#this has been rattlin' around in my head for weeks just had to get it out ladkfjae

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Magiranger but Kai talks about the time he got mauled by a bear a normal amount(at all).

[gingers-writing-blog]

New York Bound

Chapter 5

If you can figure out what the shirt numbers represent, you get a cookie!

Triggers: Swearing, Head Injury, Blood, Mentions of a Dog Attack

New Words: Twigged - Realised

Word Count: 2,953

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When I woke up, I saw Tommy Boy above me. My head was poundin' and I heard the sound of what I recognised as metal wheels on cobblestones. I also heard the clink of metal chains...and shouts from...somewhere.

I lifted my head as high as I dared, but when I realised where we were, I sat up fully.

"Shit!" My hands flew to my head when I felt blood trickin' down past my right eye. It then registered what the clinkin' sound was.

My hands were cuffed together. So were Tommy's. We were in the back of the Workhouse van.

~ Meanwhile in The Foreman's office ~

Smoke filled the room as the Foreman stood over the fireplace in his office. With a stack of papers in his hand, he dropped them into the open fire and smiled maniacally.

Mr Fink was, once again, clutching his hat. Dan and Joey standing slightly behind him.

"We've got the Barnes' kid, Mr Foreman, sir." Mr Fink stated proudly, his head slightly higher than before. Joey scoffed and shook his head in disappointment and shame, disappointment and shame in both his uncle's pride and at the fact that he let himself hurt more kids.

Fortunately, the Foreman didn't notice. He was too caught up in protecting himself, by burning the papers.

"Finally." The Foreman dumped the rest of the papers in the fire and went around the back of his desk, taking a key off a rack on the wall as he went. He unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out 20 pounds in notes. He handed them to Mr Fink and went back to burning the papers.

"So, what are you going to do with the kids when the Mayor comes for the inspection, sir?"

"What inspection?" The Foreman whirled around to face Fink.

"The Mayor has scheduled inspections of all the Workhouses in the city. He twigged what was going on and my friend in his staff has told me when ours is. I'm sorry, it must've slipped my mind, sir."

"And when is it?" The Foreman demanded.

"A week today. Meaning we have 6 days to get this place sorted out. Have you thought about what you're going to do with the kids until then?"

"Of course I have! I'm going to get the Orderlies to put them to work. The boys will be working in the vegetable gardens or they will be making the toys that we'll be selling to Mr Chaplin at Prescott Industries and Trading. The girls will be cleaning, doing laundry or making the dresses we will also be selling to Prescott."

"What about the Barnes' kid?" Dan interjected. The Foreman shot him a look but didn't scold him.

"I might give her to you to deal with. I know you three have, or had, a dispute with her parents. And since her parents are at the bottom of the Thames, I'm assuming you're taking up the dispute with her."

At the mention of Cat's parents, Joey felt anger rising from deep within himself. He usually had quite a good grip of his emotions, or he did before all this started. However, if he did see the Barnes' kid, he doubted that he would be able to contain himself.

He clenched his jaw and gripped his hands behind his back, anger burning inside of him, constantly threatening to burst out.

"Wait a second...What if when the kids speak up when the Mayor comes around?" Fink was starting to panic. It was a problem that they had never encountered before or accounted for. "We're going to have to get the kids out as soon as possible. And what about when he asks to see your admin papers?"

"You idiot! There is no need to rush this. No need to panic. We can just set them to work like I said and make them clean this shit-hole. We can also threaten to put them in solitary if they speak up. That way they won't talk and the Mayor won't get suspicious."

~ Back with Cat and Tommy in the Workhouse Van ~

The van pulled to a stop and I stood up carefully.

"Do you think we're there?"

Tommy opened his mouth, but when we heard heavy chains rattlin' and the screechin' sound of a set of gates opening, he kept quiet.

The van started movin' again but it only pulled forward a few feet, I sat back down on the floor again next to Tommy. Just inside the gate. We heard them close again, then more men and more voices came from the outside.

Suddenly, the padlock on the outside of the door was unlocked and we were greeted by the sight of three men in uniforms. The Workhouse orderlies.

Once the door was open, one of them came up the steps and grabbed my arm.

"Ow!" The man gripped my arm so hard, I thought it would bruise. He shoved me down the steps and a different orderly took me from him.

Then the man got Tommy Boy and we were marched into the Workhouse.

We were pushed through the door and down a long corridor with wooden doors leadin' to other rooms comin' off both sides.

At the end of the corridor, Mr Fink was sittin' behind a wooden table, with a short stack of papers, an ink well, a pen, and a pile of folded grey workhouse shirts in front of him. Dan and Joey stood at either side. All three of them looked so angry, I had a feelin' that my life here would be even more miserable. Not that I would be here long, I was already tryin' to figure out a way to escape.

We came to a stop in a few feet away from the table, standin' side by side.

"I'll register the girl first," Fink ordered and I was pushed forward.

"So this is where you guys have been! We missed you this morning!" I said, puttin' as much confidence and bravado into my voice as I could to mask the fact that I was terrified.

"Name." Fink kept his voice level, despite the fact I could practically feel the anger radiatin' from him.

"Cat," I responded. There was no way I wanted to tell him my real name. He probably knew it anyway...

"Real name." He demanded.

"Caitlin Barnes," I said reluctantly. I sighed as he wrote it down on one of the sheets of paper.

"Age and birthday."

"15. October 8th 1884."

"Take a shirt." I took the shirt on the top of the pile and it unfolded in my hands, which were still cuffed. I looked at it as I was moved out of the way for Tommy to be registered.

There was an 8-digit number on the left breast side. The number was: 27049923. I was tryin' to figure out what it meant and I was goin' to try and ask Tommy, but we were escorted away from each other and into separate rooms to get changed.

Luckily, one of the orderlies uncuffed us both so we could change our shirts. I rubbed my wrists then stripped off my shirt and swapped it for the rough workhouse shirt.

I checked my arm in the process and scoffed when I saw the large bruise formin' on my upper arm. I prodded it gently and it ached slightly. I'd taken more pain than this, it was less painful, more inconvenient...

When I got the shirt on, it hung loosely around my body. It fell down to just past my hips and the sleeves reached halfway down my arms, to my elbows.

It was rougher than sandpaper and it itched all over. At least it was relatively clean...

A few minutes later a woman in a brown dress and white apron came into the room.

"Come with me." She said and turned around to walk out again. I followed her silently down corridor after corridor. On the way, we passed countless rooms. Some of them looked like classrooms, others looked like workrooms, and others looked like cells...

Then I remembered that Tommy was taken a different way from me and I needed to know where he was.

"Hey, where's Tommy Boy?" I asked her as we walked.

"Who?"

"The boy that came in at the same time as me."

"Oh, him. He'll be with the boys either in the gardens or one of the workrooms. You'll see him at dinner though."

I nodded and she stopped walking. I almost knocked into her, but I stopped just in time.

I looked up at the door in front of her. The laundry room.

"Laundry? Why are we here?" I asked.

"You're going to be doing laundry for the rest of the day. There's already a girl in there so she can teach you how to do it." She opened the door and signalled for me to go in.

I stepped into the laundry room and I turned back when she closed the door behind me. I looked around, takin' it all in. It was a huge room with white washed walls. There were various not-quite-machine things that I recognised from the laundry room in the Lodging House. There were also 5 tables and clothes racks for drying. The room smelled of soap and damp. I couldn't believe that I would be spendin' the rest of the day here.

"Hey, new girl." Someone said from the other side of the room. "I'm Ida." I faced her and looked her up and down. I was really out of my depth here...

"I'm...I'm Cat," I replied. I stared at her for a second. "You look familiar." She was wearin' a brown dress quite similar to the nurse's except it was smaller and it had a number on the same side as mine, the left breast side. I looked at the number and saw that it was different from mine. It was: 21049903.

"I get that a lot." She walked over to me and took my hand. She led me over to the massive pile of laundry on one of the five tables in the huge laundry room.

"Right." She started pickin' up various pieces of clothin' and handin' them to me. "We've got to sort these into piles. Boy and girls. Then into shirts, trousers and dresses in the girls' pile. Then wash and dry them. Got that?"

"What? I'm sorry, I'm...I'm n-not really with it..." I stuttered, still starin' at her.

"That's ok. It's only your first day here, and the workhouse ain't exactly the easiest place to get used to."

She explained what we had to do again and then I realised who she was.

"Ida!"

"Yes?" She looked up from the pile of girls clothes on her side of the table.

"Ida Buckley. From Brent?"

"Yeah...yeah, that's me." She hung her head in disappointment. "I thought you wouldn't recognise me in here."

She looked back up at me and ran her hands through her shoulder-length hair.

"What?"

"I thought you wouldn't recognise me in here. In this stupid dress."

"Oh. Why?" I asked.

"Because I thought Angel would've sent a message to you to tell you..."

"Why would Angel...we're not allies...we're more like enemies, to be honest." Angel was my ex-girlfriend and she was the complete opposite of her name.

"Well, you've recognised me now, and we have a job to do. Can we just get back to doin' this? Please?" I nodded, confused. "Thank you."

I turned back to my pile and thought through that whole conversation. I couldn't make head nor tail of it but just figured that she didn't want to talk about it, so I wouldn't bring it up.

Neither of us spoke.

The rest of the day passed pretty quickly once I fully got into it. It was borin' and repetitive, and my hands were sore from doin' the same thing over and over again.

Once it was time for dinner a nurse came and knocked on the door and opened it.

"Time for dinner. Follow me." She led me down a couple of corridors to a massive room with 4 long tables and what felt and sounded like thousands of men, women and children.

Some people were waitin' in line to get food, and others were already sat down eating.

"Cat! Cat!" I heard someone yell over the clamour. I turned around to find whoever shouted and noticed that Ida had walked off.

I heard a couple of sets of footsteps behind me and span around just in time to be hug-tackled by 3 people.

I pulled out of the hug and saw who it was.

"Tommy! Smalls! Fletcher!" I looked behind them, over their shoulders. "Robin? Roger?"

I walked over to them, weavin' around people to get to them.

"Are you guys ok? What happened? How did you end up in here?" I noticed somethin' was up with Robin, well, apart from bein' arrested and stuck in the Workhouse, somethin' else was botherin' her.

"It's your fault we're all in here, Cat." She spat at me. "None of us wouldn't be in here if it wasn't for you and we're probably going to die in here as well."

"No! We're not goin' to die in here. We'll be fine." I tried to reassure her as best I could, but she wasn't havin' it.

"No, we're not! We're not going to be fine! The Jordan Brothers and The Foreman are going to be on us like a rash! They're going to kill us in here!" She stepped forward and pushed the others aside. She looked up at me with pure hatred in her eyes. I had never seen her like this before...

"Why are you bein' like this now, Robin? Like it or not, we're all stuck in here. And if we want to stay alive we need to fuckin' work together and maybe, oh I don't know, not kill each other!!" My voice got louder and louder as I spoke, but I didn't care if people heard me.

I didn't need to worry about that anyway. The room was loud enough as it was, we were just addin' to it. And it wasn't like anyone around us actually cared...

"Why am I bein' like this now?" She repeated furiously. She took a step forward and got right in my face, pure fury threatenin' to overpower any rational part left in her.

We stood there, literally toe to toe, and in a low voice, she snarled at me, "It's your fault we're all in here. If you had told us...If you had told us about what was happening, we would've been able to protect ourselves. Hell, I would've been able to kill the fuckin' dog that the Jordan's brought with them to get me."

Tears began to form in her eyes and she tried to blink them away, but they always came back.

Again and again and again.

I concentrated as hard as I could to keep my emotions in check and to not let my anger break out of me. This wasn't like Robin. She wasn't usually like this.

"Robin. Calm down. We're goin' to stick together and protect each other as much as we can in this place. We're goin' to need to trust each other---" She shoved me backwards and I almost completely lost it.

"Trust each other??" She yelled at me. "I can't trust you any more Cat! To be honest, I haven't been able to trust you since your parents were found at the bottom of the river!!" Her chest rose and fell heavily. A couple of tears escaped and she wiped them away.

When she raised her arm to wipe her tears, I noticed the red marks on her arm. They looked...like...teeth marks...She'd been bitten.

"Don't you dare even think about them," I growled, ballin' my fists. "I'm not like them. I never have been and I never will be. I'm not a fuckin' murderer." I took deep, rapid breaths, which I then attempted to even out.

By the time Robin responded, Fletcher had put his hand on her chest to stop her from attackin' me. I'd thought that she'd calmed down slightly, but no...Her eyes still burned. This was a different kind of anger than before. This was cold, calm and subtle, yet still dangerous and unpredictable...

"No. You're not a murderer. Not directly. But you've already killed us in here."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut and she walked away, still fuming. At least she walked away.

"Cat?" Tommy said gently.

"I'm fine guys. Robin's right. I have killed you all by not tellin' you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I hung my head and raked my hands through my hair, not carin' about the cut on my forehead.

"I get it if you don't forgive me," I mumbled. Then, I looked back up at them. "I wouldn't forgive me either."

"No." 

I lowered my head again. 

"Don't say that. You're the one that's right about all this." Tommy put an arm around my shoulders.

"Yeah...We've all got to stick together." Smalls put in.

"We've got to trust each other." Roger stepped forward into the group.

"If we want to stay alive, we have to fight for it. We have to keep thinking about all the people that are waiting for us outside, and remember that they're still gonna be there when we get out."

Fletcher nodded at us and we all made a silent vow to protect one another. To go through thick and thin and come out still standing.

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A/N I’m actually really proud of this chapter! The next two chapters (6 and 7) are the worst for triggers, reader discretion is advised. Thanks for reading, please like and reblog and have a great day!

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Previous

Thanks for reading so far.

Gaelic translations are at the end. Apologies if they’re not correct, had to rely on internet translation!

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and encouragement.

Chapter 19: A Problem Shared

Manny: I understood "crazy old witch," "go kill yourself," then "I love you." Jay: I'll never get this; how you all yell at each other.

Gloria: That's how you know that your family loves you, when they feel free to scream at you.

- Modern Family

Geneva: Ultrasound is on 15th. 11:40. Princess Royal Maternity hospital.

Jamie: Fine. I will meet you there, coming from work.

Geneva: I will be telling people after this scan, so better tell your family before then.

Jamie: I’m going up to Lallybroch this weekend, will tell them then

Geneva: I can come with you to tell them. 

Jamie: Thanks but that’s ok. Claire is coming with me

Geneva: ok.

******

The weather was perfect for the journey through the Highlands, another day of blue skies and warm sunshine, thanks to an unusual but very welcome heatwave.

Jamie should have been in his element driving his favourite route home to Lallybroch. Instead he clenched the wheel with grim determination, eyes focussed on the road ahead, willing the journey to be over.

Claire was silent and did not even comment when they sailed past their customary stopping point. She realised he was best left to his own thoughts at the moment.

Jamie still hadn’t planned how to break the news to Brian, Murtagh and, God help him, Jenny. He knew none of them would be thrilled with the news, but it was Jenny’s quick temper and razor sharp tongue that he was dreading.

Claire glanced over at Jamie, noting the tension in his jaw, teeth clenched tightly together. She rubbed his arm, feeling his strong muscles through the thin shirt. His strength was obvious, but this weekend, she knew he would be relying on her to be strong for him.

Jamie smiled tightly. “The thing is, ye ken,” he spoke as if they were just continuing a conversation, rather than having spent the previous fifty minutes in silence.

“The thing is, Mam told me always tae think about my actions, and whether I would be ashamed tae tell her and Da about it. If I felt ashamed and wanted tae keep it hidden, I shouldna do it. Weel, I’m no’ exactly ashamed, but I’m no’ verra proud either. Although...”

He paused, working out how to put his thoughts into words. “...no, I am ashamed. Ashamed of no’ considerin’ the consequences of my actions, ashamed of sleepin’ wi’ a woman I dinna really care for, ashamed of conceivin’ a bairn in this way.”

Jamie picked up Claire’s hand and brought it to his lips. “But, one thing I am verra proud of is ye. And, idiot dickhead that I am, that ye still love me.”

Claire smiled. “You may be many things, James Fraser, including an idiot dickhead, but I do… I do love you.”

******

Claire was relieved when they turned into the driveway to Lallybroch and finally pulled up outside the house. She clambered out of the car, her legs stiff after four hours with no breaks, and headed for the side door with Jamie just behind.

Before they reached the door, Brian appeared around the side of the house, stooped over a vision in Spider-Man blue and red. Clad in a Spider-Man tracksuit, with a Spider-Man helmet perched on his head, Wee Jamie sat astride a Spider-Man tricycle, making no attempt to pedal whilst his grandad steered and pushed him forward. He rang the tricycle’s bell.

“Stop now… pease, Grandab.” He instructed his grandfather.

Wee Jamie quickly dismounted and rushed over to his uncle who scooped him up in his arms for a kiss, tickling the lad’s cheeks with his bristles. Wee Jamie pushed him away, giggling helplessly, and held his arms out to Claire. She held him tight, pretending to bang her head on the helmet he was still wearing before giving him a kiss.

“And what is all this finery ye have here, mo laochain?” Jamie asked his nephew with mock seriousness.

“‘S from Maggie. Imma big brover… a good one, aye?”

Jamie caught the eye of Jenny, who had just emerged from the house, and smirked.  

“From yer wee sister, eh?”

“Aye,” Jenny said firmly. “Because he is such a good brother and Maggie loves him.”

“And ‘afore ye say anything,” Jenny spoke to Jamie in a low voice. “It’s no’ a bribe, it’s jes’ reinforcing good behaviour towards the baby.”

“Right.” Jamie laughed and hugged his sister.

Brian abandoned the little tricycle and came over to join them.

“Ah, Claire, ‘tis good tae see ye again.” He kissed her cheek. “Murtagh has jes’ gone tae the village fer some provisions. Mrs. Crook’s no’ too well, so we have tae do some cookin’ tonight. If we pitch in together, we can manage, nae doubt… but not ye, Jamie, son. Anyway, come in, come in, and we’ll put the kettle on and mebbe a wee bit of cake. Here, Claire, gi’ the lad tae me. Ye can freshen up if ye want.”

Brian held out his arms and his grandson flung himself into them. He led the way into the kitchen.

“Where’s Ian?��� Jamie asked.

“Och, Maggie had a wee accident, a wee bit o’ nappy leakage. He’s jes’ cleanin’ her up.”

Claire looked across at Jamie and nodded at him meaningfully. He blushed slightly and pushed Claire ahead of him into the house.

******

In Mrs. Crook’s absence, dinner had been surprisingly good, thanks to Murtagh creating his version of beef chilli, served with enough rice to feed the whole village. Now the adults all sat companionably round the kitchen table. The baby monitor, placed on the dresser, provided a background of gentle snores and snuffles from Wee Jamie and Maggie asleep upstairs.

Jenny picked up her cup of decaffeinated tea reluctantly, staring at the strong coffees and whiskies of the others with jealousy. “It’s no’ fair.” She muttered. “No alcohol, no caffeine.”

She looked at her husband accusingly.

Ian smiled. “Tell ye what. Fer the next bairn, I’ll gi’ them all up wi’ ye. Is that fair?”

“It’ll no’ be fair till we can share the pukin’ and the swellin’ and the pain too. Still I appreciate the offer. But, Ian Murray, yer daughter isna even six weeks old, and ye’re thinking about another! Gi’ me a break first, please.”

Jamie felt Claire’s hand squeezing his knee, her finger tapping against his skin repeatedly, prodding him to start his confession. He took a sip of whisky and sat back in his chair. His eyes sought hers, begging: ‘I’m no’ ready yet… let me enjoy this family moment a wee bit longer, please.’ Claire stilled her finger but her hand remained on his knee.

“Wee Jamie seems tae be gettin’ more used tae sharin’ his Mam.” Brian began. “I ken the wee gifts help, but it’s good fer him tae learn tae share his Mam, his Da, weel, all of us wi’ other bairns. Call me a sentimental old fool, but I love it when Lallybroch is filled wi’ family and bairns rather than jes’ Murtagh and me rattlin’ ‘round all these rooms. The more the merrier, I say.”

Jamie felt his cheeks start to burn. He dropped his gaze and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the bubbling sensation in his stomach. Claire squeezed his knee reassuringly as he sat up straight.

“I have something I have tae tell ye all.”

He noticed Jenny’s eyes leap straight to Claire’s left hand, wrapped around her whisky glass.

“It’s no’ about Claire and me. Weel, I suppose it is… no’ directly… I mean, it affects Claire… and me.”

Conscious of his ramblings, he paused before blurting his confession out in one breath. “I’m having a bairn. Geneva’s pregnant wi’ ma baby. I’m no’ wi’ Geneva. But I will support her with the bairn. No’ sure how yet. Claire kens all this. And, as ye’re nae doubt thinkin’ about it, ‘twas ‘afore I met Claire.”

The room was silent. Jamie looked at each of his family members in turn. Brian had closed his eyes, processing the information. Murtagh’s thick brows were drawn together in a deep frown. Ian gazed into his whisky, shaking his head slightly. Jenny, God help him, had gone white, her lips pursed together, her chest heaving, ready to let rip. Claire brought her arm up and slid it around Jamie’s shoulders, bringing him closer to her, a visible show of support.

Suddenly, a baby’s cry rang out. Jenny stood up and stared at her brother. “I have tae see tae Maggie, but this isna over, brother. I have a few things tae say tae ye.”

Claire could feel Jamie untense slightly as Jenny left the kitchen. “Weel, does naebody want tae say anything tae me, or are we tae wait fer Jenny tae gi’ me a tongue lashing?”

Brian spoke first. “Lad, I canna say I’m no’ shocked at yer news and, truth be told, a wee bit disappointed. And I have tae question what ye were thinkin’ tae be sae irresponsible. I could sit here and lambast ye fer what ye did. But lookin’ at ye, I dare say ye’ve been punishin’ yerself plenty over it. If it’s yer bairn, as ye say, and ye’re man enough tae accept responsibility, then that’s as it should be. We’ll welcome the child intae the family. Jes’ gi’ us time tae get used tae the news. But, Geneva… nah, I’ll no’ say anything about her. She’ll be my grandchild’s mother.”

“Weel, if ye willna say anythin’ aboot that, I will.” Murtagh interrupted. “Sgliùrach! Tè innleachdach! I never liked that one.”

Claire looked questioningly at Jamie who shook his head slightly.

Murtagh turned to Claire and continued. “And are ye alright, m’eudail? If yon bod ceann isna treating ye right ye tell me now. If ye stick wi’ him, it’s a lot fer ye too.”

Claire was touched by the usually gruff Murtagh’s concern. Although she didn’t understand the Gaelic words he used, she understood enough from his tone of voice and his hand reaching across the table to pat hers.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Jamie looked across at Ian. “And have ye nothin’ tae add?”

Ian smiled weakly. “I dare say Jenny will have enough tae say for the pair o’ us. Good luck wi’ that.”

Everyone grew silent again, awaiting Jenny’s return. Finally, with Maggie settled, they heard her footsteps along the stone corridor. Claire felt Jamie tense once more. Jenny came and stood by Jamie, leaning against the table.

“Sae,” Jenny started, sounding surprisingly calm. “Has everyone said their piece? What’s the thoughts?”

This was obviously a rhetorical question as, poking her finger at Jamie and now sounding significantly less calm, she continued without pause.

“What were ye thinkin’ man? Tae get yer end away in a one-night stand is one thing, and I’ll let that pass for the moment, since we all know how easily men can be led by their cocks. But, tae bed her wi’ no thought fer protection, like some sort o’ desperate teenager, that is jes’ too much. And this is Geneva, ye ken what she’s like. Did ye no’ remember? Or were ye sae consumed wi’ lust, ye jes’ had tae go fer it. And bugger the consequences. ”

Jamie tried, against his own better judgement, to interrupt. “She said…”

“Ah, she said, she said. Nae doubt she said, ‘oh, it is absolutely fine. Do not worry about it James. I will take care of that.’” Jenny affected a high-pitched posh English accent in some sort of impression or caricature of Geneva. Then, mindful of the current audience, she added. “No offence, Claire.”

“None taken, Jenny.”

“Aye, but lots taken here, sister…”

“Did I ask ye, James Fraser? No?... well then… Cast yer mind back tae Rupert’s wedding. Correct me if I’m wrong, bràthair, but did I or did I no’ say to ye that I could see the way she was lookin’ at ye like ye were a catch and she meant tae reel ye in again? And that’s exactly what she’s tried tae do. Unfortunately for her, a combination of ye fallin’ fer Claire here and Geneva’s awfa personality means ye got off her hook again. But, mark me, she’ll no gi’ up tryin’.”

Jenny took a sip of her now cold cup of tea and grimaced. Ian handed her his whisky glass and she took a large gulp.

“Christ, that’s good…” She forgot herself for a moment as she savoured the taste of the whisky before getting back to the task of berating Jamie. “See what ye’ve driven me tae, Jamie, ye’ve driven me tae drink. Now I canna feed my own child for hours because of this.”

“I think ye’ll be ok with that wee bit…” Ian began, then quickly stopped as Jenny shot him a withering look.

“What I will say tae ye then, Jamie, is this. Ye have been a damn fool and an absolute arse with nae more sense than a sixteen year old trying tae get laid fer the first time. I wouldna blame Claire if she upped and left ye. Ye’ve given her a lot tae put up with. And more yet tae come, nae doubt, because I dinna think that Geneva will gi’ up so easy. She’ll try to catch ye again, this time wi’ a bairn as bait. But I will be civil tae Geneva if I have tae be, for the sake of my niece or nephew. And we will all love the bairn because, in spite of the fact of who its mother is, it will be yers.”

And with that Jenny gave Jamie a kiss on his cheek and sat down next to Ian, taking another swig of his whisky, as Murtagh gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.

******

Jamie lay in his bed, watching Claire potter around his bedroom. He loved how well she fitted into his life and his family. This would have been so much more difficult without her here. He felt fully relaxed for the first time in a couple of weeks. Claire rummaged in her bag for her night shirt.

“Leave that, Sassenach, please?” Jamie asked. “I dinna want ye tae wear anything. I want tae feel yer skin on mine. In the night, I love tae know there’s nothing in between us.”

Claire didn’t answer but stripped her clothes off, leaving them neatly by her bag, then walked over to join him in bed.

“Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Claire. Christ… wi’ the coldest feet. There’s a heatwave in Scotland, how can yer feet still be cold?”

“It’s this house, the stone floors downstairs.” Claire laughed as she curled her legs up and manoeuvred her feet to press against Jamie’s thighs.

Jamie switched the light off and they lay curled up together in the dark. He thought that Claire had drifted off to sleep when she started to speak.

“You said you love to know there’s nothing in between us, but there still is something. You know, when we make love.” Fearful of being misunderstood, she quickly continued. “Do you want me to go on the pill?”

“I wouldna ask ye tae do that, unless ye wanted tae.”

“I do want to. I want there to be nothing in between us either, but… would you get tested, please? I’ll do it too. Although Frank and I always used condoms and I know you believe that she… er, Geneva didn’t sleep with anyone else, you can’t know for sure. So would you?”

Jamie moved to rest on top of Claire. “Aye, ye ken I’d do anything fer ye…” he whispered as he placed a trail of kisses down her body.

“...anything at all.” His voice became muffled as his mouth reached its exquisite destination.

**********

mo laochain -  my little hero

Sgliùrach - Slut

Tè innleachdach - Scheming female

m’eudail - my dear

Bod ceann - Dickhead

[kkruml]

I don’t even know your name Chapter 23

Ok gang. For anyone still hanging around for this thing- Here’s the last one.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been talked into an epilogue, but for all intents and purposes, this is it.

I got all sappy and emotional yesterday so this is a simple THANK YOU to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged this and who has just been a positive member of this fandom. You are all lovely.

Shout out to the lady who saw the VERY FIRST 100 words of anything even closely resembling fan fic (before I deleted it). @ecampbellsoup​ you are a stunning example of what humanity looks like at its best and I love ye for it and so much more.

@missclairebelle​ You just get me and I’m grateful for you. THANK YOU for everything you gave to this story.

@smoakingwaffles - What can I say that hasn’t been said? 23 chapters. WE DID IT. This entire story is dedicated to you.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5 | Chapter  3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11| Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21| Chapter 22

AO3

Previously

“Jamie, I-” I stuttered, closing my eyes, unsure of how to continue. I wanted to respect tradition; I wanted to give Jamie the gift of his parents’ words on our wedding day. But where was I in all of this?

The crease in his brow faded and the grip on my arm relaxed as he took in my face. His gaze was intense and I fought to hold it, feeling suddenly dwarfed by his imposing shoulders- shoulders that just the night before had hovered over me as he found surrender.

I cleared my throat as I struggled to clear my thoughts and continue. “I know how important these traditions are, and I want to give you all of it. I just-”

Two deep breaths.

“I just don’t know where Claire Beauchamp is in any of this,” my words came fast and as I finished I felt breathless, empty. The words I had swallowed for the last several months were now lingering between us.

He said nothing but a ghost of a smile played at his lips as he nodded slowly. I caught a flicker of something I couldn’t name in his eyes as he held my stare. He took my hand and kissed my knuckles softly.

One week.

Then I would no longer be Claire Beauchamp.

I would be Claire Fraser.

CLAIRE

Two days to go.

“Just one last turn at the seamstress- the tartan isna quite right.” Jenny’s voice was in full force but she took an extra breath to soften it a little.

This was our last pre-wedding visit and the café had cleared out as we sipped the last of our tea. Over the last several weeks, we had settled into a comfortable friendship, an easiness that quickly developed into kinship.

The Fraser genetics were strong; certain gestures would catch my eye and I saw glimpses of Jamie- a quirk of an eyebrow or a deep exhale in frustration. She was strong and fierce when it came to her family-which now included me, I had to constantly remind myself- and I loved her for it.  

“Erm... Okay yes of course.” My voice was soft and lacked conviction. The dress had looked fine to me- though I had little knowledge of just how the plaid was supposed to be arranged, folded, and tucked into my gown, so I just nodded and tried for a smile.

“We’re almost done Claire. I ken this is a lot for ye, seein’ as ye dinna grow up wi’ so many traditions as Jamie.” Her voice was kind and she gently squeezed my left hand, her finger grazed the ring- pausing on the engraved thistle. She smiled softly as she released my hand, adding with a chuckle, “Ye may be a Sassenach, but we’ll make a Scot of you yet.”

I laughed with her as my right hand traced the side of my cup. The reality of her words hit my chest and I felt my heartbeat quicken, both in excitement and in anticipation.

“Are ye okay, Sassenach?”

Two deep breaths.

“Yes.”

I was not convincing- with a single glance, Jamie read my glass face. One hand cupped my head while large fingers massaged my scalp. He whispered words I didn’t quite understand but closed my eyes and let his voice and touch seep into my bones. After a few moments I felt calm and I leaned back, tilting my head up and he brought his mouth down to mine.

His lips were soft and warm, but he pulled away before I was ready. The noise that escaped me curled his lips at the corners and his fingers tightened around my curls momentarily before releasing me.

“I do love yer squeaky noises,” he laughed lightly as he slid into the chair beside me.

An earnest laugh emanated from my chest as I shook my head, “I do not make squeaky noises.”

“As ye say, mo chridhe,” his eyes softened as he said the word and I felt a flutter in my chest. I watched him grab the whisky bottle as he refilled my glass. I stretched my legs across his lap, my calf fitting in the space between his thighs, my feet dangling just slightly over. I blinked slowly, eyes unfocused on the table in front of me.  

“What’s on yer mind?” He reached for my glass, taking a gulp of the amber liquid before setting it back down in front of me.  “I can hear somethin’ rattlin’ round fierce up there.”

“It’s just…” I was stalling. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.” His voice was steady. “Ye ken that- right, Sassenach?”

I looked up from the table to see a calm deep blue staring back at me. I nodded and tried for a smile.

“The wedding-”

His brow flickered and his eyes widened but he regained control almost immediately, forcing my words to come quickly.

“Oh god NO- No Jamie, I’m not having second thoughts.” I could hear the panic in my voice as I leaned forward, my fingers searching for his. Finding one large hand resting on my thigh, I squeezed it with both hands.

“Ye sure?” his voice was thick with concern but he tried to hide it with a small smile as his other hand reached for and gently held the arch of my foot-lightly tickling it. “Are ye havin’ cold feet?”

I squirmed and tried to pull my foot but he grabbed my ankle, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

I recognized the gesture- he had done it before, many times. After long shifts or tough patient cases, he would find me thoroughly wrapped up in my own thoughts, and his hand would find one of a thousand ticklish spots on my body and gently caress it. Without fail, it would bring me back to the present and break down the cascade of thoughts I was drowning in.

“Aye, still no’ a squeak, ye say?” He tried for a wink as he loosened his grip and set his hand on a safe spot and my muscles relaxed.

A slight silence hung between the two of us and I felt the weight of my words returned.

“Your world is just so much… bigger than mine.” I brought my hands to my forehead, rubbing my temples as I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath before I opened them again and looked at him. “It’s just… I feel… adrift. I’m afraid “we” are going to get lost in all of this and… I won’t get to tell you what’s in my heart.”

He brought his body to me, hugged me and let his lips hover against my forehead as his breath came in waves, steady on my skin.

JAMIE

He could see her body slightly relax but still her frame looked contorted, almost foreign.

Adrift.

The word cut deep to his core and he flinched at the thought of it. He blinked hard, eyes focused on a curl of her hair as he rested his chin against her forehead.

Tradition was important to him- as old as the Highlands themselves. He wanted everything he was, including those traditions, to be offered to her. But she was his Claire. He was hers- irrevocably. He would lay himself bare, drop to his knees, and give up everything he was- for her.

The pageantry of the ceremony and reception had filled the space between them for the last several weeks, and he felt a sudden need to anchor himself to her- and her to him.

Flashes of an idea skated across his vision and he smiled into her curls. But that could come later. For tonight, he let his fingers linger in her hair and he slowly shifted closer to her, eager.

CLAIRE

One day to go.

Our bed was empty. Jamie had risen early, before I woke. I stretched my limbs, feeling a peculiar laziness coupled with a sensation of heady fulfillment from the night before. He had been both gentle and intoxicating last night, and the effects were still lingering in my bones as I floated somewhere between sleep and waking.

I had felt the drip of water from his curls as he mumbled a few sweet words into my cheek before leaving. Last minute preparations at the distillery.

The day surged ahead as texts came with lightning speed. Final checks on the dress, flowers, cake. The screen of my phone lit with a pulsing frequency; after a flurry of texts and a few missed calls, I had had enough. I was just about to shut my phone off when the screen lit up and it rang.

Joe.

Hearing from him was like a breath of fresh air.

I swiped the screen to answer and felt a sigh escape my lips.

“Hey hey, Lady Jane.”

“Joe!” I felt a lightness to my tone I hadn’t recognized in weeks and let my lips form a full smile as I reveled in the feeling. “It’s so good to hear your voice!”

“Surprised you recognized me, what with all the wedding hoopla.”

I knew he was joking but I felt my heart constrict and my breath caught in my chest. It felt like an eternity since I had seen him or Gail, or discussed anything other than patient cases or the infinite details of the wedding.

“Don’t cry on me now LJ or there’ll be no more tears for the big day,” his voice was laced with sincerity but I knew he was trying to lighten the mood. “So, you ready to go?”

“What you do you mean?”

“I’m downstairs; get your skinny white ass down here. I’m taking you to lunch.”

“Joe I couldn’t possibly- there’s so much to do.”

“Nonsense. I’ve got you covered,” I caught the smile on the other end of the phone, and I returned it.

JAMIE

Murtagh’s eyebrows danced across his forehead as he surveyed Jamie, fingers tracing the lines of the object in his hand. “Yer parents would be proud.”

“Aye?” he asked, a flicker of nerves crept into his voice as he cleared his throat. His hands moved with purpose but he noted a slight tremble to them. He clenched his hands into fists and released them, watching his fingers steady as he stretched them back out.

“I wasna sure there was a right woman for ye, but-” Jamie caught his uncle’s smile out of the corner of his eye and he paused, turning to face him. Murtagh nodded slowly, looking up to meet Jamie’s stare. “Claire has the sweetest smile. Havena seen one sae pure since yer mother.”

Jamie smiled and sighed. The only thing missing- his mam and da. He knew they would give their blessing, that they would have fallen for Claire just as he had. But in their absence, he was grateful to his kinsman for his approval.

Murtagh turned the pin over in his hands, softly repeating the inscription as he rubbed the metal to a polished shine. He kissed it gently before holding it out to Jamie.

He nodded, taking it carefully. After a moment, he raised his arms slightly as he presented himself for approval. “…Well?”

Murtagh’s voice was gruff but he heard the undercurrent of pride in his voice, “Ye’ll do.”

CLAIRE

The afternoon felt almost normal. Joe had confiscated my phone, turning it off and pocketing it. My initial panic was soon replaced with gratitude. I needed a few precious hours of normalcy before tomorrow. If anyone really needed me the list of whom to call would be short, and they’d find Joe.

We took up residence at our spot at Broch Mordha. The bottles still lined the brick wall, dotted with Edison bulbs. I settled into my barstool and shook my head, thinking back to the night we celebrated the end of medical school- the first time I saw Jamie. Since then we had spent countless nights here, glasses set atop the bar as we discussed future plans and recounted old memories. We ordered our usual drinks, sank into our seats, and talked about everything but the wedding and time seemed to stand still.

With a heavy sigh as our laughter died down, I looked down at my glass- disappointed to see it empty. The lingering taste of Glen Grant played at my tongue and the stress of the last few weeks slowly melted away and I felt content.

Joe eyed the clock behind the bar and smiled. He shifted towards me, his hand pulling out a small piece of paper from his breast pocket.  A crisp, white, precisely folded note was suspended between his thumb and index finger, held out for me. I took it gently, my eyebrows pressed together as I eyed Joe’s face. He kept his expression passive and shifted back towards his glass.

I slowly unfolded the paper, noting the precision of the fold.

“Sassenach-

Join me for a hike.

Direach Sinn.

JAMMF”

I looked at him with eyes wide, mouth open, speechless.

“Joe…” I felt tears threaten.

“The man is pretty stubborn, I’ll give him that.” He said with a laugh and shake of his head.

“Yes, I know,” I matched his smile, my fingers tracing each letter on the paper.

“I wasn’t so sure about him at first, LJ. Seemed too good to be true, thought he was like all the rest.” He tilted his head, and I met his gaze, “But he’s your match, the other half of you- neither of you whole without the other.”

I felt my chin tremble as I nodded, smiling with a laugh, “You’re bloody right- as always, Joe.”

“Well you should get going, hm?”

I took one more moment before reaching for him, embracing him in a rib-crushing hug and giving a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Joe.”

“Anything for you, Lady Jane.” His arms encompassed me for a final moment before releasing me. With hands firmly set on my shoulders, he gave a wink before sending me on my way.

The hike was peaceful, but I felt an anticipation building with each step. I hadn’t seen Jamie all day and relished the thought of a few quiet moments in what had become our spot before the big day. I didn’t need much, just his steady calm next to me.

As I crested the hill, I was struck by the view. Vibrant purple and red of sunset streaked the sky, but they paled in comparison to the man standing in front of me.

A Highlander in full regalia was a sight to behold. His auburn curls burned like a match against the glow of the horizon. His navy blue jacket popped against the white of his button down shirt; his tie was tucked snugly, perfectly, into his vest and the distinctive Fraser plaid of his kilt hung precisely from his trim waist. A length of plaid draped over his left shoulder- secured with a pin.

I stopped short, taking in the breathtaking beauty that was Jamie.

His smile lit his face and I saw a flash of pride in his eyes as my gaze met his.

“Mo Nighean Donn,” he held out a hand to me and I took a few steps forward, the world around me froze and then melted away and all I could see was Jamie.

His hand closed around mine, squeezing gently and I felt a rush of warmth encompass me.  

His voice was low and his accent thick but his eyes shone with a light I remembered from the first time we kissed- expectation mixed with contentment. “I ken ye dinna want or need a big weddin.’ It’s just you and me here. No one else.”

“Direach Sinn,” I said, trying for the lilt but failing.

He smiled back at me, a look of pride on his face. “Aye, Sassenach. Just us.”

He took both my hands in his and took a deep breath before he started.

“Claire,” his voice caressed my name and my heartbeat quickened. “I dinna have enough words to tell ye how much I love ye. But I vow to spend every day for the rest of my life tryin’ to show ye. I give ye my body to serve and protect ye. I give ye my name, my clan, and my family to ye. I give ye the very beat of my heart.”

He paused, raising my left hand to his lips, kissing the ring softly. My vision blurred with tears as I took in his face and tried to memorize every sound of his words as he spoke them.

“Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.” His voice continued, stronger and clearer than I had ever heard it. “I give ye my spirit- and all that I am, till our lives shall be done.”

Wisps of curls tickled my cheek but I could not move or look away from his face. His eyes pierced through me, a clear, deep blue stare filled with a weight I had never seen nor felt before. I took his other hand and kissed it, squeezing both hands gently as I tried to steady myself.

Two deep breaths.

I conjured the words I had played over in my head; words he had written on my heart, and that had danced on my tongue since we met.

“Jamie,” his name came out as a whisper. “Whatever lies ahead for us, I want you by my side- to turn to for comfort, for security, and most of all, I want to celebrate and live this life with you. I vow to keep the home we have found in each other, forever.”

His hands released from my grip, one finding my waist and pulling me closer to him, the other rested against the line of my cheek. His breath shook slightly as his lips met mine. He was warm and steady and I felt the fulfillment of every ache, need, wish, hope, and promise between us. His arms held me tight as the world around us fell away and all that existed was him and me.

When our lips parted, I felt his smile and I opened my eyes to see his hooded, a heady mix of awe and wonder staring back at me. He nodded slowly, placing a final kiss on my forehead before relaxing his hold on me, creating a breath of space between us.  

“It’s only proper to toast after a vow, aye?” He tried for a wink as his hand traveled to his sporran, producing the familiar leather flask.

A giggle escaped my lips as I shook my head. “You bloody Scot. You’d do just about anything for a bit of whisky, aye?”

“Ye ken ye are marryin’ a lad who makes whisky for a livin’. Of course I am goin’ to take my CEBF where ever I go.”

I eyed him for a final moment, cocking my head to one side as I took a sip from the flask. I hummed in appreciation as the current of honey and almond filled my senses. I tipped the flask to Jamie and he took it, taking a long pull without breaking eye contact. I felt flush as a smile formed on his lips and I matched it.  

My eyes lingered to the pin tucked into his tartan plaid just above his heart. “What’s this?”

“My clan-” he paused, a smile spreading across his face as he continued, “Our clan’s motto.”

“Je Suis Prest?” I asked.

“Aye,” his voice was barely audible. “I am ready.”

I could feel his eyes linger on me as he waited. I smiled as I lifted my eyes to meet his. “Yes, I am.”

His hands cupped my cheek as he brought my face to his. I felt the electricity pulse between us as my arms circled around his neck, holding him close.

We had bared our hearts to each other; our souls were fused with the promises spoken. To me, to us, this was our ceremony.

Jamie was my husband, and I was now his wife.

The rest of it, it was a celebration. I had what I wanted, what I needed. I was finally Claire Fraser.  

Tomorrow would be the first day of our marriage, and that I intended to celebrate.

But tonight, in this moment, I filled every sense with the promise of Jamie and me. Together, we watched as the sun crested over the ridge, the colors faded around us as a soft glow encapsulated us. We held each other, a promise of a thousand tomorrows wrapped around us.

[vacationcalendar]

8/6/21

hi....

So, judging by the 14 day gap in my “daily” blog, the trip took more out of me than I was hoping. I’m gonna go back and read my last post and hear how nervous I was about losing my sweet sweet structure, and I’ll just nod my head in silence like, “we know buddy, we know.”

So today, I’m going to get back on the horse, and maybe do a teensy bit of rationalizing/excusing on the way. Because no matter what happens, I will always be a good person ;D

To be clear, I did a couple hand written blogs on the road. And I did say that I would not transpose them here. I mean, the hand-writing alone would make that task nigh impossible. But since it’s only TWO goddamn posts, maybe I’ll give it a shot. The first one was on-time, it was 7/23; I wrote it in a moving car- actually lemme read it real quick.  -------

Ok, yeah, the gist of the whole post was just “Fuck, this is going to be tough.” I was donating all of my energy to staying present with my family. And normally, that would round out at about 90 minutes, tops. But when you’re at a beach house, it’s the whole experience. I’m realizing now that I budget my “work” time for writing; I still have a hard time budgeting my “free” time (relaxation time?) for writing instead. And now I see that I thought that I’d be treating time with my family as my free time, and I’d still have a little bit of work time to use for the blog. This was not the case. This was the specific fear I was feeling before the trip that I could not articulate. Family time is under no circumstances “relaxation time”. That is the work time. Full stop. Every second I stole away from them instantly became a moment to recharge the batteries, and as awesome I seem to be at the writing shit, I can not yet do this to “unwind.” The writing is work, and spending meaningful time with my family is probably harder work than actually working at a job.

So I realize now that I didn’t write anything this trip because I was WORKING MY ASS OFF. And I should have known that. Have I never talked to my mother on the phone before? It’s just that times like 5 in person. Obviously. But now, I’m looking around like, is this whole vacation thing a scam? You have to put in so much effort to milk the fun experiences out of it. You can’t just wander outside with your arms out and catch fun like a sunbeam. AND it was wildly expensive? I shouldn’t have to shell out that kinda cash and still have to work that hard.

 Although, I did realize on the beach one morning that this is what you’re paying for. You’re paying for the privilege of accessing the one of the only beautiful places left on Earth. The earth has a limited number of amazing places, so capitalism decided to protect them and make them stay special by making them prohibitively expensive. Otherwise it would be wall to wall people, filling it up with garbage, because even that would still be better than living in Ohio. Like that’s Econ 101. But as I was walking and remembering that the system has been rigged for generations, I got pissed. Like, some rich white guys decided long ago who should be rich (their kids, and maybe their race too, why not?) and who SHOULDN’T. And now you see an amazing place that basically has a placard hanging in the entrance that says “rich people only,” and we’re all pretending like that’s a fair system. It honestly seems a little sad that a even a system that was a true meritocracy would decide who gets to enjoy a clean, beautiful beach, because that’s not how amazing things should be treated. It’s exclusiveness is not at all what makes it beautiful. But when you find out the capitalism has had its white thumb on the scale for centuries, and then has the audacity to pretend it doesn’t anymore, and you know for a fact it’s why a majority of the people on this island are here in the first place, it feels fucking awful. 

Like, I’m sitting here, even now, thinking “what the fuck do I actually do about this?” And for a second there, I was like this is a cool thing to put in a book, and I had to actually make sure I didn’t just mean “ooh, racism bad!” No shit. I’m also pretty sure that’s been tackled before. I’d something A LITTLE fresher than that. The real question is, “how do the people living in an all-encompassing system that governs them throw away that system? How do they actually enact a plan to replace the entire system with a new one and get away with it?” Because any system will have people at the top, and those people will fight to keep that system in place. I mean, they’re literally at the top, this new system wouldn’t have them anywhere near the top! Are you shitting me? Hell, most of the new systems that might show up would put that bastards in jail for God’s sakes. So yeah, they’ll fight it tooth and nail, why wouldn’t they? And they are literally in charge. And I mean, when I lay it out like that, the answer to this pivotal question is obvious: revolution. You as a people need to muster up the courage and the energy to burn it all down. Those black lives matter protests were huge for this. They pumped with courage AND energy for weeks. And while I think that kind of energy is bound to fade, the courage stays.

I’m writing something in my head right now. I just realized I could probably share it with you in writing... jesus...

Part of my idea for Captain Toch was that he was in the revolution business. He never cared about the who or the why, but he was always ready to create chaos. It was the only place in time he truly thrived. He found that living through a coup was the most profitable thing a person could do. When the ladder falls, it’s all up for grabs, and it’s only really dangerous to the folks trying to scurry back up the ladder. Ettis feels he was made to knock ladders over. He isn’t one for sitting on top of one. It’s two completely different skills, taking people down and building people up. Weaver questions him on this: Don’t you ever feel guilty? You’re success is only ever in the downfall of others? You’re stability only ever comes from the chaos imposed on thousands? But Ettis disagrees. “I’ve never in me whole life seen a ladder that couldn’t use a rattlin’. People pray their whole life that one day the people on top would be shaken from their towers. And the only people that pray that the towers hold steady is the bastards inside ‘em. And I’ve never met a man inside a tower that ‘asn’t overstayed his welcome. Every profound act of chaos would see a new opportunity to establish order. Every tower that falls gives us guys enough pieces left over to build a better one for his kiddos. You’ll always hear buggers beggin’ ya to leave it alone, but they’ll never one of ‘em tell you why you shouldn’t. (I’m not sure yet what Ettis’s take on the dreaded power-vacuum would be. He feels justified in overthrowing governments but is clear that he doesn’t put any effort in helping people put together a better one in the aftermath. He has definitely oversimplified things, and ultimately he mostly just feels like this is his purpose on earth. This is talent, and I don’t think coming after kings who have proven themselves to be villainous should be too problematic to distract the reader from Weaver spending so much time with this character. I definitely think this is a perfectly good reason for Weaver to move on from the Fran’s Lion and onto new adventures after this though)

One thing I do want Weaver to challenge Ettis on is: What do you do when a king is a good man? Would you still topple his leadership for a score? And I think Ettis would tell Weaver that it’s literally never happened. And we’re left to take that how we will. Some part of Weaver doesn’t believe him; like Ettis is manufacturing his righteous position for his own means. But another part of Weaver does believe it. He’d never met a kind ruler or a fair one in his life, although he had seen far fewer. Maybe kings were meant to be taken down from time to time? Maybe this chaos washing up onto these king’s shores was itself part of larger, more natural, order of things. The forest would burn off rotten dead trees from time to time to the benefit of the forest. The rains would run off spent soil into the river to keep the plants coming back each season. Why couldn’t a ship of men come ashore and raise a din looking for treasure, when that treasure only existed in the first place because the king had been poisoned by greed? Still, Weaver couldn’t help but feel a little sad that the first truly great man he’d managed to meet was the one bringing the storm and not building the houses. Maybe bringing order to that many people was simply not a possible task. It just FELT like is was. And that feeling sank into Weaver’s chest. He realized for the first time in his stay aboard the Fran’s Lion he wasn’t feeling hungry anymore.

Huh, I kinda like that. I should write more details for the book like this. I mean, my style still needs work, but all the more reason to keep swinging at it. And style notwithstanding, I think I hammered a decent little idea there at the end. 

You know what? For completion’s sake. Let’s take this time to finish getting the second “analog” blog post summed up in here.

reading------ 7/28/21

Sentence one: OK, writing *not* at my desk is BULLSHIT, and I won’t do it. FUCKING SORRY.

So yeah, it just wasn’t going to happen, lol. Oh wow! My next sentence is literally: I’m still a good person. Deal with it.

I literally said that at the start of this blog too, omg. I forgot about that.

Yeah, I was pretty upset that I couldn’t write while I was there. And to add on to my point at the start of today’s post, this is all evidence pointed to the fact that I can only work so many hours in a day before I run out of juice. I didn’t write when I wanted to when I had a job, and then I had a pseudo-job on the trip, and I couldn’t write then either. And the ONE TIME I did write (I read the rest of 7/28) it was fucking great and it felt fantastic and I got some really good thoughts and ideas down on paper to look back on later, and I STILL couldn’t get into doing it while I was there. It’s not just a good idea to write. I have to make a commitment to it. It’s not a game, even though it sometimes feels like one. Honestly I have to commit to certain games too. I might just be broken, and we’ll have to deal with that. 

So the gist of this blog post was all the frustration I’d been feeling and expressing today, only I was *right* in the thick of it. I was recovering from being pissed at myself, I WAS pissed at myself. And I probably had had a couple drinks at this point in the evening. So I start the blog letting myself off the hook for failing my deadlines as it were. But then I pivot, and I put myself back on the hook! I compare myself to Tom Scharpling, whose memoir I was just about to finish at the time. And while it took him forever and a half to write THAT BOOK, it took him no time at all to *write.* He would not allow himself to quit that. He dug into his ideas and saw them manifested into the world. And I remember seeing that and looking back at all the ideas I had had over the years that I simply allowed to remain ideas. Letting them fade away into the ether, only existing now as electrical signals in my brain with the rest of my cruddy memories.

So then I said in the blog, if you really do feel that bad about it, then you have to write something creative RIGHT NOW. Go ahead. I’ll wait. And I called the creative writing part a “crumb of an idea,” cuz I had to lower the stakes a little. I was stressed out, and on vacation no less!

The crumb was a standup bit that I had formulated earlier in the trip. I’ll actually just transcribe that part right here for posterity’s sake: Do you guys ever call the food in your fridge "food for daddy?" Is that a thing we all do? Like I've got chocolate milk in there, and that's chocolate milk for daddy. Anyone else? Pretty standard, pretty standard procedure, in my opinion. Why? Hmm, good question. You know I guess I'd never really thought of it like that. I guess, which do you prefer? Opening the fridge and grabbing a fruit on the bottom yogurt, or opening the fridge and- "oooh.... fruit on the bottom yogurt for daddy? Mmmmmooyyoommooyhhhguu" [touches fingers to lips because how could you not?] "Ben & Jerry's Coffee Caramel Fudge Non-dairy Frozen Dessert Pint?..... Daddy like.... [like is in italics, and the italics indicate that I'm sultry as FUCK] Anyone else have roommates? Not a partner you live with, just a regular roommate that splits rent with you? And they do their own thing most of the time. And they buy their own groceries and share a fridge with you, so you have to separate your roommate's food from daddy's food? Anyone else? And every now then you have to be like, "Jeff, did you have any of Daddy's babybel cheeses? It's fine if you did, I just don't see very many babybels left, and daddy's going to Jewel this afternoon." By the way, I'm not saying you have to love this joke, you don't have to laugh or anything. I just need to make sure you at least TRY to visualize a husky white single guy in his 30's shouting down a hallway, and the hallway is considerably shorter than what you're imagining, down to a slightly huskier single guy in his 30's, "did you have any of daddy's babybels?" TRY IT. Next time you are putting away a fresh box of Eggo Waffles into your freezer, I want you to whisper to yourself, "Eggos for daddy" and SEE if you life does not appreciably change. And I know a majority of you right now are thinking, "No. I won't do that. This is the dumbest thing I have ever had the misfortune to be subjected to. Move on. Or better yet, just go away." And I will, but just watch. The next time your at the grocery store, you will inevitably walk by the Eggos. And you won't be able to help youself. You can't control it. You're going to think it. You might shake your head in disapproval while you do it, but you're gonna say it. (muttering) "Eggos for daddy" And your partner will be like "what did you say?" (Turns, snapping) DADDY'S EGGOS "...what?" "Forget it" (angrily pushes cart away) This is my power, I tell you now. You either like this premise and you're having a good time. OR, you hate it and a week you're going to snap at your significant other in public. Either way, I win.

See? That wasn't so hard. Now you are free <3 -Max

Oh my god I have to take my THIRD bathroom break since I started this morning. Fucking hell.

So let’s just call it there for today. Lotta good stuff out of the way, and a lot left to do tomorrow (probably). I have to remember to stat tagging these for archival purposes. Like this had standup AND book notes in it. That could be good to check back in on later. Hmm, but the actual hashtags part of tumblr is to help get eyes on your blog, which this is NOT for. (yet? idk) So maybe I’ll just tag them at the end here myself, and I can ctrl+F in the future. Hopefully that works O_O

Standup, EoW (book)

Alright see you tomorrow. Love ya

[katrinajg]

Cuddles? Like tired Deacon plops down on the floor before Nick pulls him into his lap maybe some smooches and Dee just flops there cuz he's just so tired and Nick feels so nice

Hope this is to your liking, anon! :D

Set after Ellie’s win of the mayoral office. 

When you’re around me all my grief gives ‘way / A lifetime with you is like some is like some heavenly day.

October 2286

There’s a radiation storm on the horizon, the scratchy scent of its ozone hanging heavy in the air, and drawing closer with every moment they waste playing bullet tag with these stupid machines. Nick’s thankful he ran into Jack in Goodneighbour and offered his services for this Railroad mission because he hates the idea that the kid would’ve had to do this alone. Even if there were only three Gen 2 synths in this scaver party. Well two now, but apparently, they’re quicker learners than he gave them credit for because after he and Jack of them ambushed the one (Nick as the distraction and Jack under a stealth boy), the last two synths huddled together to prevent what happened to their comrade from happening to them.

Nick would like to say that he has some sort of insight into how the things think, being nearly one of them himself, but pre-war Nick doesn’t know what the hell to make of them, and this post-war version doesn’t either. He sighs in frustration (does JH purposefully bait the kid with these ‘easy’ missions or does Jack completely ignore all recommendations for aid? Without knowing JH better, he can’t say for sure and the kid is closed lipped about whatever previous relationship the two had) just as Jack reappears beside him, the stealth boy cloak falling away like a desert mirage. 

“So, they’re across the street behind that building—”

“Already knew that, kid.”

“Shush,” Jack tells him and doesn’t break stride, his voice whisper low. Low enough that if Nick didn’t have his synth hearing, he wouldn’t catch all the words. “Now, they seem to be waiting to get a proper bead on me before planning an ambush. So, I figure we let them ‘find’ me and turn the tables.”

“I’m listenin’.”

Jack’s plan is simple enough, basically a reversal of their first ambush. With Jack as bait and Nick as the flank. In this instance though, it’s the setup that’s crucial. Nick knows just how sensitive their hearing is, so if he’s going to ambush them, he’s got to make sure they believe he hasn’t moved. So first, they trade guns.

The kid’s plasma pistol is strangely weighted compared to his .223 handgun and he’s often wondered how accurate the thing can be with its odd cylinders and piping going every which way. Nick doesn’t trust it. The possibility of it melting down in his hand because of one small screw up during any number of disassemblies and cleaning processes is all too real. Jack would just laugh at his concerns, he knows; tell him that it isn’t half as likely Nick thinks it is and that the firepower is a fair trade off for its finickiness. Nick just can’t be as magnanimous about the thing, not with the possibility of it maiming or killing Jack.

But that’s true for a lot of things these days.

Nick moves quietly down the alleyway of the building they’re using as cover, the echoing noise of his .223 blotting out the noise of his footsteps completely. He’s got two minutes to get around the building before Jack uses his stealth boy cloak and tries to draw their attention. It’ll have to be something subtle, a too loud footstep or a brush against something that’ll rip a bit of the kid’s shirt because even the synth’s relatively primitive programming can tell when an enemy has changed tactics and they can’t give away their hand too early. Nick crests the far side of the building, going for the cover of a burnt-out car. He’s now on the same side of the street at the two synths and the cover fire of his gun has gone quiet. He stops breathing, keeping perfectly still so there is nothing to give him away.

The burnt smell of ozone from the synth’s laser rifles mixes with the ever-stronger ozone scent of the coming radiation storm. He’d chance a look at the darkening sky if he thought he could get away with the quiet sound of his servos moving the rustling of his clothes.

The wind has picked up and the brings with it the scent of rain and Nick knows they don’t have long to keep playing this game with the Gen 2s before they must find shelter.

In the distance, he can hear a few of Jack’s footsteps, the crunch of the loose gravel on the broken pavement, and then the impact of his cloth-covered steel plates as he hits cover purposefully hard. Anywhere from four to six feet away, Nick can hear Jack approach in a stealth situation, but beyond that, he has to strain to catch any indication of the kid’s movements, so right now, they’re uncharacteristically loud to Nick. To the synths they’re hunting, hopefully, they just seem to be a mistake rather than a trap. There’s the soft sound of metal striking the surface of the pavement, the barrel of Nick’s handgun as they’d agreed, to signal Jack’s readiness, and the Gen 2s leave their cover to strike at what they assume is a weakness.

They stalk forward into the street and Jack fires blindly once to hide the sound of Nick darting from behind cover to flank the synths. He shoots the one on the left, closer to Jack’s position, the plasma melting the synthetic skin with the first shot and the second destroying the more delicate metal parts along the spine. The synth crumples and its companion spins on Nick, reassessing who’s the most prominent threat. Which, given the current situation, Nick’s not sure he would’ve chosen himself, but in all fairness to the thing, it never stood a chance against them, to begin with. Just as it gets a bead on Nick, Jack springs up from behind his cover, the shimmer of the stealth cloak blurring the landscape behind him for a second before it recovers, and fires. The heavy .223 slug strikes the synth in the back of its head, blowing out its face in a shower of sparks and metal shards.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Jack whines as his stealth cloak drops, shaking out his arm. “Take this stupid thing back, Nick. I swear my teeth will be rattlin’ for the next week from the friggin’ recoil.”

Nick shakes his head with a smirk at the kid’s dramatics and as he moves to join Jack. As he passes the first synth, Nick fires one more shot into its face as insurance. “And I don’t much care for your pistol, either, kid.”

“Not this pistol, anyways,” Jack replies with a grin and waggle of his eyebrows as they exchange weapons and Nick can’t help the snort. Leave it to the kid to sideline to raunchy remarks after a successful mission.

Jack bumps shoulders with him then and checks the state of the blackening sky. A rumble of thunder echoes off in the distance and then a flash of green lightning streaks across the clouds. Under his breath, Jack counts the seconds before the next rumble of thunder and gets to ten before it sounds again.

“It’s close,” he says and Nick nods. Too close for his comfort. Too close for them to make it to Goodneighbour or Diamond City before it lands on them with a vengeance. Jack scans the buildings around them, already coming to the same conclusion Nick had. “See anything?”

Nick shakes his head; he checked the area when he first noticed the change of pressure, but there isn’t much on the outskirts of the city that’s still intact. “Basement would be best.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure there’s some suburbs west of here.”

They both look at the sky. It’s blowing in from the southwest, as all radiation storms do. If they head toward it, it’ll cut their time for finding a decent place to hole up.

“Let’s go then,” Nick says, “Don’t have much time.”

As they set off in the direction the supposed suburbs, Jack gives him a look over the edge of his sunglasses. “A little radiation won’t kill me, ya know. Hasn’t yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

It takes twenty minutes for them to find suitable shelter in the basement of a mostly intact house. By then, the rain has started to lightly fall and the timing between the lightning and the thunder claps is five seconds. Only a mile off them now and judging from the twisted look on Jack’s face, the radiation in the air is heavy enough to taste.

The house is long looted, but the dining room chairs are made of wood and Nick finds some old newspapers in the waste bin of a makeshift office. There’s chimney along the side of the house and a fireplace in the living room, but more importantly, one downstairs in a half-finished basement. It’s clear from the state of the space, that’s it’s been used before as a temporary squatter’s home. The bare framing of the walls has been hacked apart for fuel, leaving metal brackets and crooked nails in their wake, the few windows of the basement have been boarded up by table tops scrounged from the house (which explains the dining room’s lack of table), and the area around the fireplace is a nest of blankets on a squeaking fold-out couch that smells of age and damp.

Jack folds his sunglasses away and looks around the gloom with Nick’s lighter, checking for any major damage not visible from the outside, but the damp of the basement seems to just be from a lack of air flow and a high water table, not because there’s a leak in the ceiling or a crack in the concrete. Nick builds a fire while Jack checks things out, hearing the wind rapidly pick up outside. It’s turning into a nasty storm.

“Ready,” Nick says once he’s relatively sure he’s built a configuration that will stay lit and Jack sets the lighter down in the palm of Nick’s outstretched hand. As he lights the paper, Nick hopes that the chimney is clear enough to allow for proper air flow and when the fire starts catching and drawing properly, he prays that the inevitable creosote build up in the flue won’t catch fire and burn the damn house down. His only consolation being that if it did happen, it’s raining so it probably wouldn’t take down half the damn ruined city in the blaze.

And one day a fire will. A lighting strike will catch a dried-up tree on fire, or a busted lightning rod that’s no longer doing its job properly will spark a dried roof, or some asshole’s cigarette that isn’t out completely will catch more than just a section of dry grass on fire, or like they’re doing now, a fireplace decides it’s had it with the lack of chimney sweepings and takes everything out in a literal blaze of glory. As if Boston isn’t already in enough of a ruin, a fire would be catastrophic 

Jack takes a seat on the floor next to Nick, leaning against him and reaching out to the fire with his hands. Nick snaps out of his dark musings and lays his good hand along the kid’s brow, checking his temperature.

“I don’t get radiation sickness,” Jack murmurs but doesn’t push Nick’s hand away, even when he makes a noise of disbelief. “Just a bit cold now that we’ve stopped moving and a little damp from the rain.”

“Can’t imagine sittin’ on this cold floor is helpin’,” Nick replies and rises to see about the couch.

There’s no evidence that some critter has made the blanket nest its home, it just seems that whoever was crashing here left one day and didn’t come back. Nick picks out a couple of the nicest blankets and stretches them out on the floor in front of the fire to warm and dry from the slight damp and discards the rest in a heap away from the couch. Then he grabs the couch’s cushions and sets them near the fire as well. He’ll give them some time to dry out and then fold the couch back up and push it closer. It’s a good ten degrees cooler down here than outside, and the storm outside will only make the temperature drop further. All a sure sign that the extended summer they had been enjoying is at an end.

Jack rises too after a moment and strips off his gun and tool belt, setting them aside, away from the heat of the fire and then pulls off his vest. The fabric heart that Charlie stitched on the outside has moved to the inside so that it’s always pressed against Jack’s, but more importantly, it makes him a little more indistinguishable. He sets his vest down, folding it out so the steel plates hold it upright for faster drying, and then stands with his back to the fireplace, arms folded together to preserve heat.

Outside, the rain lashes against the house as wind drives it, and thunder cracks right above them. Jack looks up at the ceiling of the basement and sighs.

“I hope this storm doesn’t last long,” he says. “Not that I don’t like spendin’ time with you, Nick, but a musty old basement isn’t exactly the ideal place.”

Nick nods in agreement and sheds his own coat and hat before lighting a cigarette. Even out of the rain, the ambient radiation that comes with one of these storms is deadly if someone hasn’t taken their Rad-X dose, and Nick doesn’t fancy dragging Jack through the streets of Boston, again because he’s too sick to walk himself.

His thoughts must make themselves known on his face, because in the next moment Jack is saying, “I’ll be fine. As much as I hate the stuff, I’ll get a RadAway treatment from Sun or Amari after we get back. I’m not gonna keel over. Trust me.”

“You haven’t set much of a precedent for trust in regards to your health, kid. I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”

“That happened one time. One time, Nick. And, okay, I was an idiot for rushing away from Goodneighbour after…that, but come on, I wouldn’t purposefully put my own health at risk.”

Nick hopes his look of disbelief is utterly scathing because that is the biggest load of bull he’s ever heard. Everything the kid does puts his own health at risk and yet he eagerly jumps into every situation that might get him killed. If Nick didn’t already know the kid had a reoccurring death wish, he’d strongly suspect something of the sort.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jack huffs.

“Don’t try and bullshit me, then.”

“In this instance, I’m not,” Jack replies and turns to warm the front of himself as explains in a laughing voice Moira and her horrible foray in easily manufactured RadAway. Nick stares at his half-turned face in horror. “It’s not like she meant to almost kill me on purpose,” Jack hastens to add.

“‘Cause that excuses her ineptitude. Jesus, Jack why’re you so reckless?” Nick asks with a sigh not expecting an answer.

He doesn’t get one aside from a shrugging of shoulders from the kid, but the line of his back tells Nick that he’s upset with the way Nick has reacted to the story. And how was he supposed to react? With a clap on the back and an ‘Atta boy,’ for almost getting himself killed for must be the umpteenth time? Nick cares for him, loves him, and wants him to be safe, so is it any wonder that gets ticked off when Jack ignores all reasonable precautions against dying? Past or present.

Nick busies himself with folding the couch back up (its hinges are stiff with rust from the damp basement and it doesn’t go quietly), and then pushing it closer to the now brightly burning fire, before setting the newly dried cushions in place. He takes a seat at one end, meaning to leave space for Jack to stretch out and get as much heat as possible from the fire, but when the kid picks up the blankets from the floor, shaking the dust from them, he curls up in baba like ball on the other end of the couch. Nick nearly groans.

“Jack.”

“Don’t talk, Nick. Not really in the mood for any more of your ‘you’re a dumbass, kid’ comments,” Jack mutters, drawing the blankets tight around his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just…Christ, kid, you just walk into these situations seemingly heedless of the danger you put yourself in and then have the gall to be surprised to survive.”

“That’s because I am surprised. You don’t understand how many times I’ve walked away from death.”

Nick will freely admit to not wanting to know that and if Jack never tells him, he’ll die a happy man.

“Then stop bein’ so cavalier about it, damnit!” Nick snaps. “I get that you live a life that ain’t conducive to safety and ease, but for Christssakes, you don’t have’ta rush headlong into the void just prove that your life is worth continuin’ to live.”

“I don’t, you colossal idiot,” Jack half shouts, flinging a part of the blankets back with the force of his words. “I did, I know. For a long time, I lived like that, but I don’t anymore and if you were a detective worth your salt, you’d’ve seen that already.”

Nick blinks at him. “You don’t?”

“I don’t. Why would I? When I have so many lovely things to live for, you being the chiefest among them.” Jack pulls the blankets back around him, looking suddenly unsure. “Dying just doesn’t hold that elusive glow anymore and I seemed to have accidentally made a home of the Commonwealth. That wasn’t my intention, but it’s also, apparently, no-backsies, so…” The kid shrugs. “I’m not perfect, Nick, I’m bound to backslide every once and while, and certainly don’t want the infamy of my old life to hang over this one, but overall, the desire to live is winning by a large margin.”

Nick breaks into a grin. “I’m an idiot.”

“Three times over as Poirot would say,” Jack agrees and stretches out on the couch, head coming to rest in the crook of Nick’s shoulder as Nick wraps an arm around him.

He breathes in the damp, familiar scent of Jack’s hair, a weight lifted from his chest that he didn’t fully realize existed. He can’t even begin to describe the sensation of elation that those words have created. Nick will never stop worrying about the danger that Jack faces being a part of the Railroad, but he can rest a little easier knowing that Jack isn’t going to be the instrument of his own downfall.

There’s silence for a time, filled only by the crackling fire and the heavy rain lashing the building. The radiation storm doesn’t appear to have worsened in the interim, but it also hasn’t lessened. Nick hopes that it doesn’t eat away all their daylight hours.

“This sound reminds me of the vault,” Jack murmurs, his head pressed against the side of Nick’s chest and listening to his coolant pump tick away, “and it’s like I’ve found home again. I thought that was gone forever.”

Any words Nick might have for such a declaration are stuck in his vocal processor and his automatic reaction of swallowing can’t do anything to dislodge a lump that doesn’t exist beyond a glitched group of ones and zeros. So, he just presses a kiss into Jack’s crown and pulls him a little closer, hoping that’s enough to convey how emphatically he feels the same.