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mibasiamille · 7 years ago

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Please carry on your "Paperboy" AU! I would like to see what happend next.

as a bit of a preamble, i would like to apologize for how long this took to get written. i lost inspiration with this story for a bit, then with just writing altogether, and i’m just now getting back into the swing of things (thanks, nanowrimo!). know that i can’t promise another update very soon, but there will definitely be at least three or four more parts after this one. stay tuned, i’ll give everyone an update as to when that’ll be!!

without further adieu, here’s the latest chapter of paperboy (which, coincidentally, involves no newspapers)! catch up on the previous chapters here.

paperboy: part three (½)

december 31st, 1982

By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, Jamie Fraser had bitten his nails to the cuticle. His nerves had built up immensely over the course of four days, but they finally reached their pinnacle this morning. As he made his way downstairs, the tiniest excuse for a thumbnail between his teeth, his sister gave him a sympathetic look from across the room.

“Brother,” she chastised him, crossing the space between them in four long strides and pulling his hand from his mouth and holding it up between them. “You havena done this since we were bairns. What’s wrong wi’ ye?”

“He’s nervous, Mam!” Young Ian called from the kitchen table as he chowed down on some cereal. “He’s got a date with Auntie Claire tonight.”

Jenny’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, dark eyes wide. “Claire?”

Jamie nodded but said nothing, prompting to shoot a death glare at his nephew instead, who innocently smiled and continued eating. He walked to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice carton, twisting off the lid and taking a sip.

Him walking away, however, wouldn’t stop Janet Aileen Murray from prodding him even further. “Are ye bringin’ her to the party, then?”

“I may,” he answered hesitantly, taking another sip of orange juice. “If it all goes well.”

Young Ian made a Scottish noise reminiscent of a “hmph” and said, after taking yet another bite of cereal, “I’m sure it’ll go well, Uncle Jamie. She likes ye already, I ken it.”

In truth, everyone in the house probably knew it, too. He’d talked about her night and day ever since he’d met her, recalling the events of their first ‘date’ over and over as if it were a passage from the Bible. Young Ian–as well as the other children–had started to tauntingly call her Auntie Claire, since, in their eyes, they were bound to end up together. Every time one of them said it, the tips of Jamie’s ears turned red.

The color rose to his cheeks now and Ian smiled triumphantly, standing up to refill his bowl. Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You are bringing her here, right, Jamie?”

Jamie turned over his shoulder to look at his sister. Despite the raised eyebrow, he could see in her eyes the pleading look that resided there. It had been years since he’d last been in any relationship with a woman, casual or not, and he knew that she worried for him. Nearing on thirty-five, James Fraser was nearing middle age with nothing more to his name than a few thousand dollars and an old Ford pickup truck. She wanted him happy, with a family, and he knew it. It was all a matter of finding the right person to start that with–and, God willing, Claire Beauchamp could be that person.

A moment later the front door slammed closed, a distraught Janet storming into the kitchen with tear-streaked cheeks. The eighteen-year-old ran directly for her mother, of whom wrapped her in a tight embrace, the latter’s wide eyes meeting Jamie’s from across the room.

“What’s the matter, mo chride?” Jenny soothed, brushing her daughter’s hair out from in front of her face.

The girl sniffled, arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck. “A-Alan broke up with me, Mam.”

“Just now?” Jamie eyed his sister warily before making his way to the door, opening it and sticking his head outside. No sign of the lad besides that of fresh tire tracks in the mud, showing evidence of his eventual departure. Grunting and shutting the door behind him, he made his way back to the kitchen before commenting, “He could’ve at least driven on the road.”

Jenny gave her brother a look of disapproval, rubbing soothing hands up and down her daughter’s back.

“Geez, Jan, take a chill pill,” Ian chided, a once-silent voyeur to the events that had just taken place. “He wasna worth yer time! He was a barf bag, anyway.”

“Ian James Murray!” His mother guffawed.

Ian raised his hands in defense. “It’s only the truth, Mam, and she kens it.”

Janet sniffled again, nodding against her mother’s chest. “Aye, he’s right. He is a barf bag, a legitimate douchebag.”

“Do ye need me to go find him?” Jamie offered, turning to the door. “I can give him a piece of my mind.”

“No,” she replied, sitting up out of her mother’s embrace. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at her uncle. “I appreciate it, though, Uncle Jamie.”

Nodding, Jenny wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and led her upstairs to rest. Jamie watched them go, then turned to his nephew, who was currently digging into his third bowl of cereal. “God, man, do you ever stop eatin’?”

Ian smiled, mouth full of Cheerios. “Naw, Uncle. And I dinna stop talkin’, either.”

“Aye,” Jamie sighed, trying as hard as he could to keep from laughing. “That ye don’t.”

Grabbing an apple from the counter behind him, Jamie sat down across from his nephew. Instead of eating it, however, he started to pick at it nervously, making crescent-shaped indentations in the ripe red skin. Ian noticed this fidgety behavior and put his spoon down. “Why are ye so nervous still, Uncle Jamie?”

Looking up from his essentially destroyed apple, Jamie smiled shyly. “I just… I havena been on a date in a long time. I dinna ken exactly what I need to do, seein’ as the times ‘ave changed and such.”

“Well,” Ian smiled broadly, leaning onto his elbows as if he was about to reveal the location of the Holy Grail. “You definitely havta kiss her.”

“Kiss her?! I barely even know her!”

Ian rolled his eyes. “God, Uncle, sometimes I forget how old ye are. It doesna matter: first dates always end with some kind of kissing. Sometimes more than that, if ye catch my drift.” He wiggled his eyebrows promiscuously.

“I dinna need–”

“Ye’re takin’ her to dinner, aye?” After a sigh and an eyeroll, Jamie nodded. “Good, then ye have a good startin’ point. Ask her a lot about herself: her interests, what she wants to do in life, blah blah blah. Eventually tell her a bit about yerself, but keep it a bit mysterious. Make her ask you about it.”

Jamie leaned forward, a bit intrigued to hear what else his nephew has to say. “What about when the dinner ends?”

“Take ‘er home, if she wishes to go. But I dinna think Auntie Claire will want to leave yer side, Uncle.”

“So… what do I do if she doesna want to leave?”

Ian said nothing, but raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of his water. Realizing the implication of this, Jamie asked, in a shocked tone, “Bring her here?”

“Get. Her. Drunk. If both of ye get drunk, even better. People are more emotional when they’re drunk.”

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, aye? And how would you know that?”

Ian’s face turned red. “No reason,” he muttered as he quickly put his bowl away and ran out of the kitchen before further questions were asked.

By the time he had finished getting ready, it was half-past seven. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late to pick Claire up, and he knew it; but he couldn’t help staring at himself in the mirror, checking his shirt for wrinkles and the coat of his suit for torn seams. He hadn’t worn this thing in years, but since the place Jenny had chosen was fancier than most, he had to play up his appearance. His hair, usually a riotous cloud of red around his head, had been smoothed back with a bit of Young Ian’s hair gel. Janet insisted Jamie wear a blue tie–It will match yer eyes, Uncle!–and his sister begged him to wear Ian’s dress shoes instead of his typical work boots. To complete the essential “first date” look, Jenny had brought Jamie a bouquet of flowers to bring Claire when he picked her up–a bouquet of lavender roses–which he currently held in his hands. Nervously, he turned back from the door to his family, of whom were in the kitchen preparing for their own New Year’s festivities.

“How do I look?” Jamie asked for the fourth time that evening, adjusting his tie.

“Just as handsome as you did the first time ye asked an hour ago,” Jenny replied, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Hurry up, man, dinna make her wait any longer!”

As Jamie rushed out of the door, young Ian shouted from the front steps, “Dinna forget to tell Auntie Claire I said hello!”

He hadn’t been this nervous since… the last time he’d shown up on Claire Beauchamp’s doorstep. He tapped his fingers against his leg impatiently after ringing the doorbell, the loud ringing of the bell making his heart race. Hearing her voice, albeit muffled through the wood, as she yelled Almost ready! made his hands shake and his pulse quicken. If she didn’t open the door soon, he swore he would die of a heart attack on her doorstep.

Not even a second later, the door unlocked and opened, revealing a goddess in red. She’d done her hair up, the loveliest waves of chestnut and mahogany cascading across her shoulders, brushing the tops of her breasts. He thought he’d died of a heart attack, and by God, he was right.

“Hello,” she murmured, red lips turning upwards into a small, nervous smile. The apples of her cheeks flushed red as she noticed his wandering eyes, the shade almost dark enough to match her dress. She pointed to the flowers in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Words failed him, for he just nodded and thrust the bouquet forward. Smiling, she took them from his outstretched hand, fingers touching slightly as she did so. Gesturing inside, she asked, “Would you like to come in for a moment?” He nodded and followed her mindlessly into the house.

“How was your drive?” She asked as she rummaged through her kitchen cabinets in search of a vase.

“Alright,” he murmured, breathless. He tried so hard not to watch her as she bent over, looking underneath her sink for the “blasted thing”. Smiling at her turn of phrase, he started going through cabinets as well, eventually finding a vase. He held it out to her, “Is this what ye were lookin’ for?”

Standing upright, she shook her head, a smile forming on her lips. “Good Lord, you know my house better than I do!” She reached for the vase and began to fill it up with water. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely.”

“My sister got them,” he admitted. “I dinna ken a thing about flowers.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? Well, I can teach you a few things, then.” At his strange expression, she laughed. “I do some botany on the side, for fun. I like finding out what plants can be used to create certain medicines, or which ones shouldn’t be used for anything at all. Who knows, we could find the cure to polio or measles in some foreign plant someday.”

He nodded, smiling. If anyone were to find the cure to some crazy, foreign disease, it would be Claire Beauchamp.

After putting the flowers in their vase, she turned to him, hand outstretched. “Ready to go?”

Taking her hand in his, he replied softly, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The car ride to the restaurant was no longer than half an hour, but it felt like a day. He could sit and talk to Claire for hours–hell, he could talk to her every second for the rest of his life and feel content. She was such an animated storyteller, however reserved she seemed to be, and could make him laugh harder than anyone he’s ever known. Everything she had to say was meaningful and poignant, and it all resonated within his heart, as if it’d been frozen for centuries until she’d come into his life, slowly thawing it with her warmth. As she was halfway through a story about her childhood dog, a Newfoundland named Smokey who got into everything, he couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with her. After that thought, however, he realized how lovesick he sounded to himself. Talk about puppy love.

As they pulled up to the restaurant, Claire let out a gasp of excitement. “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?” Jamie asked, confused.

She shook her head. “This is my favorite restaurant! You truly didn’t know?”

Jenny Murray, I owe ye my life, he thought to himself. “I did not. But I know, now.”

Smiling, she got out of the truck and looked at the building in awe. The front was still decorated for Christmas, with fairy lights strewn all about the outdoor seating area and the outline of the front door. Italian music drifted from the speakers above, enveloping them in a comforting warmth that only Italian restaurants can offer. Extending his hand to her, he murmured, “Let’s eat.”

Thankfully, Jenny had made them a reservation–under Fraser–so that they didn’t have to wait for an hour like the other last-minute patrons. As they were being led to the table, Claire in front of him, he couldn’t help but admire the beautiful form of her body, all the curves and soft edges. She was a radiant woman, and definitely the most beautiful he’d ever seen. She turned to look at him, coyly smiling when their eyes met.

Sitting down at the table, the waiter got their drinks–she ordered merlot, which he also decided to try–and then they were alone. The tone from the car had extended into the course of the dinner. Only with the few interruptions of the waiter, Jamie was enthralled completely in her. Every word that left her mouth made him fall for her more and more, until all he felt was this overwhelming ache to be with her always.

“So, what about you?” She asked, leaning forward onto her elbows. “I’ve been talking about myself all night but I know naught about you.”

He mimicked her movements, smiling in what he hoped was a flirtatious way. “What is it you want to know?”

“Well, you can start by telling me about your family.”

“How many generations back?” He joked.

She chuckled, “Your parents will do.”

He then regaled her in the tale of how his parents met, eventually marrying despite the wishes of both of their families. Very Romeo and Juliet, Claire had commented. He then told her about Jenny and her family–how he was fond of his nieces and nephews, and his brother in law.

“Ian seems to be a bit of a handful,” she commented as he started talking about the young boy. “But he’s a good lad.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “When he does what he’s told, he’s braw.”

They laughed, sipping their wine and nibbling on the complimentary bread between them. Every so often, she’d look up at him from behind the rim of her glass, or under her eyelashes, head turned coquettishly to the side, and he saw what lie in the darkness of her irises. Despite what he’d previously thought, she wanted him. Having it been the amount of wine she’d drunk–she’d definitely had way more than he had, with the bottle having been emptied already–or the warmness of the atmosphere, he didn’t care. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity such as this.

By the time they’d eaten and he’d paid–despite her multiple attempts to pay for her own meal, it was ten o’clock. The party at Lallybroch had only just started; taking note of this, he turned to Claire as they walked out of the restaurant.

“What’re ye doin’ tomorrow, Sassenach?” He asked casually, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders as they walked out of the doors.

She pursed her lips in thought. “I’m not on call, if that’s what you’re asking. Why?”

“Well,” he started nervously, wringing his hands. “It’s only that my family is havin’ a bit of a get-together tonight and they have been beggin’ me ta bring ye to the house… would ye mind comin’ wi’ me?”

Turning to him, she murmured jokingly, “Are you asking me to meet your family? And right after the first date?”

He smiled at her teasing tone, nerves easing slightly. “Only if ye want to.”

Instead of answering, she smiled slyly and rested her hand on his chest. “You move rather fast, James Fraser.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked, out of breath due to the closeness of her.

“No,” she said sincerely. “Not at all.”

Before he could register what was happening, she was kissing him. Cliche as it was, all if his stars seemed to have aligned as soon as her lips met his–her hands wrapped around his neck and tugging at the long hairs at the nape. His hands on her waist, fitting there as if they were made for that purpose alone. When she pulled away for breath he opened his eyes, pupils dilated and lips swollen. Her lips were just as swollen, red lipstick smeared a bit at the corners. He rubbed at it a little, in a vain attempt to clean it up a bit. She smiled against his fingers, kissing the tips.

“So, is that a yes, then?” He asked, brushing a stray hair back from her forehead.

Grabbing his hand and squeezing, she nodded. “Let’s go.”

#paperboy #it's been a while but here we are!#hope you enjoyed #outlander fic #outlander au

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