "Oh," I said again.

 "I had an old friend from Uni that I kent was working in some capacity at HRMC. John Grey, have I mentioned him to ye?"

 I shook my head, and Jamie stood, walking to the kitchen sink and refilling my empty glass and downing it.

 "I contacted him and pitched the idea, told him what I knew. He immediately offered to meet me, but away from Hellwater."

 He sat back down heavily on the seat opposite me. "That is when I kent, I was on to a winner."

 My phone buzzed insistently in my pocket, I glanced at it quickly and hit the silence button Jamie's eyes followed my movements.

 "Do ye need to –"

 I tilted my head indicating for him to continue.

 "As soon as I told him about Geneva mentioning money at my disposal for the equestrian centre, John was all over it. They had tried an investigation a few years before but lacked evidence linking the Dunsany's to any foreign accounts."

 He shrugged his shoulders "what they really needed was to get Geneva to move money from these accounts – and that is where I came in."

 My ears were buzzing, and my stomach churned over, the water seemed to be more than my system could handle, and the more I heard Geneva's name from Jamie's lips, the more I wanted to gag."

 My gaze flicked away from his, and I looked down at my hands. Wanting to badly ask him, what his role had been with Geneva, pride sticking in my throat as he narrowed his eyes, a concerned expression etched on his face.

"Claire – "

 "Just tell it as it happened" I managed to stammer out.

 Jamie nodded slowly, I could see his adam's apple bobbing up and down, and he shifted in his chair before he started to speak again.

 "It was clear that Geneva was vera keen to impress me –" he paused and deliberately met my eye I thought for a moment he wanted to drop the story of the case and just speak about him and me, what all this meant, but I glanced away.

 He took the hint and continued.

 "John and his team wanted me to push her with the project, make her believe that costs had gone over what had been predicted, demand changes that would require more funds, place urgency on having money drawn down."

 He paused and slid his hands across the table, they were less than an inch from my clenched hands, but I didn't move to touch him.

 "We went down that route – "

 I was done listening to the legal plotting of this investigation.

 "I would imagine you had to be on good enough terms with her then?”, feeling the flush of red fill my cheeks.

 Jamie's nodded, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, his face impassive.

 "Aye at first", he agreed " I had to keep her talk'n and such, the night ye called – "

 I straightened my back and leaned over the table, willing myself to hide any hint of emotion from my face.

 "Jamie, did you sleep with her or – ?"

 His eyes went wide as stalks and he shook his head vehemently.

 "NO!"

 "Claire – "

 I put my hand up to stop him, "Look there was pressure on you, you may not have wanted to but – "

 "Claire- " he banged his fist of the table. "I did no sleep with her. Ye must believe me."

 I didn't answer, but I locked my gaze with his, I could see tears welling up behind his eyes, from frustration or hurt at my accusation I couldn't tell.

He looked down at his hands scrutinising his palms. He said nothing for several minutes, and I thought he was done explaining himself.

 "That night ye rang – was the game changer." He said it in a whisper, not wanting to relive what had happened between then and now.

 "Why?"

 "I – well up until that I think I carried some guilt about her, I kept thinking she is a young lass probably knows no better, her father had ran his business this way, then moulded her brother and when he died he molded Geneva – that is what I thought anyway." His shoulders slackened defensively and he let out a long sigh. I could see exhaustion creep into his body and I wondered when he had last slept.

  "I suppose I was so desperate to get out of there I dinna care who I hurt – but as the days wore on and I realised if I managed to pull this off" – he looked up and met my eye – " Geneva would go away for a long time, and it would be because of me." His eyes looked at mine pleading, hoping I understood.

 "What happened the night she answered your phone?"

 "She had been at a fundraiser –" he pinched his eyes between thumb and forefinger – " she came by the studio I was staying at blind drunk."

 My fingernails were digging into the palms of my hands, and I willed him to hurry up or better again stop talking. Either one would do.

 "The surveillance guys had seen her coming, rang ahead to tell me to wire up."

 He snorted incredulously. "I had barely opened the door when I knew I had made a major mistake, she was really drunk, messy drunk – almost threw herself into my arms straight away, calling me James and tell'n me she loved me."

 Jamie's head shook from side to side. "I told her she was drunk – to sort herself out."

 "Then she started taking her clothes off – I flipped, told her to get out – then the tears started."

 He swallowed "I was ashamed – I had pretended to befriend her to get information that would finish her family – she had taken it to heart thinking I had feelings for her – I told her it was ok and that I would bring her home – it was while I went to get a robe or something to wrap around her–she must have taken the phone."

 Jamie narrowed his eyes "Claire look at me?" I raised my head and met his eye. "I brought her home, straight away – its all on tape – I have nothing to hide."

 I managed a nod.

 "I dinna realise until the next day – she couldna unlock it – only answer calls." He finished unnecessarily  

"Why was that a game changer?"

 My voice trembled slightly and I inwardly rolled my eyes, wanting to appear as strong as possible so Jamie wouldn't hold back.

 "Well –" he raised his eyes, recalling what had unfolded. "Up until then I was sorry for her – after I rang Jenny and I kent what she had done, what she got Dougal to do –what she had done to you. "

His eyes lit up , his lip jutting out slightly as he laughed, his voice was venomous and proud "She could have lost me what I love most in this worId Claire- so I dinna hold back,."

  He paused and I could see his mind working, trying to find away to express what had motivated him on.

  "I was so fucking angry – I rang john Grey and told him I wanted off the case they could get someone else to flush her out, I was so caught up with wanting to get to you – to explain – it was only then I realised how trapped I was – John told me straight if I left – she would get away with it all – and those tapes would never see the light of day –"

 Jamie laughed bitterly "those tapes were the only things that could clear my name Claire – if I came to you with some farfetched excuse telling ye I was a mole for a huge tax evasion case – ye wouldha thought I was gone mad."

 "I wouldn't." I interjected.

 "Aye ye would have, ye believed Geneva and ye believed Dougal – I dinna blame ye, god knows I have tested ye enough in our short time together, I have a lot to prove – if I finished what I went there to do – I had some hope of restoring yer faith."

 I reached out and touched the tops of his fingers, pressing gently. My show of Faith.

He took a long shaky breath " Geneva Dunsany doesna care about anyone but herself – she didna care if she ruined my family and suddenly I dinna care much if I ruined hers I went to the site the next day and I demanded more money from her for the project, told her I wanted it as soon as possible, that she was unprofessional and incompetent."

  His chin tilted up defiantly, his tone clearer and not without a hint of pride he continued, "I told her she had costed everything wrong and she was in jeopardy of shutting the whole thing down – from then on I took risks in how I handled her, I dinna care how I came across – I just went for it – it was much easy to bring her down when I hated her."

 "So what happened?"

 "Well, it turns out Geneva Dunsany likes men mean" – he snorted –  "ye could say she gets off on it – cause the more of a bastard I was to her – the more she jumped".

 A wide triumphant smile spread across his face. " A week later – she had exhausted all available funds in their British accounts –  so she made contact with a financial institution to get the rest of what I said she needed and all the HRMC had to do was wait and watch."

 "Jesus"

 "Aye, within another week she had moved a couple of million out of a Panama account and then they had her."

 I exhaled in an almost whistle.

 "So what happens now?"

 "There will be a trial – in a few months – the charges are significant – the Dunsany's have a long history in Panama – big money."

 I stood walking around to where he sat, leaning against the table my arms folded.

 "You came straight here?"

 "as soon as I had given my statement, I went straight to Gatwick – have been on standby until I got the flight last night."

 I ran a hand down his face, and he leaned into it, eyes closed.

 "I had to see ye – god ye have no idea how much I missed ye Claire  – and Willie - ye were on my mind day and night."

 I felt him tremble slightly, one tear slid down caught by the side of my finger,

 “I feel like I have been without ye for much longer than a few months – “

 I leaned towards him to cup his other cheek, something happened. He looked up and met my eye, seeing the tears stain my own cheeks, and the next moment he had grabbed me, pulling me into his lap and kissing me with all he had. Teeth sinking, tongues touching lightly, questioningly until we both started to fight for dominance, out of the need to push the pain of the past months away. Without conscious thought, I found myself straddling him, grinding my body against his, and he squirmed trying to meet my hips, my hands lost in his too short hair cut and the other balling a fist in the front of his t-shirt. I felt one hand tangled in my curls while the other traveled from my thighs up to my arse, settling on my waist to pull me closer still.

 We pulled away allowing our mouth to hover over the other, our breaths were short and fast.

  "I am not leaving you and Willie again Claire – I am here to stay."

 He pressed his head into the crook of my neck, breathing deeply.

 “What about Lallybroch  - what about Brian and –“

“You and Willie come first – everything else can be arranged – I mean if its what ye want too?”

 I tugged his hair slightly bringing his gaze back to mine.

 “I have to do some talking too –“ I bent and touched his lips lightly “but I am so glad you are here.”

[phaedrecameron]

The Accused, James Fraser, Chapter 10 - Sandbag

“Are you sure this is a good idea…he’s the prosecutor!?” Phaedre whisper screamed in Claire’s ear as they entered the Boston criminal courts building.

“We’ve got to find Jamie. His defense lawyer won’t risk us screwing up the case,” Claire replied, directing them to first floor café. “Grey released Jamie without prior authorization. I’m sure of it. I’ve been around long enough to know that protocol wasn’t followed. He’s hoping Jamie will lead him to accomplices. He’ll have people watching him.”

Phaedre nodded in acquiescence. She’d just have to trust this Beauchamp woman. Claire was taking a hell of a risk helping Jamie and she seemed to care for him a great deal.

Once Phaedre had explained her connection to Jamie, Claire had offered her a place to stay, which happened to be Geillis’ home. Geillis had an entire shelf on her guest room bookcase dedicated to Jamaican and Haitian voodoo. Phaedre would definitely need to ask her about that later.

Phaedre looked at Claire as they sat in the café. She was definitely pretty, but in a sort of untamed, ethereal way. No wonder her best friend was a witch. But she couldn’t say whether Claire was Jamie’s type. Phaedre had been around Jamie often enough to know he attracted the eye of many women. He was always polite, but he was looking for something or someone else. And there was the issue of Beauchamp being married to Frank Randall. Ugh, thinking of that man was like smelling rotten milk. Yet, Jamie must feel something for Claire. While Phaedre had been unpacking her things at Geillis’, Claire shyly entered the room.

“So..do you speak any Gaelic…I mean for your research?” Claire had asked.

“Speak, no. But I’ve gotten to understand a few things.”

“I see.” Claire had tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Well, Geillis doesn’t know any Gaelic and google translate is useless because of the phonetics of that bloody language.”

“What is it you want to know?” Phaedre had been tired and the way Beauchamp had been hemming and hawing was akin to waiting for water to boil.

“Well… do you know what ‘mo cree’ or ‘mo rye’ means?”

“Mo chridhe. Mo ghraidh. My heart. My love.”

“Oh.” Whatever Beauchamp had been expecting it wasn’t that. She’d started to glow and the stupidest smile had formed on her face. She’d left the room as though Phaedre had given her the Holy Grail.

Clearly, Jamie had spoken those words to her, not something he would have done lightly.

Yes, Phaedre would follow Claire’s lead.

****************************** “What the fuck were you thinking! Releasing Fraser from custody!?” Harry Quarry screamed at Grey.

“I didn’t release him, he posted bail,” Grey replied.

Harry was red faced, with a vein protruding from his forehead. John worried his boss would have a coronary right on the spot. Harry walked around his desk to glower over Grey.

“Don’t! You know damn well capital defendants can’t get bail. You dismissed the death penalty allegation!”

“Harry, this is the best way to catch..”

“We have the killer! You know Grey, I stood up for you when everybody thought you were a spoiled blue blood who bought his way through life. I recommended you for homicide when everyone thought you needed more experience. It’s nice that you can blow up your career, go yachting for six months and get another job, but this job is my life’s work and my family needs my pension!” Harry sat back behind his desk, turning his attention to a stack a files. “I’ve already spoken to Brown. You’ll stay on the Fraser case. The optics of removing you now would make the office look even worse, but once this case is over you’ll be lucky to even prosecute a speeding ticket. Leave.” Harry didn’t look up.

Grey went to the downstairs café, wishing he had some MacKenzie Whisky to add to his coffee. If he was wrong about Fraser, he’d hunt the man down and flip the switch himself.

“Hullo.” Suddenly Dr. Claire Beauchamp was sitting across from him. She looked more poised than the last time he saw her, but she was clearly up to something. “I need the location of James Fraser…for the eval.”

Grey sipped his coffee. She would make a terrible spy, no finesse.

Claire continued, “I need a follow up exam. I don’t want to miss the court deadline.” She smiled pleasantly. “I’m sure he provided an address as a condition of pre trial release…maybe even agreed to an electronic gps device?”

“Yes, and he surrendered his passport, but surely you know how…irregular it would be to release the defendant’s address to the court appointed psychiatrist. Contact Ned. He can arrange a meeting or my office can coordinate the interview at police headquarters.”

“I understand it’s unusual, but there are extenuating circumstances,” Claire pressed.

“Which would be……?”

Beauchamp looked as though she intended to grab his coffee and throw it in his face. Grey moved his coffee out of her reach. He was more than willing to wait her out.

“The circumstance of his innocence,” Claire hissed.

“If you had any such evidence, you’d have told Ned or the police. This is clearly personal for you.”

“And if you thought he were guilty, he wouldn’t be out on bail.”

Touché

“Do you know that woman?” Grey pointed his chin at a woman a few tables over. She was eavesdropping while pretending to read a kindle.

Claire groaned and waived the woman over. “This is Dr. Phaedre Cameron, Jamie’s cousin. She’s…helping me.”

Grey ignored her use of a nickname for Fraser and watched as this woman joined their table. “Hello, pleased to meet you,” Phaedre extended her hand. Grey shook it as he looked from Beauchamp back to this Dr. Cameron.

The woman was clearly an American and not from Boston.

Sensing Grey’s confusion, Phaedre explained, “distant cousin, on his paternal side. We have an 18th century ancestor in common, Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, The Old Fox.”

Grey blinked. He definitely needed something stronger than coffee.

“Lovat was executed by the English,” Phaedre added triumphant. “Did you know Scottish people came en mass to colonial America; some were indentured servants and some were involved in the trans Atlantic slave trade and….”

Claire lightly put her hand on Phaedre’s arm. She knew all to well the signs of a historian about go on a very long and very convoluted explanation of historical events.

“Oh, sorry,” Phaedre looked sheepish.

Grey cleared his throat, “Well it’s good Fraser has…. maintained contact with his American relations…..are you a doctor of psychiatry also?”

“Goodness, no. History. I’m a professor at UNC, Chapel Hill.

Grey sat forward. “North Carolina! That’s what Fraser was doing down there. Visiting you.”

Cameron’s face went blank. She had a far better poker face than Beauchamp. She looked to Beauchamp, “this will help Jamie, yes?”

Claire looked to Grey, “I don’t know. Can we trust you? To help find the true killer?” Her face was earnest and open.

Grey looked at the two women. Both highly educated, both convinced of Fraser’s innocence and willing to help him at great cost. Grey, himself was in a similar situation. He’d be ruined if releasing Fraser turned up nothing. Grey sighed. What was it about damned James Fraser.

“Yes, yes, you can trust me, but I want to know everything! What was Fraser doing in North Carolina and how do you really know him?”

Beauchamp nodded to Cameron. Cameron began, “what I said was true; Jamie and I are distantly related. My historical focus is the culture of enslaved Africans living in islands along the southern Atlantic seaboard in Colonial to antebellum America. These people developed a distinct culture and language; a language that is dying. I knew of programs to revive and protect languages— like with the Maori language in New Zealand and Gaelic in Scotland. I discovered MacKenzie Whisky was a huge sponsor of the program in Scotland. I reached out a few years back and Jamie responded. We became friends. He educated me on Scottish history and it was really interesting. I found great overlap and contact between Scots and putative African Americans. I researched some of my own history and found the common ancestor.”

I see, so he came for a visit?” Grey asked.

“He called me about two months before the murder. He wanted to know if I could put him contact with experts who could keep quiet.”

“Experts?”

“Historical experts; archeologists, anthropologists, antiquities specialists, renaissance art dealers, indigenous peoples researchers. I didn’t think much of it.” Phaedre shrugged. “I figured it was for his Foundation. “Said he would fly to North Carolina to discuss it.”

Phaedre stopped abruptly and looked at Claire, “He really is special, tries to help those he can.” Claire’s blush was not unnoticed.

“Anyway,” Phaedre continued, “he brought this.” She handed Grey a stack of photos of artifacts and copies of documents. “Those are historical items of note; spanning centuries, across multiple cultures and all stolen. Jamie asked me to authenticate some pertaining to Colonial America and get the right experts for the rest.”

“Jesus,” Grey flipped through the pages. There was also references to purchases of conflict diamonds from Africa, emeralds from Colombia, rhino horns, items looted from the unrest in the Middle East.

“These items are all in possession of Mackenzie Whisky. Amassed over the last two years, and easily traceable to Janet Murray & William Fraser, Jamie’s siblings,” Claire added.

John sat back in his chair. “A set up.”

Both women nodded. Grey knew if this information got out Fraser’s siblings would be jailed and the company would be ruined. This was a PR disaster in every market where Mackenzie Whisky was sold. This is what Minnie would call a scorched Earth attack.

“Jamie said he knew the liaison who was procuring the items on behalf of the company. He was flying to Boston to meet her. It must have been Laoghaire.” Phaedre stated.

“Once he was arrested, I didn’t know what to do.” She looked between Claire and John, “He wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t want to go to the police or his lawyer for fear of everything going pubic….I thought maybe with doctor – client privilege…I… I…” Claire grabbed Phaedre’s hand.

“We’ll fix it, we’ll find him and figure it out,” Claire continued to squeeze Phaedre’s hand and looked at Grey.

Grey, while sympathetic, was extremely skeptical of Beauchamp being able to help Fraser.

“He’ll already have a plan,” Phaedre stated, wiping at the corner of her eyes. “We’ve just got to convince him we can help. He’s got a reason to live now.” She smiled at Claire. ***************

Claire fiddled with her hair and wiped her hands on her jeans for the third time as she rode the elevator to the 7th floor of the luxury apartment building where Jamie was staying. What if he refuses to see her? What if he sent her away? Before she could lose her nerve, Claire exited the elevator, walked to his door and knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

When she thought she could no longer bear it, she heard Jamie’s voice through the door, “Ach, took ye long enough! Where’d ye go, Memphis?!”

The door swung open and she instinctively stepped back. Her mouth fell open. Jamie stood before her. He was wet and naked, save a gps ankle monitor and an entirely too small hand towel he was grasping around his waist.

He stared, but said nothing.

Claire moved forward.

“Sorry, it’s me, Claire.”

[bee-kathony]

An Evening Joined by Annalise De Marillac | Ch. 6 “Dans Le Bain”

a/n: thank you to everyone who has read and indulged me in this fic! thank you also @julesbeauchamp for this moodboard! Very nsfw ;)

Previous Chapters

With a fuzzy head, I opened my eyes slowly. I felt two things. Drowsy and completely liquified. My limbs felt like limp noodles and as I rolled my head over to the side, I smiled as I saw Annalise peacefully asleep next to me. Jamie was on my other side, a small smile on his own lips.

I didn’t want to wake them, but I needed to use the privy and so carefully, I rose from an entanglement of arms and legs. Slipping on my robe that lay on the chaise, I pulled it tight around me and pulled out the chamber pot.

It was times like this that I really missed indoor plumbing. Not only toilets, but a hot bath with bubbles and oils. What I wouldn’t give for running water and a tub. The closest thing we had to a bath was a large basin that took several buckets of boiled water to fill.

Peering over my shoulder, I noticed that Jamie and Annalise were still sound asleep so I slipped out to find Suzette.

The house was quiet, as it was still early in the morning. My pregnancy had me waking every few hours and usually once I was awake, there was no going back to sleep. I had grown accustomed to walking the halls of our Parisian home late at night or early in the morning.

Usually Jamie would wake when I did, but I always persuaded him to go back to sleep — he needed rest so badly. His body was still healing from the effects of what Black Jack had done to him and so every moment of peace that Jamie could find, I urged him to catch.

Of course, sometimes when I woke in the middle of the night, he came to me, sliding between my legs, his mouth on mine in a tender, heated exchange. This was all very recent, however. For months Jamie and I hadn’t made love because his mind was too scarred from Wentworth. But now… now he had come back to me.

I found Suzette in the kitchen, sitting in a rocking chair with her legs propped up on the counter, eyes closed with a cup of tea in her hands. Making a soft coughing noise so not to startle her, I stepped into the room.

“Bonjour, Madame Fraser,” Suzette smiled and jumped to her feet, setting her tea down on the counter. “Would you like some tea milady?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” I smiled and took a seat at the small table, resting my hand on my stomach. My cheeks were still flushed from the memories of last night and I couldn’t help a small laugh that left my lips.

“What is it?” Suzette asked slyly as she set down my cup of tea in front of me.

Thanking her for the tea, I took a sip, letting it warm my insides. “Oh it’s nothing… just, oh it’s nothing.”

“I do not think it is nothing milady if it has you giggling at such an early hour,” she smiled knowingly. Of course as the housekeeper of our estate, she would be prone to know what went on inside these walls. By her smirk and slight wink, I think she knew perfectly well what Annalise had been doing in our room last night.

“Is it so terrible?”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, no doubt surprised I would even bring it up with her.

“What happens between you and your husband is of no consequence to me Madame Claire,” she smiled and took another sip of her tea.

“And the Madame Annalise,” I grinned.

“Ah oui, of course.”

“I just never thought I would be doing something like this…” my brow furrowed. “And well — and bloody enjoy it so much!”

Suzette laughed and reached for my hand, bringing it in her own warm ones. She had rough skin, probably from the amount of work she did on a daily basis and I had the mind to lend her some of my lavender lotion.

“The pleasure of the body and mind is important to you, no?”

My cheeks blushed furiously red, “Yes.”

“Then if you enjoy it and it is agreeable with your husband and this lady…” she gave my hand a soft pat, “Then I see nothing wrong with it. But you are in France milady, things are quite different here already.”

Laughing, I nodded. Things were quite different here. I doubted that back in Scotland and especially not in England, we would not have been offered such a proposition. Of course there was no way of knowing that to be true and I highly doubted we would ever do such a thing as this again.

We finished our tea in companionable silence, enjoying the peace of the still early morning.

“Would you be able to boil some water for a bath?”

“Oui, Madame,” She smiled and bowed slightly as I stood to leave the room. “I will have it brought up to you when it is ready.”

“Thank you Suzette,” I smiled, “For everything.”

Returning to my room, I noticed that Jamie was not in bed, but now standing near the fireplace, his injured hand against his chest as he so often held it these days.

“Hello my love,” I whispered.

“Ah, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed me as I wrapped my arms around his middle. “I wondered where ye went.”

“I asked Suzette to boil some water for a bath, my body is aching.”

He chuckled and I gave his stomach a pat, “That’ll be your doing.”

“Aye, mo cridhe, and hers,” Jamie glanced over his shoulder at Annalise. “I fear she will have us both too exhausted to move one of these days.”

“I’m sure she will,” I laughed with him and then leaned my head against his chest.

I knew also that one of these days we would return to Scotland — at least I hoped we would. We both missed Lallybroch immensely as well as Jenny and Ian and all our other friends. Paris had become a sort of sanctuary, but it wasn’t our home and I longed for the day we would set sail from this place, with our baby in my arms.

“I didn’t expect her to come again last night,” I said quietly.

“I didna either, Sassenach,” Jamie slid his fingers loosely into my hair, rubbing at the base of my skull to ease the tension he knew I held there. “But it was a welcome surprise, no?”

“It was,” I agreed. “Very welcome.”

We stood there for some time, simply holding each other and to be near the warmth of the fire he had lit. A knock came from the door and Jamie opened it to find Magnus and another of Jared’s servants carrying a large cauldron of steaming water. Guiding them quickly to the basin in the corner of the room, Jamie helped them tip over its contents.

The steam filled the cool air and I felt my skin become clammy with the anticipation of the warm water.

“A wee bath for ye,” Jamie smiled and helped to take my robe off before helping me step into the water.

“Jamie, can you go and get my bar of soap from the nightstand?”

He nodded and rose to fetch the soap. When I looked over at the bed, I saw Annalise finally stir, her legs twitching as she came back to life.

“Good morning, Annalise,” I smiled from the bath. Her eyes met mine as she sat up in the bed. I couldn’t help but let my eyes trail along her body — her perfect breasts and slim waist.

“Bonjour,” she said sleepily and as Jamie came back with the soap in hand, he offered her his arm to help bring her over to me in the bath. It was of course too small for more than one person, but that didn’t stop her from letting her hand cascade over the side and into the warm water.

“How did ye sleep, Annalise?” Jamie handed me the soap and I took it, rubbing it between my hands and bringing it to a lather.

“Quite well,” she smiled and her fingers traced lazily along my arm. A shiver went down my spine and I felt goosebumps rise on my flesh.

“Thank you for deciding to come last night, Annalise.”

She leaned in then, her lips hovering close to mine, “Thank you… for coming my dear.” Annalise winked and sealed her lips with mine. I lingered in the kiss for a moment before remembering Jamie was there.

My lips felt plump and a familiar ache was building in the pit of my stomach. Annalise leaned over the basin, her breasts dangling close to the water and pulled Jamie to her. His cheeks were as bright as his hair and I saw his lip twitch before he kissed her. I should have felt jealous at the sight. I should have felt rage for seeing him kiss another woman, but I felt those same lips on mine and I felt nothing but arousal.

Jamie dipped his hand into the water as well and it laid gentle on my belly that stuck out in the water. As the kissed over me, I couldn’t help but press my thighs together. Hearing the sound of the water moving, the both pulled back and glanced down at me.

I was in heaven as Jamie slid his hand over my growing belly and up to cup my breasts. He reached for the soap in my hand and lathered his own hand before returning it to my chest. Annalise had taken the soap and down the same but now her hand rested on my knee and was sliding along my thigh.

“Christ,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the basin.

“Relax ma cherie,” Annalise smiled and then my hips bucked as I felt her fingers teasing my entrance. I was more than ready of course, but I still felt sensitive from the night before. Jamie leaned in and captured my lips between his own and I moaned, tasting his tongue on mine.

As lovely as Annalise was, there was nothing like feeling the familiarity of Jamie. He loomed over me and as he kissed me, his fingers twisted my nipples, sliding quickly over my smooth skin with the soap.

“Oh God!” I cried out when she slid one finger inside of me, my foot hitting the end of the small basin.

“I’ve got ye, Sassenach,” Jamie breathed sharply against my mouth and then I hooked one arm around his neck and held him close, also so that I could press my hips down on Annalise’s finger as she moved it inside of me.

“So beautiful, Claire,” Annalise said softly and I felt a kiss on my knee before she slid another finger in. As her hand pumped inside of me, I felt my release building and I gripped onto Jamie’s neck.

“Fuck,” I sighed and then nearly bit my tongue when I felt Jamie’s tongue on my nipples. I heard him spit in the water and opened my eyes to see him pouring water over my breasts. He had tasted the soap he had smeared earlier and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Doesn’t taste too good?” I slid my hand into his hair and he smirked before latching his mouth back to my breasts.

“Jesus.”

Annalise continued to slide her fingers inside of my slit and I parted my legs the best I could, allowing her access. I cradled Jamie’s head to my chest as I rode the wave of my orgasm — splashing only a minimal amount of water on the both of them.

My body was twisted in the bath and I felt my leg begin to cramp.

“Up,” I begged and Jamie lifted me effortlessly out of the basin and carried me to the bed.

I laid there, still spinning from my climax as Annalise began to dry me off with a thin cloth. Her hands were warm on my skin which was now cooling in the cold air of the room. My nipples stood at attention and she noticed.

I cried out as I felt her mouth on them, her tongue flicking back and forth. It was a welcome assault and I held her head to my chest.

“Sassenach,” I looked over her head to see Jamie standing at the end of the bed, his night shirt off now and his cock fisted in his hand.

“I need you, Jamie,” I panted, my back arching off the bed. He came to me then, eagerly and held my legs open.

I watched as he placed his cock at my entrance and then felt Annalise tighten her mouth on my nipple. Jamie had slipped a finger inside of her and she was now rocking back on it.

“Come to me,” I said to both of them and Jamie slid home, a gentle thrust at first.

Annalise moved her body in time with Jamie’s thrust and I nearly came at the wet sound of his fingers inside of her. My nipples began to feel swollen and slightly abused by all the attention and so I pulled Annalise up to my mouth.

Her tongue parted my lips and I panted, breathing heavily as Jamie rolled his hips again and again.

“Let go, mo ghraidh,” He said above me and I looked into his eyes, smiling as I then kissed Annalise and felt her body buck against mine and on Jamie’s fingers.

With a moan into her lips, I came and then felt Jamie spill himself inside of me. A moment later, he had pulled out of me, as well as his fingers in her and leaned over me, placing a kiss to my cheek. Annalise reluctantly pulled back and laid her head against my chest. I lay there, holding them against my body and wondering what I did to deserve such attention.