#some situation where jamie is injured and cold

[thedeafprophet]

thinkin about May carrying an unconcious Jamie... are they asleep? are they hurt? physically or emotionally? so many possibilities....

[finaldreams1106]

Royal Blue Part 6

Okay, I'm excited about where I plan to go! And, now that I have a plan I'm going to start assigning names and genders because I am not good at 'they' when there are more than two characters. . .

Feel free to give me ideas for Villain, current plan is a coin toss lol.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

When they woke, Villain immediately wished they hadn’t. They were in a lurching small space that they could only assume was the trunk of a car. They gritted their teeth and tried to figure out if it would be better to force themselves to go limp or try to tense and fight each bump. The sheer exhaustion of their battered body forced them to choose limpness, their head bouncing up and down with every jolt, their still bound arms and legs flopping in the confined space like fish out of water.

Villain stifled a groan, clenching their teeth as a particularly large pair of bumps knocked their head against the roof of the trunk. Then tensed as the car began progressing along a relatively smooth course. They tried to find a taillight, hoping to break it and get a view of wherever they were, but there was nothing. Now Villain thumped their own head, they must have been put in face first. Facing away from the opening. Assuming they were right about it being a car at all. They hadn’t exactly been shoved in a trunk before.

They tried to roll over, twisting towards the opening. But their side immediately screamed in pain. Whatever meager scabs had started to form over their side ripped. Fresh blood seeping out from under the . . . Villain squinted in the near darkness . . . bandages? Frowning, Villain stared at the white strips that wrapped their waist. They tried to think. They remembered Superhero cutting off their air. They shuddered at the memory, the blackness creeping across their vision.

No.

That wouldn’t have kept them under for long. They must have been drugged after, something to keep them under. So, someone must have provided at least some level of care before they started transport. Villain sighed quietly, probably so I didn’t bleed all over their car.

The car stopped, and briefly, Villain wondered if they had heard the sigh, but there was no way over the sound of the engine. They closed their eyes and went limp again, unsure of the situation. The best they could think to do was to make their captors equally unsure of their consciousness.

A blazing warmth filled the darkness, and Villain realized they had been cold. The bright pink of sunlight through their eyelids was obscured as a figure stepped into it, or something blocked it.

“Are they still out?” the stranger asked. His voice was smooth, betraying no hint of worry.

“They didn’t start banging. That’s all I know.” That was Superhero, Villain had rarely tangled with her, but after their last encounter, they didn’t think they’d ever forget that voice.

There was a sigh, then fingers pressed against Villain’s neck. They tried to breathe slowly, mimic unconsciousness. They didn’t know if it worked. There were no words before several pairs of hands grabbed them and started to lift them out of the small space they had been curled in. For a second, their head started to loll, then a hand shifted to catch it.

Villain tried not to furrow their brow as they were set down on what felt like a bed.

“Now, this is going to be the hard part. Unless Villain decides not to make it hard on us.” The stranger’s voice again, it trailed off as if they were waiting on an answer. The seconds stretched in silence until Villain sighed and opened their eyes to see Superhero and several others in what looked like a mix of scrubs and security gear. The bed looked like a hospital gurney with rails that were likely stronger than they looked, cuffs attached.

The closest person smiled, “there you are. Are you going to make it hard on us? In the best of circumstances, you won’t have much chance to escape and injured as you are; this is hardly the best.”

It was the stranger; he looked as calm as he sounded. Villain eyed him, the mint green clothes, the surprisingly large arms, the small smile. They looked away, instead looking up into the vast blue expanse, “not sure I have much choice.”

“You don’t have a choice as to what happens next,” the stranger said, “but you do get to choose how it happens.”

Villain glanced back at the unexpected answer, not pushy but expectant. Then looked down at the cuffs along the bed rails, the power restraining ropes that prevented them from being confined to the bed instead. They waited in silence, watching Superhero shift in annoyance as the quiet stretched, then finally shrugged. “I’ll make it easy on myself, assuming you’re talking about rope to cuff. No promises after that.”

Surprisingly, the stranger laughed. “Thank you, Villain. For now, that’s all we ask,” they said as they unknotted the rope.

Villain and Superhero froze at the same instant. Apparently, Superhero had also not expected the man to just untie Villain without any additional precautions. He didn’t even cuff Villain immediately after the first knot. Instead, he removed the rope entirely, then raised a single eyebrow as Villain lay in the bed. Villain placed their wrist into the open cuff, unsure how else to react and painfully aware of both the surrounding security and their own injuries.

Superhero spluttered as the stranger continued to secure Villain to the gurney. “What?” they started to ask before trailing into silence.

The stranger rolled their eyes slightly, “It’s amazing, Superhero,” they said, “how cooperative people will be if you ask politely.” They paused for a moment as they were tightening Villain’s ankle cuff. “Well,” they continued, “I suppose we didn’t just ask. Villain is intelligent; they can see their position. Not sure why they would refuse.”

Villain didn’t respond; instead, they stared around what looked like a large courtyard. Nondescript buildings lined the exterior. They couldn’t see any sort of driveway. Frowning slightly, they looked to their other side to see the car they had been brought in. But there was nothing there.

“Holograms, Villain,” the stranger said, “I’m afraid you don’t have clearance to see where we are.”

“Seriously, Jamie?” Superhero broke in, “I don’t think you’re supposed to just tell Villain part of the security system.”

“And you aren’t supposed to use my name, yet here we are.” Jamie’s previously calm voice hardened, and Superhero flinched. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me,” Jamie said after a second of silence.

Villain glanced between them, but Superhero refused to look at them, and Jamie only smiled before motioning his assistants to start wheeling Villain towards one of the buildings.

“Now,” Jamie said, their voice once again placid, “let’s get you patched up, shall we?”

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lie To Me - 15

AO3 :: Previously

It’s been five days since Jamie was discharged from the hospital. Two days of antibiotics, some painkillers, and a stubborn Scot who very much dislikes being waited on hand and foot.

Claire sighs, watching Jamie sleep. He lays on his back, one arm crossed over his flat stomach, breathing deeply; the other rests in the support to avoid jarring it. She cannot forget Geillis’s call, telling her that Jamie was in the hospital for an injured hand; she can’t put from her mind the fear, the apprehension while she packed a bag and Ubered to a flat in the Bridgeton area. Geillis met her there, gave her keys, and told her to wait for Jamie.

G is really going above and beyond. Claire turns in the bed, taking in the sparse furnishings. Jamie had told her who the flat had belonged to, and the first thing she had done was change the sheets on the bed.

G had kept her away from the hospital, taking on extra shifts to cover for her; she must be exhausted. Jamie didn’t want Geillis here, said it couldn’t be risked. But still, she had gotten some of Jamie’s clothes from his flat, shopped for groceries, then finally delivered Jamie himself from the hospital.

“He’ll need help showering—not that ye’d mind, I ken.” Geillis waggles her eyebrows mischievously, trying to bring some levity into the situation.

And so, Claire shuttles between her own flat, the hospital, and spends her nights with Jamie. He tells her briefly haltingly what had truly happened to his hand. Claire weeps in horror and despair; Jamie says the best thing is to lay low for now, and he prays fervently that Grey and Murtagh will come through soon.

Claire agrees, hoping for the best, but afraid in her heart—not only for Jamie and the situation they find themselves in, but for them. Jamie, as a fit, healthy young man is understandably frustrated that he cannot do certain simple tasks with an injured hand, and truly puts the word ‘patient’ to the test. He accepts only the bare minimum of care from her, and sends her off to work every morning with a mere kiss on the cheek. Nothing else.

Jamie hasn’t touched her except when absolutely necessary, utilitarian touches to help him step out of the tub, get dressed, being handed a plate. It doesn’t help that Jamie is left-handed, and his dominant hand is the one out of commission.

Claire understands he is in pain, physical and spiritual. He wakes up in a nightmare, lets himself be comforted a bit before pushing her gently away to her side of the bed. He let her glimpse it once only, when he said, “I can bear pain myself, but I canna stand yers.”  

And Claire understands.

The rockheaded man doesn’t want to touch her, accept more of her comfort, fearing his uncles would know and come for her, hurt her like they had him.

Jamie spends his days reading, catching up on emails, working from home. The last one he’d read was from Dougal himself, telling him he was expected back at the end of the week, business as usual, injury or no. Murtagh had called only once, to tell him they were uncovering a wealth of information thanks to Randall, and to be patient, sit tight.

He supposes returning to the office would be better than moping around uselessly in the flat. It would help take his mind off lying each night next to Claire, anxious to touch her, but afraid. So afraid.

How could she still want him after all this? Perhaps she remains in the flat, caring for him merely out of a misplaced sense of duty, a physician’s oath to help and do no harm. He can’t imagine she wants to touch him either, with all these new scars he has to bear.

Jamie broods on the sofa, tapping away at his laptop one-handed until he hears the key in the lock. Claire is back, holding a Tesco grocery bag; she immediately proceeds to make dinner.  He can see some sort of chicken dish with a side of veg on the counter. What disturbs him most is Claire banging pots and utensils around, her lips pursed and the occasional huff, but she does not address him. In fact, he recalls, she did not even say hello when she walked in. It is not like her to not tell him things, so he finds his voice and asks her.

“Sassenach, what is it? Something at the hospital?”

“No.” Her tone, so icy, gives him a sinking feeling in his wame.

“Is it me?”

“Of course it’s you. It’s always you.” Claire finally turns to him, tears of frustration lining her eyes. How could he be so bloody blind? “Have I not been here for you, helping you? Or at least, trying to help you!” She throws her hands up in exasperation, tossing a tea towel onto the counter. “And you keep shutting me out.”

Jamie swallows hard. “A nighean, I havena… I mean, ye dinna ken—”

“Oh, I ken alright. Haven’t I proved beyond a doubt that I love you, that I’m not going anywhere? I’m in this as deep as it gets, and for you, James Fraser, I am willing to give myself and everything I know because I love you, you idiot!”

The words come out before she can stop them, days of not being able to express how much she is hurting for him, how much she wants to make it better for him, and can’t. Claire takes up the tea towel again and turns her back on Jamie, lips pressed tightly so he won’t hear her cry, but shoulders shaking weakly.

James is speechless, mouth agape. Finally, he says gruffly, “I’m meant to take care of ye, mo nighean donn. It is who I am, how I was raised. I want to take care of ye, cherish ye, protect ye…  but how can I do that when I couldna even protect myself?” He raises his injured hand helplessly, a familiar burst of anger in his chest that slowly dissolves as Claire turns her tear-stained face back to look at him.

“Because we can take care of each other, cherish each other. As for protection… I can protect myself too, you bloody fool. It doesn’t make you any less of a man for needing my help.” She takes a deep breath, and Jamie goes to her, his hand on her cheek as he wipes away the traces of tears.

“Mo chridhe, how can you have me like this?”

“I will have you any way I can. Always.”

“Claire, after everything ye’ve done for me—I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve stolen time wi’ ye I wasn’t meant to have.” He turns to face her, and he finds nothing but trust and love in her gaze. “I have betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest. Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.”

Jamie takes her hands in his, splint and all, and Claire kisses the tips of his fingers. Twining hands together, she leads him to their shared bed. She proceeds to divest him of his clothes, and she quickly undresses herself. Jamie frowns at the black, Velcroed contraption on his hand, but Claire turns his thoughts away from it as she touches him where he wants her most.

They make love; Jamie crying out his pleasure over and over again, and only one of those times was because of pain in his hand.

x-X-x

Claire feels Jamie rise from the bed, and she burrows further under the covers as a cold puff of air takes his place. She watches drowsily as he goes to dresser where she stashed the clothes Geillis had brought him.

Jamie rummages inside the drawer, and finds one more thing he had asked Geillis to get from his flat, a small, black velvet bag. Naked, the spotty heating in the flat almost useless, he nestles closely against Claire, before pulling her up against his chest.

Sitting behind her, Jamie clumsily pours the contents of the bag into his hand with a soft, clinking noise. Claire feels something cool and hard settle against her collarbones, as Jamie places a pearl necklace over her head.

“These were my mother’s,” Jamie breathes into her ear, his voice a whisper in the dark. “They are verra precious to me, as are you, Claire.” She feels tears line her eyes again, but for a different reason.  “I give them to ye, because I canna give ye a ring yet, but take them as my promise to ye, that we will get through this until I can swear before God that I will be yours and ye can be mine forever.”

“I already am,” she says huskily, fingering the smooth white pearls in wonder.

Jamie leans forward, and kisses the freckles on her shoulder, one by one. Claire tries to turn in his arms to thank him properly, but he won’t let her, trapping her arms against her body as he continues to press his lips against her skin.

“What are you doing?” Claire asks, laughing softly.

“There are constellations here. Let me take my time, Sassenach, that I may name them all. This will take all night.”

- - -

A/N: Thank you everyone for your support! A bit of bad news: this story will go on hiatus for a couple of weeks. I’ve been having flaring wrist pains and been diagnosed with tendinitis. Although most of the story is written out (and please know that I know how this will end) the next 3 chapters are not complete. Unfortunately, because of my wrist, this means I cannot take time to type out the stuff I need, until the doctor gives me the all-clear. So let’s take 2 weeks and hopefully my wrist will be better and I can write again. Thank you for understanding! <3

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish– Part 2

Summary:  Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 1600

Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start

               “The firebird is broke, Davy,” you mumbled. Your brain was vibrating, your mind was whizzing about with voices and slight colors.

               There were voices all around you, “The lass is waking up,” someone said.

               “This isn’t just a bad dream,” you opened your eyes, the images of blurred bodies started to come clearer. Bunch of men were huddled around a little room. With the vision of kilts, you concluded they were the Scottish rebels the Captain was looking for, “Can you guys lower your voices, I believe I have a concussion and your ramblings are really not helping.”

               “Who are you,” someone questions.

               “What is a concussion?”

               “Where are we,” you said trying to completely understand your surroundings.

               “We ask the questions here,” another voice said, “What’s your name and where you from?”

               You were too exhausted to fight back and too confused to make clear arguments, your head was just fog, “Y/N O’Mulligain and the colonies,” it was all you could say.

               A nervous chuckle came over the group, “An Irish woman from colonies?” They were having trouble with the notion of an Irish person living in the colonies at this time. You were not sure of the facts, but having clear thoughts was a struggle at this point, “Why are you here?”

               You rubbed your head, trying not to chuckle at the realization of your current reality. You rolled your eyes, laughing while thinking of the woman you last saw before this moment, “Adventure.”

               “No,” someone yelled. You winced with the sound, “Ya should have seen the girl. She battled Captain Randall, she knocked him out. I’m not sure what she is, or who, but I bet my best shirt she isn’t a spy.”

               “It doesn’t matter,” another voice said, “Randall is going to be looking for us. We need to go, we need to get Jamie out of here before-.”

               Another voice spoke up, “Why don’t we leave the witch, Randall might want her more since she beat him? Slow him down.”

               “No,” another voice yelled, wincing. By the sound he was making, he was in some pain, “We are not about leaving another person to the British.”

               “Jamie, how bad is it? Can you ride,” your vision was coming to. I didn’t know the story of Outlander, but you got the guise this guy was the Jamie that supposedly was more dreamy than Mr. Darcy, which you knew was to be completely impossible.

               You still haven’t gotten your vision focused and the room was lit only by fire near the chimney, “Hurts sitting still, couldn’t manage a horse.”

               From what you could gauge, his shoulder was dislocated, “We got to put it back.”

               All the man group around this man, they were just going to pull his shoulder up with force. You started to laugh, “You are all so dumb,” you laughed again, with them all turning to you, “You’re going to be breaking the man’s arm like that.”

               You tried to stand, still using the chair for balancing, “What do you know of it? You a healer?”

               Shaking your head, “No, my brother used to get injured every other day. I had to learn how to take care of his countless injuries.”

You started to walk up to the man known as Jamie. When you saw him with fresh eyes you could feel your cheeks blush. He truly was a man fit to his description, what a Greek god. Everyone just looked at you in confusion and distrust, looking like they had no idea what you were saying, “May I,” I push into the group, asking the red head if it was alright to help him with this injury.

               He nodded, “This is going to hurt,” you hit one of the guys shoulders, pointing at this Jamie character, “You’ll need to hold him down.” The men steadied him, “Jamie is it,” you ask gently. He nodded quickly, “This is going to hurt, I mean really hurt.” He nodded understanding what had to be done, “I’ll go on the count of three.” He took a deep breathe, you moved his arm into the right place, “One,” before you could get to two you snapped it back in place.

               Jamie grunted, but instantly looked relieved, “Thought you said on three,” he looked up at you.

               “Just an old trick, I didn’t want you to be thinking of the pain,” you shrugged, rubbing your arms together as you crossed them, “I’m sorry,” looking down at you feet become instantly shy all over again. You not really good with strangers unless your professional life needed it. You whispered, “You just got to keep off the shoulder, massage, and heat will help. Does anyone have a belt or cloth?”

               The man in charged looked to another man and demanded a belt. You slipped it around his body trying not to get into your own brain about this situation. Not only were you out of your comfort zone, but you were out of anything you’ve ever known. Jamie nodded, watching you closely, “Let’s get the horses, we’ve got to go.”

               “I’ll let you guys go, I’ll just be on my way back,” you started, but your arm was grabbed and spun around.

               “You’re coming with us mistress, until we get some more answers.”

               “You aren’t the boss of me, mister,” you said back to him.

               “More like prisoner,” he answered, smiling, “Jamie, you’ll ride with the spy.”

               “I’m not a spy,” you yell back, “I’m just a woman, taking an innocent stroll through the very lovely forest of Scotland.”

               “A regular lady, in pants. Sure,” one guy laughed at you.

               The man in charged approached you, gripping your arm harshly. It took you ever once of your control not to swing around and smash him right in the jaw, “You stay close by us, try anything and I’ll slit your throat.” You stopped breathing for the second, “Come on, give me your foot,” the grumpy guy barked at me.

You gripped Jamie’s hand and mounted the horse, “Haven’t you ridden a horse,” he whispered after feeling your fidgeting.  You shook your head ‘no’ quickly. Being on this horse with this man felt so intimate and it didn’t help it was raining. You didn’t have much clothing for this weather, and you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. Jamie started to make motions from behind you, “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing,” you harshly whisper back to him.

“You’re shivering,” he stated, “Seeing if my plaid loose can help cover you lass.”

“I’m not cold, I’m from Pennsylvania we have harsher winters than this,” you said more to yourself than him, “This is just spritzing,” you motion to the rain.

“I’m not sure what any of that means, but,” he chuckled, his breath tickling your neck, “You are shaking so hard you’re making my teeth chatter,” he chuckled again, especially when you helped him wrap it around your waist.

Turning around, slightly bumping his shoulder you ask, “We are going to ride till sunrise?”

“Probably the next as well,” he grinned again.

You rolled your eyes, you had to start formulating a plan to get back to those damn rocks, and hoping they worked once again.

                 You woke to the sun beaming down, you were not sure when you fell asleep. The sun was up and shining, it was beautiful and felt so good to be out of the rain, “Sleep well,” Jamie asked something from behind.

               Forgetting he was almost there, you pulled forward. Honestly, his warm felt so nice, which is probably why you fell asleep so easily, “How long have I been sleeping?”

               Someone rode past, saying something in Gaelic and chuckling with the group. You proceeded to flip him off, which you instantly forgot they had no idea the gesture, “Just a few hours. You haven’t missed anything.”

               You nodded, looking around you. Scotland was for sure dense and you could walk for days and only see one person, but it felt weird to let your guard down. Redcoats were all about this area at this time and place, “Shouldn’t you be worrying about the British raids? I would imagine they’d be rustling about this area,” you said to him. He chuckled but didn’t answer. Your eyes were drawn to this rocky mountain in the distance, “That out there, it looks like a-?”

               “Back of a cock’s tail. Aye, Cocknammon Rock.”

               Turning to look back at him. You were trying to remember what your friend had said about the books and the show, “I am serious. Don’t you find it strange we haven’t heard anything from the redcoats?”

               He watched you carefully, not knowing where you were going with this conversation, “What do you mean?”

               Turning back to look at him better, “The locals know the area better than anyone, but still the redcoats catch outlaws and rob villagers,” he still looked confused. “That up there, that high point is most likely where some redcoats watch, for the vantage point of seeing travelers down here.”

               He looked down in thought for a second, before nodding, “That’s a bonnie place for an ambush right enough,” he quickened up to the front, “Dougal.”

               They started to speak in what you imagined to be Gaelic and you could imagine they were talking about how suspicious your account was and whether it could be good information or not. The man named Dougal leaned into whisper to you, “You’ll be telling me how you come to know there’s an ambush up ahead.”

               “I just do,” you answered quickly, “I have military experience and I’m telling you – the odds are high that there is an ambush ahead.”

               Staring deeply at you, “You’ll be explaining more when we get back?”

               “Get back? What do you-,” Dougal yelled something in Gaelic and you were met with the loss of my breath.

               Jamie looked down at you, “Hide and don’t be going far.”

PART 3 

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 19 - THE KING’S GAMBIT

Good evening all. So now that we are all caught up with the previous two chapters, I am posting the most recent chapter called The King’s Gambit. This one also is NSFW. It will be the last of this type for a while, since are many other things these two babies need to do, like go back to work. 

Why did this chapter take so long? I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t get it right. So thank you to @scubalass​ who kept on me until it become something worth posting.

I appreciate any thoughts, comments, suggestions, recommendations that anyone may have. Any questions anyone has fire away.

So without any further delay, I give to you, for better or worse:

Edinburgh to Scotland

Chapter 19

The King’s Gambit

The pale cold light from a winter sun came through the bedroom window. It was the type of light that illuminated but did not lend warmth. It was, however, warm and cozy in bed next to Claire. Jamie didn’t want to get up by a long shot, but the reality of life would intrude today and there was no sense in postponing it.

He quietly got up rummaging through a drawer finding an old pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt; he dressed quickly turned and looked at Claire sleeping.

Her hair was a wild mess, like a dandelion puff that exploded. She’ll hate it, he thought. He, on the other hand, rather liked it as he thought it suited her, ferocious and untamed. Maybe that was what he loved about her. She reminded him of the Highlands, fierce, unrestrained, yet warm, loving, and tender as a spring flower. And beautiful. He gently brought the blanket up to cover her properly and silently left her to her slumber.

Claire turned onto her side searching for Jamie only finding a cold empty bed. Cracking one eye open she scoured the room for any sign of her Scot. To her dismay, he was nowhere to be found. She wiggled her bum intending to burrow down into the inviting bed for a few more minutes of sleep when the enticing smell of fresh coffee wafted under her nose pulling at her like a doomed sailor to a siren’s song.

Standing up, Claire smiled at the pleasant soreness between her legs remembering their amorous activities of last night and earlier this morning. Thinking she would find him in the kitchen, she wrapped her robe around herself and padded off in search of her Scot and coffee. 

She found him seated at the island, a coffee mug in hand staring intently at his laptop. Leaning over, Claire wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Jamie took her hand lovingly kissing her palm, “Ye slept well then, lass?” he inquired. 

“Very well. Better than I have in a long time,” Claire replied sounding pleased.

She turned her head to observe the screen realizing he had logged in to the hospital’s portal to review their upcoming OR schedule.

“I see you’re busy checking our calendar.”

“Aye, I have. There’s a CABG followed by a mitral valve repair/replacement as soon as we get back. The remainder of the week is just as busy.” He was crestfallen at not being able to help her. “Ye ken I canna help ye. So I was looking tae see who was free.”

Claire poured a cup of coffee and sat next to Jamie to review the surgical roster. “Look, I think Pound is free all week. He’s getting ready to graduate and could use more hands-on time. And he is quite good. I trust him. I think we have our problem solved,” Claire said as she sipped her coffee. “Do you think you could cover my other duties while I’m operating? That should ease the burden on the two of us.”

“I can. Now I just need to tell the Chief,” Jamie rolled his eyes and grimaced with the prospect of having this conversation with the pompous old windbag.

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Claire grabbed her cup and stood as if to leave wanting to give Jamie some privacy for the phone call.

“No, I dinna want ye to leave,” he reached out grasping her hand.  It was strange how he had come to rely on her in such a short time. Claire became his pillar, his strength. 

“I dinna like the man. He may be Chief but…there is just something about him that’s no’ right.”

She looked at him with sympathy. “I know what you mean. I have thought him to be rather Janus-faced, friendly and kind but insincere and unscrupulous. I have heard rumors about how he treats other surgeons,” provoking a shiver to run down her spine. “But, he likes you. I don’t think there should be much of a problem.”

“Aye, that's what I fear. “I dinna like his attentions,” he huffed. 

“You are very talented and a much better surgeon than he is. He knows it and I have a suspicion he doesn’t like it.”

Jamie blushed at her praise. That kind of praise coming from Claire Beauchamp meant something.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled Claire closer. He looked up at her beseechingly. “Besides, mo nighean donn, this affects you as well. We have been partners long before we became…more.”

He didn’t know how to define what they are. Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounds rather like high school. Lovers? That they were. But it did not encompass everything. Companions, partners? That still did not cover what their relationship was. He was at a loss to explain what their relationship should be called. What would explain it enough without demeaning its significance? Did it really matter how they referred to each other? She is the love of his life. And that’s what mattered. 

“Ye need to be part of the discussion and the solution.” He looked at her encouraging her to stay. 

“You’re right, Jamie. We need to face things together.”

“Aye, there’s the two of us now,” he smiled with the thought. Whatever they faced they would present a united front. 

Taking a deep breath, Jamie placed the call. 

“Good day to ye Ainsley. Dr. Fraser here, would the Chief be available?” Jamie inquired almost hoping that he was not. Get it over with Fraser. If not now then it will be later. Jamie heaved a large sigh.

“Aye, Dr. Fraser. Let me connect you.”

Soft nondescript music played as he waited for his boss to pick up the line. He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with impatience, anxious to get the call over with.

“Jaamie,” the honeyed voice drawled. “How is my favorite surgeon? Hum? Ready to come back with all these new techniques that will improve our department?” The avarice was apparent in his voice. His greed extended not only to money, but to position, fame, but most of all power.

“Weel, sir that’s the reason for my call. I had a wee accident while in Boston injuring my right hand and I’ll no’ be able to operate for a few weeks.”

Claire placed her hand on Jamie’s thigh giving it a gentle squeeze in support.

“You what!?” The Chief sputtered. “Where was Beauchamp while all of this was going on??” He muttered under his breath, but obviously not low enough not to be heard, “Damn the woman! You think she could control one man.”

Claire’s hand went to cover her mouth to smother her laughter. She expected nothing better from him. “Utter arse!”

Jamie scowled at her, for laughing. Claire shrugged her shoulders, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“She was no’ there when the accident happened. I should be fine in a few weeks. In the meantime, Dr. Beauchamp and I have assessed the situation and devised a plan that will allow for our caseload tae go on unimpeded. I believe that Dr. Elias Pound is available to assist Dr. Beauchamp with the surgeries while I assume the teaching, rounding, and clinic duties. We believe this is a satisfactory solution.”

“It seems you two have everything sorted. I can always count on the two of you to rise to the occasion.” There was a brief pause in the conversation accompanied by some soft muttering from Sandringham’s end. “Jamie, I want you to see our hand surgeon, Dr. Hildegarde de Gascogne to manage your care. As you are aware, she is world-renowned and I want only the best for you, my lad.  You are a very valuable asset to our department, ” he wheezed. ”Ainsley will call you with an appointment.”  Sandringham’s feigned attempt at concern was easily heard in his voice as it was hollow lacking sincerity for Jamie’s well being.

His tone became unctuous and slick, “Are you in much pain, dear boy? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Ah, no. Thank ye, Dr. Sandringham. Dr. Beauchamp and I have this well under control. I’ll be expecting Ainsley’s call.” 

“Very well then. Oh, and Dr. Fraser do be more careful, hmm?”

“Aye, sir. Good day tae ye.” He exhaled heavily now feeling able to draw a deep breath.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” Claire said with a smirk.

“Easy for you tae say. Ye dinna have tae speak tae the man.”

“No, I didn’t. But, he thinks I should have prevented you from injuring yourself.” Little did Jamie know that Claire did blame herself for his broken fingers and that he re-injured his hand a second time.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I promised ye I would beat Frank into a pudding if I ever saw him. ‘Tis an honor tae care for ye, protect ye.”

She looked up at him as if he were her knight in shining armor, “I don't know if I ever thanked you for coming to my rescue that night, but thank you.”

Claire sat on his lap snuggling up against him resting her head in the crook of his neck. Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her closer to him. She relaxed into him feeling safe and loved in his strong arms. Her fingers wound their way through his ginger curls. His hair had grown and was longer than he usually wore it.  “I like your hair a little longer, especially when it curls. I don’t want you to cut it.” 

“As ye wish mo leannan.”

They sat enjoying the peace between them listening to each other's breath.

Jamie leaned down placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do ye ken how much I like to hold ye?”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” sighed Claire.

“I do it because I like the nearness of ye.”  He smiled at her shyly as if he were going to impart some great secret. ”There is a hole here in my chest,” he said letting one hand go from around her waist and pointing to his heart. “’Tis been there my whole life. I dinna ken what it was or what caused it, this hollowness there. Now that I found ye I kent what ‘tis. ’Tis a chasm that only ye can fill, Claire. Ye are the missing piece of my heart. And when I hold ye close tae me, ‘tis no’ empty. It doesna hurt anymore when yer near me.”

She kissed his eyelids, the tip of his nose, cheekbones, finally finding his mouth. She kissed him lightly. Growing bolder, she allowed her tongue to trace his lush sensual lips savoring the taste of him. 

Jamie groaned deeply. “Claire,” he whispered her name reverently as if saying a prayer. He looked at her as if she was the embodiment of all that is holy. As if she was sent to him by the gods for him to cherish and love.

Leaning forward her mouth pressed near the tender lobe of his ear as she breathed, “Do you want me, Jamie?”

“Ye dinna ken what ye do tae me mo chridhe. How am I tae resist ye? My body is here tae serve ye as ye wish.

Jamie lowered his face, bringing his lips to hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, seeking entry. Her lips were soft, warm, and yielded to his desire. She opened to him like a flower in full bloom. Their tongues twinned together engaging in a ritual courtship dance.

His cell phone rang and vibrated on the table. He saw it was Sandringham’s office and pushed the phone away with annoyance expecting the message to go to voicemail.

“So, where were we?” He queried as his tongue licked the sensitive skin at the juncture of Claire’s neck and throat. Using his teeth he bit her causing Claire to erupt in chill bumps as she moaned in pleasure.

His hand slid between the folds of the gossamer fabric that covered her. Her skin was warm, silky. And her breasts ah...they were full and heavy. He ran a finger over a nipple making it harden and round just like a perfect pearl. How he longed to take it in his mouth and suckle like a babe at her breast. 

His mobile began to chime and vibrate. It skittered on the slick granite top, pulling their attention to the offending little device. Sighing Claire picked it up showing Jamie the home screen alert. Clarence Sandringham. 

“I think you should take the call. He’ll keep calling. We can always pick up where we left off later.”

Jamie grudgingly answered the call. It was Ainsley with the information about his appointment.

“Thank ye kindly, Ainsley. I will be there,” as he placed the information on his calendar. 

“I’m seeing  Dr. de Gascogne Monday at 1 pm. Do ye think ye will be free tae come with me?”

“You want me to come with you? Why ever for?” She wanted to tease him asking if he was afraid of going to the doctor, but held her tongue.

He looked at Claire with soft sweet imploring eyes, “I would feel better with ye by my side ‘tis all.” The tips of his ears pinked as he thought of his need for her by his side supporting him.

“Well if you wish that I come with you, of course, I will.”

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, “Thank ye Sassenach.” He didn’t want to admit he was nervous and afraid. Afraid his hand would not heal well and he would never be able to operate again. Worse yet, he feared he would not be able to care for Claire, love her, or serve her as she deserves. And she deserved a whole man, not a broken one.

Claire sensing a change in Jamie’s mood cleared her throat feeling that the moment between them had broken. The fire in their bellies had been smoored but not extinguished. She gave Jamie a light kiss on his lips, “Shall I make us breakfast?”

“Nay, lass. ‘Tis my turn to make breakfast. How about I make ye some of my famous parritch with berries? I can do that one-handed.”

“ Alright. Then I guess it’s my turn to make a phone call.”

“Tae who, Sassenach?”

“My dog sitter, Mrs. Bug. I think I should let her know when I’ll be home and pick up Ginger.”

“Aye, that would be a good idea. Ye go on and make yer call. I’ll let ye know when breakfast is ready.”

Claire dialed the number and the phone was picked up quickly. In the background she could hear the cacophony of a television playing, children laughing, and a dog barking. Her sweet girl.

“Ethan, ye wee gomeral, put that down afore ye break it. Hello,” shouted what sounded like an exasperated Mrs. Bug.

“Hallo, Mrs. Bug. It’s Claire. It seems I have caught you at a bad time. I just called to let you know I would be by to pick up Ginger on Sunday evening if that’s alright with you?”

“Claire, ma dearie, och ‘tis not a bad time.”

“Caleb, dinna make me come over there. Be a good lad and eat yer parritach. Dinna put it in yer brother’s hair.” 

“Sunday would be fine. Shall I make ye some soup? I’ll wager ye dinna eat properly while ye were away.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Mrs. Bug,” Claire sighed with exasperation. Mrs. Bug was always trying to feed her up.  

“Yer too thin, lass. Ye need to put some meat on yer bones. Gives a man something tae hang on tae. Ye ken what I mean?” Claire swore she heard Mr. Bug snicker in the background.

Before she could respond to Mrs. Bugs’ latest attempt to meddle in her life, there was the sound of pottery crashing accompanied by loud wailing in the background.

She seized the opportunity to end the call. “I think you are needed at the moment. I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Bug. Give my regards to your husband. Take care.” Claire clicked off the call and exhaled a deep breath. She did not know how the elderly couple managed to babysit children, pets, and find the time to pry into other people's lives. She was exhausted just listening to the carrying on.

“Is everything alright, Sassenach?”

“Yes, fine. The Bugs are a sweet elderly couple. They are really grandparents to the entire neighborhood. But they take on so much that I just don’t know how they manage.”

“It seems they enjoy it. Everyone needs to feel useful,” Jamie pointed out. “Now, come and eat. Breakfast is ready milady. ‘Tis no’ as fancy as you make it, but it will fill ye up.”

He pulled out her chair waiting for her to take her seat. 

Claire lowered her eyes and a small smile flitted across her face. No man had ever done that for her before.

Jamie served her the parritch topped with strawberries, sliced almonds, and drizzled with honey.

“‘Tis no’ gourmet, but ‘tis no’ lumpy. I dinna like lumpy parritch,” he grimaced with the thought. He stood next to Claire anxiously waiting for her to taste it. Anxious being the operative word. 

Claire dove in tasting his offering. It was delicious. Creamy with a bit of cinnamon in it as well.

Jamie watched intently as she ate it. He didn't know why he was so worried if she liked the parritch, but he was. Well if he was honest with himself he knew she was a better cook than he and he wanted to please her.  He felt foolish worrying so, after all, it was only parritch. But he couldn’t help himself.  “Do ye like it Sassenach? Is it too hot? Maybe ye would like a bit of cream. I dinna want ye tae burn yer tongue. Would ye like more honey? I could make ye something else if ye dinna like it,” he worried chewing his lower lip.

Claire smiled, the tip of her tongue slipped out and caught a golden drop of honey on her lip, “Jamie, it’s delicious, really. Please sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Pleasure lit up his face at seeing her enjoyment. Hurriedly he sat down and began to eat with great enthusiasm.

They chatted amicably enjoying their meal and each other’s company.

“Why don’t ye take our coffee into tae sitting room, Claire, while I clear the table?” Jamie stood at the sink rinsing the dishes then stacking them in the dishwasher.

“Alright.”  Carrying their mugs of coffee into the sitting room, Claire placed them on the wooden trunk he used as a coffee table. She wandered around the room looking at the objects that occupied the space as if they would reveal the secrets of the man she loved. She came upon a striking antique mahogany table that stood near the fireplace that was inlaid with white and black marble squares. Two elegantly carved chairs were situated so they sat opposite each other at the table. She ran a hand lovingly across the tabletop admiring its fine craftsmanship.

“‘Tis magnificent, is it no’?” he inquired, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist nuzzling at her neck.  “‘Tis a family heirloom. It belonged to a great, great, great uncle who lived in Paris in tae 18th century. He was a wine merchant and a Jacobite as weel.” 

“It’s  truly beautiful. Do you have the original chessmen that go with it?” asked Claire.

“Aye, I do,” he replied, opening a side draw revealing the chess pieces. He pulled out the black Queen handing it to Claire. 

She stroked it lovingly appreciating the fine detail of the carving. “It is an exquisite piece, a work of art.”

Jamie looked at her hopefully, “Ye wouldna happen tae play would ye? ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me.”

Claire brightened, “I do play. Lamb taught me when I was a child.” Her face misted over with the memories of nightly chess games with either Lamb or Firouz by the campfire. Each man taught her what moves to make, strategies to employ, and tried to instill in her the value of competition, of being a good winner. But more importantly, the virtue of losing gracefully.  “Lamb believed that it would make me a logical thinker and develop strong problem-solving skills.  And he was quite right. It’s been invaluable to me as a surgeon.”  But Claire knew that playing chess had increased her already present competitive spirit. She liked to win.

His heart gladdened with the news. “Might I entice ye tae play a game with me?”

“I would love to. It’s been so long though, I might be a bit rusty.” Claire stopped remembering what he said. ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me. Curiosity got the better of her. “Um, Jamie? Why can’t you find anyone to play a game with?”

“Sit Sassenach, make yerself comfortable,” he offered. A sly grin spread across his face. “Ladies choice, which do ye prefer, the black or the white?”

“White. No, I’d prefer black. I don’t like making the opening move.”

“Having the opening move can give ye an advantage and ye will need it. I was Captain of my chess club in high school and in Uni. I’m no’ being bold when I tell ye I have won many competitions. I am offering ye a chance tae win.”  A cocky look spread across his face as he went about setting up the chessboard.

So that’s why no one will play with him. He was a chess prodigy. “No, I didn’t know that.” Tapping a finger against the table, Claire carefully weighed this new piece of information deciding how to use it. She played well but simply was not in Jamie’s league.  Her competitive nature rose to the surface with his challenge. If she wanted to win, and she did, she knew she would need an edge. Just, not the one he was offering.

 ”No, I stand by my choice. I’ll take black,” she smiled coyly. There’s more than one way to win this game, my lad, she thought.

The first mistake, he mused. By allowing him to open it would allow him to play aggressively. He wanted the game over in twenty moves or less. And to do that he would make use of the King’s Gambit. Bobby Fischer defeated an opponent in eight maneuvers. Jamie knew he was good but not that good. 

He opened by moving his pawn to e-4. 

Claire countered by placing a pawn to e-5.

A white pawn moved to f-4.

Smiling smugly, Claire accepted the challenge by taking this pawn. 

Just what I want, he thought as his lip turned slightly upward. Not wanting to appear aggressive and moving too quickly, Jamie sat rubbing his chin in concentration.

Looking up he watched as Claire’s fingers lightly stroked her arm up then down. Her fingers eventually traveled up, over her shoulder then down to graze over the edge of her breast. Slowly. Touching herself just with the tips of her fingernails the outline of her breast became visible beneath her silk robe. She followed the same pattern over and over. His mouth hung open hypnotized by her. He shook his head like a wet dog to dispel his thoughts. And oh what thoughts he was having.

“Knight to f-3,” he announced.

Claire smiled taking in his chosen placement.

She licked her lips jutting out her plump bottom lip as she considered her next position.

Surreptitiously, Jamie looked at that sweet voluptuous lip peeping out at him. What he wouldn't give to suck it into his mouth and tease it with his teeth and tongue. Christ, the woman was driving him mad.  Get yer mind back on the game, he told himself.

“Pawn to g-5.”

Jamie looked pleased with her play. He bit the inside of his cheek while considering his next strategic move.

Claire studied the board intently waiting for Jamie to place his piece. Her index finger gravitated to her lips gently gliding over it. Lips parting, her fingertip entered her mouth and she began to lightly suck it. Her finger floated across her lips making them glisten with the dew from her mouth. She smiled coquettishly as she dropped her hand to caress the black Bishop. Her movements were sensuous, sliding over the chess piece from top to bottom, bottom to top. She made a slight twisting motion as she stroked the piece. 

Jamie’s eyes never left her hand. His mouth went dry.

“It’s still your turn” she whispered demurely. 

“Pawn to h-4,” he choked out his words. Small beads of sweat appeared on his lip.

“Pawn to g-5” she stated sweetly. 

Jamie refused to look up at her, “Knight to g-5.”

“Hum, interesting, Pawn to h-6.” Jamie’s hand rested next to the board. She placed her hand over his and began to trace patterns over the back of his hand.

He burned from the contact of her skin on his. Gently he removed his hand, immediately regretting the loss of her caress. Rubbing the side of his nose he tried to clear his head from the sight and feel of her. He meant to win this game and she was doing her best to distract him. Weel, he wouldna let her.

“Knight to f-7,” Jamie countered hoping Claire would expose her King.

Claire brought her King forward taking Jamie’s Knight.

“Queen to g-4,” Jamie grinned, setting up his advanced attack.

“Knight to f-6,” Claire defends her King. 

Jamie smirked, after this move, he was three moves away from winning. “Queen to f-4.”

He looked at Claire, finding her absorbed pondering her next move. Her hand followed the V of the neckline of her robe. Leaning forward, her hand gracefully began to trace her décolletage exposing more and more skin with each pass of her hand. Soon the curve of her breast was exposed. 

His eyes darkened with just a sliver of blue iris exposed. A deep rumbling noise rose from the back of his throat, dangerous, predatory. 

Stretching, Claire reached for her King placing it on f-8 enabling Jamie to see her hardened nipples straining against the filmy fabric. 

He rose walking to the side of the table bending over as if to examine the position of the pieces in play. Straightening up he turned and snatched Claire’s arm pulling her impossibly close to his heated body. 

“Let’s play something else,” he growled, capturing her mouth as he had planned on seizing her King. His mouth was hungry for hers. He licked, nipped, and tasted her mouth with kisses slow and erotic. One hand reached up and cupped her head while the other drew her closer against him, jealous of the space the air between them occupied. His kisses deepened, searing her lips. His hand buried deeper into her curls, as his kisses became more demanding.

 Claire melted against him, her mouth open to him as her robe gave way leaving her exposed. He palmed her breast roughly feeling the puckered nipple under his hand. He rolled it between his fingers causing her to whimper. 

“Yer a right dodgy player Claire. Ye dinna play fair teasing me, distracting me throughout the game,” he snarled. “And for that, yer coming with me. We’re gonna play a new game.”

He lifted her, threw her over his shoulder, and strode with single-mindedness toward the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fraser? Put me down this instant!” Claire bellowed kicking her legs, hitting him in the back in between fits of laughter. 

“Haud yer wheesht, woman!” 

Jamie unceremoniously dropped Claire onto the bed. Standing at the side of the bed he loomed over her. His breath harsh and his chest heaving. His eyes were glazed over with lust. She lit a fire in his belly that needed to be put out. He licked his lips anticipating what was to come next. 

Claire scrambled to her knees backing away from him just a little.

Raising her chin in defiance, “What do you plan on doing to me?”

His lips curled into a smirk, “I’m going to kiss ye.”

She blinked. “We’re going to play a kissing game? Isn’t that childish?” she asked in confusion.

“Oh no, lassie, ‘tis a verra good game. ‘Tis one where I get tae devour ye and leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy.”

Claire studied him, trying to puzzle him out. She eventually gave it up as a lost cause.

“Um, well I do like kissing you.”

“I ken that.” His eyes gleamed.

Jamie crawled up onto the bed. His body radiated so much heat it could be felt from several inches away. He was a blazing inferno.

He sat back on his haunches fixing her with a piercing look. 

Claire’s spine tingled under his scrutiny. It was unnerving her.

“Give me yer mouth, Sassenach,” he requested sweetly.

Claire leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his lips.

“Ok, so we’re done, right?” she asked nervously not quite knowing what to expect. 

“And ye call that a kiss? Tsk! Nay, we haven’t even started yet,” he grinned wickedly.

Jamie removed his shirt then sat back to remove his sweatpants. 

He shifted himself to sit so his back rested against the headboard. “Come here, sit beside me,” he requested, patting the space next to him.

Claire hesitated for a moment then moved to sit beside him.

His arm came up wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“See, that’s so much nicer, is it no’?”

“What are you up to Jamie?” she asked one eyebrow quirked in question.

“I told ye, a nighean I just want to kiss ye.” 

He cupped her face, turning it toward him. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Slowly he lowered his face until their lips were a breath away. He placed a kiss so light it felt like the wings of a dove floating across her lips

“‘Tis pleasant?” he whispered into her mouth.

“Yes,” Claire replied breathily.

“Good. May I kiss ye again?”

“Mmhm.”

Brushing an errant curl away from her face, he tilted her head back seeking out her mouth like he did that morning. Still sweet from the honey and berries he ate for breakfast, he fitted his lips to her’s. Slowly he increased the pressure on Claire’s mouth molding them together creating delicious friction. 

Jamie pulled away momentarily giving her a sinful grin. His eyes engulfed her, finally settling on her mouth. He felt like a man drowning and only her kiss and her breath could save him.  Her mouth was his lifeline. Jamie lowered his head and began to rain kisses across her mouth lightly at first then deeply, possessively.

Jamie broke away, resting his forehead against hers. Tenderly he brushed his lips across her cheek, then to her ear to nibble at the shell. Finding her succulent earlobe, he drew it into his mouth caressing it suggesting things yet to come.

Claire dropped her head back whimpering, making an offering of her alabaster neck to him. She pulled at his hair, dragging him closer.

Jamie plied his attentions to the long column of her neck, nibbling, sucking her sensitive skin. Using his mouth he gently nudged her robe off her shoulders letting it drop off her shoulders, and slide down her arms pooling around her hands and bum. 

Claire sucked in her lower lip gently biting it.

He grinned. Softly, he placed tiny kisses along her shoulder working his way down her arms until he reached her hand. He kissed her wrist, her palm. Raising her hand so she could see, he took each finger into his mouth and sucked each digit in its turn.

Claire began to shudder and breathe heavily by the time he finished with her thumb.

Jamie repeated his ministrations to the opposite hand, arm and shoulder. Dropping his head, he lowered his lips brushing them across her chest down to her breast. Finding her nipple he began to suckle one then the other making each one harden and pebble. He scraped his teeth gently against the tender nipple as it slipped from his mouth. 

She became restless, shifting her body arching her back needing to come closer to him.  Claire gasped at the sensations running through her.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine,” Claire whispered. 

“Quoting Scripture are ye?” Jamie smiled broadly knowing what he was doing to her.

His mouth and tongue trailed kisses down over her belly, slowly, languorously. “Beautiful, yer so beautiful mo nighean donn.”

“Jamie, I... I... ah...Oh, god.”

He chuckled, as he felt her melt with each kiss he pressed on her. She deserved every slow torturous one he would give her. After all, fair’s fair.

Jamie continued his downward trek, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, behind her knee, down to her toes. Using the opposite leg he began his ascent toward his ultimate goal.

“Jamie, please, I need...I want...more. Please, Jamie.”

“Do ye no’ like my kisses? Do ye want me tae stop?” he asked, giving her a soulful look. His voice was full of hurt and disappointment.

 Leaning up on her elbows to look him in the face, “No, no. I mean I want more. Christ, I don’t know what I mean.” And she flopped back onto the pillows, biting her lip and began uttering odd throaty sounds.

He smiled smugly, “Then ye shall have it.”

Reaching her core, he blew softly over it causing Claire to buck. 

“Hush now, Sassenach let me kiss ye.”

His mouth settled into its work, beginning to kiss her most intimately. Lightly at first then pressing deeper lavishing all his attention on her sensitive flesh. 

Claire moaned and whined. Her hands tangled in his hair sliding down to cup his face. Close, she was so close. “Jesus H. Roooosevelt Chrissst,” she hissed.

And then he stopped and rose up to sit next to her. He was hard as stone but was determined to see this through. She needed to learn it wasn’t nice to manipulate someone especially someone who loves them. “What would ye like to do now, Sassenach? Watch a movie? We could read a book, perhaps? Maybe a nice brisk walk instead.”

“Whaaat? What do you mean what do I want to do? I want you to finish what you started,” she snarled with frustration.

“Oh, but I did, my own,” he said as he leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. I said I wanted tae kiss ye and I did. I also said I would leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy. And I did that too.” A satisfied grin plastered over his face.

“Mac na galla,” she shouted at him as she picked up a pillow and swung it at him beating him ferociously wherever she could reach him.  

He laughed at her use of Gàidhlig to swear at him while trying to deflect the blows of the murderous pillow.

“I surrender madam, I surrender, ” he laughed. She looked so fierce his wee Sassenach lassie. Eyes flashing, skin flushed with anger, all pink and rosy. She was glorious.

“That isn’t very nice of you, Jamie Fraser. To leave me all worked up wanting, needing…” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Now ye ken how I felt during the chess match.”

She looked abashed as she clutched the pillow to her chest. “Well, I wanted to win,” she muttered petulantly as she gave him a sidelong look.  “I mean you were bragging about what a great chess champion you are, so I resorted to using my womanly wiles. I had to do something to even the playing field,” she retorted. Claire turned her head away as she picked at an imaginary loose thread on the pillow slip, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was very poor sportsmanlike behavior on my part,” she blushed. “But you set me up, Jamie Fraser. You didn’t tell me you were some great chess champion until after I agreed to the match. That wasn't fair either,” she glared at him.

“Aye, yer right, and I’m sorry for it. Forgive me, Claire?”

Her facial expression softened from annoyance to tenderness, “Yes, forgiven. Forgive me too?”

Jamie tipped her head up and looked into her eyes that reminded him of liquid honey fresh from the hive. “Forgiven, mo ghràdh.”

“We could have a re-match if you like.” 

“I dinna think so, ye’ll cheat. Ye canna help it,” he glowered at her. “Let’s just leave it as a draw, hm?”

“You’re right about that,” Claire laughed. “I don’t like losing. A draw it is.”

“Come here mo chridhe, ” he beamed holding open his arms to her.

Claire eyed him suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”

“I want tae kiss ye, ” he chuckled.

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to get me all riled up again and not finish the job. I'm no fool you know.”

“Never thought ye were. I just thought we could start at the beginning and see where it takes us,” he proposed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sound like a plan?”

Claire launched herself into his arms, ”Aye, that sounds wonderful.”

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

CABG - Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting - Treatment used for blocked coronary arteries. Open heart surgery.

Mitral Valve Repair/Replacement is a treatment used to repair if possible the mitral valve. If it is not repairable, it is replaced either with a tissue valve made from the lining of a pig or cow’s heart or a metallic mechanical valve. It is possible for any heart valve to be repaired or replaced, not only the mitral.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine - Song of Songs 1:2 New International Version of the Holy Bible

[renee-writer]

Guardians of the Stones Chapter 4 Past, Present, and Future

Back in 1946, Mother Ruth is working to get Frank out of Inverness. She knows from being in his room to get the supplies for Claire, that he had been offered a job in Oxford. She knows from a letter from another Sister, a Guardian of the Stones from the future, that he will meet his next wife there.

She was the Sister currently on assignment at the Stones. Keeping an eye on Frank was taking her away from her main job. He was bugging the local constables to find his wife, claiming a Highlander he saw looking up at her was involved. He wasn’t, not in her disappearance. Finally Ruth had enough. She has a friend, a mate from school how was the Mother Superior in St Aloysius. Mother Gene was happy to help, knowing the dean of the university that Frank was destined to serve at. She understood the situation and, a few phone calls later, Frank is off to Oxford where it is harder for him to try to find his wife.

Meanwhile in 1740, Jamie and Murtagh arrive at Lallybroch. They, especially Jamie, are greeted with enthusiastic hugs.

“It is happy we are to have you home Jamie. We wish you could stay longer. But, your Uncle Column needs you to help set up the horse breeding program. You will help him out for a few months and then return here. We need your help with the expansion of Lallybroch.” His da tells him after enthusiastic greetings from his mam and sister.

“Da, I pray this doesn’t mean marriage. I really wish to not have a lass thrust on me. I had enough of them throwing themselves at me in Paris.” Brain laughs.

“Nae son. We will have you choose your bride.”

At the Castle

Hamish becomes a shadow under his healer's feet. Where she is, you can usually find the young lad. He helps carry her supplies, accompanies her to the garden to collect herbs and other medicinal plants, even leaves his da's side to dine with her.

“I am sorry he is so attached to me.” She tells Column one day when she is massaging him to give him some relief from his leg and back pain.

“Dinna fash Mistress. Since the death of his mam,” The both cross themselves,” He has hungered for a lass to give his child's heart too. You are a good influence on him. I dinna mind.”

Lallybroch

The month passes quickly as Jamie catches up with his family. He is soon heading to Castle Leoch to serve his uncle. He will miss Lallybroch but at least he is still on Scottish soil.

First sight

His Uncle Column introduced them at the hall at dinner the first night he was there.

“Jamie lad, there is someone I would like you to meet. “ He stands and then almost falls back when he sees her. Her brown curls, as out of control as his own, frame a beautiful face with the most esquist eyes. “James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser meet Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, a widow from near York and London. She is the castle's healer. Claire, my nephew Jamie.”

He bows low before her. “Your servant ma'am.”

“Sir,” she curtsies.

“Miss Claire, come. Our dinner is getting cold.” Her escort stands and her arm. She is usually thankful for his presence. The Laird's son keep all but the most enthusiastic suitors away. But, there is something about this Jamie.

“Hamish, where are your manners. You aren't even going to say hello to your own cousin, Jamie, before you jerk Mistress Beauchamp’s arm off.” His da scolds him.

“Hello cousin Jamie. How was Paris?”

“Hello Hamish. It was good but I am glad to be home on Scottish soil. You have grown quite a lot in the last three years.”

“Aye. I am twelve now. May we speak later so I may escort Miss Claire to dinner?”

“Aye.” He bows again to her. “It was very nice to meet you Mistress.”

“You too.” As Hamish drags her away, he notices her arse. Ah Dhai!

“Uncle, is the widow Beauchamp being courted?” he asks his uncle over dinner,” By anyone other then your son.”

Column laughs. “ He does have a crush, eh. But, he will outgrow it when a lass closer to his own age catches his eye. As for Mistress Beauchamp, nae. Not for lack of the lads trying. I have had three men come and make serious offers for her hand. She has rejected them all. I haven’t made inquires to the state of her marriage when she became a widow. I fear her late husband wasn’t a good man and it will take the lass time to trust another.”

“Hmm. But, she is a good healer?”

“Oh aye. She saved Mrs. Fitz's nephew, Danny, from poisoning from a plant at the black kirk. Father Bane though him possessed. Was a relief to all when he ended up just sickened by the plant and she was able to bring him back to full health.”

Over the next week, he spend most of his time in the stables separating out the best horses, coos, and sheep, for the breeding program. He is joined by his wee cousin, as his da wishes him to learn the secrets of breeding.

“So Hamish, how is your arm?” he asks him one day when he sees the lad rubbing it.

“Oh it is better. Miss Claire gave me exercises to do to strengthen it.” It is the opening Jamie had been waiting on.

“You like Mistress Claire then?”

“Aye. She is nice to me and not just because I am the heir of Column. I wish her husband hadn't treated her so bad.”

“Bad how?”

“He hit her. When Father Mackenzie first brought her here, she had bruises. And there is a sadness in her eyes sometimes.” Jamie’s hands had fisted up. Men are not to hit women!”

“But he is dead, her husband?”

“Aye. But, she still rejects the lads who wish to court her. Da says it is because she doesn’t trust them. She trusts me though.” He says with some pride. Jamie grins at him. He canna blame the lad. He feels the same.

“What else do you ken about her?”

“She loves to take the horses out and gather strange flowers and herbs. She can heal with them.” His eyes get large in wonder,” she hums songs as she works but they are like no song I have ever heard. She bathes daily.”

“How do you ken that?”

“The maids whisper about bringing up water for her ever night.” He replies with a blush.

“You shouldn't ken that lad.” The blush on the lad's face deepens.

“She has knifes in her surgery.” He tells his cousin to change the subject.

“Does she now?” Before the lad can answer, Donas, one of the more ill tempered horses, runs in from the outside paddock. He heads straight for Hamish. Jamie jumps in front of him and places his hands up.

“Slaodadh sios balach tha a h-uile dad gu math. Chan eil duine airson do ghortachadh. {slow down lad all is well. No one wishes to hurt you.}” he tells the horse. It stops with a snort and then reaches out and bites Jamie's hand. “Iffrin! You wee bastard!” he calls out as blood runs down his arm.

“Cousin Jamie, we must take you to the healer.”

“I will be..” but he doesn’t finish as a wave of dizziness takes him over. Auld Alex and Willy, the other men in the stables also insist. Hamish gets his arm around his waist and helps him to Miss Claire.

“Miss Claire, my cousin has been bitten by a horse!” He calls out as he enters. Claire hurries over.

“Owe!” She helps Hamish lower him down onto her table.

“Tis' just a horse bite. I've had worse.” He says as he looks into her incredible honey whisky eyes.

“This one is bad. Will need stitches. Hamish, run down and fetch some hot water and whisky from Mrs. Fitz.”

“Aye Miss Claire.”

“The alcohol here is not for drinking.” She explains as she carefully presses a clean cloth over the wound to slow the flow of blood. He would ask her what her alcohol was for but, even pressing down hard on his wound, her hands feel so bonny on him, ti' all he can concentrate on.

Hamish brings the requested items back. She pours Jamie a good shot and then another. “Okay, this is going to sting. Quite a lot. I am sorry.” She pours a good bit of the hot water over the wound followed by some of the alcohol. It hurts like the devil and he bites his lip tight not to scream. “Sorry. I am trying to prevent it getting inflamed.” She gives him another shot of whisky. “I am going to close it now. Your hand will have to be in a sling for a bit as it heals.”

“Do as you need.” He is feeling pleasantly buzzed by the whisky and her presence. She tips the needle at thread in more alcohol and starts to sew. She does hum as she works and Jamie is distracted some from the pain by trying to place the song. It is like none his mam had sang to him, like none of the songs he had grown up hearing.

She coats it with honey, wraps a clean cloth around it, and places it in a sling. “Rest here a bit Mr. Fraser.”

“Jamie. I am Jamie.”

“Claire. Rest Jamie.” He closes his eyes and a few of his curls fall forward. She brushes them back and he smiles. She does too.

Fort William

Lt. John Grey enters Captain Randall's office. “You called for me sir?”

“Yes, you recall the lady we found in Inverness two months ago? The one found in just her shift. The one Father Mackenzie came to see?”

“Yes, she died in her cell.”

“So it would seem. But, when we went to bury our latest, they dug near where her body should be. We have only a few women buried here. She isn’t among them.”

“I escorted the grave diggers out myself sir. I saw her buried. Why she isn't there, I truly can not tell you.”

“Fine. You are dismissed.” The Lieutenant leaves with a bow and Black Jack returns to the letter from his wife. She wrote with news of her pregnancy. He wrote her back offering congratulations but reminding her she is to have a son.

It isn’t a love match between them. She had been married to his brother. He had died and, his family not wishing to loss her money, insisted that he marries her. He has the men here and about to play with. If she gives birth to a son, he wouldn’t debase himself to lay with her again. He would much rather lie with Lt. Grey. With a sigh, he returns his mind to the problem of the missing widow.

Lt. Grey has his own story. He had been serving Her Majesty’s army in Afghanistan in 2009. After being injured, he was sent home. He decides to explore around before deciding what he wishes to do. While hiking in Scotland, he ends up touching the same stone Claire had. He woke up close to three hundred years in the past. Thank God for Father Mackenzie and Sister Ruth. Father Mackenzie provided him with papers and a commission. He hurries to his room to write the good Father about Black Jack discovering that Claire's body is missing.

1946

Sister Mary Luke, is the newest Guardian. It is only her second time in this time and she is still a bit nervous if prepared. Frank comes in

“Sister, is the good Father about?”

“I am sorry sir, he isn't. May I help you?”

“I really need to see him. I have found love again, you see. With my first wife gone, I seek the church’s permission to remarry.”

“I see Mr. Randall. He will be back soon. Where can he find you?”

He tells her which B and B he is staying in and leaves. Sister Mary smiles. Twi months. Father Mackenzie will be pleased.

[cottonwren]

A Well Dressed Woman  | Part 8

Summary: Guns, and lots of them. Tommy is a confused sub and a good bro.

Words: 2005

A/N: THANK  YOU SO MUCH TO ANYONE WHO STILL CARES ABOUT THIS STORY! <3 Feedback and reblogs are the way to keep me writing consistently, and most of my stuff is out the way so I’m going to start on requests! 

------

Jamie was a little out of it even after Tommy had dropped her home, and she had managed to get changed coherently before driving into the offices. Nothing felt off, so she parked the car normally and walked into the building, greeted by a smirk and familiar red hair, just where they needed to be.

“Morning, Jamie!” Linn smiled, wrapping her arms around her “Did you have a good night out with Tommy?” She asked with a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle “Or, better to say, good night in?”

“We had a good night, thank you. A very good night. His son is absolutely adorable” Jamie told her, taking her jacket off and hanging it on the hook. “How is business?” She asked, walking towards her office.

“Sales are up” Linn told her with pride in her voice “And nothing happened in your absence. I handled it well. You may go about your business, I am going to go do some math.”

“I’ll see you at lunch then, I’ll take you out to that cafe you like so much” Jamie winked, sitting down at her desk and waving Linn off.

“Tommy really has put you in a good mood, hasn’t he?” Linn teased before walking into her office, secluded down the hallway.

Jamie chuckled, muttering something under her breath and rolling her eyes. She got on with some neglected paperwork, humming a light tune under her breath - not something she’d ever done before.

“Jamie! Jamie, go! Run!” Came Samson’s voice like a panic siren, and then, like a staple through the worst accords, there was a gunshot. Jamie knew, then, that Samson was dead. Her first thought was not to go run for him, his family, his life. Her first thought was a curtain of ginger hair. Dashing through one of the doorways, she grabbed her guns and barrelled into Linn’s office.

She caught Linn getting her guns and barricaded the door. “Linn. Get the fuck out of the window, get home. Don’t stop driving. Go. Now” Jamie urged, the sound of countless gunshots making tears well as they came closer. She could lose everything, everything in the world, but she couldn’t have Linn gone. “Go! Linn, fucking go!”

Linn shook her head, aiming at the door “Jamie. I’m not a fucking child, and you can’t do this alone. We can’t risk what we’ve got”

“I can’t risk you, Linn Pine, now go” Jamie begged, her voice hearse with stress as she looked desperately at her sister.

The gunshot didn’t register until Linn’s accompanied it.

Linn had managed to shoot the man who had opened the door only a few seconds late. Jamie fell to the ground, clutching her hip, then staggered up with the gun, running out into the hallway after Linn.

Her vision was blurry as she clasped the side of her head. It was so loud. So loud. Everything was so loud. She could see Linn running towards the assailants, and she wished she could see anything but.

“Jamie! Jamie, stay awake!” Linn hollered through her haze, not taking her eyes off the people in front of her.

Jamie wished she’d stayed awake.

The room she woke up in was hardly a room, but a ward. Her head was ringing and her hip fucking ached - she peeled back the light covers and winced. Oh, no. She was definitely in hospital, and she definitely didn’t need to be there.

“Let me in there - I am incredibly close to the patient now let me fucking in there!” Ah, Tommy. Definitely Tommy. That coarse Birmingham accent that could cool and light parts of her simultaneously.

Tommy. That fucker. Her offices had been attacked - where was Linn? Where the fuck was Linn? She was distracted by Tommy and left herself open for attack. It was the Peaky Blinders. Tommy had killed her sister.

Tommy was let through, and he walked towards her - no, ran. He sat by her side, taking off his cap “Jamie, how do you feel?”

“I don’t know, how many of your men did my sister manage to kill, Tommy? Did she get the one that got me?” Jamie exploded, glaring at him with an intensity that still burnt even though they’d tied her hair up painfully messily and she was in the ugliest hospital gown going.

“What? Jamie - it was Sabini. Linn killed them all. I would never do that to you! Jamie, fucks sake... “ Tommy sighed, chuckling weakly “I have sorted Sabini, though I assume you’ll pay him a visit soon enough. Had a feeling his life wasn’t mine to take”

“It wasn’t. Thank you, Tommy. Where is Linn? Is she safe? Why isn’t she here?” Jamie was frantic once again. Her baby was gone.

“Linn is at the office, with John and Finn. I asked her which one of my brothers she wanted to shadow her until you were back, just to keep you safe, and she chose Finn - they know eachother. I made John go along for extra safety. She’s okay, alright? It’s all okay. I’ve got you” Tommy told her softly, only letting the gentle part of himself out when he knew it was vital.

Jamie relaxed into the hospital bed slightly, looking over at him “Why are you doing this, Tommy? You could have easily ignored it.” She asked, her hand resting on the end of the bed, there for Tommy to take if he was brave enough.

“And let my only real competition fall because of someone inconsequential?” Tommy chuckled, his fingers brushing hers before he took the jump and actually held her hand “I was also wondering if you wanted to go for dinner again? Maybe you could come and see the horses?”

“I’d love to, Tommy. Has anyone said what actually happened? When can I get back to the offices? I need to up the security in there, it’s vital… fancy getting me out now? If they say no, we can just… go”

“You were shot in the hip, narrowly missing your vital organs. Any further right and you could have been dead, apparently. You’ve only been under for a day. You should stay, it’s going to be alright without you for a while” Tommy told her, running his thumb gently over her knuckles, noticing the flickery scars on her hands.

“Tommy, I’m going to escape this hospital and you’re going to get me out” Jamie told him, overpowering him easily.

“Jamie…” Tommy looked taken aback, something strange flashing behind his eyes and suddenly he was struggling not to comply. He did his best though, bless his heart.

“No. We’re going. Where’s my suit?” Jamie bit back, maintaining the dominance over the situation that she loved having.

“In the cupboard, as are your shoes” Tommy told her honestly, not understanding why he was so quick to submit.

“Right. You’re going to hand me my clothes. Then you’re going to stand out in the hallway, then I’m going to walk out, and I’m going to go under the alias of being your sister. Good? Good” Jamie ordered, letting her hair down and running a hand through it. She needed to get out, she needed a drink, and she needed, most importantly, to see her sister. Linn would be freaking out, and the world will have gone to chaos.

“I’ll see you outside then” Tommy told her, laying her suit on the end of her bed and setting the shoes next to them. He took a fleeting glance at her before walking out and closing the white door behind him.

Jamie nodded, waiting till he was gone before swinging her legs out of the bed carefully, a loud yelp escaping her as she turned on her injured hip. “Fuck” She muttered, biting her lip so hard that she drew blood. Hobbling round to the end of the bed, she took the undershirt in her hands, slowly undoing the gown and hissing slightly at the feel of biting cold air on her bare skin. She pulled it over her shoulders, buttoning it up slowly, regretting sending Tommy out. Getting trousers, socks and shoes on would be hard. He couldn’t see her naked though. That would be bad.

She put on the shirt and buttoned it, pulling on her waistcoat afterwards. So good so far, though if the waistcoat had been anywhere lower, it would have been a massive issue. Picking up the trousers, she realised that it could be more of a challenge than she originally expected.

After a few attempts, she sat on the bed in her underwear and full upper suit. Jamie pulled the blanket over her legs to hide their nudity, and called out.

“Tommy? You still there?” Jamie called, not too loud - she didn’t want to alert anyone but him. A nurse coming in would be the worst possible outcome.

“Yeah.” He replied, obviously only inches from the door.

“I can’t fucking bend.” She told him, exasperated. Jamie was stressed out, and seconds she was wasting here meant seconds that Linn was left alone.

“Your hip does have a hole in it” The brummie remarked sarcastically, leaning against the opposite side door, smirk eminent in his voice.

“Tommy, I can’t get my fucking trousers on” Jamie reminded him, frustrated and getting angry “Unless you can get your trousers on without bending, you should see why”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the fuck do I do?” She followed up, knowing there was one thing he was bound to suggest.

“Want me to help?” He asked, the doorknob twitching slightly as if he was turning it.

“Fucks sake” Jamie groaned, the moral dilemma too much for her morphined brain to handle.

“I’ll be seeing your legs either way” He reminded her, already having opened the door a crack to hear her better.

“Fucking fine.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. The only person except from Linn that she would allow to see her in her underwear with no sexual subcontext was Sams- “Wait, Tommy, where’s Samson?”

“Your assistant?” Tommy checked as he closed the door behind him, walking towards her.

“Th- Tommy, is he dead?” Jamie asked as she peeled back the covers from her legs, gratefully taking them from where he had gently slid them up her legs and zipping up the fly.

“He died.” Tommy confirmed, rolling her socks up halfway her calves, doing his very best to pay attention to her mournful emotions whilst just having slid her trousers all the way up her legs. He had just dressed the girl he had been trying to get into bed with since he met her, and his mind was blown.

“Fuck. He had kids - beautiful kids, and his wife… oh, my god. I’ve widowed someone, Tommy” Jamie came to the heart crushing realisation just as he was lacing up her left shoe. “Fuck.” She willed herself not to cry, but everything was so much, and the morphine was making her have less control over herself.

“Sabini killed him, alright? Sabini, and Sabini’s men. Not you. You were shot trying to save your sister, and she lived. She lived, and wasn’t injured.” Tommy told her, tying up her right shoe and standing up “You did well” He grabbed her jacket and draped it over her shoulders, holding the lapels, holding her close.

“Alright. Thank you, Tommy. Now, let’s go to the offices, yes? Did Linn say how much they took?” Jamie asked - now the heart had had it’s way, the head could take over. What brought her heart back was the realisation that they were close. So close. Fuck - how many cigarettes did that man smoke? He practically eminated the smell. His warm breath fanned the bottom of her nose, and she swore her breath hitched.

Then, like the cocky bastard he was, Tommy stood straight, offering out his arm as if nothing had happened “They didn’t take anything. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah” She muttered, rolling her eyes at his smirk. Jamie would say something if she wasn’t already hiding how flustered she was.

[dr-oliver-j-evans]

all about oliver

Note: This is a template I used on the Choices Amino that belongs to X on the ven, vidi, amavi Amino. As of right now, I have his faceclaim as Diego Barrueco. 

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ have you ever seen a guy just look up at you with a tired half-smile and you feel like you could just melt? i haven't either so please take pictures when you do. ❞

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⋟

◢ вaѕιcѕ ◣

「 ᶠᵁᴸᴸ ᴺᴬᴹᴱ 」

➾ oliver james evans

「 ᴺᴬᴹᴱ ᴹᴱᴬᴺᴵᴺᴳ(ˢ) 」

➾ Olive tree; The biblical olive tree symbolizes fruitfulness, beauty, and dignity. 'Extending an olive branch' signifies an offer of peace.

➾ Supplanter

➾ The Lord is gracious.

「 ᴺᴵᶜᴷᴺᴬᴹᴱˢ 」

➾ oli, ollie, jamie, jamezie, evah, oj, orange juice, and ollie ollie oxen free

「 ᴬᴳᴱ 」

➾ 25

「 ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴᴰᴬᵞ 」

➾ 12 may

「 ˢᵁᴺ ᶻᴼᴰᴵᴬᶜ 」

➾ taurus

「 ᶜᴴᴵᴺᴱˢᴱ ᶻᴼᴰᴵᴬᶜ 」

➾ rooster

「 ˢᴾᴱᶜᴵᴱˢ 」

➾ homo sapien / human

「 ˢᴱˣᵁᴬᴸᴵᵀᵞ 」

➾ homosexual

「 ᴳᴱᴺᴰᴱᴿ 」

➾ male

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ i have the strongest of urges to just grab you by the shoulders and tell you how much you mean to me. the thing is: you don't know i exist. ❞

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◢ pнyѕιcal ◣

「 ˢᴱˣ 」

➾ male

「 ᴱᵞᴱ ᶜᴼᴸᴼᴿ 」

➾ amber / light brown

「 ᴴᴬᴵᴿ ᶜᴼᴸᴼᴿ 」

➾ dark brown / black

「 ᴰᴵˢᵀᴵᴺᶜᵀ ᶠᴱᴬᵀᵁᴿᴱ(ˢ) 」

➾ light freckles scattered about his face

「 ᵀᴬᵀᵀᴼᴼ(ˢ) 」

➾ half of a floral sleeve on right arm and a galaxy themed bull head on left arm

「 ᶜᴸᴼᵀᴴᴵᴺᴳ ˢᵀᵞᴸᴱ 」

➾ mostly button up shirts, vintage t-shirts, and jeans with sneakers

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❝ the past is the past and the future is a mystery. we are in the present which is a gift for a reason. ❞

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◢ perѕonalιтy ◣

「 ᴾᴼˢᴵᵀᴵᵛᴱ ᵀᴿᴬᴵᵀˢ 」

¹⋅⁾ extremely passionate

²⋅⁾ god like patience

³⋅⁾ team player

⁴⋅⁾ organized

⁵⋅⁾ flexible (in more ways than one)

「 ᴺᴱᴳᴬᵀᴵᵛᴱ ᵀᴿᴬᴵᵀˢ 」

¹⋅⁾ not a morning person

²⋅⁾ dislikes rowdiness

³⋅⁾ clueless towards most innuendos

⁴⋅⁾ - -

⁵⋅⁾ - -

「 ᴴᴬᴮᴵᵀˢ 」

¹⋅⁾ tugs at his fingers when nervous

²⋅⁾ hums to himself when working

³⋅⁾ runs a hand (or two) through hair when bored

「 ᴳᴱᴺᴱᴿᴬᴸ ᴹᴼᴼᴰ 」

➾ reserved/shy but a tad bubbly

「 ᴵᴺᵀᴿᴼᵛᴱᴿᵀ ᴼᴿ ᴱˣᵀᴿᴼᵛᴱᴿᵀ 」

➾ ambivert

「 ᶜᴼᴺᶠᴵᴰᴱᴺᵀ ᴼᴿ ᴵᴺˢᴱᶜᵁᴿᴱ 」

➾ mix of both but leans towards being insecure

「 ᴱᴹᴼᵀᴵᴼᴺˢ ᴼᴿ ��ᴼᴳᴵᶜ 」

➾ e m o t i o n s

「 ᶜᴸᴱᴬᴺ ᴼᴿ ᴹᴱˢˢᵞ 」

➾ clean

「 ᴳᴼᴼᴰ ᴼᴿ ᴮᴬᴰ 」

➾ good

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ i am a human being with simple needs: i constantly need love, reassurance, and food. ❞

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◢ lιĸeѕ / dιѕlιĸeѕ ◣

「 ✓ 」

¹⋅⁾ romance novels

²⋅⁾ art museums

³⋅⁾ the outdoors (especially flowers)

⁴⋅⁾ marvel movies (winter soldier and gotg made him cry)

⁵⋅⁾ anything 20's, 50's, and 90's

「 ✕ 」

¹⋅⁾ cucumber and pickles

²⋅⁾ ranch dressing

³⋅⁾ going to church (raised catholic but is now atheist)

⁴⋅⁾ long lines for anything

⁵⋅⁾ any pencil lead or pen ink rubbing off onto the side of his hand (happens to him a lot due to being a leftie)

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❝ your family does not have to be related to you by blood. they could be the people around you. ❞

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◢ ѕтaтѕ ◣

「 ᴵᴺᵀᴱᴸᴸᴵᴳᴱᴺᶜᴱ 」

➾ 7 / 10

「 ᶜᴼᴺᶠᴵᴰᴱᴺᶜᴱ 」

➾ 4.25 / 10

「 ᵂᴵˢᴰᴼᴹ 」

➾ 8 / 10

「 ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿᵞ 」

➾ 8.5 / 10

「 ᶜᴿᴱᴬᵀᴵᵛᴵᵀᵞ 」

➾ 6 / 10

「 ᴼᴮᴱᴰᴵᴱᴺᶜᴱ 」

➾ 8 / 10

「 ᴿᴱᶠᴸᴱˣᴱˢ 」

➾ 6 / 10

「 ˢᴾᴱᴱᴰ 」

➾ 7.75 / 10

「 ᴬᴳᴵᴸᴵᵀᵞ 」

➾ 7.5 / 10

「 ᴼᶠᶠᴱᴺˢᴱ 」

➾ 5 / 10

「 ᴰᴱᶠᴱᴺˢᴱ」

➾ 6 / 10

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ who says i can't go to taco bell at three in the morning? i am an adult with a valid driver's license. ❞

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

⋟

◢ relaтιonѕ ◣

「 ᴹᴼᵀᴴᴱᴿ 」

➾ emiliana evans

status: alive

「 ᶠᴬᵀᴴᴱᴿ 」

➾ damien cayden evans

status: alive

「 ˢᴵᴮᴸᴵᴺᴳ(ˢ) 」

➾ benjamin evans

status: alive

「 ᶠᴿᴵᴱᴺᴰˢ 」

➾ bryce lahela

status: alive

「 ᴸᴼᵛᴱ ᴵᴺᵀᴱᴿᴱˢᵀ(ˢ) 」

➾ ethan ramsey

status: alive

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ i may be hopelessly in love with him but...it's all up to him to see me. if he doesn't, then i guess it will be his loss. ❞

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

⋟

◢ вeнavιor ◣

「 ᴬᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ˢᵀᴿᴬᴺᴳᴱᴿˢ 」

➾ he will keep to himself, saying nothing to the person or people unless acknowledged. when he does speak to them, he will be kind and most definitely on the awkward side.

「 ᴬᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᶠᴿᴵᴱᴺᴰˢ 」

➾ just like when he is around strangers, oliver will not say much unless acknowledged. other than that, he will be bubbly and outgoing, helping his friends get through life.

「ᴬᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᴱᴺᴱᴹᴵᴱˢ 」

➾ he will be cold towards them in the sense that he will simply ignore them. he knows that people can be temporary in his life and there's no room for any toxicity in his plan for success.

「 ᴬᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᶜᴿᵁˢᴴ 」

➾ he will be incredibly awkward and vulnerable. oliver is not the type to fall for just anyone, they have to be important to him. oliver will try his best to flirt and give them signs of his attraction towards them. depending on the situation, he may open up more and be the one to start a conversation.

「 ᴬᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᴸᴼᵛᴱᴿ 」

➾ he will be affectionate when appropriate, mostly holding their hand or looping his arm around his lover's. oliver is most definitely the type to shower his lover with compliments and genuine love that he only wishes to have returned to him.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ᴴᴬᴾᴾᵞ 」

➾ oliver will be a smiley mess with a bounce in his step. the man might even toss his enemy a compliment based on what made him so happy.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ˢᵁᴿᴾᴿᴵˢᴱᴰ 」

➾ he will simply not know what to do with himself, possibly resulting in flusteredness. oliver could even shut down emotionally and just stand there. though, that is not the most common thing to occur.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ˢᶜᴬᴿᴱᴰ 」

➾ he will most definitely be tense and freeze up. oliver isn't afraid of much but there are things that just frighten him to near death.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ˢᴬᴰ 」

➾ he will separate himself from others, not wanting to worry anyone about whatever it is he is going through. the man just needs a minute or two to collect himself and will talk when he is ready.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ˢᵀᴿᴱˢˢᴱᴰ 」

➾ it is rare to see him stressed but oliver will be tugging at his hair or any loose clothing, breathing through his nose at a fast pace. give him some space and things will resolve itself.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ᴵᴺᴶᵁᴿᴱᴰ 」

➾ it mainly depends on the severity of the injury. worst case scenario, he will not be able to move at all out of fear of making the injury or injuries worse. best case scenario is that he will not pay any mind to it and resume whatever it was he was doing.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ᴵᴸᴸ / ˢᴵᶜᴷ 」

➾ just like when he is injured, it just depends on how bad it is. oliver could be up and about while taking occasional breaks when need be or in bed for a week.

「 ᵂᴴᴱᴺ ᴮᴼᴿᴱᴰ 」

➾ oliver will play with his fingers or hair, not exactly the type to be on his phone when bored. he may even start up a conversation with someone or go for a walk.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ the world can be a terrifying place. that's why you just need the right people by your side. ❞

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

⋟

◢ orιgιn ◣

「 ᴸᴼᶜᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺ ᴼᶠ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴ 」

➾ santa barbara, california

「 ᴴᴵˢᵀᴼᴿᵞ / ᴮᴬᶜᴷˢᵀᴼᴿᵞ 」

➾ - -

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

❝ some of us are sherlocks while others are watsons. either you are inspired or you are doing the inspiring. ❞

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

⋟

◢ oтнer ◣

「 ᴼᶜᶜᵁᴾᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺ 」

➾ medical resident at edenbrook hospital

「 ᶠᵁᴺ ᶠᴬᶜᵀˢ 」

¹⋅⁾ can speak almost seven languages (english, spanish, italian, korean, and working on asl, french, and romanian)

²⋅⁾ was in gymnastics until middle school/junior high

³⋅⁾ came out of the closet through an accidental air drop in college but was fine with it due to being ready

⁴⋅⁾ he has a bit of an accent/lisp where his r's can sound similar to his w's

⁵⋅⁾ has been known to drop whatever he is doing just to get a caramel apple

[itsbenedict]

Kingdoms and Koopas: Ep. 3

K&K is a Fate Accelerated campaign set in the Mario universe, which I’m running for three players:

Bee @thebeeskneesocks​, playing Kandace Koopa

Jovian @jovian12​, playing Cozmo Naut

Malky @sleepdepravity​, playing Dr. Chevy Chain

Last time | Archive | Next time

Previously on Kingdoms and Koopas: the party disturbed the restless dead, including Kandace’s gym coach, and managed to retrieve the Music Key from the Heart of Darkness. Then they tried teleporting out, and found themselves... out, but surrounded by hostile Koopalings. Whoops! They should probably do something about that.

(pictured: maps! of the Koopa Kingdom capital, Bowserburg Shellington New Bowseria Whatever It’s Called Today. above, and below.)

So, to recap their predicament in a little more detail, their teleport took them to the cloud of a Lakitu, who, upon suffering the effects of the Vacuum Shroom toxin they teleported into his cloud, proclaimed himself “the Storm God” and began terrorizing his fellow students. At least, until Kandace cast a spell to make them heavy and sink down into the fountain below, where it all got washed out and they all return to normal.

To normal, except they’re in this big indoor courtyard foyer thing, and they’re surrounded by five of the seven Koopalings. And... see, the Koopalings attend Kam Ekademy, the school across the street from Kammy Koopa’s Academy For Young Witches and Wizards. These two schools... have something of a rivalry. And a rivalry between two magic schools populated by irresponsible troublemakers... it’s more of a prank war type of deal. And wouldn’t you know it- the party contains a Kammy’s student!

Chevy, as usual, attempts to just roll the fuck outta there, but, uh... well, Kamek’s school uniforms are blue, and Kammy’s school uniforms are purple. And Chevy is purple, and seemingly with Kandace, and so the Koopalings jump to conclusions. “The Skammies are trying to escape!” Lemmy yells.

So... Roy is the first to act, firing a cannonball at Chevy. The way the rolls go, though... I guess Roy’s cannon is no match for a charging chain chomp, and it glances right off. Morton tries to stop her, too, and manages a little better- they tie, and Chevy manages to shove him to the doorway but not out. Cozmo tries to follow Chevy’s lead, doing the standard-issue X-Naut bum-rush. Lemmy tries to roll over to block him, but again the rolls are not in his favor, and Cozmo just knocks the ball out from under him and charges past. Kandace also attempts to flee, and also shout taunts at the Koopalings, but Ludwig grabs at her broom. And... just gets a handful of bristles as she speeds away. Larry tries shooting spells at them from the second-floor railing, but misses.

So as they get out the front door of Kam Ekademy, they’re attacked from behind as Wendy O. throws a ring at them from the balcony above the door. She also misses, though, and Kandace fires back with her heaviness spell, targeted at Wendy O.’s bow- causing her to lose her balance and fall off the balcony. The lot of them proceed down the front path... only to be blocked by Iggy, the final obstacle! Who... also misses, and knocks some of the pursuing Koopalings back a bit with the stray blast. They breeze right past him.

As they leave by the front gate (which the Koopalings aren’t allowed to pass out through, as school is in session), a “psst” gets their attention. Kandace recognizes the source of the voice as that shifty junk dealer that tries to sell useless crap to the kids at Kammy’s at a huge markup- looks like he also hangs around by the Ekademy.

Cozmo does not recognize that this brown Shy Guy in a trenchcoat, wearing an enormous fake mustache, is actually his boss, Shady Guy.

Chevy, with no patience for this, takes off for the hospital, but Cozmo and Kandace check out Shady Guy’s Deals Guy’s wares. There’s some weird yellow mushrooms, green dried shrooms, some weird little metal thing that he calls a “good’un” (or “G’un”), a ratty old umbrellla, and... ooh, a collapsible stunt bike!

Before buying anything, though, Kandace gets suspicious, and tears off Deals Guy’s mustache- revealing that it was, in fact, Shady Guy all along! Shady Guy tries to snatch it back, but fails- and Kandace ransoms it back in exchange for the bike. Hooray for robbery! Good thing there’s no way Shady Guy would ever go to the police about this. Cozmo gets the bike, and excitedly heads home.

Kandace returns to Kammy’s, Music Key in hand. On the way, though, she encounters... the hooded figure with the pink beak. It gestures for her to hand over the Music Key, but Kandace is suspicious. She instead insists that it escort her to Kammy personally, at which it balks, but ultimately agrees. Or, pretends to- as they’re almost there, it attempts to snatch the Music Key but fails. (Kandace cast a spell that creates a protective but freezing-cold ice bubble, before it could get her.) Kandace, vindicated in her suspicions, hamster-ball-rolls into the school and heads to Kammy’s office.

Kammy, for her part, seems surprised and slightly distressed that Kandace has returned with the Key successfully, and that it wasn’t somehow stolen from her. Odd, that. She weasels out of her promise to hand over a magic item from her treasure vault- modifying clarifying the terms of the deal such that, okay, it’s one magic item per orb for whoever turns it in, so four total- but they’re only handed out once all the Music Keys have been collected. So... Kandace better get back to work finding the rest!

Kandace isn’t happy about this, but whatever- she’s guaranteed at least one, as long as Kammy gets all the Music Keys, so if she can find the rest, cool beans.

And... cut to black, because we’re moving to the next day. Cozmo has decided to take his new collapsible stunt bike out for a spin at Plumber’s Folly, one of those incredibly deadly natural obstacle courses that occur in this neck of the woods. Kind of a companion to The Part That’s Supposed To Stop Mario But Doesn’t. Anyway, uh... Cozmo finds out the hard way that the collapsible bike “purchased” from Deals Guy has the emphasis on “collapsible”. It breaks underneath him and sends him flying into a lake of lava, causing his lives to go down from 3 to 2 and landing him with severe injuries back on shore.

He’s found by Party Guy, his direct superior at the talent agency. Shady Guy owns Shady Guy’s Talent Agency, but doesn’t do much management- that end of things is left to this clown. This literal clown, a guy who’s attended every Mario Party and knows how to have a good time. He takes Cozmo back up the hill to the talent agency, but Shady Guy calls him inside to deal with something urgent, and he leaves Cozmo on the ground after calling Kandace to come pick him up.

Kandace finds her way down past the Koopa Katacombs (think the ones in Paris, except it’s just sort of an underground apartment district for Dry Bones), and the Cavern of Gratuitous Spiky Peril, which she’s able to just ride her broom over. She picks up Cozmo and takes him to the hospital, where Chevy reluctantly patches him up again. 

...Oh, while they’re in the waiting room there, Kandace and Cozmo overhear- from a heavily-injured superhero wannabe Pokey named Pokey Man, who works for Shady Guy’s Talent Agency- that the boss was seen carrying a shiny orb into Plumber’s Folly. Weird!

Anyway, Chevy decides that she needs to see Cozmo’s place of work, and find out what conditions are like there. There has to be some reason this guy keeps getting horribly injured! So... they decide to take what should be a shortcut, since the Cavern of Gratuitously Spiky Peril is harder to navigate with three to a broom. They take the underground below the hospital, and find... one small tunnel, and one big tunnel. The big tunnel has a broken bridge, though, so they can’t go that way at this point in the plot. They take the small tunnel...

...Which suffers a cave-in, due to the fact that I came up with it just then as a way for them to bypass certain obstacles I hadn’t finished setting up on the real path. So they won’t be using that one again. But they escape the cave-in, by running really fast in a panic, and arrive at the big cavern where Shady Guy’s Talent Agency is situated.

Cozmo decides to take them on a tour! Weirdly, the receptionist, Goomfried, is absent- but there’s a lot of noise coming from the dance room. They go check that out, and find... well, as usual, a particular couple new recruits are there. This guy Mike, some kind of robot, is DJing, and Jamie Thang is cutting a rug like there’s no tomorrow. Or, well- there’s no rug, it’s one of those light-up colored grid floor things, but you get the idea.

Also in the room is Party Guy, talking to... incredibly famous Mushroom Kingdom actor/director Zip Toad! Apparently the talent agency finally has an actual client! Zip Toad, who we decide sounds like Tommy Wiseau (because Party Guy and Cozmo are already sharing the surfer dude/stoner type accent), is looking for stunt talent for his new film. Cozmo’s eager to show off, so Zip Toad, Party Guy, and the party head off to Plumber’s Folly for Cozmo to show off.

Cozmo makes two rolls, here. One roll is with +Flashy, to see how totally sick his stunting is. The other roll is +Careful, to see whether he sticks the landing and doesn’t wipe out on the Plumber’s Folly hazards.

Cozmo’s Flashy is +3. His Careful is +0. The outcomes of these rolls are exactly as you might predict.

So, Chevy has unraveled the mystery of why Cozmo is getting injured so often. It’s because he goes out of his way to do the most dangerous possible things, all the time! Wow! The case is closed. She goes down to try and peel Cozmo off the spike wall he impaled himself on, while Kandace...

Kandace has that magical ability to sort of sense the direction of nearby Music Keys, and... huh! Seems like there’s one down, down deep in Plumber’s Folly! Weird. So, of course, she heads right inside, heedless of the dangers. And then... oh, boy. Oh, boy, the dangers. A wall of rock cuts her off from the others, and then more walls of rock erupt from the ground and knock everyone else off their feet! The party and company begin to tumble down into the depths of World 9-5. Next time: we’ll see how well the party manages doing plumber’s work!

Last time | Archive | Next time

[tendernessfic]

Chapter Fifteen

“I think he’s waking up,”

“Is he really? He inhaled so much smoke.”

“I think he’s a strong one, a fighter. Sir, can you hear me?”

Why was she shouting at me? I let out a groan, “Stop shouting!”

“I’m not, sir,” I feel her a cold sensation on my bare chest, “his heartbeat’s returned to normal.”

Heartbeat? Normal? Smoke…Shit! I force my eyes to snap open and immediately regret it, cringing at the light that burned through my sight. My hands fly to cover them as I groggily attempt to sit up on the bed.

“Be careful, there’s an IV attached to you.”

With all that I have, I open my eyes once again and rip out the needle in my arm, earning gasps from the two nurses around me.

“Sir, please! You need to lay down!”

“I’m fine,” I say as I attempt to stand up, not caring if I was bare-chested, “where is she?”

They look at each other with a puzzled expression, “Where is who?”

“The girl I brought in with me.”

One of them points to the far right corner of the room, “Over there, but-”

I don’t stay to hear the rest of her sentence and speed walk to where Dakota was. Halfway through I realized I wasn’t wearing any shoes, but I could honestly care less. I stopped about several feet away from her bed. The dust in my eyes must’ve made me blind because now that it’s all clear, she doesn’t look anything like what I remembered. She looks so much worse.

The nurse sitting next to her was finishing the last of the stitches on her left hand, which alone looked like it had been run over by a truck. There was a huge scar on her forehead and her torso was fully-wrapped in a white bandage. The only part of her that wasn’t damaged was her feet, but I could tell even if she was unconscious, she was in pain because her eyes kept wincing under her lids.

My Dakota, how can someone so strong look so fragile?

The nurse spots me and a look of pity fills her face, “She’ll be okay…”

“But?”

She sighs, “Her hands. She won’t be able to be a nurse again.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Standing up, she approaches me and offers me a handkerchief. I didn’t even realize I was crying.

“Her hands were burnt pretty bad and I could tell something must’ve impacted them before she hit the ground. I’ve seen the same injuries before, and they completely kill the steadiness of her hands, she won’t be able to hold a needle and thread without tremors.”

I stood there motionless, the reality slipping into my thoughts, “Does that mean she’ll be…”

“I’m so sorry,” the nurse sighs, “they usually send injured nurses back home a week after they’re well enough to fly back.”

“That’s too soon.”

She pats my back, “I’m sure she’ll wait for you.”

That’s the thing. She won’t.

She leaves me alone with Dakota and I sit on the seat she previously occupied. In fear of making the situation worse, I simply hold her forearm as opposed to her hands and caress it slowly.

“I know you’re listening to me,” I tell her, “I know you’re there. Please wake up, I promise I won’t run again. I’ll let you explain everything just please, don’t leave me.”

No answer, just as I expected. I close my eyes and lay my forehead on the tough mattress.

“Mate, I know you’re up there. Please, tell whatever God is up there that I’d gladly take her place. Mate I can’t live knowing that her life ends here. Help me.”

I could no longer control the heart-wrenching sobs I’ve been holding back, “Come back to me please, baby.”

Dakota’s POV

“Come back to me please, baby.”

I’m here, Jamie. I’m not going anywhere. I’m trying desperately to scream it at him, to make some sort of indication that I’m fine and that I know he’s here beside me. I want so badly to hold him in my arms, his tears ripping my heartstrings apart, one at a time.

I feel myself slipping away again and I try to fight it.

Jamie…

Jamie’s POV

It’s been six hours and she hasn’t moved an inch. Numerous people have tried to coax me back to bed but I’ve refused every single time. I need to be the first thing she sees when she awakes, I want her to know that I’m always here for her. In the time I’ve spent next to her I’ve only stood up once to put a shirt only. Other than that I’ve refused all the other offers for food. I’ll eat when she’s awake.

I lay my head on the bed once again, still chanting up a silent prayer to Charlie.

All of a sudden, I hear a weak murmur come from her mouth.

I sit up straight almost immediately, “Dakota?”

“Hmm,” she replies, wincing as she moves her head in my direction.

“Oh praise Jesus!” I say, “Ssh, don’t move sweetheart, you’re hurt.”

“I…need…” she croaks out.

“What, what do you need?”

A frown appears on her pretty little forehead and a hiss escapes her throat, “I’m thirsty,”

I quickly stand up and pour her a glass of water from the bedside table. Helping her sit up, I place my hand firmly on her back as I bring the glass to her lips. Her expression was all I needed to see to know just how she was in agony at the moment and I wish that there was some way I could take the pain away from her. After letting her drink, I lay her down back on the bed as gently as I could and slowly caress the top of her head.

She turns to face me, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t worry about me right now, you focus on getting better.”

“Jamie I never meant to hurt yo-”

“I don’t need to hear it right now,”

“But,”

I shake my head, “Dakota, whatever it is, I forgive you. Just please, get some rest because you need it more than ever.”

She gasps, “Oh my God, have you seen Olivia?”

“Olivia’s fine,” I nod, “she’s very worried about you.”

“Thank God! I can’t believe this happened.”

Sighing, I twirl a strand of her hair with my fingers, “I was so close to losing you.”

She shakes her head as slow as ever, “It’s going to take more than that to bring me down.”

I couldn’t help but smile, she still attempts to be cheerful even after destruction. She looks around the room, looking for familiar faces I assume before she turns back to me.

“Did they tell you how soon until I’m good to go?”

“Go where?”

“You know,” she says, very matter-of-factly, “I need to help these people as well.”

I stiffen, “Just get better.”

She notices the change in my expression and my body language straight away, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Jamie, I know you’re hiding something, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt all over again.”

This time, I see fear in her eyes, “Please tell me.”

When I don’t budge, she attempts to move her right hand to hold mine but she could barely lift it as high as two centimetres before it starts shaking terribly. A look of realization comes over her and her eyes bolt to mine.

“What’s wrong with my hands?”

“Dakota…”

“Jamie Dornan, tell me what happened to my hands right now or so help me God!”

A tear escapes from my left eye and I release a deep sigh, “Your hands were badly damaged and you’re going to have tremors for a long time.”

“B-but they’ll be fine in a few weeks, right? I’ll be able to go back to helping people like I used to, right?”

Shaking my head, her eyes widen before they start to cloud with tears, “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Jamie, you’re lying!” she screams out.

“I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me.”

She breaks down right in front of me and all I could do is place myself as close to her as I could without hurting her. I place soft kisses on her hair and gently caress her forearm as she drowns herself in her pain.

“Please,” she begs through her sobs, “tell me it isn’t true.”

I place another kiss on the top of her head, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She shakes her head as she turns and places our foreheads together, needing me as much as I need her.

[thegirlwiththecoffintattoo]

DROUGHTLANDER2017COUNTDOWN

DAY TWELVE :: September 2nd

Favorite Jamie and Claire moment from Outlander that didn’t make it in to the show: I am pretty sure I am not alone in saying I would have loved to have seen Sam and Caitriona in the hot springs scene at the very end of Outlander. I included the whole chaper below, because it’s worthy of re-reading over and over again ;)

OUTLANDER CH. 41: FROM THE WOMB OF THE EARTH

Over the next two weeks, Jamie continued to heal, and I continued to wonder. Some days I would feel that we must go to Rome, where the Pretender’s court held sway, and do…what? Other times, I wanted with all my heart only to find a safe and isolated spot, to live our lives in peace.

It was a warm, bright day, and the icicles hanging from the gargoyles’ noses dripped incessantly, leaving deep ragged pits in the snow beneath the eaves. The door of Jamie’s room had been left ajar and the window uncovered, to clear out some of the lingering vapors of smoke and illness.

I poked my head cautiously around the jamb, not wishing to wake him if he was asleep, but the narrow cot was empty. He was seated by the open window, turned half away from the door so that his face was mostly hidden.

He was desperately thin still, but the shoulders were broad and straight beneath the rough fabric of the novice’s habit, and the grace of his strength was returning; he sat solidly without a tremor, back straight and legs curled back beneath the stool, the lines of his body firm and harmonious. He was holding his right wrist with his sound left hand, slowly turning the right hand in the sunlight.

There was a small pile of cloth strips on the table. He had removed the bandages from the injured hand and was examining it closely. I stood in the doorway, not moving. From here, I could see the hand clearly as he turned it back and forth, probing gingerly.

The stigma of the nail wound in the palm of the hand was quite small, and well healed, I was glad to see; no more than a small pink knot of scar tissue that would gradually fade. On the back of the hand, the situation was not so favorable. Eroded by infection, the wound there covered an area the size of sixpence, still patched with scabs and the rawness of a new scar.

The middle finger, too, showed a jagged ridge of pink scar tissue, running from just below the first joint almost to the knuckle. Released from their splints, the thumb and index finger were straight, but the little finger was badly twisted; that one had had three separate fractures, I remembered, and apparently I had not been able to set them all properly. The ring finger was set oddly, so that it protruded slightly upward when he laid the hand flat on the table, as he did now.

Turning the hand palm upward, he began to manipulate the fingers gently. None would bend more than an inch or two; the ring finger not at all. As I had feared, the second joint was likely permanently frozen.

He turned the hand to and fro, holding it before his face, watching the stiff, twisted fingers and the ugly scars, mercilessly vivid in the sunlight. Then he suddenly bent his head, clutching the injured hand to his chest, covering it protectively with the sound one. He made no sound, but the wide shoulders trembled briefly.

“Jamie.” I crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside him, putting my hand softly on his knee.

“Jamie, I’m sorry,” I said. “I did the best I could.”

He looked down at me in astonishment. The thick auburn lashes sparkled with tears in the sunlight, and he dashed them hastily away with the back of his hand.

“What?” he said, gulping, clearly taken aback by my sudden appearance. “Sorry? For what, Sassenach?”

“Your hand.” I reached out and took it, lightly tracing the crooked lines of the fingers, touching the sunken scar on the back.

“It will get better,” I assured him anxiously. “Really it will. I know it seems stiff and useless right now, but that’s only because it’s been splinted so long, and the bones haven’t fully knitted yet. I can show you how to exercise, and massage. You’ll get back a good deal of the use of it, honestly—”

He stopped me by laying his good hand along my cheek.

“Did you mean…?” He started, then stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. “You thought…?” He stopped once more and started over.

“Sassenach,” he said, “ye didna think that I was grieving for a stiff finger and a few more scars?” He smiled, a little crookedly. “I’m a vain man, maybe, but it doesna go that deep, I hope.”

“But you—” I began. He took both my hands in both of his and stood up, drawing me to my feet. I reached up and smoothed away the single tear that had rolled down his cheek. The tiny smear of moisture was warm on my thumb.

“I was crying for joy, my Sassenach,” he said softly. He reached out slowly and took my face between his hands. “And thanking God that I have two hands. That I have two hands to hold you with. To serve you with, to love you with. Thanking God that I am a whole man still, because of you.”

I put my own hands up, cupping his.

“But why wouldn’t you be?” I asked. And then I remembered the butcherous assortment of saws and knives I seen among Beaton’s implements at Leoch, and I knew. Knew what I had forgotten when I had been faced with the emergency. That in the days before antibiotics, the usual—the only—cure for an infected extremity was amputation of the limb.

“Oh, Jamie,” I said. I was weak-kneed at the thought, and sat down on the stool rather abruptly.

“I never thought of it,” I said, still stunned. “I honestly never thought of it.” I looked up at him. “Jamie. If I’d thought of it, I probably would have done it. To save your life.”

“It’s not how…they don’t do it that way, then, in…your time?”

I shook my head. “No. There are drugs to stop infections. So I didn’t even think of it,” I marveled. I looked up suddenly. “Did you?”

He nodded. “I was expecting it. It’s why I asked you to let me die, that once. I was thinking of it, in between the bouts of muzzy-headedness, and—just for that one moment—I didna think I could bear to live like that. It’s what happened to Ian, ye know.”

“No, really?” I was shocked. “He told me he’d lost it by grape shot, but I didn’t think to ask about the details.”

“Aye, a grape-shot wound in the leg went bad. The surgeons took it off to keep it from poisoning his blood.” He paused.

“Ian does verra well, all things considered. But”—he hesitated, pulling on the stiff ring finger—“I knew him before. He’s as good as he is only because of Jenny. She…keeps him whole.” He smiled sheepishly at me. “As ye did for me. I canna think why women bother.”

“Well,” I said softly, “women like to do that.”

He laughed quietly and drew me close. “Aye. God knows why.”

We stood entwined for a bit, not moving. My forehead rested on his chest, my arms around his back, and I could feel his heart beating, slow and strong. Finally he stirred and released me.

“I’ve something to show ye,” he said. He turned and opened the small drawer of the table, removing a folded letter which he handed to me.

It was a letter of introduction, from Abbot Alexander, commending his nephew, James Fraser, to the attention of the Chevalier-St. George—otherwise known as His Majesty King James of Scotland—as a most proficient linguist and translator.

“It’s a place,” Jamie said, watching as I folded the letter. “And we’ll need a place to go, soon. But what ye told me on the hill at Craigh na Dun—that was true, no?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s true.”

He took the letter from me and tapped it thoughtfully on his knee.

“Then this”—he waved the letter—“is not without a bit of danger.”

“It could be.”

He tossed the parchment into the drawer and sat staring after it for a moment. Then he looked up and the dark blue eyes held mine. He laid a hand along my cheek.

“I meant it, Claire,” he said quietly. “My life is yours. And it’s yours to decide what we shall do, where we go next. To France, to Italy, even back to Scotland. My heart has been yours since first I saw ye, and you’ve held my soul and body between your two hands here, and kept them safe. We shall go as ye say.”

There was a light knock at the door, and we sprang apart like guilty lovers. I dabbed hastily at my hair, thinking that a monastery, while an excellent convalescent home, lacked something as a romantic retreat.

A lay brother came in at Jamie’s bidding, and dumped a large leather saddlebag on the table. “From MacRannoch of Eldridge Manor,” he said with a grin. “For my lady Broch Tuarach.” He bowed then and left, leaving a faint breath of seawater and cold air behind.

I unbuckled the leather straps, curious to see what MacRannoch might have sent. Inside were three things: a note, unaddressed and unsigned, a small package addressed to Jamie, and the cured skin of a wolf, smelling strongly of the tanner’s arts.

The note read: “For a virtuous woman is a pearl of great price, and her value is greater than rubies.”

Jamie had opened the other parcel. He held something small and glimmering in one hand and was quizzically regarding the wolf pelt.

“A bit odd, that. Sir Marcus has sent ye a wolf pelt, Sassenach, and me a pearl bracelet. Perhaps he’s got his labels mixed?”

The bracelet was a lovely thing, a single row of large baroque pearls, set between twisted gold chains.

“No,” I said, admiring it. “He’s got it right. The bracelet goes with the necklace you gave me when we wed. He gave that to your mother; did you know?”

“No, I didn’t,” he answered softly, touching the pearls. “Father gave them to me for my wife, whoever she was to be��—and a quick smile tugged at his mouth—“but he didna tell me where they came from.”

I remembered Sir Marcus’s help on the night we had burst so unceremoniously into his house, and the look on his face when we had left him next day. I could see from Jamie’s face that he also was remembering the baronet who might have been his father. He reached out and took my hand, fastening the bracelet about my wrist.

“But it’s not for me!” I protested.

“Aye, it is,” he said firmly. “It isna suitable for a man to send jewelry to a respectable married woman, so he gave it to me. But clearly it’s for you.” He looked at me and grinned. “For one thing, it won’t go round my wrist, even scrawny as I am.”

He turned to the bundled wolfskin and shook it out.

“Whyever did MacRannoch send ye this, though?” He draped the shaggy wolfhide about his shoulders and I recoiled with a sharp cry. The head had been carefully skinned and cured as well, and equipped with a pair of yellow glass eyes, it was glaring nastily at me from Jamie’s left shoulder.

“Ugh!” I said. “It looks just like it did when it was alive!”

Jamie, following the direction of my glance, turned his head and found himself suddenly face-to-face with the snarling countenance. With a startled exclamation, he jerked the skin off and flung it across the room.

“Jesus God,” he said, and crossed himself. The skin lay on the floor, glowering balefully in the candlelight.

“What d’ye mean, ‘when it was alive,’ Sassenach? A personal friend, was it?” Jamie asked, eyeing it narrowly.

I told him then the things I had had no chance to tell him; about the wolf, and the other wolves, and Hector, and the snow, and the cottage with the bear, and the argument with Sir Marcus, and the appearance of Murtagh, and the cattle, and the long wait on the hillside in the pink mist of the snow-swept night, waiting to see whether he was dead or alive.

Thin or not, his chest was broad and his arms warm and strong. He pressed my face into his shoulder and rocked me while I sobbed. I tried for a bit to control myself, but he only hugged me harder, and said small and gentle things into the cloud of my hair, and I finally gave up and cried with the complete abandon of a child, until I was worn to utter limpness and hiccupping exhaustion.

“Come to think of it, I’ve a wee giftie for ye, myself, Sassenach,” he said, smoothing my hair. I sniffed and wiped my nose on my skirt, having nothing else handy.

“I’m sorry I haven’t got anything to give you,” I said, watching as he stood up and began to dig through the tumbled bedclothes. Probably looking for a handkerchief, I thought, sniffing some more.

“Aside from such minor gifts as my life, my manhood, and my right hand?” he asked dryly. “They’ll do nicely, mo duinne.” He straightened up with a novice’s robe in one hand. “Undress.”

My mouth fell open. “What?”

“Undress, Sassenach, and put this on.” He handed me the robe, grinning. “Or do ye want me to turn my back first?”

Clutching the rough homespun around me, I followed Jamie down yet another flight of dark stairs. This was the third, and the narrowest yet; the lantern he held lit the stone blocks of walls no more than eighteen inches apart. It felt rather like being swallowed up into the earth, as we went further and further down the narrow black shaft.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” I asked. My voice echoed in the stairwell, but with a curiously muffled sound, as though I were speaking underwater.

“Well, there’s no much chance of taking the wrong turning, now is there?”

We had reached another landing, but true enough, the way ahead lay in only one direction—down.

At the bottom of this flight of steps, though, we came to a door. There was a small landing, carved out of the solid side of a mountain, from the looks of it, and a wide, low door made of oak planks and brass hinging. The planks were grey with age, but still solid, and the landing swept clean. Plainly this part of the monastery was still in use, then. The wine cellar perhaps?

There was a sconce near the door that held a torch, half-burnt from previous use. Jamie paused to light it with a paper spill from the pile that lay ready nearby, then pushed open the unlocked door and ducked beneath the lintel, leaving me to follow.

At first, I could see nothing at all inside but the glow of Jamie’s lantern. Everything was black. The lantern bobbed along, moving away from me. I stood still, following the blob of light with my eyes. Every few feet he would stop, then continue, and a slow flame would rise up in his wake to burn in a small red glow. As my eyes slowly accustomed themselves, the flames became a row of lanterns, situated on rock pillars, shining into the black like beacons.

It was a cave. At first I thought it was a cave of crystals, because of the odd black shimmer beyond the lanterns. But I stepped forward to the first pillar and looked beyond, and then I saw it.

A clear black lake. Transparent water, shimmering like glass over fine black volcanic sand, giving off red reflections in the lantern light. The air was damp and warm, humid with the steam that condensed on the cool cavern walls, running down the ribbed columns of rock.

A hot spring. The faint scent of sulfur bit at my nostrils. A hot mineral spring, then. I remembered Anselm’s mentioning the springs that bubbled up from the ground near the abbey, renowned for their healing powers.

Jamie stood behind me, looking out over the gently steaming expanse of jet and rubies.

“A hot bath,” he said proudly. “Do ye like it?”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I said.

“Oh, ye do,” he said, grinning at the success of his surprise. “Come in, then.”

He dropped his own robe and stood glowing dimly in the darkness, patched with red in the glimmering reflections off the water. The arched ceiling of the cave seemed to swallow the light of the lanterns, so that the glow reached only a few feet before being engulfed.

A little hesitantly, I let the novice’s robe drop from my arms.

“How hot is it?” I asked.

“Hot enough,” he answered. “Dinna worry, it won’t burn ye. But stay over an hour or so, and it might cook the flesh off your bones like soupmeat.”

“What an appealing idea,” I said, discarding the robe.

Following his straight, slender figure, I stepped cautiously into the water. There were steps cut in the stone, leading down underwater, with a knotted rope fastened along the wall to provide handholds.

The water flowed up over my hips, and the flesh of my belly shivered in delight as the heat swirled through me. At the bottom of the steps, I stood on clean black sand, the water just below the level of my shoulders, my br**sts floating like glass fisher-floats. My skin was flushed with the heat, and small prickles of perspiration were starting on the back of my neck, under the heavy hair. It was pure bliss.

The surface of the spring was smooth and waveless, but the water wasn’t still; I could feel small stirrings, currents running through the body of the pool like nerve impulses. It was that, I suppose, added to the incredible soothing heat, that gave me the momentary illusion that the spring was alive—a warm, welcoming entity that reached out to soothe and embrace. Anselm had said that the springs had healing powers, and I wasn’t disposed to doubt it.

Jamie came up behind me, tiny wavelets marking his passage through the water. He reached around me to cup my br**sts, softly smoothing the hot water over the upper slopes.

“Do ye like it, mo duinne?” He bent forward and planted a kiss on my shoulder.

I let my feet float out from under me, resting against him.

“It’s wonderful! It’s the first time I’ve been warm all the way through since August.” He began to tow me, backing slowly through the water; my legs streamed out in the wake of our passage, the amazing warmth passing down my limbs like caressing hands.

He stopped, swung me around, and lowered me gently onto hard wood. Half-visible in the shadowy underwater light, I could see planks set into a rocky niche. He sat down on the bench beside me, stretching his arms out on the rocky ledge behind us.

“Brother Ambrose brought me down here the other day to soak,” he said. “To soften the scars a bit. It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

“More than good.” The water was so buoyant that I felt I might float away if I loosed my hold on the bench. I looked upward into the black shadows of the roof.

“Does anything live in this cave? Bats, I mean? Or fish?”

He shook his head. “Nothing but the spirit of the spring, Sassenach. The water bubbles up from the earth through a narrow crack back there”—he nodded toward the Stygian blackness at the back of the cave—“and trickles out through a dozen tiny openings in the rock. But there’s no real opening to the outside, save the door into the monastery.”

“Spirit of the spring?” I said, amused. “Sounds rather pagan, to be hiding under a monastery.”

He stretched luxuriously, long legs wavering under the glassy surface like the stems of water plants.

“Well, whatever ye wish to call it, it’s been here a good deal longer than the monastery.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

The walls of the cave were of smooth, dark volcanic rock, almost like black glass, slick with the moisture of the spring. The whole chamber looked like a gigantic bubble, half-filled with that curiously alive but sterile water. I felt as though we were cradled in the womblike center of the earth, and that if I pressed my ear to the rock, I would hear the infinitely slow beat of a great heart nearby.

We were very quiet for a long time then, half-floating, half-dreaming, brushing now and then against each other as we drifted in the unseen currents of the cave.

When I spoke at last, my voice seemed slow and drugged.

“I’ve decided.”

“Ah. Will it be Rome, then?” Jamie’s voice seemed to come from a long way away.

“Yes. I don’t know, once there—”

“It doesna matter. We shall do what we can.” His hand reached for me, moving so slowly I thought it would never touch me.

He drew me close, until the sensitive tips of my br**sts rubbed across his chest. The water was not only warm but heavy, almost oily to the touch, and his hands floated down my back to cup my buttocks and lift me.

The intrusion was startling. Hot and slippery as our skins were, we drifted over each other with barely a sensation of touching or pressure, but his presence within me was solid and intimate, a fixed point in a watery world, like an umbilical cord in the random driftings of the womb. I made a brief sound of surprise at the small inrush of hot water that accompanied his entrance, then settled firmly onto my fixed point of reference with a little sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, I like that one,” he said appreciatively.

“Like what?” I asked.

“That sound that ye made. The little squeak.”

It wasn’t possible to blush; my skin was already as flushed as it could get. I let my hair swing forward to cover my face, the curls relaxing as they dragged the surface of the water.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

He laughed, the deep sound echoing softly in the columns of the roof.

“I said I like it. And I do. It’s one of the things I like the best about bedding ye, Sassenach, the small noises that ye make.”

He pulled me closer, so my forehead rested against his neck. Moisture sprang up at once between us, slick as the sulfur-laden water. He made a slight movement with his hips, and I drew in my breath in a half-stifled gasp.

“Yes, like that,” he said softly. “Or…like that?”

“Urk,” I said. He laughed again, but kept doing it.

“That’s what I thought most about,” he said, drawing his hands slowly up and down my back, cupping, curving, tracing the swell of my hips. “In prison at night, chained in a room with a dozen other men, listening to the snoring and farting and groaning. I thought of those small tender sounds that ye make when I love you, and I could feel ye there next to me in the dark, breathing soft and then faster, and the little grunt that ye give when I first take you, as though ye were settling yourself to your job.”

My breathing was definitely coming faster. Supported by the dense, mineral-saturated water, I was buoyant as an oiled feather, kept from floating away only by my grip on the curved muscles of his shoulders, and the snug, firm clasp I kept of him lower down.

“Even better,” his voice was a hot murmur in my ear, “when I come to ye fierce and wanting, and ye whimper under me, and struggle as though you wanted to get away, and I know it’s only that you’re struggling to come closer, and I’m fighting the same fight.”

His hands were exploring, gently, slowly as tickling a trout, sliding deep into the rift of my buttocks, gliding lower, groping, caressing the stretched and yearning point of our joining. I quivered and the breath went from me in an unwilled gasp.

“Or when I come to you needing, and ye take me into you with a sigh and that quiet hum like a hive of bees in the sun, and ye carry me wi’ you into peace with a little moaning sound.”

“Jamie,” I said hoarsely, my voice echoing off the water. “Jamie, please.”

“Not yet, mo duinne.” His hands came hard around my waist, settling and slowing me, pressing me down until I did groan.

“Not yet. We’ve time. And I mean to hear ye groan like that again. And to moan and sob, even though you dinna wish to, for ye canna help it. I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break, and scream with the wanting, and at last to cry out in my arms, and I shall know that I’ve served ye well.”

The rush began between my thighs, shooting like a dart into the depths of my belly, loosening my joints so that my hands slipped limp and helpless off his shoulders. My back arched and the slippery firm roundness of my br**sts pressed flat against his chest. I shuddered in hot darkness, Jamie’s steadying hands all that kept me from drowning.

Resting against him, I felt boneless as a jellyfish. I didn’t know—or care—what sort of sounds I had been making, but I felt incapable of coherent speech. Until he began to move again, strong as a shark under the dark water.

“No,” I said. “Jamie, no. I can’t bear it like that again.” The blood was still pounding in my fingertips and his movement within me was an exquisite torture.

“You can, for I love ye.” His voice was half-muffled in my soaking hair. “And you will, for I want ye. But this time, I go wi’ you.”

He held my h*ps firm against him, carrying me beyond myself with the force of an undertow. I crashed formless against him, like breakers on a rock, and he met me with the brutal force of granite, my anchor in the pounding chaos.

Boneless and liquid as the water around us, contained only by the frame of his hands, I cried out, the soft, bubbling half-choked cry of a sailor sucked beneath the waves. And heard his own cry, helpless in return, and knew I had served him well.

We struggled upward, out of the womb of the world, damp and steaming, rubber-limbed with wine and heat. I fell to my knees at the first landing, and Jamie, trying to help me, fell down next to me in an untidy heap of robes and bare legs. Giggling helplessly, drunk more with love than with wine, we made our way side by side, on hands and knees up the second flight of steps, hindering each other more than helping, jostling and caroming softly off each other in the narrow space, until we collapsed at last in each other’s arms on the second landing.

Here an ancient oriel window opened glassless to the sky, and the light of the hunter’s moon washed us in silver. We lay clasped together, damp skins cooling in the winter air, waiting for our racing hearts to slow and breath to return to our heaving bodies.

The moon above was a Christmas moon, so large as almost to fill the empty window. It seemed no wonder that the tides of sea and woman should be subject to the pull of that stately orb, so close and so commanding.

But my own tides moved no longer to that chaste and sterile summons, and the knowledge of my freedom raced like danger through my blood.

“I have a gift for you too,” I said suddenly to Jamie. He turned toward me and his hand slid, large and sure, over the plane of my still-flat stomach.

“Have you, now?” he said.

And the world was all around us, new with possibility.

[junker-town]

How on edge should these 3 underwhelming Super Bowl contenders be?

Photo by Jamie Squire/Getty Images

The Chiefs, Cowboys, and Rams are all riding losing streaks. Retired NFL lineman Geoff Schwartz takes a look at what’s going wrong.

Well, we got another wild weekend of NFL action, including several unexpected results. Now it’s time for the patent-pending Geoff Schwartz panic-o-meter focused on a few Super Bowl hopefuls.

Upsets happen every week, but it’s how the Chiefs, Cowboys, and Rams lost Sunday that needs to be discussed. Those three teams, and fanbases, find themselves in a different situation after Week 6. Let’s take a look at how things stand.

The fans are on edge, but the team won’t be

An Andy Reid-led Chiefs team will not panic at all. Remember 2015? They started 1-5 and finished with 10 straight victories to wrap up the regular season, adding a 12th victory with a 30-0 rout over the Texans in the Wild Card Round. This Chiefs team won’t panic, nor should they yet.

I, and many rational Chiefs fans, didn’t expect them to make the Super Bowl because of their defense. I wrote last week how the Kansas City defense played better than we thought against the Colts in the Week 5 loss. I wish I could say the same about the loss to the Texans.

The Texans ran 83 plays, had 35 first downs, didn’t allow a sack, and Deshaun Watson completed 30 of 42 passes. Frank Clark having almost no impact through six games is worrisome, as I figured he’d be the anchor of the pass rush, which still can’t get home. The Chiefs can’t rush the passer, stop the run, or stop holding in the back end. The defense is just a mess.

I know fans are nervous about the offense’s production recently, which is wild to say as the Chiefs entered the game with the second-best DVOA for offense. But it’s true: this offense hasn’t been as sharp in the last three weeks — and it starts with Patrick Mahomes.

Mahomes’ footwork has been even less crisp than usual, and when you factor in his bum left ankle, that isn’t shocking:

This play was the game.#Chiefs QB Patrick Mahomes appears to re-injure his ankle and also smacks his head off the turf. Before: 10/16, 189 yards, 2 TDs (about 20 mins. of game time) After: 9/19, 84 yards, 1 TD, 1 INT (about 40 mins. game time) pic.twitter.com/ZqY0b2dTE1

— Pete Sweeney (@pgsween) October 14, 2019

While Mahomes has been outstanding at throwing off an unusual platform throughout his career, an injury to that plant leg is making things more unstable, which is leading to his arm dropping a tad and his throws being off.

It’s nothing that can’t be fixed, though, and I’m sure the Chiefs are working on it.

Injuries have also wrecked the offensive line. That’s hurting the offense because Mahomes keeps getting hit. However, the Chiefs should get left tackle Eric Fisher back soon, and that will help tremendously. Tyreek Hill returned Sunday, and Sammy Watkins shouldn’t be out too long. When the whole gang is back, we will see what the Chiefs’ offense really looks like.

So, to recap, Chiefs fans might be on edge after this latest loss, but the players won’t be. Reid has guided plenty of successful teams through two-game losing streaks, just like I’m confident he will do it now.

The fans are on edge, and the team might be too

The Cowboys started fast this season, especially on offense. It was against three very bad defenses: the Giants, Washington, and Dolphins. Nonetheless, we all got excited. I wrote gushingly about the changes on offense because it was so new. RPOs, a high dose of play-action pass, and Dak Prescott looking super confident on third downs. The offense was humming.

Then came the last three games against the Saints, Packers, and Jets. Those three games looked like the Cowboys’ offense we saw in 2017 and 2018. Boring. Predictable. Unproductive for the weapons they have. It appears that Jason Garrett has taken back the offense from Kellen Moore after Moore was receiving the credit for the first three weeks. Seriously. I’ll work to confirm this if I can, but there’s no other explanation. Gone is anything creative. There seems to be no purpose.

I know, I know, they have injuries, but I’m so tired of blaming everything wrong with this offense, or Prescott, on injuries. Teams can be successful with injuries for a week, or multiple weeks. Prescott can’t handle his left tackle being out, while the Eagles won a Super Bowl with their future Hall of Fame left tackle out for half the season. Enough with the excuses, please.

As bad as the offense is playing, the biggest concern on the Cowboys is actually the defense. The reason I picked the Cowboys to win the NFC was their defense. It was under-the-radar good last season, finishing ninth in Football Outsiders’ DVOA. They have playmakers on every level, and most of the guys are relatively young. But they’ve taken a step back.

The defense entered the Jets game ranked 19th in DVOA and then proceeded to get gashed by Sam Darnold in his first game back. Yikes. You need to play better on that side of the ball to win with this offense.

So, can the Cowboys find their offensive mojo? Does Garrett let Moore take point again? Is the defense going to play to its potential? These are questions that can be answered quickly, but they are piling up. That’s why the team might be panicking.

The fans and the team are on edge

The Rams are 3-3 after the 49ers physically dominated them. Unlike the Chiefs and Cowboys — who just need injuries to heal, better playcalling, and some things to break back in their direction — the Rams are being whipped at the point of attack, something that’s new to them this season.

The offensive line, which was elite, isn’t anymore. Entering Week 6, Pro Football Focus ranked their run and pass blocking in the bottom three of the league! They replaced their left guard and center, and their right guard is just OK. Their tackles are talented but have been inconsistent.

This offense is built on the rhythm of their running game, which allows Jared Goff to thrive in the play-action game. None of things are happening when you can’t run the ball or pass protect early in the drive. Both Goff and the offense languish when you make them one-dimensional.

Also, I’m not questioning Sean McVay’s genius, but he’s got to make some adjustments. It’s time. New run schemes. A quick pass game. More abilities to exist without a strong offensive line.

On the flip side, where the heck is the Rams’ passing defense? A unit that’s been top-notch for years all of a sudden can’t stop a cold. Maybe the lack of the Rams’ pass rush is hurting the back end, but it’s not been the same this season. When the offense is struggling, the defense can’t keep up. When neither side of the ball can make up the slack, that has the makings of a poor season.

Lastly, the Rams are now two games behind the Seahawks and 2.5 behind the Niners, but since they’ve already lost to both, it feels like more. The Rams’ schedule allows for some breathing room, with the Falcons, Bengals, and Steelers coming up next, so they could possibly right the ship. They just need to do it fast.

[stirlingdiypress]

Review: Strange Behaviours presents... Adam Stafford / PAWS acoustic / Death Bed

Strange Behaviours at the Tolbooth is a monthly platform for bands, acts and songwriters around Scotland situated loosely on the ‘indie’ side of things – both in style and in DIY spirit.

For the purpose of full disclosure, I book the shows, so strap yourselves in for a review so stacked with superlatives that you’ll roll your eyes so hard you’ll lose your irises forever.

August’s SB night was a personal treat – 3 of the finest songwriters going, renowned in very different fields but somehow connected in ethos.

Death Bed is the gradually cemented moniker of local stalwart musician Innes Nolan. With a distinctive spidery guitar style and cavernous thirst for discord and jangle, his sound is his own. His voice is an easily distinguished blend of howl and murk, his song structures are obliquely compelling, and he seems to grasp great handfuls of 80s post-punk influences tonally – less touched touchstones including Television, Gang of Four, Polvo. Full band, Death Bed is a whole other thrillingly opened wide, full-grinning affair; solo like tonight it becomes muted, gnarled and soulful, with a whole new understanding of the ornate guitar and complex lyrics.

Chosen as a special guest by his ol’ pal (tonight’s headliner), Phillip Taylor of garage/grunge/punk outfit PAWS is about as fine a main support as you’re likely to land. He’s played Strange Behaviours shows a few times, and there was an occasion in 2015 I think, where I’d managed to coax him through to Stirling a few weeks prior to playing to appear on the local Uni radio show. Playing a few favourites acoustic and chattering away, he finished on a version of a new song entitled ‘No Grace’, to appear later on the 2016 album of the same name, and it felt like a real landmark moment. One of those moments people like to hark on about where they got to see something new and special just as it became apparent that it was new and special. Tonight’s set felt similar for me, playing almost all new songs from the forthcoming new PAWS album, barebones acoustic and vocal. Stylistically, the songs seemed so much more singer-songwriter-y than previous work, and not just because of the acoustic delivery, checked shirt and tidy hair. Maybe I’ll be proved wrong when they appear in full electric form next year, but songs like ‘Joanna’, ‘Like Some Injured Dawn’ and ‘The Watering Hole’ had that classic mournful heart sorta thing, at their core an exposed-wires and dried-cheeks sort of songwriter’s tale. It was cool to hear.

Adam is what people would call the ‘consummate’ performer. I’ve never looked up the word ‘consummate’ because I hate how it sounds and feels, so I’m not 100% on it, but I’d say he’s definitely the whole deal – what he accomplishes live with minimal fuss (and maximum sweat) is astonishing. Sometimes he’s an orchestra. Sometimes he’s a soul singer. Sometimes he’s a minimalist composter and sometimes he’s scoring silent films in his mind. Actually one time I saw him score a silent film in real life, and you can bet your stupid face it was an excellent experience.

Tonight’s set was largely comprised of material from new album ‘Fire Behind The Curtain’. You can look up stuff all about what the record is based on and things, but whenever I hear those songs they have this whole different feeling and atmosphere around them. It’s kinda eerie, sorrowful and malevolent, violent but not in that appealing/exciting way, in the sorta way that causes the human inside you to look the other way, sorta wince. What he’s done with the whole thing is what he so often seems to do – present a body of work that reminds you of why making music can be supernatural, other-worldly, almost alchemic in what it can achieve. So much more than the sum of its parts and in fact containing parts you don’t know where on earth to find.

He didn’t disappoint either, making sure he treated us to some of his trademark boogying on the floor, spinning a “golden oldie” (‘Cold Seas’) and kicking fuck out of his pedals a bit. It was great.

 Death Bed on Facebook.

PAWS website

Adam Stafford website

 Words: Kenny Bates

Photographs: Jamie Fitzpatrick

[topsolarpanels]

Encyclopaedia Westerosa: the biggest Game of Thrones mysteries, solved

How big is Westeros? What is wildfire? And how rich are the Lannisters? Ten things you didnt know about the biggest show in the world

Warning: this piece contains spoilers for seasons 1-5 of Game of Thrones .

When George RR Martins stabby saga was adapted for TV in 2011, perhaps the biggest topic surrounding it was: why would any self-respecting adult watch a fantasy series about dragons, zombies and sorcery? Well, six seasons in, the folly of that way of thinking has been exposed like a member of the Nights Watch trapped north of the Wall. Game of Thrones is now a global preoccupation.

Much of that success is down to the detailed world created by Martin and brought to vivid and sometimes visceral life on the demonstrate. From the frozen north to the intrigue-filled chambers of Kings Landing, Westeros is a place steeped in mythos and mystery, familiar yet so alien. Even now, theres still so much we dont know about the place, so many questions that need answering. But while youve already read 713 blogs about whether or not Jon Snow has carked it, there are deeper mysteries about Game of Thrones that have never been properly addressed. Ahead of the proves season six premiere, we get to grips with Westeross biggest hows, whys and whats. Answers are coming …

Why is a White Walker able to walk ?

All white on the night. Photograph: Allstar

The blue-eyed ghouls in dire need of a dermatologist definitely have the appearance of being dead all exposed skeletons and rotted bits but are they? And, if so, how is it that they can move around and stab things in the face? It is possible to stimulate nerve and muscle electrically and cause it to contract even when isolated from the body, says Dr Matthew James Mason, university physiologist at Cambridge. If the brain dies that doesnt mean that all the other tissue of the body immediately dies, too. But, despite their appearance, White Walker arent mindless zombies, so brain death cant have resulted. My guess is that they arent dead at all, says Mason. If they look like they are decay, perhaps their immune system is compromised. Are they just frost, scurvy-ridden wretches in need of a hug? They probably require medical help and sympathy, argues Mason. Poor sods. The next time you assure one, then, perhaps chuck it an orange and a coat and dont be so quick to judge, yeah? LH

How rich are the Lannisters ?

Warriors Dance: Tywin Lannister. Photograph: HBO

They fund wars, boast one hell of a property portfolio and own actual gold mine. If a Lannister always pays their indebtedness, it can be safely assumed theyve got a few quid in the kitty. Dr Charles Insley, senior lecturer in medieval history at the University of Manchester, guesses drawing a parallel with a real-life example may be the key to finding out how many. Richard Neville[ 1428 -1 471] was the richest peer in England on his death, says Insley. Nevilles sister Cicely was also married to Richard, Duke of York, and it was the collective wealth and therefore capability to buy subsistence that constructed the Neville/ York confederation so dangerous. The Nevilles are likely to be worth more than the crown. All sounds very Lannisterian, right? But come on how rich would the Nevilles/ Lannisters be in todays fund? Billions?$ 2bn doesnt seem too little, I suppose. So, the most influential family in Westeros is only half as wealthy as Donald Trump? Thats not fretting at all. LH

Is it really possible for winter to last a generation ?

Snow help at all. Photograph: Helen Sloan/ HBO

House Starks ominous catchphrase winter is going is partly a callback to an extended cold snap 8,000 years ago when White Walker had the run of Westeros. How could one winter last 100 years? Scientific theories include the planet wobbling on its axis or having an eccentric orbit; writer George RR Martin himself says its only down to sorcery. In our world, there is a( comparatively) recent precedent a 70 -year Little Ice Age spanning the 17 th and 18 th centuries that refrigerated western Europe. It went on for several decades, crops failed, the Thames froze over, explains Professor Jim Wild, space physicist at Lancaster University. Research presents it also coincided with a period of unusually low sunspot activity. Less solar energy can have a major consequence on climate patterns. If winter is coming again the poor serf of the north should start saving up for a package vacation to Dorne. If I saw myself in that situation, Id start heading south, says Wild. It should be a bit warmer nearer the equator. GV

What is it with all the castrating ?

Conleth Hill as Varys and Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister. Photograph: HBO

Daenerys Targaryens army of Unsullied soldiers are upper-class warriors who were castrated in infancy that are intended to attain them more focused, loyal and fearless. But is this really what happens when your tackle is chopped off? Dr Shaun Tougher, reader in ancient history at Cardiff University, is sceptical. We do assure the idea that eunuchs are chaste and loyal, but we also assure the inverse: that theyre tormented and frustrated. Eunuch soldiers arent at all common in history, but the idea of eunuch generals is quite prevalent theres a very famous Byzantine eunuch general called Narses in the 6th century AD. Because of their status as luxury objects, many eunuchs who originated in the slave trade ended up serving at court, like wily manipulator Varys. Varys is in some ways the archetypal court eunuch. Although I was quite surprised when it was revealed that his castration was done by a sorcerer. Seems like the notion of using a mans lunchbox for sorcery purposes is a pure cock-and-balls narrative. SR

Could person genuinely become a dragons mother ?

Dragons den. Photograph: HBO

From the ashes of a Dothraki funeral pyre, Daenerys Targaryen emerged with three ferociously loyal newborn dragons hanging off her. In the real world, newborn lizards are genetically hardwired to be much more independent. Weve hatched dragon eggs here, explains Matt Cook, lead keeper at Chester Zoo, currently home to six Komodo dragons. But if you were to try and approach them, they would attack you rather than snuggle your hair. Theyre intelligent but they have to be selfish because its genuinely the only way to survive. They may never truly love you but it is possible to develop your dragon. Daenerys hollers Dracarys! when she wants some barbecuing done but Cook favor a system that involves a traffic cone, a audio clicker and a tiny meaty reward to wrangle his charges. They tolerate humans, genuinely, he says. Once they get to a certain size, they know theyre the upper part of the food chain so they can be quite arrogant; they think theyre untouchable. But they can also be very chilled. Khaleesi does it. GV

How long would it take to build the Wall ?

High and fighty: The Wall. Photograph: HBO

482 kilometres long. 213 metres high. 91 metres thick. In reality, a wall of this size constructed entirely of ice would collapse under its own weight. But this is Westeros, a world where dragons roam and Little Fingers accent is never questioned, so lets crunch some numbers. Its estimated that when building the Great Pyramid, a workforce of, on average, 14,567 people running 10 -hour days laid around 180 blocks per hour. Now, if the ice bricks making up The Wall are a metre squared, it would contain in the region of 9,342, 606,000( thats 213 x 91 x 482,000, maths fans ). At a sensible-sounding 180 blocks laid per minute, it would take the same workforce 51,903, 367 hours to construct The Wall. Thats 5,921 years. So, we have to assume Brandon the Builder who legend has it enlisted the help of giants had a much larger workforce than this. Even with 100 times the pyramids workforce, 14,567, 000 employees, it would take over 59 years to build. All sounds like a little bit of a faff, genuinely. LH

Why is the Seven Kingdoms in debt ?

A loan in the dark: Jamie and Cersei Lannister. Photograph: HBO

A costly five-way civil war has forced the Seven Kingdoms to go cap in hand to the Iron Bank Of Braavos. Dr James Davis, senior lecturer in medieval history at Queens University Belfast, watches a parallel with Edward III, who borrowed heavily from Italian banks. But he was a step ahead of the Lannister dynasty. Edward III was quite canny: at the same as fighting a war he was developing parliament to extract more taxation without too much unrest. At the heart of every medieval king, whatever their aspirations, it was always about where you could get the money. Davis suggests that the Seven Kingdoms needs to abandon its feudalist structures and fast. There isnt much sign of development of trade and industry. It absence stable laws that would allow entrepreneurism to emerge. Otherwise a peasants revolt is a possibility only around the corner: In a real society, thered be more riots. SR

Whats my best opportunity of beating The Mountain in a duel ?

Fight the power: Hafthr Jlus Bjrnsson, left, as Gregor The Mountain Clegane. Photograph: Alamy

Even in Westeros, a land not exactly lacking in murderous mercenaries, Gregor The Mountain Clegane is a lethal legend. So how would a layman go about tackling him in a trial by combat? Martin Oz Austwick is the founder of the English Martial Arts Academy, offering class in historical European swordsmanship. His strategy? Like the Red Viper, choose a long weapon to try to match the range of the Mountains terrifying greatsword: A spear would be good, although Id personally favor a quarterstaff. Also, forgo armour to allow yourself greater mobility and focus on injuring Cleganes massive hands: if he cant wield his weapon, he cant cleave you in twain with it. One debate in our community is whether targeting hands is an acceptable technique, says Austwick. It might seem dishonourable but against the Mountain, doing the British thing and being polite would be your undoing. So my advice would be to fight as dirty as you can. GV

How big is Westeros ?

In continents: one of Game of Thrones filming locations. Photograph: Alamy

George RR Martin has stated that Westeros is roughly the size of South America, which would make sense for a continent with climates that range from the frozen wastes north of the Wall to the balmy water gardens of Dorne in the south. Utilizing measurements given in the series, the width of Westeros is calculated to be around 3,000 miles the distance from the tip of Norway to the Red Sea and with a population of 20 -4 0 million. The topography stimulates sense for the most part, reckons Simon Willcocks of Ordnance Surveys consultancy and technical services squad. All kinds of stuff from deserts to river deltas, marshy bog, mountain passes, but nothing outlandish. But if Westeros is so big, how come the main characters manage to keep bumping into each other? Its a very long and narrow continent with few roads and river intersects, reasons Willcocks. As for Essos, a continent that Varys seems to traverse at will but that has taken Daenerys at the least five series to cross well, thats for another day. SR

What is wildfire ?

Burning down the House: Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister.

Joffreys victory at the Battle of Blackwater Bay during which the king-youd-love-to-slaps forces defended Kings Landing from Stannis Baratheon owed largely to Tyrion Lannisters procurement of an explosive known as wildfire. The resultant blue-green flames tore through Stanniss fleet like a longsword through the back of Ned Starks neck. But what the blaze is it? Dr Richard Henchman, senior lecturer in theoretical chemistry at the University of Manchester, draws comparisons to the historical episode of Archimedess fire to destroy Roman ships, which utilized mirrors to focus the sunlight rays into deadly beams. It is also similar to Greek flame, a Byzantine weapon able to burn on water, reminiscent of a crude kind of napalm. From a compositional standpoint, though, wildfires colouring suggest a copper compound. Perhaps what we have is a copper oxide/ magnesium thermite? It looks like sorcery to me, says Henchman. Oh. Never mind then. LH

Game of Thrones Season 6 starts 2am, Sunday 24 April and repeats 9pm, Monday 25 April on Sky Atlantic

This article was amended on the 15 th April to country the workforce necessary to build the wall in 59 years is 100 times that used to build The Great Pyramid , not 10

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post Encyclopaedia Westerosa: the biggest Game of Thrones mysteries, solved appeared first on Top Rated Solar Panels.

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[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 107

SYNOPSIS: The fact that both of their operatives are injured at the moment poses several pressing problems for Madeline and Operations. So, the two Section leaders make their way to Medical to check on Jamie’s status and talk with his doctor about his prognosis. When Jamie is operated on to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder Madeline gives the surgeons an ultimatum. Meanwhile, sometime later, Murtagh and Fergus also visit Med Lab to see their friends only to find that Jamie has been taken into surgery.

 Chapter 106 and all other previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read, like or reblog my story, and particularly for leaving your thoughts.  

 CHAPTER 107

Dougal Mackenzie’s gait was pronounced as with Madeline they walked away from a shell shocked Murtagh Fitzgibbons and made their way towards Medical. The scene that had just transpired had been most unexpected on many levels and Section’s leader was still smarting from Murtagh’s reluctance to accept his gesture of more time for his debrief. His munitions’ expert obviously expected there were strings attached. It wasn’t often that he showed any compassion and it had obviously sent him into a loop. Consequently, Operations looked forward to reading Geillis Duncan’s report as to the older operative’s performance as well as his account of the mission also. Having two different perspectives on what had happened would be most enlightening. In fact, depending on the outcome, it may very well influence any decision as to Murtagh being utilised in the field again in the near future.  His second concern was reluctantly for James Fraser’s status. His rapid decline had been out of the blue. So, what had really happened to him? How and why was he shot? Reading Jamie’s debrief when he was able to write it, may shed some light onto what had actually transpired but given his condition that could be in several days. Perhaps it was just a lucky shot by a hostile that had unfortunately had maximum effect. Thinking back over Jamie’s actions, Operations was not surprised by his operative’s reluctance to show that he was badly injured in any way. The Level 5 operative always gave the impression that he was impervious to frailty when his own wellbeing was brought into contention; however, the injury was obviously much worse than anyone had ever imagined or that he indeed was letting on. However, Fraser’s main concern had been for Claire Beauchamp. Operations scowled.

Madeline and he knew of his weaknesses for his partner and he’d demonstrated that openly in the way he’d acted tonight. Still, it was a major concern of theirs that this relationship would affect Jamie’s performances in the field. They expected nothing short of perfection from their Level 5 cold operative. They couldn’t let anything or anyone interfere with their plans for him. Hence it was something they needed to monitor more closely but right now they wanted to check on his condition. Despite their differences with Jamie over the years his value as an operative remained strong. They could ill afford to lose him right in the middle of a crucial mission.  Madeline too was debating with her own mind’s counsel.

The fact that Jamie was injured and may take time to recover as well as Claire’s need for rehabilitation posed several pressing problems for her and Dougal. Section One had come so far in tracking down the Rising Dragons triad members and she knew it would not be long until Sun Yee Lok was himself captured and brought to justice. However, there would be the added problem with Claire if Jamie didn’t pull through … they may well have a blithering mess on their hands with her. Would she be able to recover from his death? … She didn’t need to answer that question, she already knew the answer.  There were no two ways about this … There was only one scenario that was feasible and she would accept no other. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Both leaders of Section were mulling over in their minds a contingency plan if indeed Jamie didn’t make it through the operation yet neither of them wanted to voice them out loud. Madeline however, did broach the subject that was uppermost in her thoughts.

“What are you going to do about the Rising Dragons’ mission Dougal?” He looked at her and raised his eyebrow in query. “What do you mean?” She said only one word. “Jamie.” “What? ... If he dies?” ... Why don't you tell me?”  “James Fraser is strong. He won’t die,” was her pragmatic reply.  “Besides, I have faith in the medical team.”  He smiled at her optimism. “I can see that you’ve made up your mind Madeline.” “He’s too valuable to Section at the moment. He'd be too hard to replace.”  Operations looked at his second in command for a minute reflectively, “Yes, there aren't many like him.”  Echoing his sentiments on their Level 5 operative, she confirmed his qualities. “He’s good. He and Claire together are quite good.” “They’ve performed well on this mission so far ... we can ill afford to lose him.” “Yes ... then there would be the added problem of Claire if we do.” “Exactly. The odds still aren't good, are they?” “No ... I don’t think so.”  “But if there is one chance in three that he will survive?” “Then it’s good odds.”  “I want Fraser to live. I am human after all.” “Really? Are you sure it’s not because we are so close to capturing Sun Yee Lok?” Aggrieved by her off-the-cuff comment Operations stopped walking and looked at his second in command. “Are you saying I have ulterior motives?” “No.” “Oh … then I obviously lack compassion!” “No ... you lack the good judgement that comes from having a small dose of it Dougal.” “What about the compassion I’ve shown from time after time? Let me guess: you want to make a point.” Not necessarily ... but compassion is a weakness you have continually frowned upon in Claire ... yet you showed some to Murtagh this evening. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it!” “You’re a ruthless man, Dougal Mackenzie. And that's good. It’s good for Section One and all the operatives to know where you stand. You do your job with clarity and I respect that. But you threw Fitzgibbons for a loop. It may take him a while to come to terms with that.” Operations grinned complacently. “I like to keep people unbalanced.”  “True … but don’t shoot the messenger. I think it’s a good thing for the reasons you’ve said.” “Good ... well what are we arguing about then?” “I don’t know ...” Madeline gave him an enigmatic smile. “Jamie and Claire?”  “I want to know how his condition will affect them and in turn us.” “Jamie is not a threat to us at the moment, on the contrary he is vulnerable and it appears as if his condition is touch and go at the moment.”  “But he could be.” “Not if we play our cards right. Fortunately, even the best have weaknesses. We must not misjudge him for it will result badly for us.” “And we wouldn’t want that … would we?” “I’m sure we’ll keep on top of it.” “I expect nothing less of you Madeline.” “It will be a while until both of them are back to their peak condition, so if Jamie pulls through they will need some downtime to recuperate. We can plan our next course of action then.” “So be it. We've been through worse.”  Operations smiled and nodded at Madeline then they continued on towards Medical.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The two leaders entered the Infirmary and immediately made for the area where they saw curtains drawn around two cubicles.  “How are they doing Dr Foster?” “Not so good ... especially James Fraser. He’s fading in and out of consciousness but we're put him through every conceivable test we can.” “Is there a problem?” “Jamie’s X-rays show that the bullet is lodged in his chest. There are also fragments of bone as the bullet shattered his clavicle,” the doctor replied in answer to their question.   “I see.” “How did this happen?” Jeremy Foster glanced anxiously at the two leaders. “It appears he was shot from an acute angle, probably from above. The bullet entered the shoulder and passed through to lodge in the chest area. He’ll need immediate surgery to remove it ...”

Judging by his worried look they suspected the physician was holding back information. “Is there something you’re not telling us doctor?” “Jamie’s lost a lot of blood … he’ll need to be transfused during and possibly after the operation but …” Madeline and Operations gave each other a quick glance then interjected before he could finish. “Do you have enough supplies on hand for a blood transfusion?” “We have a few units of Jamie’s blood left, but if he needs more than we have in stock we could be in trouble.”  The situation could become grim and Doctor Foster knew it. There were no guarantees that Jamie would need less blood units than they had available. It was better to have an abundance than a shortage especially if the Level 5 operative had complications from the surgery. He forged ahead and broached the subject area even he had no knowledge of.

“We’ll need to know the donors of his blood type so that arrangements can be made for them to donate blood if it’s required.” “That Intel is classified … you’ll have to work with the supplies you’ve already got.” Operations stated categorically putting a stop to any further conversation on the matter. Jeremy Foster tried to interject, “But …” “Operations and I will make those arrangements if and when they are needed.”

Madeline was adamant in her statement that only they would disclose that information if it was essential or indeed necessary. They had a reluctance to share with Dr Foster the intricacies of Jamie’s blood type and had made the decision to have his details suppressed. Except for the head surgeon, Medical personnel were on a need-to-know basis, and if Med-Lab had enough units of blood to see them through then so be it. Classified information about their key operatives was classified for a reason. Should Intel leak out to their enemies that James Fraser had a rare blood group or any intel about his DNA then he could be in a vulnerable position. This Intel could be used against him should he be captured; hence they couldn’t risk him being compromised in any way. However much they may regret their decision towards the physician, they stood by it. If the situation became dire then they would make contingency plans, but until then they would leave it as the status quo. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Knowing that Section’s leaders would not budge on classified Intel about James Fraser, his hands were tied. “Very well … I’ll inform Dr Khan. He’s been paged and is on his way.” “Good. We’ll be in the observation room. Have him see us before he preps for any operation.” “Yes sir.” With that directive, Operations and Madeline left Medical for the surgical viewing area where they could observe the medical team in action. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A little while later, Murtagh and Fergus quietly approached the glass-paned doors of Medical and peered in through the panels, however, they were unable to see clearly, so when the automatic doors opened they entered and stood side by side and looked around. Their eyes strained to see if they could see either Jamie or Claire, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was evident though; that a flurry of activity was going on around them once they were inside the room. They could hear the sound of voices coming from some cubicles where the curtains were drawn. Edging closer, Murtagh and Fergus made their way to the partitions in which they thought the two operatives were obviously being attended to in the hope of eavesdropping to find out any information.  The sound of a curtain opening caused the two men to jump back as if caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guiltily, they turned their heads and looked up. A Med-Lab doctor emerged with a trolley of medical equipment and monitors.  Murtagh was the first to speak. “Hey Doc … It must be pretty crazy back there.”  Caught unawares he looked up to find the two men standing there. “What! ... What are you doing here?” The doctor snapped as he looked at Murtagh then Fergus.  Innocently Murtagh replied as they followed him, “Come on Doc give us a break. We came to check on Jamie and Claire.” “How are they?” Fergus added as they watched the doctor reorganise the trolley with a fresh supply of materials. Knowing that Fitzgibbons had been on the mission to rescue Claire and where Jamie had been injured, he took sympathy on the pitiful twosome. “They’re both not out of the woods yet.” Murtagh looked over to the shrouded partitions. His face had a far-away expression, thinking about what was happening inside the cubicles with his two friends. “Will Jamie be okay? The medics said he was barely alive.”  Dr Foster stopped what he was doing and replied, “Had it not been for your swift actions earlier we may have lost him.” “Oh my god!” Fergus gushed out loud.  “Can we see him?” “That’s not possible. The medics have taken him to surgery.” “What? ... Jamie’s in surgery?” “Yes.” “Was there a problem?”  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Digesting the meaning of his words, Murtagh eyed the doctor with an uneasy glance while preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. This couldn’t be happening. James Fraser was strong ... what had gone wrong? He was very worried. Beside him Fergus too was uneasy.  Jeremy Foster studied their expressions. He weighed up his options and finally came to the decision that telling them something was better than making them worry all night or more to the point staging a vigil until the morning. “As you know, Jamie wasn’t in a good condition when he arrived, but the medical staff moved swiftly to see that he got to surgery A.S.A.P.”  He then looked from one man to the other. However, there was something in the doctor’s eyes that made the older operative wary. “I see ...”  Fergus held his breath, then asked the question they were both thinking. “He’s not going to die, is he?”  Murtagh tried to assuage some of the tension. “Of course, he’s not going to die you dolt! This is James Fraser we’re talking about Fergus. But I guess if someone wants to die, one reason is as good as another. Personally, being in love always made me want to live … Jamie will want to live,” he added enigmatically.  Dr Foster had a slight smile on his face seeing the banter between the two friends. “No ... We’re doing our best to see that doesn’t happen. Dr Khan is performing emergency surgery at the moment to remove the bullet from his shoulder.” Although his words were reassuring, when Murtagh looked at the doctor he realised that he was holding back. “You’re not telling us everything ... are you?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations stood in the observation deck overlooking the Infirmary. Below them James Fraser was lying on a table surrounded by the operating team who were to perform the emergency surgery. As the two observed the medical staff’s preparation for Jamie’s operation their thoughts turned to when he had first come into Section ...  Madeline ever the strategist was pragmatic in her assessment of their Level 5 cold operative. 

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser brought into Section One 10 years ago, graduated training 9 months early; moved directly to Level 3. His continual ascent within Section was due not only to his tactical and strategic abilities, but his primal approach. He had always shown an otherworldly disregard for his own well-being. More than anyone else, Jamie had been true to the highest principles that define this organization.  She saw similarities in Jamie that paralleled her own ideals for there was nothing she would not do for the Section. His rise within the ranks was meteoric and well deserved. Jamie had been groomed as a potential leader, but ever since Claire’s arrival he’d changed. The changes were very subtle and not that noticeable but to her trained eye the relationship between the operatives was one that concerned her. Tonight, James Fraser had given her much to think about.  Operations’ eyes scanned the operating theatre too where Section’s best operative lay at the mercy of the medical team. Although Jamie and he had not always seen eye to eye, he was nonetheless proud of his skill as a cold operative. Time and again the younger man had pulled off the impossible on missions to reach the end game. His ruthlessness, ability and leadership qualities were to be commended but at the same time were cause for apprehension too for James Fraser was the penultimate Section One operative.  He was a born leader and one day he would run Section ... one day he would have Command and the power. They’d noticed that when he had power Jamie changed. He certainly revelled in it ... he liked it. Power could do that, even for a man as strong as James Fraser. But did he need power? He really didn’t have a choice to turn it down when he’d been offered command from time to time when he had to leave Section. Maybe Jamie’s need for power was part of his strength. All he had to do was wait ... it would come. He still had a lot to learn, but were they creating someone who may usurp their leadership before his time? He was a good leader. Operatives respected him and he was a man among men who was esteemed.   In many ways James Fraser was better than they were. That in itself was a worry. He lived by the ideals of Section One but since Claire Beauchamp had become his material both he and Madeline had noticed a slight change in him. It had been building gradually and their collaboration on missions only fuelled the bond that had developed between them. The question was ... how much did it affect their performance? If Jamie was in any way reckless ... he would fail and his failure would destroy his career. He would then have no hesitation in placing Jamie in abeyance.

Dougal Mackenzie glanced over at his second in command. Madeline’s slightly raised eyebrow was the only indication that they may have been having similar thought waves. While they’d been observing James Fraser in the operating theatre the two Section One leaders had unwittingly opened a minefield of much food for thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations turned when they heard the door open behind them. The head surgeon Dr Khan entered and approached. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes ... How’s he doing?” “Not too good at the moment.” “What’s the problem?” “The bullet is deeper than we thought and the trajectory route is just millimetres from a vital organ. It is a more delicate operation than we first thought.” “I see. And what is your prognosis?” The head surgeon looked from Operations to Madeline and pragmatically answered their question. “I'm sorry, but he may not make it. He’s lost too much blood. He may not pull through. If we need to put him on life support, will you be making that decision?” It was Madeline who responded. “I already have. I've decided he's going to recover. His will to live is very strong. Your will to save him has to be strong, too.” She paused. “I'll help you.”  Dr Khan took a while to digest what she was actually saying but he certainly caught the gist of Madeline’s underlying words. It was not until she continued that he understood the full implication of what she had spoken and he began to shake in his boots. Madeline then calmly pulled out a gun, cocked it and held it up against the surgeon’s head. A sudden fear and uncertainly crossed Dr Khan’s face as he waited for whatever Madeline would say next.  “Go back inside.” She took a breath before continuing. “Tell your colleagues to do the possible ..., then the impossible ..., and then the unthinkable, until he's out of danger. Because ..., when you're finished, Doctor ..., that room will contain either four living men ... or four corpses. Do you understand?” He understood perfectly. Jamie Fraser was Section One’s best operative but he was still surprised at the length that Madeline had gone to in order to keep him alive.

“Okay.” The surgeon left the observation desk in fear and trepidation and relayed the message to his surgical team. Collectively they cast their eyes up to the observation room to see the penetrating gazes of their leader and his second in command. They were under no illusion as to what the operating team needed to do. Madeline had given the doctors their ultimatum and if James Fraser didn’t pull through, they knew the consequences.  They needed to pull off the impossible. They needed a miracle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 20th