#you lost the minute you spoke redcoat

[black-star-kunzite]

Maybe I’m too gay but I don’t fuck with Captain Hook like at all. Like his crimes aren’t that funny (except stealing a man’s wife) but whole revenge plot he has is so funny to me bc it’s like dude you fucked the wife of a trickster demigod and you’re mad she’s dead??? Her ass was living on borrowed time the moment she left with you now you sayin that we soul mates n shit. You really can’t be that mad that Rumple just up and killed his wife like his beef with her was some (petty) family shit and you’re the pool boy she fucked for like a month. And again idc if they were soulmates if my ex wife was a bitch I assume you a bitch too

I also might just be a hater fr

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

        𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. It was looked on with awe then to have their own little corner of the woodlands, to spot whatever cute furry friend of the wild was eating the leftovers they sprinkled onto the grasses the night before. She hadn’t grasped entirely how large the colonies truly were until she traveled out towards the nearby rebel encampment after Laurence’s departure. A world without Laurence in it seemed too large, yet suffocating at the same time and now she looked at every male dressed in red, every darkened shadow of the woodlands, with a hardened look within her eyes. It was frightening in a way for one to conceal their intentions within their mind, encapsulated and nested inside until eventually it was pried out of them. Lydia’s sudden plunge into the dirty work of spycraft made this frightening fact more apparent.

        As she scanned the treelines for any bandits sitting in waiting in the shadowy depths, the man she only knew as Troy spoke about how they were lost. She had figured out that they were lost minutes ago, but clutched onto the hope that the man with the map had a better frame of reference for where they were. When the silence began to stretch in between his words, she had to air the doubt of her companion’s knowledge. Lydia had only known that she was headed towards Maryland after she crossed through familiar territory of Philadelphia, where she hoped to reunite with her family there before continuing on her spying duties. 

        Of course, if this man was from Philadelphia, Lydia could only assume his allegiance was to the loyalist cause -- even as a woman from that same area. 

        She bit back the comment: If we were in Philadelphia, there would be more redcoats, and instead, offered a more simple take on their surroundings. ❝ You would imagine I would recognize my birthplace. ❞ She chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes scanned over the treelines once again. Even with her own grudge against the redcoats and the danger she could be in if her true intentions were found out, there was a sense of safety with them in large numbers. It was the type of safety Lydia pushed to the back of her mind, but when it came to being stranded in the woodlands, they were left vulnerable to any ill-willed bandits. They may align with her cause, but that didn’t mean they would give her any mercy (or a crumb of it). 

        As he began to talk once again, she turned her head to catch his eye. He now was looking away from his map at her as he posed his question. 

        ❝ Maryland, ❞ she supplied, short and simple. ❝ It shouldn’t be far from Philadelphia. ❞ Or at least, that’s what she assumed. She hasn't remembered how long they have been walking. ❝ Are you traveling there or farther out? ❞ Maybe if they both were going the same way, even if he was a loyalist and she was not, both of them could be comforted with the fact they weren’t alone.

Troy glanced at the young woman with a healthy amount of trepidation, trying to think of the best way to word his observations. Somehow, he suspected that announcing he had no idea where the bloody hell they were would not do much to gain the young woman’s confidence. While he was not a complete stranger to the wilds, the bulk of his life had been spent in Philadelphia. He had lived there since he was six, took on the Watchman role when he was barely sixteen, and had already become a paid Constable in his early twenties. He knew every cobblestone of his city… but the world beyond it… well… he had not seen as much of it as some men he knew. Only that meant when he did have to journey out of his regular area… well… sometimes he got lost. It seemed this young woman was in the same boat, however, if she was inquiring of him for their location. Eager to buy himself a few minutes, he fished around in his bag for the map one of his friends gave him before he set out. “Well… um… we’re still in Pennsylvania.” He offered unhelpfully, assuming that the woman already knew that much. “And we’re not in Philadelphia.”  

Finally pulling his map out, he squinted at it. York City should not have been that far away… but he had gotten himself tangled up somewhere and turned about. Glancing up at the woman, he tilted his head. “Where are you trying to get too?” He tried to turn the conversation toward her, and away from his own rather unorthodox reason for traveling to the current seat of the Continental Congress.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Family of Our Own: Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

The dining room was loud and boisterous as it always was before supper. Jenny bustled in with dish after dish, Claire and Maggie trailing behind with more. Mary MacNab was feeding wee Ian in the nursery to keep the meal somewhat formal given that they had a guest. The men had just finished washing up from the day, and Jamie was upstairs fetching John from his room. After the tour of the grounds, Jamie got back to work, and John got himself settled in his room.

As Claire sat herself down, Jamie returned, John right behind him. All conversation immediately ceased. Even Kitty, little devil though she was, had the sense to be scared. Claire watched as John surveyed the six sets of wide, little eyes gaping at him, and the narrowed, piercing gaze of Jenny. Jamie either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the awkward silence, and he pulled out a chair, indicating John to sit right beside him. Claire chided herself for the ridiculous pang of jealousy that struck her sternum. Brianna always sat between her and Jamie. But there was nothing between him and John.

“This looks splendid,” John said lightly, smiling warmly at Jenny. “My compliments to the Mistress of the house.��

“Mhm.” Jenny nodded curtly, reaching to fill Michael and Janet’s plates without even looking up at John.

Claire’s face flamed with secondhand embarrassment, and she noticed that John was no less affected.

“Lord John is very good at chess, I hear,” Claire said rather stupidly. “Quite a formidable opponent for you, Ian.”

Ian had the decency to look up from his food and smile and nod genially, but he said nothing.

“And what does that make me?” Jamie said, joking.

“You don’t recall all the times you lost?” John side-eyed him, smirking, and Jamie scoffed, gesturing flippantly with his fork.

“Ye played chess in prison, then?” Jenny cut in sharply, finally looking directly at John with no mercy in her cold eyes.

“Aye,” Jamie did not seem at all perturbed, even though Claire suddenly had little to no appetite. “I was a conduit of sorts, for John to learn and understand the prisoners’ needs. I spoke for them over meals and games of chess.”

Claire did not miss how Jenny visibly cringed at Jamie referring to John so informally.

“He was an excellent advocate,” John cut in. “He cares very much about his people. He was born to be a leader.”

“Shame he canna be one,” Jenny snapped, putting more potatoes on Kitty’s plate. “Seeing as he canna own his own family land.”

John swallowed thickly. “That…yes, that is quite a shame. If there was something to be done about it—”

“Ye’ve done enough, man,” Ian said, and despite his discomfort, Claire could tell he meant it. “And we thank ye.”

“God forbid he lose his position serving the Crown,” Jenny said with no hidden ire. Maggie looked like she was about to burst into tears out of sheer discomfort, her food completely untouched. Young Jamie’s ears and nose were bright red with anger, apparently old enough now to understand. Kitty and Brianna kept looking at each other and then back at the adults.

“Janet,” Jamie snapped. “Enough.”

“Forgive me,” she said without any hint of an actual apology in her tone. “Shall we continue discussing yer fine meals together in prison?”

“Jenny…” Claire tried, but her quiet attempt at calm was completely talked over.

“It looked just like this, I suppose. You sitting there all high and mighty in yer fine red coat.”

“Janet—”

“And you,” she interrupted Jamie, pointing fiercely at him, “sitting there wi’ him like his coat isna stained wi’ the blood of yer people!”

“Ma, please stop…” Maggie blubbered helplessly.

“Like ye’re equals!” Jenny went on. “Like right now. Sitting there in yer redcoat like ye own the lot of us.”

“Madame, I assure you…”

“Dinna even have the decency to wear something else in the presence of these children who’ve seen nothing but terror from the likes of it!”

“I…I don’t have…”

“Mummy…” Brianna tugged on Claire’s sleeve, and before she could open her mouth to comfort her, Jenny stood.

“Children, out. Take yer plates to the nursery. All of ye. Now.”

She hastily dumped more meat and potatoes on all of their plates as they shuffled out, dumbstruck with fear, Maggie’s sniffling echoing down the halls until their footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

Jamie stood the second the children were out of earshot, and Claire shot to her feet to contain his rage.

“Ye’re out of line, sister,” Jamie said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I am?” she roared, puffing her chest out with her hands on her hips. “Ye must be bloody mad! Bringing him in to dine like he’s one of us! With my children!”

“He’s a friend!”

“But not one of us!” she spat, her face reddening. “And I canna believe ye…ye dined wi’ him in chains…” Her eyes watered. 

“I was never chained, Jenny.”

“That’s no’ the point!” She angrily swiped at her tears. “Ye let him…use ye…”

Claire’s chest tightened.

“And he’s got ye still like a dog on a lead! It’s plain as the nose on my face watching ye talk wi’ him!”

“What the devil are ye implying?” Jamie’s voice lowered dangerously.

“I may no’ have been farther than Broch Mordha in all my life, but I’m no’ daft.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ye bloody told us he’s fond of ye. I bloody ken what that means.”

“Jenny, come on now…” Ian heaved himself to his feet and touched her shoulder.

Claire glanced down at John, and he looked like he was contemplating drowning himself in his soup. Jamie was vibrating beside her, and she put a gentle, calming hand on his forearm.

“I just…” Jenny gasped in a hiccup of tears, her hand flying to her chest. “I didna ken that ye…that you…” She swallowed thickly, gathering her resolve. “Ye didna say you were fond of him.”

In the time it took Claire to blink, something shattered, food splattered all over, and Jamie was leaning across the table, his nose inches away from Jenny’s.

“I’m. Not. Fond. Of anything.”

Claire took a trembling breath, watching Jamie growl in Jenny’s face, Jenny still as stone, not backing down. She took her eye off them for a split second, long enough to see two tears trail down John’s cheeks.

“Dinna lie to me, brother,” Jenny said calmly. “I dinna ken what he did to ye, and I dinna want to know. I just want this madness to stop.”

Jamie heaved, his entire body convulsing with each breath. Claire dare not take a step or move an inch.

“Bringing a redcoat into my home is bad enough,” she went on. “But bringing in a redcoat that’s…someone like him…in front of the children…” Her voice broke again. “How could ye do it, brother…? How could ye let a sodomite—”

A sharp crack filled the air, and Claire felt all the air rush out of her. Jenny recoiled with a stifled cry, holding her cheek. A terrible, painful silence followed, and Jamie straightened up, as if realizing what he’d done. Claire looked at Ian, and she wanted to weep. She had never seen him filled with such anger.

“I’m no’ an impulsive man, Jamie,” Ian said unevenly. “But if ye dinna quit my sight this instant, I’ll pound yer bloody face in fer what ye’ve just done.”

Without a word, Jamie was gone, and the blood rushing in Claire’s ears was too loud for her to hear where he’d gone to. A chair scraped to her left, then a flash of red zipped by; John disappeared.

Not knowing what else to do, Claire sprang into medical action, striding around the table to examine Jenny’s face.

“I’m fine,” she pushed Claire’s hands away. “Nothing more than a bit of stinging. He’d never hit me hard enough to leave a mark.”

“Well he still shouldn't have done that,” Claire said, her voice more thick with emotion than she’d realized it would be. “You’re not children. He’s a grown man with the strength of three grown men. He should not be laying hands on anybody half his size.”

“No,” Ian growled. “He shouldna.”

“D’ye think me mad, sister?” Jenny said desperately, grasping Claire by the shoulders. “Or d’ye see it? Ye must ken what I mean! Ye’re his wife! Has he told ye?”

Claire gently pried Jenny’s fingers off her and laced them with hers. “I don’t think you’re mad. But I do think there’s something you’re missing. And I...I don’t think you should have spoken to Jamie that way. Nor should you have spoken about John like that right in front of him.”

Jenny blinked dumbly. “D’ye no’—”

“Yes, I do,” Claire said sharply. “Jamie told me that John is in love with him.”

“In love?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible!”

“No, it isn’t.” Claire’s face heated with anger. “And John never hurt Jamie. Never.”

“But what if it didna...what if it wasna...unpleasant for him? That’s what I’m trying to tell ye!”

“No,” Claire said quickly, too quickly. “Jamie wouldn’t...he said he didn’t. John told me they didn’t. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“D’ye think they’d confess to such a sin?”

“It’s not a sin.”

“I ken yer time is different sister, but—”

“This has nothing to do with time,” Claire said resolutely. “John is a human being and he can’t help the way he feels. And you have no right to make him feel horrid for who he is.”

Jenny let go of Claire’s hands and crossed her arms, embarrassed. “I don’t...I dinna understand.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Claire said gently, crossing her own arms. “I admit I don’t really understand it either. But it’s none of my business.”

“It is yer business if he’s rogering yer husband.”

Claire recoiled as if she was hit in the face, blinking in shock.

“If you don’t take that back this instant, I’ll slap you myself.”

Jenny flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sister. I’m sorry.”

Claire sighed impatiently. “I’ll go talk to Jamie. After you’ve both cooled down, you will apologize. For insulting his friend, and him.”

“But—”

“And if Jamie has been unfaithful,” Claire gathered her skirts and walked away, stopping in the doorway, “I will deal with him in my own way.”

——

After several minutes of searching, Claire found Jamie in the stables, his forehead pressed to the snout of his horse as he whispered in Gaelic, stroking his muzzle. He seemed to have calmed considerably, for which Claire had the horses to thank. They always had a soothing effect on him, even as far back as when she’d first met him.

“Has Jenny convinced ye I’m a filthy pervert, then?”

Claire recoiled a bit, but pressed on, taking a few more steps into the stable. “No.”

“I’m sorry if I frightened ye,” Jamie said sadly. “But I’m no’ sorry I hit her.”

“I don’t blame you,” Claire admitted. “She was behaving abhorrently.”

“I hear what ye’re no’ saying, Sassenach,” Jamie said, still not looking at her. “Ye condemn Jenny, but ye still want to ask me if she’s right.”

Claire straightened her spine, embarrassed she’d been found out so easily.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Claire tried, taking another step forward. “If a man showed up on our threshold and started acting so...familiar with me, and went on about all the evenings we spent together...wouldn’t you wonder?”

“Aye. I would.” He finally released the horse and turned around, flicking a piece of hay away impatiently. “But ye thought I was dead. I’d no’ shame ye for remarrying, or trying to. I kent ye lived and maybe waited for me. Why would I betray ye? Why would ye think it? And wi’...wi’ a bloody s—”

“Don’t say it.” Claire put a hand up. “I’ve heard that word quite enough for one lifetime, now.”

“Is that no’ what he is?”

“He’s a man, first and foremost. And your friend, secondly.”

“Aye. But I dinna have to agree wi’ how he lives his life.”

“But you don’t have to treat him so awfully for it, either,” Claire said firmly. “He can’t help how he feels about you. I admit I didn’t realize how...strongly he felt until he showed up today. I was...frightened by it, truthfully.”

“What frightened ye, Sassenach?”

“I...I don’t know…” Claire shook her head. “When I saw that it went beyond...lust...I thought...I was afraid that…”

“I dinna love him,” Jamie growled, his body tightening.

“I didn’t say you did,” Claire said, her voice quiet with awed horror. “You said that.”

He stepped back, running an impatient hand through his hair. “I don’t.”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “John told me nothing...happened.”

“It didn’t.”

Claire almost jumped at his vehemence.

“And if anything would ha’ happened, it woulda been my choice. My own free will. As ye well know.”

Claire blinked a few times, unable to reconcile with the unfamiliar rage roiling in her gut. “You’d...let him do that…hurt you...but you don’t love him.”

“He wouldna hurt me!” Jamie said furiously. “Why are ye so determined to make him a monster?”

“Why are you so determined to defend him?” Claire shot right back. “You say it as if you’d...want him to!”

“Want him to what, Claire?” Jamie took a dangerous step forward, hovering over him.

“You know bloody well what!”

Jamie roughly seized her upper arm, yanking her close. “Say it, Claire. I want ye to look me in the eye and tell me what it is ye think I want.”

“You want to know what I think?”

“Aye! I do!” He shook her a bit.

“I want to know if you actually let him fuck you to buy your freedom! And if you fucking wanted him to! And enjoyed it!”

He released her suddenly with a great shove, and with a mighty roar, he punched his fist into the door of an empty stall behind him, spooking all of the horses. Claire gasped, stumbling back and falling onto her rear. She knew to her deepest core that he could have hit her with that force. He threw her away to protect her from the rage she’d stirred in him.

But, God help her, she still wasn’t done.

“I don’t bloody care who it is! I care if it happened or not!” She stayed on the ground, crying up to him like a pathetic child. “And I care that you might not think it...counts because he’s a man! And God, Jamie! It does!”

“Of course it counts!” he shouted. “It would! If it’d happened! Why, why would I lie to you?” “Because you’re ashamed! I can see it all over your face!” She pointed accusingly, openly weeping at him. “If it were a woman you’d be on your knees begging my forgiveness, but because it’s a man, you’re ashamed!”

That gave him pause, and Claire thought she’d gotten through to him, thought he was about to make a confession. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Aye. I am ashamed.”

Claire let out a tiny sob, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. It was her doing, wrenching it out of him like this; it was what she’d wanted. And yet she wished she could undo it all, live in blissful ignorance forever. She couldn’t bear to hear him say it, and yet she had to.

“I’m ashamed because I’m afraid.”

This gave her pause. She blinked, picking her head up off her knees. “Afraid…?”

“I’m afraid of what would have happened if he’d agreed to it.”

And all at once, Claire wanted to die with shame, because she knew with all her heart that he was telling the truth.

“I’m afraid I would have...enjoyed it. As ye said.” He took a stuttering breath, more tears littering his cheeks. “There was a...a thrill that ran through me when I asked him. And it scared me senseless. And I ken. I ken that...that Randall put that in me. I ken.”

“Jamie…” Claire practically squeaked. She unfurled from herself and got on her knees. “Jamie...come here. Come here, love…”

He obeyed, dropping to his knees like dead weight, and Claire gathered him in her arms until his head was in her lap, hands fisting her skirts.

“That man put nothing in you. Nothing. He owns no part of you and you own no part of him.”

He shook his head, and she stroked his hair, hushing him.

“If you...if you’d enjoy being with a man...a man who cares about you...loves you, even...it’s not the same thing. It’s not.”

She listened to his quiet sniffling and bit down her own tears, working to steady her voice.

“That’s not...how that works,” she struggled to find the words. “I don’t know much about John, but he’s not...the way he is because somebody hurt him. People don’t just...become that way. He was born that way. And if...if you…”

“No. I’m no’ like him.”

“Not like John? Or not like Randall?”

“John is a good man.”

“I know,” she soothed. “I know.”

“I ken he’s a good man...and yet I...I canna…” he took a deep breath. “Ye remember I told ye I beat a man senseless fer implying John and I were...buggering.”

“I remember.”

“It wasna to defend John’s honor. No’ really. And he knew it. I think he knows...something. I never told him, and I never will. But he could tell.”

“So why did you beat him then?” Claire knew the answer, but she needed to hear Jamie say it.

“Because I couldna stand anyone thinking I was that way. It made be blind wi’ rage.”

Claire nodded, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. “I know.”

“I...my mind knows that John is good...but my body...recoils to think of what he is.”

“To...think of what you might be?”

It was risky. He could kill her in one fell swoop.

Instead, he tightened his grip around her waist and buried his face further into her.

“I don’t care, Jamie. I don’t. I don’t know how to help you accept that part of yourself, but just know that it makes no difference to me.”

Claire swallowed. “I’m sorry I was so horrid. I said exactly what I knew would get you the most upset. And I know why it gets you upset. And it was so, terribly wrong of me.”

She felt a fervent kiss to her abdomen, and she clung to his hair.

“I think I...as much as I respect and admire him...I just as equally resent him. And it’s awful because you were in prison, for Christ’s sake...but I…” Her voice caught in her throat. “I know I’ve said it enough times, but you were dead. I was so lost without you. We all were. We were harassed and starved and beaten, and we lost and feared…” She shook her head. “And for those eight years, he had you. You were at his beck and call to dine with and...play chess...all the while I thought you were rotting on Culloden Moor.”

Jamie sat up, looking into her eyes with enough remorse to crumble the strongest resolve.

“I’m your wife. I’m your fucking wife,” she said, teeth clenched. “I was your wife those entire eight years that he had you pretend I didn’t exist; you didn’t even know your daughter existed. I cried into my fucking potatoes every night for years beacuse you weren’t at supper and all he had to do was look up and see you right there. And the thought of it makes me…” She must have been trembling, because he put steadying hands on her shoulders. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

Jamie tenderly kissed her forehead.

“And to think of him having just that one bit more of you...the only thing that I’d have to claim over him…” She shrugged uselessly, feeling like a petulant toddler fighting for rights to a toy. “To think of you giving yourself to him the way you give yourself to me while I couldn’t even bring myself to touch myself for eight years…”

“But I didn’t, Claire,” he said vehemently. “I didn’t.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “I know,” she croaked. “I know.”

He captured her lips gently, almost hesitantly, and she reciprocated in kind, fingers trembling on his cheeks.

“D’ye doubt that I love you?”

“No,” Claire answered without hesitation. “Not for a single second.”

Jamie nodded, sighing in relief. “I was afraid...once ye knew the darkest parts of me...ye’d think I couldna…”

Claire shook her head, kissing him lightly again. “It doesn’t make you dark. Or incapable of love.”

“Or incapable of loving that ye’re a woman…?”

Claire shook her head again. “You tell me, Jamie. Do you still love these…?” She took his hands and guided them to her breasts, delighting in the stutter of his breath. He nodded reverently. She guided his hands under her skirts. “How about this?”

He groaned, and a chill ran down her spine.

“Aye, lass. God, I do…”

She straddled him, kissing him more deeply, grinding down into his hand. ���Then nothing else matters.”

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 15

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 15 

April 17, 1746

Jamie straightened his shirt and tied the stock at his neck. The new shirt didn’t fit him exactly, tight in the arms and chest, but it would have to do. He caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror sitting atop the bureau and the sight of his dark locks still gave him a shock. Even less of a shock but still noticeable to him was the sight of his clean-shaven face. He looked rather boyish and perhaps that was for the best, as much as he hated the look. He’d have to keep up with the shaving as diligently as he did with the natural hair dye.

“A leannan, are ye ready to go?” 

He turned to see Faith perk up at those words. She wore a simple gown that Mary had managed to find the day before, and he’d helped Faith with her stockings and shoes only a few minutes ago but noticed one foot was already shoe-less. “Faith, where is yer shoe?”

She looked about the room, as if it had only occurred to her then that one was missing. “Dinna ken.”

He found it quickly, just on the floor by the side of the bed, and knelt in front of Faith to slip it back on her wee foot. He felt her hands come to rest on his shoulders to steady herself while she stood momentarily on one foot. It was a small moment ‒ just the act of helping this wee lass with her shoe ‒ but his heart squeezed all the same, for the simple trust she had in him to help her. Their heads were bent right next to each other’s so once he’d straightened her shoe, he lifted his head and gave her cheek a kiss.

She smiled and stamped her foot down excitedly.

“Aye, ye ready tae go now?” He laughed, pushing one stubborn red curl off her forehead and back behind her bonnet. “There. Now ye’re ready.”

 They left from Inverness in a coach bound for Edinburgh, having discussed the plan with Mary the night before. Unsure of what to do with Donas, Jamie had arranged to have him hitched to the back of the coach.

They were jounced along in the coach as the wheels turned over the rough terrain of the main road from Inverness. Jamie had forgotten how it felt, having not stepped foot in a carriage since Paris. Faith wasn’t too keen on it, either, since all the jostling about meant that she couldn’t move around. Instead, she was stuck in Jamie’s lap or on the seat next to him.

Mary sat across from them and stared out the window. When the coach lurched suddenly, she grabbed her belly subconsciously.

Jamie had almost forgotten in his haste to make a new plan yesterday: she carried Alex Randall’s child ‒ more than that, she carried within her the start of a line that ended 200 years from now, with the man Jamie had just returned Claire to.

It was an odd realization, and though he held no ill feelings towards Mary, he did inwardly curse the twisted, tangled ties between his family and the Randalls.

On a particularly rough bump, Mary grabbed her belly and this time caught Jamie’s eye and quickly looked away, her face aflame.

Oh, aye, he wasn’t supposed to know about the baby. She wasn’t supposed to have a baby to think of yet, having only married Randall less than a week ago.

“Claire told me ye were wi’ child,” he offered, his tone purposefully light. She visibly relaxed at those words but didn’t say anything. Perhaps she’d assumed he would have judged her harshly for the child that was clearly conceived out of wedlock, but she’d never understand the necessity of this baby’s life to Jamie, how the child was part of the pattern that brought Claire into his life, that ensured there would be someone to care for her back in her time.

“I’m glad ye’ll have a piece of him with ye.”

Mary smiled sadly, her gaze flickering to Faith with a knowing look. His piece of Claire. She looked out the window again, glassy-eyed, and he inwardly chided himself for even bringing the baby up. After all… she’d lost her love less than a week ago. One look at Mary Hawkins Randall was all it took to see she was barely hanging on.

  There was a shout from the front of the carriage and a sudden lurch as the horses began to slow. They were stopping.

“S-s-soldiers,” Mary uttered, catching sight of something out the window.

He grabbed hold of Faith and swiftly moved to the other side of the carriage, taking the seat beside Mary. “Hold her,” he said quietly, passing Faith into Mary’s lap. “And dinna be afraid,” he added, noting her ghostly pallor. “We’ll be alright.”

He didn’t have the benefit of hiding his dirk in the folds of his kilt, but he drew it from its sheath and obscured it from view under the folds of Mary’s dress where it fanned out onto the seat between them.

They could hear voices ahead of them and it seemed an eternity that they waited for the Redcoats to finish addressing the coachman.

Finally, a soldier appeared through the windows and flung open the carriage door on the side closest to Jamie.

Jamie felt Mary flinch at his side. Ah Dhia...

“Mister and Mistress Mayfield?”

“Y-yes,” Mary answered after a moment. The name had been her suggestion ‒ her mother’s family’s name ‒ and it had sounded English enough to Jamie.

The man’s gaze flicked briefly between Jamie and Mary before addressing Jamie again. “Coachman says you are traveling to Edinburgh.”

“Y-y-yes, that’s c-c-c-correct.”

The soldier shot Mary an exasperated look before he swung his gaze curiously back to Jamie, who kept his expression neutral but tightened his grip on the blade.

“Do you always let your woman speak for you, sir?”

“H-he can-can-can’t s-s-s-speak‒”

Each stutter of Mary’s tongue was painful as she struggled to get the words out under the gaze of the increasingly irritated soldier. “Right, and neither can you from the sounds of it,” he muttered. The man eyed Jamie with obvious doubtfulness and turned suddenly, disappearing from the carriage doorway. The murmured voices of the soldier speaking with another filtered in through the open carriage, but Jamie couldn’t make out what they were saying.

He rolled his jaw tensely, and glanced at Mary, trying to give reassurance with only a look, but Mary kept her head down, her attention turned to Faith.

The soldier returned a moment later, his comrade standing at his shoulder, and asked a few more questions about who they were, where they were going, why they were here, and why Jamie couldn’t speak. Each question was answered painstakingly by Mary, whose stutter became more pronounced under the soldiers’ obvious frustration.

They had prepared for an encounter such as this, but it stretched out painfully and stirred up an anxious feeling in his gut. Jamie was tensed and ready, watchful of the soldiers. He had no idea if there were more with them, ahead of the carriage and blocked from his line of sight.

Faith squirmed in Mary’s lap suddenly, trying to slide to the floor, but Mary gripped her tight. “N-n-n-not just yet,” she said softly to the girl.

Faith whined and fired back a quick “no” of her own, and Jamie felt his pulse thrumming in his ears. She hadn’t spoken much, but she did have a distinct Highland lilt to her voice that could be heard if she spoke further.

Mary began to look panicked, struggling to control Faith in front of the soldiers, and Jamie released his hold of the dirk in favor of plucking Faith from Mary’s grasp. He bounced the toddler on his knee and silently prayed to God she would keep still and silent.

“Is that red hair that she has?”

Jamie felt all the breath leave his lungs at the soldier’s words. In all the movement, that wayward curl had slipped free from Faith’s bonnet and fallen across her forehead.

“M-m-m-m-my m-m-m-m‒” Mary tried to jump in with an explanation.

“Christ,” the soldier swore under his breath. “Haven’t got all day to listen to this half-wit,” he turned and said to his companion, though all of them heard loud and clear. Mary made a choked sound at Jamie’s side, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes off of the soldiers.

The man turned back to them with a keen glance between Jamie, Mary, and Faith. Finally, his gaze settled on Jamie and he addressed him, “You sure that child is yours?”

The man smirked then, seeing he’d ruffled Jamie’s feathers, and Jamie’s hand tightened possessively around Faith. “You’re free to go, but I’ll warn you to be careful in these parts. Highlanders will kill you on sight if they know you’re English. Absolute barbarians, they are. Best of luck on your journey.”

And with that, the soldier closed the carriage door and signaled to the coachman that they could leave. The carriage jolted forward and Mary exhaled shakily. “That was b-bloody close,” she said in a tight whisper, and Jamie’s gaze snapped to her in surprise at hearing her curse.

“Ye did well, Mary. I’m only sorry ye had to deal with them at all. Are ye alright?”

Her hands were clasped so tight in her lap that her knuckles were bone-white. “Yes.”

After a moment, she added, “It gets worse w-when I’m upset. My s-st-stutter.”

“Aye, I figured as much. It’s understandable. And it doesna mean ye’re half-witted. Ye canna believe him.”

Mary nodded slightly at this and her gaze shifted out the window. He took that opportunity to move back over to the seat across from her, giving her space.

“And you, a leannan,” he murmured to Faith, adjusting her in his arms to try and encourage her to rest her head. Lord, he had thought for a moment there that they would’ve been found out. His racing heart still hadn’t settled. “Lay yer head, lass. Rest, if ye can.”

She curled in at his neck and sighed heavily. Only a few minutes later, she was asleep.

 The coach stopped at dusk at a tavern along the way. They had been riding in the carriage since they left Inverness that morning and had stopped very few times to stretch their legs and relieve themselves.

Jamie’s body felt stiff and achy as he stepped out of the carriage with Faith in one arm and turned to help Mary down.

The coachman told them what time they would be leaving in the morning and then they were on their own. The tavern was half-populated and not much to look at, but it was warm and there was a hot meal ready for them when they asked.

It wasn’t the same one he’d visited with Claire, when the weather had turned too cold and his troops had taken shelter indoors, so he wasn’t sure why he’d thought of it ‒ and her ‒ as he took in his surroundings.

I miss her…

He could hear her pained voice from that night as clear as a bell, and the guilt and grief stormed his chest once more. And, God, did he miss Claire more than anything else.

 Their room for the night was nicer than he expected ‒ though after eight months at war, Jamie might’ve easily been impressed with a field to sleep in, out under the stars. There was a bed as well as chairs by the fireplace ‒ all looking a little worse for wear but still acceptable. Along one wall was a door which led into a small washroom with an empty tub, a chamber pot, and a small pitcher and basin for washing.

“Spot by the hearth is fine enough for me and Faith tonight,” Jamie said decidedly.

Mary glanced toward the bed. “Faith could share with m-me, I don’t mind.”

He smiled gently at that. “Tis verra kind of ye. But I want to be the one that cares for her, since…” His gaze dropped to Faith, still in his arms, and he struggled to get the words out ‒ that Claire was truly gone. “Since I’m all she has left. And if she wakes, I want tae be there.”

Mary nodded at that and murmured something about cleaning up before disappearing into the back washroom.

Faith appeared to be leached of energy from the full day of traveling and hardly put up a fight when Jamie slipped her out of her travel clothes and into a nightgown. “There, isna that better?”

She rubbed one eye with the back of her hand and sighed, refusing to answer. She’d been chatty at supper but had hardly made a peep since they’d been shown to their room.

“My puir wean,” he chuckled lightly. “Ye look half-asleep on yer feet. Let’s wash up and then ye can rest, mo chridhe.”

He helped her wash up and then splashed his own face and neck with water to wipe away the grit and grime of the day. Mary had already settled in bed for the night so he guided Faith over by the fire where Mary had sensibly provided a pillow and one of the blankets from the bed for them, on top of the thick rug that was already laid there.

In consideration of Mary, Jamie had only removed his waistcoat and stock, and untucked his sark for sleep. He stretched out on the floor and encouraged Faith to lay down. She paced around him before flopping down at his side and letting her head fall on his chest. He rubbed a hand over her back lightly.

“How about a story, lass?” He didn’t wait for Faith’s response, already committed to telling her, but Faith curled up on his chest and seemed ready to listen all the same. “I promised ye I’d tell ye about yer mam.”

“My mam…” Faith echoed softly, tiredly, and his heart clenched to hear her say it.

“Aye, that’s right. Yer mam loves ye so much, a leannan.” He ran his fingers gently over her short wispy curls.

He thought of the moment earlier with the soldiers and a nameless fear he couldn’t identify then.

“Faith,” he said suddenly, “Ye ken… ye ken I’m yer da, aye?” He’d never said it, not in the two days since Murtagh had brought her back into his life and fate had conspired to keep her there with him. She lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m yer da,” he repeated softly, feeling oddly nervous and vulnerable.

Faith dropped her head back onto his chest and was overtaken by a big yawn, nuzzling into Jamie on the exhale. Somehow that was enough. Yes, she knew.

He told her everything he could of the moment he met Claire, mindful that Mary might still be awake and listening, and everything that happened in their early days of friendship at Leoch and falling in love with her. Faith didn’t last long into the tale before sleep claimed her.

At some point before falling asleep, she had shifted so that her whole body was laid along his torso, her head pillowed up by his shoulder.

His hand settled on her back so that he would feel if she started to roll off.

“Used tae be so wee I could hold all of ye in one hand,” he murmured to his sleeping child. “Ye’re so grown, Faith. Hadna realized all that I missed.” He swallowed thickly, feeling a maelstrom of emotion in his chest. “I didna wish tae separate ye both ‒ you ken that. But I… I dinna take it for granted, a nighean… that I get tae be the one that’s wi’ ye now.”

  A loud thud startled him from sleep and he sat up swiftly, clutching Faith as he did, but of course she was roused, too.

His first realization was that it hadn’t grown dark in the room ‒ the fire was still blazing in the hearth ‒ so he must not have been asleep for too long.

His second realization was that the sound had come from someone busting the door of their room open.

Standing there in the open doorway was a ghost of Jamie’s past. Someone Claire had promised would die yesterday, on the battlefield of Culloden.

Mary scrambled out of bed with a scream, landing on the side away from the door, as Jamie stood to his feet. Black Jack Randall took that time to wander into the room and close the door behind him.

“You both look rather shocked. Hmm? Didn’t expect that I’d come after you?”

“Y-y-y-you died…” Mary looked from Randall to Jamie.

“Mary,” Jamie said evenly, never breaking eye contact with Randall, “take her into the other room.”

He’d shifted towards her so Mary could grab Faith. Not needing further coaxing, Mary and Faith disappeared into the back room.

“I must say, for as much of a fuss as you’ve made over your beloved wife before, it was surprising to learn you’d taken mine away right under my nose.” Randall’s tone was dripping with disdain, his eyes ablaze with maddening fury.

Jamie stepped carefully back towards the fire, towards where he’d left his blade within reach while he’d slept. His mind was still reeling and he wasn’t up for Randall’s mind games.

Nevertheless, Randall pressed on, looking half-crazed as he came more into the light. “What happened, Fraser? Your wife realized she couldn’t actually forgive you? Couldn’t even bear to take your child with her when she left?”

Jamie saw red at those words, could hear his own pulse echoing in his ears. “Ye willna speak of my wife or my child ever again.”

Randall was advancing on him, armed with his own sword.

“Did ye no’ even fight in the battle then?” Jamie asked, trying to distract him. Claire said he would die there, and yet…

Randall bristled at the insinuation. “I fought,” he spat. It was then Jamie noticed the slight gash on the side of Randall’s head. The blood had crusted over, no longer bleeding, but the wound was there. “But where were you? Hmm? Fleeing the battle and stealing Mary away. That’s my brother’s child she’s carrying!”

 Mary latched the door as soon as it shut, plunging her and Faith into complete darkness. There were no windows and she hadn’t thought to grab a candle. But the latch on the other door hadn’t stopped him from breaking into their room tonight, she realized. Shifting Faith to one hip, she began to feel about the small room for any sort of weapon. Her choices were severely limited and she’d started to search for something heavy in lieu of dangerous when her fingers felt Jamie’s straight razor. That would have to do.

She set Faith down in the farthest corner from the door. Grumpy and confused, the small child began to whimper. “D-d-don’t cry, Faith.” Mary flipped open the blade and went to stand in front of Faith. Just then, she heard John’s voice raise and his words sent a chill down her spine ‒ That’s my brother’s child she’s carrying.

Her free hand went to her curved belly ‒ her last piece of Alex. She couldn’t shake the image of John on the day she’d had to marry him, the day she lost Alex. The way he’d acted… the way his voice raised now. She wouldn’t let him near her child. She couldn’t.

She was vaguely aware of Faith’s small hands grabbing fistfulls of her robe to hold onto her. A sweet innocent child, and the only thing between her and the man Mary most feared was Mary herself.

Something loud crashed outside the room, and she could no longer hear any voices. Only the sounds of a scuffle. She reached behind her and stroked Faith’s hair, hoping to soothe the child, but unable to turn from the door. She held the razor in hand in case it was needed.

It felt like an eternity in that small room before it grew uncomfortably quiet. No sounds from out there.

Until someone tried the door and Mary nearly jumped out of her skin, pressing Faith further behind her.

“Mary? It’s me. Ye can unlock the door but dinna let Faith out here yet.”

“Is-is he‒?”

“Gone. That is, I need to move the… the body.”

Relief swamped her and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Are ye alright in there?”

“Yes. We’re b-both fine.” She closed the straight razor with shaking hands and placed it back by the water pitcher.

“Good. I’ll let ye ken when it’s safe tae come out.”

  Jamie stood in the center of the room, looking down at Randall’s lifeless body. And though it had been Randall that came after him, a death at Jamie’s own hands was still a death on his conscience. A stain on his already dark soul. But he’d do it again in a heartbeat to protect any member of his family, and so he felt absolved of this sin through that divine responsibility alone.

It wasn’t very late in the night ‒ all three of them had been too tired after supper to stay up and went to sleep early, and Randall had found them not long after. He could still hear the indistinct voices and movement from the first floor of the tavern below, so others were still up.

So he couldn’t bring the body out of the room without notice.

And he wouldn’t dare leave it in the room where it could be found the next morning and endanger Mary and Faith if anyone sought after them.

Window it is, then.

He unlatched the window and pushed it open, peering out to see what lay below. The window faced the back of the tavern by where the horses were tied, but directly below the window was nothing but ground. Beyond the small stable was a stretch of trees and, yes, he’d have to be careful, but he could go around back and move the body out toward those trees. No one would be any wiser and it might be a few days at least before anyone found Randall.

  “Mary?” He called out, trying the door to the back room and finding it unlatched this time.

“Here,” she said quietly, her voice enveloped in darkness. He held a candle out towards the sound and saw her seated in the corner with Faith curled up in her lap.

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve… taken care of it, but I’ll need yer help cleaning up. Be best if Faith didna see it.”

He set the candle down and carefully gathered Faith before helping Mary to her feet.

The room was in disarray but the greatest concern at the moment was the small pool of blood on the floor.

Jamie set Faith down on the bed for the time being. She curled up into a ball on top of the covers and sighed, never fully waking. He thanked his lucky stars that she had been spared from any further distress on this evening, and with any further luck, she wouldn’t even remember this night in years to come.

His hand smoothed over Faith’s curls. He’d never wanted a bastard such as Randall to even lay eyes on her, but the one comfort to him was that he’d taken Randall out of this world with his own two hands shortly after.

He thought of Fergus then, too, and his throat constricted. He wanted to tell the lad that the monster no longer drew breath, that he had seen to it himself that they would never be tormented by Randall again.

Mary’s gasp pulled him from his thoughts. “You’re injured!”

He looked down at his right arm where a bright red stain had soaked through his white shirt. “Aye,” he acknowledged, tilting his head toward the fire where a kettle was boiling strips of fabric. “That’s what the clean bandages are for.”

Mary took this in stride, and he remembered that she’d spent plenty of time volunteering with Claire at the hospital in Paris. She’d probably heard stranger things than boiling rags from his wife.

“We should take care of that first, before the room. And you’ll need to clean that shirt.”

He was surprised at first to see she meant to help him, but reckoned he couldn’t tie a bandage around his own arm one-handed.

“Aye,” he agreed, digging out his flask of whiskey. “Wash it out with this first.”

He peeled off his shirt and was able to see how deep the gash in his arm went. Claire might’ve stitched it up, but they didn’t have Claire here with them. Only a moment later did he consider how his being shirtless might’ve made Mary uncomfortable ‒ he recalled the way Claire first spoke of her in Paris, as an innocent, naive girl ‒ but she went about cleaning his wound with a detached professionalism, no longer scandalized by the sight of a half-naked man. Still only a young lass at seventeen, but the years since had changed her from that first introduction.

“She’d be furious at me, if she could see me now,” Jamie offered up in the silence.

Mary snorted softly at that, her brows relaxing slightly from their furrowed concentration. He peeked over at Faith where she was still curled up on top of the bed. “I worry…” he began and then stopped, deciding it was perhaps not something Mary would want to discuss just yet.

“What?” she prodded, pausing in her work.

“I worry that I canna keep Claire alive for her. Even telling her stories… it’s no’ the same as having memories. Faith will ken as much about her mother as I can tell her, but it’s no’ the same as knowing a person, knowing what they’d say tae ye. I ken exactly the look Claire would have for me, the way she’d scold me. Faith willna have that same knowledge.”

Mary didn’t respond, but she sighed heavily and he knew. It was the same for her. In the months to come, she would bear a child that would never know his father.

“But we do what we can, I suppose,” Jamie said quietly. He was growing used to her quietness and filling in the silences.

Mary pressed a large bandage over the wound when she was done and tied it as tight as she could manage.

“Thank ye,” he said and stood, going to wash his shirt in the back room.

She made a small sound, both alarmed and horrified, and he realized he’d turned his back to her, giving her full view of his scars.

He turned, finding her looking away now as though she hadn’t seen. But the shock was there on her face. The pity. His skin prickled. “It was Randall,” he said tersely, and turned and left.

 Jamie emerged from the back room later, having cleaned the blood from his shirt as best he could, to find Mary straightening the room. “You t-told me he died b-before the battle…”

His stomach twisted into knots. So it was time for that conversation. Only he couldn’t tell her the truth of the matter. “I thought… I thought he had died. I didna mean to mislead ye, I promise.”

Her hands fiddled with a rag, twisting and folding it and unringing it. “How did he-he find us?”

Jamie sighed, piecing together what made sense from what little Randall had shared. “Seems he returned tae the boarding house some time after we left. Must’ve learnt about the coach and followed after it.”

She appeared visibly shaken ‒ and he couldn’t say he blamed her ‒ but she nodded at that and went back to cleaning up the room.

They worked in silence until the room had been returned to its former state.

“I thought he was a kind man, when I first met him,” Mary said suddenly, as if the words needed to get out. She sunk into the closest chair and Jamie took the other. “H-he was so kind to Alex and he paid for everything once Alex couldn’t work any longer.”

“Ye had no reason to believe otherwise.”

And ye likely dinna ken the whole truth of him still, he thought.

“N-not until it was too late. I saw the way he talked to Claire, and-and when Alex died, how he‒” Mary shook her head abruptly, no doubt reliving the moment.

“I’m sorry for what ye went through, lass,” he said earnestly, though it only added to his relief that the nightmare had ended for more than just his own family.

“When he showed up h-here, I thought… that was it. If he got to me, I’d never get away again. I hid in that room with Faith and your straight razor in case he got through, but I‒” Mary swallowed roughly. “Well. A lot of good that would’ve done, anyway,” she said wryly.

“Ye’re verra brave, Mary. More brave than ye get credit for. I canna forget what ye did tae that bastard at Bellmont last winter ‒ and rightly so. I wouldna want to cross ye while ye wielded a blade.”

Mary let out a surprised laugh at that. “Yes, a terrifying prospect,” she joked.

“I mean it. I’m proud tae call ye my friend. And I thank ye for protecting Faith as ye did, truly. I ken what you’re risking tae help us.”

She smiled awkwardly, and seemed to struggle for a response. He got the impression then that she wasn’t used to such praise. That was the thing he was starting to see clearly about Mary ‒ everyone underestimated her on account of her stutter, her size, her reserved nature. Foolish, really, considering that she’d had strength enough to face one of her attackers and bravery to look a British soldier in the eye and lie to him while sitting next to Red Jamie.

“Well,” he added with some finality in his tone, “It’s gotten rather late and we’ve another long day of traveling ahead of us. I’ll leave ye to yer rest.”

Mary murmured her agreement, both of them feeling the weight of the day in that moment. He gathered Faith from Mary’s bed and carried her over to their spot by the hearth.

Jamie settled Faith on the floor, her head on the pillow, and gently arranged himself next to her, laying on his uninjured side. His arm slung across her protectively, sheltering her, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

His last thought before sleep, as it had been the night before, was of Claire. I’ll see that our lass is safe, Sassenach. No matter what comes.

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish– Part 3

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: 1500

Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start

               You were shocked, you couldn’t believe he just knocked you off the horse like that. It took you a second, just glancing around in the quiet. This was your chance to escape, find your way back to Inverness, “Good riddance.”

               Looking around, you laughed. Fuck that, you’re not some damsel waiting for a hero. Your getting out of here. You start to run in the opposite direction, hoping the hours you had fallen asleep will not ruin your sense of direction of where you must go. You had been running for about a half hour before you heard galloping. You didn’t take the time to look back, you ran faster and made adhesive maneuvers to get away. And when you felt you had the perfect position; you hid behind a tree. He had to think you went in a different direction by your maneuvers, “I’ve hunted pigs with better hiding skills than you,” he said from his horse. There was no point of hiding. You pulled yourself from behind the tree and he grinned down at you, “You lost your way?”

“You’re bleeding,” you looked at his disheveled appearance.

He was covered in blood and for a second, you had a flashback of when you were in the Marines, “Don’t concern yourself, it is not my own, at least not most of it anyway.”

               Shaking your head, “Believe me, I’m not concerned,” you answered back. “It’s just – never mind,” you half yell, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

               “Come on now, get on the horse – Dougal has some questions for you.” you turn your back to him, “You have to know you can’t outrun a horse,” he answered.

               “I’m not going with you,” you answered, “You can’t make me.” He jumped down presenting his sword, “What are you going to kill me if I refuse,” you answered, it’d make sense. This is how you’d die, a sword for being an opinionated, strong, and independent woman.

               “No, lass,” he answered, still pointing his sword at me, “But you don’t look that heavy, suppose I shall pick you up and throw you over my shoulder.”

               You laughed inside, who is this guy? Fat chance you’d let him do that. He was about the size of your brother, you could handle yourself with him. Jaime placed his sword away. This was going to be your chance, fight or flight. He was rather close to you, so you leaned in and whispered, “You’ll have to catch me first,” and you darted around him, striding through the woods.

               Jamie cursed and started to pursue me. You were quick and agile, you were going to get away and find your way back to those rocks. You turned to look back and couldn’t see or hear him. You thought you were in the clear, that was until you smashed into his chest. You fell backwards, landing pretty hard onto the ground, looking up at him, “Guess you’ll be coming with me,” he pulled your arm up, squatted, and tossed you over his shoulder, “The hard way it is,” he sounded amused.

               You started to kick and scream, but he didn’t seemed phased. After a minute, you realized it was moot. You just let him grab the horse and walk down the stream, “I hope this is hurting your shoulder. I might die with all the blood rushing to my head.”

               “It might have a quiet trip than,” he answered sounding far to amused.

               You could hear the voices of the rest of the man, “Look at Jamie,” someone laughed, “Seemed to have finally caught a wild beauty.”

               Everyone laughed and you just hissed at them. Your body met that ground when he dropped you. You shot up, looking at Jamie. How many times did you have to flop on the ground. You surely had whiplash. Jamie was amused with himself, you hit him in his bad shoulder. He groaned in pain, coughing, “Serves your right, jerk,” you pointed at him, “You should keep this beast on a leash,” you said to Dougal.

               “Get on the horse, we got to go,” Dougal said to Jamie, sending you a glare.

               “I’m not riding with that man,” you said to him, looking harshly at Jamie. He had just chased you and dropped you twice, fat chance of that.

               “You’ll do as you’ll told,” Dougal said.

               You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head, “See, wrong again, but I will ride with him,” you pointed to the boyish looking one in the group.

               Another man spoke up, “No, she’ll just knock him off his horse and ride away again.”

               “I give you my word, I won’t run away,” you answered, you understood time was important at this point. And honestly, you’ve been better off with these men then the British.

               “I believe her,” Jamie answered, “Let her ride with Jacob, less complaining for me,” he shot at you.

               You jabbed his shoulder again and he winced. It took a second to read his body language, before it hit you. He didn’t just have a sore shoulder. His clothing was still wet from blood. If this was another man’s blood, it would have started to dry and harden by now, “Stop hurting the man girl,” someone answered, “You put him through enough with your chatter.”

               “Are you completely daft,” you yell towards Jamie, charging towards him. He back away from you slightly, “You seriously were not going to tell someone you were shot?” Everyone looked at Jamie confused, “You are a pea brain, we could be riding along and you could just bleed out and die,” you started to raise your voice again. “These men risk everything to rescue you, for you to just to die before you can get home?”

               “Jamie,” one of the men said.

               “It’s nothing,” he answered.

               “Bullet wounds are not nothing,” you answered.

               “Shut up girl,” someone answered, “Dougal, we’ve got to make some distance between us and the redcoats.”

               “Can you help him,” Dougal asked.

               Shaking your head, “I’m not a healer, but,” you look down, “I can put some stuff together to stop him from bleeding out.”

               “We don’t have time,” he answered back, “We’ve got another days ride out. Do it quickly or we’ll all be dead.”

               Nodding, looking around, “Sit,” you commanded Jamie. You didn’t know much about medicine of today, but you knew the basics to survive in the wilderness. Heaven, you brother made you read his scout books of what ifs, “I’ll need alcohol and clean bandages.” Someone passed you a bottle, “Oh good, no bandages,” you started to look at his shoulder, “It went right through, you are lucky.”

               He nodded, watching you work, you put alcohol on it. Jamie winced, “Come on girl, we don’t have much time.”

               You rolled your eyes, looking down, you found the best thing to a bandage – your shirt. Pulling your jacket back, examining the cleanest part of the shirt. It was simply a basic cotton long sleeve. You ripped the midsection, “What are you doing,” Jamie questioned.

               “Saving you from bleeding and dying,” you answered, “You’re welcome.”

               “You’re just showing off your,” he questioned, looking at your showing mid drift.

               Shaking your head, starting your work on his shoulder, you didn’t let him finish, “I don’t care what people say about my attire. It’ a navel, it is my belly button. It’s not a nipple,” you shoot back. “We needed something to put pressure to the wound and stop the blood, so it can clot and heal safely.” He nodded slowly, “This is as good as it’ll get until we can get some real equipment.”

               “Alright, let’s go,” Dougal shouted, “Mistress, you’ll be riding with Jamie here. You’ll keep an eye on him and he’ll keep an eye on you.”

               “Peachy,” you mumble. You turn back to him, “Shall we,” you reach down and grab his hand, “I worked too hard to let you die now.”

               He laughed, “Thank you again, even if you called me daft.”

               “No seriously,” you said as he got on the horse, “A pea brain, dumb brute.”

               “Noted,” he said, helping pull you onto the horse. Jamie did his best to keep you warm again, especially with your lack of a midsection. You again were in your brain, plotting, making up lies, trying to remember anything from history about this place. It was also hard to focus with the rock-hard chest and pelvic bumps of the man behind you. You tried your best to not grind against him, trying to pull yourself against the handle of the saddle, but that didn’t last long.

PART 4

[mytwilightimagines13]

The Lost One (Alec Volturi x Reader) Chapter Three. The Confrontation

Every vampire was in the large open field. You where standing in the back along with your coven. You felt slightly nervous as to what might happen. It was quiet for what felt like a long time, while in reality it might have been just a mere 30 minutes. Suddenly a Garrett was slightly jumping up and down in excitement. "The redcoats are coming! The redcoats are coming!" You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air as you saw the Volturi making their way onto the field. Siobhan, Liam and Maggie where standing in front of you, slightly blocking your view. Why everyone wanted to keep you in the back, you didn't know. Probably because your gift wasn't that usefull in a battle. The oldest vampire with dark brown hair and milky red eyes looked over the crowd infront of him. The vampires made a halt and removed their hoods, showing their angelic faces and blood red eyes. Carlisle took a few steps foreward, away from Esme. "Aro, let us discuss things as we used too. In a civilized maner." Carlisle's voice was calm and polite. The dark haired vampire had a small smile on his face as he replied. "Fair words Carlisle. But a little out of place given the betallion you have assembled against us." the man's voice was soft and smooth. As if he had done confrontations like this before. "I can promise you, that was never my intent." Carlisle replied. Aro looked at Bella and Renesmee. "No laws have been broken." Carlisle continued. You slightly stepped a side to have a better look at your foes. "We see the child. Do not treat us as fools." a blond vampire male said. He was standing next to Aro and he had a bitter look on his face. Like a man who was out for revenge. "She is not an immortal! These witnesses can attest to that." Carlisle replied, raising his voice slightly so every vampire and werewolf on the field could hear him. "You can look. See the flush of human blood on her cheeks." "Artifice!" the blond vampire replied, not believing a thing Carlisle was saying. You stepped away a little bit more from your coven. You where intrigued by these vampires. They all wore the same crest around their necks, the same crest you had laying in your pocket. The crest you have had since you where found. Aro held up his hand towards the blond vampire. "I will collect every facet of the truth, from someone more central to the story. Edward. As the child clings to your newborn mate, I will ask you." Aro said as he held out his hand. Edward slowly made his way towards Aro while every vampire watched him. The wind changed slightly and a delicious smell hit your nose. It was a vampire, you knew for sure, but normally vampires do not smell so tempting. So luring. You had to find out whom smelled so incredibly good. You let your eyes wonder down the vampires, but you didn't dare to go any further away from your coven than you already where. Instead, you concentrated back onto Aro and Edward. Aro grabbed Edwards hand and started to read his thoughts. A creepy smile slowly formed on Aro's lips. "I'd like to meet her." he told Edward, looking at Renesmee. Edward looked back to his wife and daughter. Bella nodded at Renesmee assuringly and started to make their way towards Aro, Jacob the werewolf close behind them. Emmett followed too, making sure Renesmee had enough protection. "Ah. Young Bella." Aro said, looking at Bella. "Immortality becomes you." his smile never leaving his face. Aro suddenly laughed and pointed at Renesmee. His laugh was that of a crazy person. "I can hear her strange heart." Aro held out his hand for Rensemee as she slowly made her way towards him. "Hello Aro." Renesmee said politely. Renesmee gently placed her hand on Aro's cheek and Aro seemed amazed by her talent. "Magnifico." he said before pulling away. Bella quickly pulled Renesmee back to her arms safely. "Half mortal, half immortal. Conceived and carried by this newborn, while she was still human." he continued, speaking mostly to the Volturi. "Impossible!" the blond vampire replied. "Do you think they fooled me brother?" Aro asked the blond vampire. "Bring out the informer." the blond vampire said, his voice cold. You knew he was out for death. He seemed to be the one of the three to be the most mercyless. A blond female vampire with gold eyes was brought towards him. The blond vampire pointed at Renesmee. "Is that the child you saw?" The female looked at Renesmee and looked down. "I-I am not sure." she replied. "Jane." the male said. A lot of vampires around you tensed up. You couldn't quite understand why. Clearly you should have done more research to this coven, but you had been to scared. You didn't wanted to be found, or known around the vampire world. Truth be told, only your coven and Carlisle knew of your excistence before all this had happened. You liked living in the shadows, no one knowing about you and she not knowing about any one else. "She has changed." the female quickly continued. "This child is bigger." "Then your accusations where false." the male still spoke with that icy voice. "The Cullens are innocent. I take full responsibility for my mistake." the female vampire said. She turned to look at the group. "I am sorry." she whispered slightly. Suddenly a torch was lit and the tension rose. "Caius no!" Edward yelled at the blond vampire. The female got her arms ripped and head ripped off by two Volturi vampires while Caius set her body on fire, an evil smirk plastered on his porcelain face. Tanya and Kate let out a scream of pain and tried to get to Caius, but they where held back by the allies. "Blind them." Edward told Zafrina. Zafrina quickly blinded them and Edward tried to reason with the sisters. The sisters calmed down quickly. "Ah, Alice." Aro suddenly said. The ally group turned around and saw Alice and Jasper make their way towards Aro. She held out her hand to Aro and he gladly took it. Clearly what he saw scared him. You had slowly dared to look at the vampires again. At the blond vampire Caius. You wondered what made him so cold, so vile. Then you noticed a woman in the back, protected by many guards. She looked exhausted, even though her features where beautifull, she looked like she was guilty of something and tired of feeling that guilt for a long time. "That is what your future holds, if you do not change your course." Alice said, removing her hand from Aro's. "We can not alter our course. The child still poses a great threat." Caius said to Aro. "And what if you can be assured that she can be concealed from the human world? Could we leave in peace?" Edward asked. "Ofcourse, but that can not be known." Caius replied. "Actually it can." Edward replied and with that a male and female vampire made their way onto the field. "I have been searching for witnesses on my own." Alice said. "Among the Tacuna tribes of Brazil." "We have enough witnesses-" Caius wanted to say but was cut off by Aro. "Let him speak, brother." "I am half human, half vampire. Like the child." the male vampire started. "A vampire seduced my mother, who died giving birth to me. My aunt Huilen raised me as her own. I made her immortal." "How old are you?" Bella asked, interrupting his story. "150 years." the man replied. "At what age did you reach maturity?" Aro asked intrigued. "I became full grown, seven years after my birth. I have not changed since then." the male replied. "And your diet?"Aro asked. "Blood. Human food. I can survive on either." "These children are much like us." The, what you assumed, third brother spoke in amazement. "Regardless, the Cullens have been consulting with werewolves. Our natural enemies!" Caius spoke. Aro put a hand on his brother's shoulder and turned to his coven. "Dear ones. There is no danger here. We will not fight, today." Aro spoke. all the allies relaxed. All of them except one. Aro turned back around. "However, I would like to invite Renesmee to stay with us for a while, I would much like to study her gift." Aro said smiling. "Absolutely not." Edward replied. Aro frowned. "You did have an offer in mind though, Edward?" Aro asked. Edward nodded. "My daughter will stay with us. In exchange we will return Caius and Arthenodora's daughter." Many vampires gasped. Caius froze where he stood, rage in his eyes. Athenodora quickly made her way foreward. Never had she interfered with the Volturi, but this vampire claimed to have her daughter. Caius gently held Athenodora's arm to prevent her from running towards the Cullens. "Is this a cruel joke? Who might it be then?!" Caius said. Suddenly you felt two hands on both yout arms. Your eyes grew wide, and you struggled. However, Edward and Emmett carried me towards the Volturi. If your heart could beat, it would be racing now. "What are you doing?!" Siobhan asked. You where a part of her coven and she would protect you. Liam and Maggie rushed foreward along with Siobhan, but Zafrina blinded the three vampires. Caius glared down at you. "And why would you think this girl is my daughter?" Caius spat. You felt alarmed. If the Cullens where wrong you would all be killed. You didn't know much about Caius, but you did know that he did not give second chances. However, Athenodora examined you. She slowly got out of her husband's grip and made her way to the girl. "Forgive me, but could you remove your jacket and show your left shoulder?" Athenodora's voice held hope. You sighed and slowly removed your leather jacket, leaving you in your black tanktop, your left shoulder bare. Athenodore ran her finger gently across your birthmark. It was shaped as a small, imperfect heart. "Impossible." Caius mumbled. You felt like shaking, but you held it together. "(y/n)?" Athenodora whispered. Your eyes grew wide and you quickly took a few steps back. Caius still couldn't believe it. He was scared to believe it. Edward grabbed your jacket from your grip and took out your necklace. Caius eyes grew wide at the sight of the necklace. Edward threw it towards Caius, whom catched it. "How did you get this?!" Caius yelled at you. You flinched back a little. "The woman who found me said she founded me with that necklace around my neck. I have had it for as long as I can remember." you replied, looking at your shoes. "When where you born?" Aro asked.  "Well my mother found me around 500 AD." Athenodora walked towards her husband. They looked into eachother's eyes as she nodded her head slightly. Caius held out his hand to Aro whom took it, eager to know his answer. "Very well. We will accept your offer. However-" Aro was interupted my Caius. "However, if it turns out that she is not my daughter I will kill her and your whole family." Edward nodded in agreement. You suddenly felt rage inside you. "Thanks for giving me a headstart, Edward." Edward avoided your gaze. "You will be fine. Renesmee deserves her parents and you deserve yours." You glared at him as Felix grabbed your arm, letting you know they where leaving. You looked at Siobhan, Liam and Maggie. "I will miss you." Siobhan nodded her head, even though blinded she knew you where talking to their coven. "If you ever can escape, feel free to rejoin us. You will always have a spot in our coven." Siobhan replied. You nodded gratefully and turned your piercing gaze back at Edward. "If they end up killing me, Edward Cullen. I will find a way to kill you and your little family." and with that you turned around, leaving your so called allies behind.

[otheroutlandertales]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Witches - Part 8

by @whiskynottea

Hours had passed when Claire finally woke up. The light was dim in the room, the house quiet, the blankets around her body so warm and inviting that she spent a good five minutes contemplating staying in bed.

Five good minutes of chasing dreams before she was crushed by reality.

She sat up quickly and felt light-headed, the heavy wooden furniture of the room blurring around the edges. She squeezed her eyes closed and took two deep breaths before the world settled onto its axis.

How many hours had she slept?

Claire’s stomach growled and she realized that she had eaten nothing for almost a day. Broth, Jenny had said, waiting for her in the kitchen. Not her first choice of food, but something warm and nourishing was what she really needed.

Claire got hastily out of bed, forgetting about her wounded shoulder until she felt the bandages restraining her movements. The pain had subsided considerably and she smiled, proud of Jenny’s work.

“Removing the bullet, putting me to sleep,” Claire murmured as she scanned the room searching for her clothes. “We’ll forget who the healer is in this house.”

Claire dressed with strained moves, now mindful of her injury. She was surprised when she found her body had gone through the inflammatory period of healing in just a few hours of sleep. Once she got something to eat, she would heal her shoulder to the best of her ability. If she would focus on the regeneration of the muscular fibers and formation of the connective tissue scar, the wound might soon be just itchy, if not a little sore.

No matter how content she was with her healing process, and thankful for a few hours of rest, Claire felt guilty for letting precious time pass. She knew there weren’t many days left until Alex’s execution. No matter Jenny’s visions and Brian’s inquiries, they had to leave for Fort William soon. The invisible noose of time was gradually closing around their necks.

Claire walked down the stairs, passed by the empty parlour and headed for the kitchen, the only room of the house that looked lived in. They were all there. A bit paler than she had left them, and with eyes red and tired, but their gazes when she entered the room were fierce and determined.

Frasers, all three of them. She should have known. They wouldn’t rest until Alex was safe in Ceana’s arms, away from the redcoats. If all went according to the plan the two of them would escape to Stornoway and would live there, forever lost to the world.

“Claire!” Jamie talked first, rising from his chair and motioning for her to sit down. “Do ye feel better, lass?”

Claire took a moment to look at him. It was strange, how he’d gone from calling her a witch and telling her how dangerous she was for his family, to asking her if she would be safe in the future and then searching for her in the midst of nowhere to bring her back home. Hadn’t he even told her this morning that she wasn’t allowed to leave after Alex was rescued? Did he want her here, now?

What had changed? Had Jenny boxed his ears as she had promised she would?

It was at that moment, when she bombarded herself with questions she didn’t know the answers to, when Claire realized that the way he had looked at her the first day was the same as the night he’d found her. He wasn’t angry; he was afraid. Not afraid of her, but afraid for her -- for them all. And the softness in his eyes when she met his gaze suddenly made sense.

“Will ye stand there all night, Claire?” Jenny’s voice brought her back to the present, and she took the two steps that kept her away from Jamie and the chair. He moved aside, smiling at her, and went to the parlour to fetch another one.

Jenny stood up and moved about, and a few moments later set a bowl of lukewarm broth and two oatcakes in front of Claire. “Eat.”

“I’m eating,” Claire rose an eyebrow together with her spoon, “and you’re speaking. What have you seen?”

“Not much, but enough.”

Ceana, who had entered the kitchen right after Jamie left, sniffled back tears when she heard Jenny’s gloomy tone. One look at the girl was enough for Claire to imagine the streams of tears she had shed during the past few days. But Ceana’s jaw was set, her hands clasped together in a defiant manner. Painful though it was, she would go through whatever they needed to do to get Alex away from Captain Randall.

Jamie came back into the kitchen and sat down on the chair he carried under his arm, right between Jenny and Claire. “Did ye tell Claire?” he asked his sister, reaching for an oatcake only to have his hand slapped by Jenny.

“I’m waiting for her to eat first,” she replied, her voice stern. “And she doesna need help wi’ her food, brother.”

Jamie shrugged, although a light blush rose upon his cheeks. They didn’t speak much until Claire finished her food. Every time they fell silent, the air in the kitchen got heavy with anticipation and sorrow.

“I’m listening,” Claire announced, pushing her plate away.

“I’ve seen him twice, Claire. The Captain, I mean.” Jenny paused, biting her lips as she glanced at Ceana. “Do ye want to go to yer room, lass? Ye don’t need to hear the details of it.”

“No.” Ceana sat straight, looking at Jenny straight in the eye. “I decided…” She looked uncertain for a moment, then cleared her throat and spoke again. “I need to know what is happening in that cell.” Jenny nodded. Brian and Jamie gave her similar heartening smiles.

“Captain Randall is beating Alex. And he is using him.” Jenny swallowed hard and lowered her gaze on the table, eyes fixed on the sturdy wood. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as though the words had failed her. “He takes him to bed,” she added, at last, her voice almost a whisper.

A gasp came from Ceana’s side, but no other comment followed. Jenny continued. “Randall goes to his cell every night after dinner.”

“Sick bastard.” Hatred echoed in Jamie’s words. Brian coughed in warning, and his son didn’t say more.

“He doesn’t want to be heard.” Claire belatedly realized that she had spoken aloud. Jenny nodded, her face grim.

“The execution is in five days,” Brian’s deep voice made all eyes turn towards him. “We could report him, but I dinna think we would be fast enough to save Alex. Were it not to fall on deaf ears, that is.” He sighed, resigned, as if he’d rather not mouth the next words. “If you want to save the lad, ye must leave tomorrow.”

“This is what we’ll do, then,” Claire agreed.

“Yer shoulder?” The frown on Jamie’s forehead got deeper.

“I’ll heal it tonight. I feel better already; Jenny did a magnificent job.” Jenny beamed hearing Claire’s praise, but looked at her uneasily, as if she didn’t really believe her. “I can take care of the rest by myself,” Claire insisted. “Now that I’ve slept and eaten.”

“D’ye get the poison and the antidote?”

“I did. Raymond gave me both, before…” Her voice failed her. Before what? Before she disappeared? Before he died? She couldn’t complete the sentence.

Jenny didn’t let her. She spoke again, too quickly to seem casual, but Claire welcomed the distraction. “I think Jamie has to come wi’ us,” Jenny proposed, her slanted blue eyes searching for Claire’s.

“Why?” Claire questioned, eyes darting between the two siblings, unsure if there was more in Jenny’s visions than she let them know with Ceana present.

“He can carry Alex until we reach the horses. Ceana has told us Alex is thin, and he is so in my visions, but ye’ll be frail after using yer powers Claire, and I don’t think Ceana and I can carry a man if he’s paralyzed or anesthetized.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. This was new to her, and totally unexpected. She hadn’t told Jenny, but in the worst case scenario, she planned to take them all away to another time. Four people were a lot, but five? She didn’t know if she could do it. She was sure she couldn’t, especially after stopping the poisoning and making sure Alex would live.  

“It will be better, Claire.” Jamie was resolute and stubborn as always. “I can look out for ye, if I’m there.” His eyes glinted, but his easy smile was not enough to persuade Claire.

Five people meant that their initial plan was all they had. No alternative. No plan B. She didn’t even want to think about it.

“Do we know at what time does the Captain have his dinner?” Claire asked, more to divert her thoughts than to suspend Jamie’s anxiety as to whether he would be a part of their mission.

“Around seven,” Brian supplied, most probably getting some intelligence of his own to complement Jenny’s visions.

“I wish we knew when he visits Alex.”

Claire thought everything over. Raymond, her sweet Raymond, had included a syringe and a needle in the package. He knew that curare wasn’t effective if administered orally and had saved her the trouble of cutting Alex raw to apply the poison on the wounds. Doing the injections would save her the time she needed to heal the cuts and clean the blood before they left his cell. She would need approximately fifteen minutes to talk to Alex, convince him they were not witches -- this is why they needed Ceana -- and make him relax to start with intramuscular injections that would paralyze his arms and legs.

“Curare has a range of action between thirty minutes and eight hours, dependent on the administration, the product, and the dose. If we suppose that Raymond has found me the clearest curare available, which I’m sure he has…” Claire looked intently at the empty plate in front of her while making calculations. “If I use a moderate dosage, and increase it in case it’s ineffective, we can more or less expect the poison to reach its full effect about thirty minutes after I do the intramuscular injections.”

“The what?” Jamie asked, and the way he screwed up his face made Claire chuckle.

“Injections. A syringe, a needle… I can show you later,” Claire said invitingly, both eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Jamie’s eyes widened, blue changing into black. “No, thanks.”

Jenny shook her head and smacked her brother lightly. “Claire knows what she’s doing.”

“I ken. I just have never heard about such a thing before.”

“Intravenous injections started back in the 17th century, actually. The syringe used back then, however, was a crude device. Raymond has given me one from the 20th century. It is precise and the needle is thin, so the pain it causes is substantially less.”

“I dinna think Alex will mind a wee needle,” Ceana murmured, the colour gone from her face.

“Aye, of course. Ye’re right lass.” Jamie pressed his lips together bashfully, regretting the change of subject. With a glance at Claire, he implored her to continue.

“What was I saying?” she wondered, trying to buy time to decide how much she would divulge.

“Thirty minutes to get the effect,” Jenny reminded her and Claire could see her friend was trying to form their plan of action in her head.

“Right. Which means that if we get there at seven, and I finish by seven fifteen, the paralysis onset will be around seven forty-five. But we can ask Alex how meticulous Randall is considering the time he visits. If he follows a schedule we can calculate the time of the injections to be more precise. And we will have everything ready before Alex gets paralyzed.”

She didn’t want to say how by ‘everything’ she meant the noose, or to reveal the last, intravenous injection that would paralyze Alex’s diaphragm to make the suicide seem real. The injection that would require Randall to be on time for his visit to find Alex and the guards to dispose of Alex’s body quickly for Claire to reach him, administer the antidote and force some oxygen into his lungs. She didn’t want them to know how Alex would have his senses throughout his ordeal, how he would feel the pain, how he would not be able to swallow and would feel choked in his own saliva. How easily he could be killed by curare, and that if his heart stopped in the process Claire would have three to four minutes to get to him before losing him forever. She didn’t want them to know what being a healer means. The terrible decisions you have to make, and how often you walk on the precipice between right and wrong. She couldn’t tell them. Not all of them, anyway. She might tell Jenny later.

“Pa-paralyzed?” Ceana mumbled, confirming Claire did right not to inform them about the ugliness of the situation.

“There is no other way, lass,” Jenny reassured her, taking Ceana’s trembling hand between hers. “It won’t be permanent.”

“And then?” the girl asked.

“Alex will hang himself.” When Claire’s voice faded, the kitchen was so quiet one would think no one breathed in the room, no heart was strong enough to keep beating. Not when they all faced what they had to do.

“But how? How will we save him if he hangs himself?” The despair in Ceana’s voice made Claire’s heart shrink inside her chest.

“Alex has to hang himself when he hears Randall approach the cell. If everything goes well, he will be paralyzed and Randall will think he’s dead.”

Because he will be close to death, Claire thought.

“Judging by what Randall has done to the lad, he won’t be happy to let the doctor examine the prisoner. What we believe,” Jenny hesitated, realising that ‘believe’ wasn’t a strong word to console Ceana. But it was the true one. “We believe that he will order the body to be disposed of, at the place everyone ends up after the noose.”

“We will be there, at the east side of Fort William. Claire will give Alex the antidote and I will carry him back to the horses,” Jamie’s belief in the plan was unquestionable. “We’ll be back in no time, lass.”

“What d’ye mean? I’m coming wi’ ye.”

“Ceana, a nighean…” Brian was calm as he talked to the girl. Claire looked between him and Jenny, trying to understand when this change of plans occurred. Ceana was supposed to be with them to help Alex believe they had come to his rescue. In his emotional distress, a familiar face would be necessary to calm him and explain the plan before the injections began.

Brian kept talking and Jamie agreed with his Da, insisting that the risk was bigger than the profit, but Ceana had none of that. When they turned to look at Jenny for help, she shook her head in a negating manner. Both men glared at her. “What?” she exclaimed. “I would want to go if it was my man in that cell.”

With Claire’s assertive, “Me too,” Ceana’s face changed with a victorious smile. Her first smile in weeks. “We need Ceana,” Claire added. “It will be easier if Alex sees someone he loves.”

“Aye, ye’re coming, then.” Jamie sighed in defeat. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

Claire didn’t mention she hadn’t agreed to his coming, but she was tired and Jamie would insist on coming anyway. Jenny rose from the table, and Ceana followed her. When they left the room, Claire looked at the men and spoke again. “Once Alex is safe, I’ll leave again. Jenny won’t let me, but you two have to understand.”

Two pairs of blue eyes looked at her incredulously. “Ye’re family, Claire.” Brian’s deep voice ran straight into her heart. “We canna do what ye’re asking, we canna let ye go. Unless ye don’t want to stay here, that is.”

Jamie didn’t say a word, but his fingers kept drumming a frantic tune on the table. “Is it because of what I said to ye that first day?” he finally asked, his voice soft. “I didna mean it that way, Claire. All I meant to say was --”

“No, this is not your fault, Jamie,” Claire interrupted him. “You called me a witch when you met me, and this is what I am. I was lucky to find another witch, one with a big mouth and a bigger heart but I…” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Jenny won’t let me do it, but I have to go. I have to make sure you’ll be safe. You’re my family, right? This is what families do, they take care of each other.”

She rose from her chair before either of them had time to state their disagreement. And as Claire walked up the stairs to her room, she lingered outside Jenny’s door and felt a part of her heart falling behind, always safe within the walls of Lallybroch.

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth

Previous Chapters

Chapter 4

Tears streamed silently down her face and she buried her head in her hands and let herself cry. She wasn’t this girl. She wasn’t the type of person to sit around feeling sorry for herself. She was strong, independent and resourceful. But it wasn’t everyday that she found herself trapped almost three hundreds years in the past. She was so overwhelmed, so terrified and confused that she could hardly breathe.

She’d never truly been alone before. Even after her Uncle Lamb died and she first moved to Oxfordshire, she wasn’t really alone, not like this anyway. Modern technology meant she was always only a phone call away from a friendly voice. But here she was alone in the truest sense of the word and it scared her to death.

“Hush now, Sassenach.”A soft voice whispered, and she suddenly found herself wrapped in her blanket and a strong, warm embrace.

She stiffened for a split second before she turned and buried face against his chest. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, she already knew, and she clung to him, shaking, as he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured soft words of comfort in a language she didn’t understand.

He was so large in comparison to her, that she was completely engulfed by him. Maybe that should have scared her, but he was so calm and gentle that, for the first time since Joe left her this morning, she felt safe, and she could feel herself slowly relaxing into his embrace.

He smelled like sweat and horses, heather and man. But, unlike Randell, it wasn’t repulsive, it was reassuring somehow. It almost fit with his strong heart beat as it thumped heavily beneath her ear. She felt stupid even thinking it, it made no sense. But together with his deep, even breathing, they made him real, and she didn’t feel so alone anymore.

He may have been a stranger, but in this strange land, in this strange time, he was all she knew, and she held on tight.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, loosening her hold on his jacket and attempting to pull away. She felt his arms tighten around her, then he sighed and gently moved her back to arms length. She looked up at him, and despite everything, she never wanted to look away.

He was so beautiful.

She’d noticed it before, of course, but the acknowledgement had been lost in her panic.

“For what?” A slight frown touched his brow as he spoke, but his deep blue eyes were as warm as his embrace, and if she wasn’t careful she’d drown in them.

“Falling apart.” His frown deepened and he shook his head as he released her and sat back on the grass. She missed the comfort of his touch almost instantly and silently chastised herself.

“Dinna fash yerself, Sassenach. I think ye’v every right to weep a bit after what happened.” She let out a soft, humourless laugh and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Yeah, probably.” She agreed with a sigh. He was referring to what happened at the stream, but as terrifying as it was, in the grand scheme of things, that whole ordeal had become almost insignificant. “What happened to him?”

“He’s under guard, he’ll no harm ye again.” He nodded, his eyes meeting and holding hers, “but ye ken he’s no the only man out here who’d harm a lassie. It’s no safe for ye to be out here alone.”

She swallowed and dropped her eyes to her lap. She’d been forced into independence at a young age, she knew how to look after herself, how to defend herself, and how to thrive in what was still a mans world. And she valued that independence. Yet, here she was, stuck in the eighteenth century where men really <i>did</i> own the world, and women were no more than property. It chafed to admit that she really would need a man for protection. Christ she’d been attacked by a bloody redcoat, and they were the ones meant to protect the people.

Fuck my life!

“I know.” She forced out, trying and failing, to not let her bitterness leak through. It wasn’t his fault, he was a product of his time, and he was only trying to warn her.

“Where are ye from, lass?”

“Oxfordshire.”

“And what brought ye to Scotland? It’s no a…kind place to be for a Sassenach.” She looked back at him as he spoke and laughed lightly when his lips twitched on the last word.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” She agreed and then shrugged. “I was travelling with friends. We became…separated.”

“I see.”

She watched him warily as he slowly unfolded himself and pushed to his feet. He didn’t take his eyes off her at first, but whatever he was thinking was hidden behind a reenforced wall. But as he turned and walked towards the centre stone, her heart leapt up into her throat and lodged itself there.

Her whole body began to shake as realisation dawned. She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her before he’d approached, but she suddenly knew, with unwavering certainty, that he’d seen her. She hadn’t thought about it before, but he must have noticed the strangeness of her bag and clothing down by the stream, and since he’d been up here on the hill, she’d never once considered her belongings, scattered as they were beside her.

She dared not look at them now, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and it was too late any way. He’d already seen them.

She felt sick.

“How does it work?” He asked quietly, as he placed his palm flat against the granite. She swallowed thickly, shook her head and shrugged.

“I don’t know.” She choked out as she clambered to her own feet, praying her legs would hold her up. “It was…humming and…screaming when I touched it this morning. But now nothing.”

He turned to face her again and his eyes roamed from the top of her head, to the tips of her toes. She shuddered, and pulled the blanket tightly around her.

“Ye a fae?” He asked quietly, his voice as wary as his eyes.

“A fae? You mean a fairy?” Her own eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously. “No! And for the record, I’m not a witch either.”

She could have slapped herself for adding that last part. For all she knew, she’d just put the idea in his head and he’d have her frog marched through the nearest town to a burning pyre.

You’re such a moron, Beauchamp! You’re going to get yourself killed!

He nodded again and walked slowly towards her belongings. She watched him carefully as he looked them over, too afraid to even blink, less she find herself suddenly hog tied to the back of a horse. But he simply sat back down and motioned for her to do the same.

She all but fell onto the grass and tucked her knees up to her chest, attempting to protect herself from what was to come.

“I havena spent my whole life in Scotland.” He told her quietly. “I’ve travelled. Attended university in Paris. Learnt more of the world than what’s just afore me now, ye ken?” She nodded, and swiped at her eyes.

“I’m an educated man, Sassenach. Yet, never have I seen anything akin to what ye have here; save ye wee book, but even that…” he shook his head and ran a finger over the glossy cover. “I willna ask ye anything if ye dinna want me to. But answers me this…do ye mean us harm?”

She licked the salty tears from her lips and shook her head. Was he the man Joe had told her about? The one she could trust? The one that would love her beyond all reason? Whether he was or not, it was her that was the threat. She was an unknown entity in a land wrapped in legends and superstition, and with the answer to one simple question he was willing to put his faith in her.

“What’s your name?”

“Jamie.”

She licked her lips again and looked away from him for the first time. He was putting his trust in her, but to earn that trust, she had to trust him in return.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I’m here, or even how I came to be here, save from touching the stone, and I don’t know how to get back. If I did, I’d go and leave you in peace.” She looked back up at him and on impulse, reached for his hand. It was large, warm, and calloused and she squeezed it gently as she held his eyes. “But I swear to you, Jamie. I’m not a fairy or a witch, I’m just a girl, and I promise I would never hurt anyone. I’ll have to hide who I am, and all of this from the world, but if you’re trusting me, I’ll trust you. You can ask me anything you like and I’ll answer truthfully.”

Gently, so as not to offend her she thought, he squeezed her hand in return, then removed it from hers and lent back. As he moved, his jacket parted slightly, and she caught sight of the red stain that saturated his shirt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breathe.

Although he’d made no sign of it, he was hurt, and she had the means to help him. But it was twenty first century medicine, and she wasn’t sure he trusted her enough to let her use it. But she had to try.

“Ye say ye dinna ken how ye came to be here.” He spoke at last, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She needed an opening and she’d grab the first one she could. “But where did ye come from?”

Thank you, God!

“That’s the irony of it. In distance, I haven’t actually gone anywhere. I was here at Craig na Dun with friends. After I touched the stone I woke up on the ground, I was terrified, but I thought the whole experience had been a nightmare.” She explained carefully, trying to find words for something she didn’t understand herself. “I think I’ve travelled in time, not miles.”

“I dinna understand.” He frowned and she huffed out a laugh.

“Neither do I, and it seems foolish to ask, but what year is it?”

“T’is the year of our Lord seventeen forty three.” So Joe had been right, and while she was expecting that answer, it was still a shock to have it confirmed. She took a deep breath, and smiled at him as best she could.

“When I touched the stone this morning, I was in the year two thousand and eighteen. So, while I’m in the same place I’ve traveled two hundred and seventy five years into the past.”

His eyes widened and shot to the stone beside him. It had taken her hours to accept what had happened to her, but it was no more than a minute before he turned back to her, his face calm but his eyes clearly showing his awe.

“The wife of Balnian.”

“Something like that, yes. The world’s a completely different place where I’m from, and if you want to know about it, I’ll gladly tell you. But for now the most important thing you need to know is that medicine has come a long, long way. We can heal diseases that don’t even exist yet, and prevent ones that do. We can preform life saving surgeries on people in a deep sleep so they don’t feel the pain, and have means of tending to wounds in a way to prevent fevers and illness.”

“Is that so?” He asked, his lips twitching.

“Aye, t’is.” His lip twitch turned in to a chuckle at her crappy attempt at a Scottish accent and for the first time he winced. “I’m a doctor, Jamie and I have things with me that can help you. But you have to trust me.” He was silent for a moment, watching her, then he sighed and nodded.

“Aye, Sassenach. I dinna understand it a bit, but I trust ye.”

“Good. Now, while you take off your coat and shirt, you can tell me what happened.” She ordered lightly as she stood and lay her blanket out on the ground. It was far from sanitary, but she supposed that was something she would have to get used to.

“Randell tried to escape. He caught me wit’ his blade when I stopped him.” He explained simply as he took off his jacket and stood to remove his shirt.

She tried really, really hard to focus on his wound and to not notice the rest of his body, but it was impossible. He had muscles that you just don’t get from working in a gym, and she’d challenge any woman not to notice just how beautiful he was.

She stepped closer and bent to look at the cut before nodding and pointing to the blanket.

“I don’t think it’s deep enough to have done any internal damage. But I won’t know for sure until I get it cleaned up. Lie down on the blanket, it will be easier to treat that way.”

“As ye say, Doctor.” His voice was almost as light as hers had been as he walked towards the blanket, but she could hear the wariness and scepticism and she turned to throw a comment over her shoulder, but it died in her throat.

His back was covered from shoulder to hip with a mass of angry, criss-crossed scars. She could see the places where his flesh had been practically torn from his bones and she wanted to weep for the agony he must have endured.

“Randell.”

“What?” She blinked and looked up at him. He was still facing away from her, but he must have felt her stare and she was suddenly consumed with guilt.

“Randell. He gave me two hundred lashes for obstruction an’ attempting to escape Fort William.”

“And I only broke his nose!” She huffed as she turned away from him and bent to retrieve the largest of her new medical bags. Descreatly wiping her eyes as she did. “It speaks a lot for your character that you didn’t just kill him at the side of the stream.” He laughed, and she swallowed painfully past the lump in her throat.

“Ye did more than break his nose, Sassenach. Ye nigh on ripped his bollocks off wit’ ye nails. He still canna walk.”

“Good.” She laughed as she knelt by the blanket and patted it softly. “Now lie down, Soldier before you bleed to death.”

He did as he was told and watched as she coated her hands with sanitiser shook them dry and slipped on a pair of surgical gloves.

“When you get sick or a wound becomes red and swollen. It’s caused by tiny…particles called germs. They’re so small you can’t see them but their there and they cause what we call infections.” She explained as she ripped open a pad and pressed it against the cut.

It went up his left hand side from his hipbone towards his navel. How he’d been walking around without acknowledging it, she’d never know. It was deep and nasty, but if his back was anything to go by, she supposed he’d had worse.

“They cause fevers when cuts go untreated or aren’t cleaned properly. That’s what the liquid and the gloves are for. It’s a form of alcohol and it kills any germs that might be on my hands. The gloves protect us both from any further spread of them.” She rambled.

She was so conscious of the fact that everything she was using would be alien to him. It didn’t matter that he said he trusted her, it wouldn’t take much for him to assume witchcraft, educated or not.

“Claire.” He whispered stopping her chatter with his surprising use of her name, and a soft touch on her arm. “Ye dinna need to fash. I ken ye no a witch, lass.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“How do you know my name?” She asked as she lifted the padding and took a closer look at the cut. It looked clean but she grabbed a bottle of saline and used it to wash it out before cleaning the whole area with alcohol wipes.

“I heard ye tellin’ Randell.”

“Ah,” she nodded, remembering that he’d come up behind them not long after that.

“I know you don’t need an explanation of what I’m doing, but because I don’t know what kind of care you’ll have when you leave here. I’m going to glue your cut rather than stitch it.” She explained, as she uncapped the glue, spread it across the wound and pinched the skin together. “It’ll stop infection and water getting in. I’ll give you a couple of these to use after you take off the bandage.” She held up a small packet containing an alcohol wipe and ripped it open. “You need to wipe over the area and burn it when you’re done. They’re like the liquid, they’ll kill any germs and reduce the risk of infection.”

She wiped over the sealed cut, secured it with four steri-strips and covered the whole things with an adhesive pad.

“There you’re done. Just change the big pad every other day for the next week then remove the whole thing and clean it with the wipes.” He sat up and looked down at his stomach, shaking his head.

“I couldna even see it after ye’d put the wee glue on it. I might reconsider my opinion of ye witchiness.” She laughed and watched as he reached into her bag. He pulled out one of the small packets of wipes and held it up. “This stops ye gettin’ sick from cuts an’ the like?”

“Yes. It’s an alcohol wipe.” He nodded and rested the small square packet on his knee before reaching for the bottle of sanitizer.

“And this? How does the wee bottle work?” She took it from him and after turning his palm up, she pushed down the plunger. A large dollop of gel pooled in his hand and she laughed as he scrunched up his nose.

“Now rub your hands together like this.” She put some on her gloves hands and showed him how to work it between his fingers and up over his wrist. “You can still see the dirt, but there’s nothing harmful on there now.”

“Good.” She watched in confusion as he picked up the alcohol wipe, ripped it open, and brought it slowly toward her. “Turn ye head, Sassenach.”

She did as she was told and almost burst into tears when he gently wiped the cloth over the cut on her neck. She’d forgotten all about it in the aftermath of her attack and she was so touched by his care that she couldn’t speak.

“Did he cut ye side?”

“No.” She squeaked, but moved her cardigan aside and looked down at her stomach. Her vest top was a soft cream, and although they was blood along the neckline and on her cardigan; most likely from Jamie, there was none anywhere else. “How bad is my neck?”

His eyes were sad when they met hers, but he smiled softly and and ran his finger gently down her cheek.

“It’s no deep. But ye’v a nasty bruise, Sassenach. I’m sorry he hurt ye.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You’re not responsible for another mans actions, and I think I own you my virtue, if not my life. So thank you. I shudder to think what could have happened if you hadn’t intercepted when you did.”

“Ye dealt with him all ye self, lassie.”

“Maybe, but it was you who gave me the courage to do it. Now, lets finish setting you to rights, I’m sure you have better things to do than sit around here all day.” She smiled at him softly, trying not to think of him leaving her here, then reached over and grabbed one of the smaller leather bags and pulled out a syringe.

“Now what do ye intend to do wit that?” He asked, eyeing the needle with distrust.

“Stab you with it.” She laughed, selecting a vial of penicillin and another with the tetanus vaccine. “You’ve heard of the lock jaw?”

“Aye.”

“Well this,” She held up the tetanus, “Prevents you from getting it. And the other is an antibiotic. It’s another treatment against infection. But I need to inject them into you, and for that I use this.” She held up the needle and bit her lip.

Typical man. He hardly flinched when she glued him back together, but show them a needle and they blanch. She worked quickly, jabbing him with one and then the other, before placing them back in her bag and snapping off the gloves.

She only had a few syringes so she’d need to boil and reuse them. It wasn’t ideal, but she really didn’t have any choice. The next time she used any of her kit anyway it would be on her family. If Joe was to be believed. But she owed Jamie her life and couldn’t leave him injured, beside he knew who she was.

No one else beside her family ever would or could.

“Evil woman.” He complained as he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. She laughed and held out two ibroprofen and an open bottle of water.

“Take these. They’ll help with the pain. Just place them on your tongue and swallow them with the water. Don’t chew them.” He did as she instructed and as he handed her the bottle she offered him two new dressing pads and three wipes. “You remember how to use these?”

“Aye, I ken. But as ye’ll be wit’ me, ye can change em for me yerself.”

“What?”

“Do ye really think I’d leave ye out here to fend for yerself? Nay, lass. Ye’ll come wit’ us to Leoch to deliver Randell and await Argyll. Then I’ll see ye where ye want to go.”

“But…”

“I willna force ye, Sassenach, but it isna safe out here for a lassie alone. If ye wit’ me, I’ll see no harm come to ye.”

Chapter 5

[the-and-sign-anon]

The World Turned Upside Down

“We won! Theodore, we won!”

“I know, general!” He laughed a bit at his best friend's excitement as they walked together to find their men.

Before long, they came across Hercules Mulligan, who had been helping to count the dead at Yorktown. Y/N approached him happily, but his expression was not a bright one. It gave Y/N pause, and she dared to ask the question she feared.

“How many of my men were lost?”

“General L/N, I'm so sorry. We tried to-”

“How many? Just tell me how many."

“They're all gone. You and Theodore are the only ones left.”

The two Redcoats paused, shell-shocked. Every last one? Gone? It was too much. Too many lost lives, too many families to tell, too many letters to write. And there would never be enough time to grieve them all. Never enough and too much. Hercules tried to lead them to a bench, but they collapsed and would not be moved. Before long, the tears came, but not from Y/N. Theodore's body was wracked with sobs, silent and unrelenting. This was a suffering too terrible to name.

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

Hours later, when the sun began to leave the sky, the pair stood and walked toward Washington's tent. They needed instruction. They needed to know what would come next.

“Washington?”

“L/N, Martin, come in. I heard what happened. I want to offer my condolences.”

All three of them sat together to talk.

“Thank you. We wanted to ask what you want us to do next. Now that we've won, we don't have much of a plan. We don't have any family here. We'll do whatever you ask of us.”

“Rest for now. Negotiations will begin tomorrow and I'd like to have both of you there. When we reach a peace, I'll be headed back to Mount Vernon to see my wife. The two of you can come with me and stay for as long as you need to.”

Y/N nodded lightly as Theodore spoke, “Thank you, General Washington. For everything.”

“I should be thanking you. Without all of your help, I fear we wouldn't have won this war.”

The trio continued to talk for over an hour, only stopping when they finally realized the sun had set. They bid each other good night and Theo and Y/N set off for their tents.

When they reached the outskirts of the camp, a shot rang out and Theo fell to the ground. Y/N dropped beside him and held him as a crimson stain began to spread on his coat. The general held back her tears as she tried to soothe her best friend.

“Theodore, it's alright.” She turned towards the camp and shouted for a medic, a nurse, anyone who could help. “You'll be alright. Stay with me.”

“Y/N, please. I can feel it… is this really what it's like to get shot?” He laughed a little. The red was still spreading and his breathing was becoming a bit shallow. Help had yet to arrive. “This is bloody awful! I can't believe I've never felt absolutely terrible for shooting someone, really.”

“Theodore, you're going to be fine.” She yelled for help again, but still no one answered. “Please don't go. You can't leave too.”

Theodore didn't seem to hear her. He just kept rambling.

“I've always looked up to you, you know. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were someone to be revered. Someone to follow. That's why I volunteered to join you in the war. Even before you told me your true motivations, I just knew. I knew you would always lead me to fight on the right side, regardless of the risk. I hope-” he stopped for a moment to take in a short breath, “-I hope you know that I love you. I love you and I will follow you to the ends of the Earth; to the end of time. You will always be my general and my best friend.”

The few minutes it took for Theodore to bleed out seemed to last an eternity and an instant. He was gone too soon, and yet Y/N felt powerless for far too long, unable to save him. She desperately held back her tears as she simply sat there in the dirt, holding her friend close. Eventually, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Hercules came up behind her, gasping softly when he saw Theo's dead eyes. He tried to pick her up, to help her, to get her moving. She followed listlessly, her will gone. As they carried Theo through the camp to a medic tent for the night, they heard a Union soldier bragging to his friends.

“I'm telling you, I shot him point blank on the outskirts of the camp. A nasty stray Redcoat. He had a friend, but they both went down with one shot from me. I ought to get a medal.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks and menacingly stalked towards him. “What did you just say?”

Her tone was dead. She seemed to stare right through him. She hoped for this man's sake that he was lying.

“I shot a Redcoat.” He stopped for a moment and his eyes filled with recognition as he looked from the quietly enraged Brit to her dead aide-de-camp. “This is him?”

“Don't speak of him. Don't even look at him. How dare you shoot an innocent man?”

“He's a Redcoat; I wouldn't exactly call that innocent. And neither are you.”

“We were fighting for the Union. Theodore was the most innocent man among all of us, especially you.”

“I signed up to shoot Redcoats, and that's what I did. No Redcoat is innocent.”

A sort of darkness spread in her eyes as she looked at him. “I will kill you for what you've done.” Her tone was frighteningly calm now. “Theodore and I were fighting for the Union. You killed a man who fought for your freedom.”

“Sure, Brit. Whatever you say.” He still looked proud of himself. “Now run along.”

“I challenge you to a duel. Accept or live in shame for refusing to duel a woman.”

“You're on.”

((I decided not to write about the actual battle because I can't write battles and I don't want to do hours of research to find enough details about Yorktown to make it accurate. I've still got a lot in store, so be ready.))

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Fight

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Wee hours

August, 1951

It was a blissful serendipity, and so rare, so unheard of as to be little short of  breathtaking: 

....having awakened well before dawn to find myself not only feeling oddly refreshed and rested, but with both children still sound asleep, the entire house to myself, and energy to be at my own personal leisure. 

Not that I would have minded if Jamie had been about; quite the contrary, for unoccupied hours together were more rare these days, what with the constant demands of the children and the need for Jamie to keep a regular schedule at the barn. We still utilized Penelope, of course, but mostly to keep Bree occupied during the day, give us all a fighting chance at being well-fed, and allow me to get a bit of sleep. By the time Jamie got home most days, Penelope had gone, meaning that we were both on-duty in those evening hours. 

Yes, I would have loved to share the morning stillness with Jamie, and it was still possible, as he could return from his Saturday morning walk at any moment. Still, I was luxuriating in the solitude, soaking it up into my tired limbs like water into parched roots.  I kept on pricking up my ears, waiting in dread for a tell-tale wail or, worse yet, a ‘Mummyyyyyy?’ from the other end of the house. None came, which meant that every single minute as I made tea and toast, as I took a hot bath while reading a few chapters of Simone de Beauvoir, was an unexpected gift, filling me up like a helium balloon with contentment and, dare I say it...glee! 

As I finished toweling off and slipped into my robe, I was still more ecstatic to learn from the chiming of the hall clock that it was only 6:00. Feeling like I could conquer anything motherhood had to throw at me that day, I was positively striding as I made my way to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, such that I nearly ran headlong into Jamie, who had apparently just come in by the back door. My gasp was a horrific sound, arrowing around the narrow walls. 

It wasn’t the simple reflex of being startled, seeing him suddenly when I’d thought myself all alone. No, in my unusually-present state of mind, my eyes had immediately taken in his actual appearance. “What the bloody hell happened to you?” came the urgent whisper painfully from my throat as I stared at him, wide-eyed in alarm. 

His skin was beet-red from head to toe, with sweat having soaked through his clothing and saturated his hair. There were runnels flowing freely down his face and neck, and his breathing was so labored that I leapt forward at once to check his heart. He waved me off, and I gasped even louder at seeing his hands. The skin of all his knuckles was raw and bleeding, flayed off in terrible, dirty grazes.  “Dear God!! Jamie, were you attacked??” I demanded, my voice raising several octaves in panic. “Did—?” 

“No,” he got out, though his chest was still heaving as he gulped air, swaying a bit. “I’m—fine, lass—” I started to protest that he bloody the hell was NOT fine, but he cut me off. “I was only running the trails. Naught to fret over.” He bent to kiss me, then thought better of it, given the sweat, shrugged, and moved past me into the kitchen. 

“’Running?’“ I said incredulously, following him. “What, from a BEAR? Jamie, you look—” 

“I ken how I look, Sassenach,” he said, rather tersely, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink. “I went a wee bit overboard wi’ the speed, but I’m fine.”

“I know you didn’t bloody up your hands running, Jamie,” I said, starting to get angry. “Even if you’d tripped and fallen, you’d have skinned the palms, not the knuckles.” He muttered something under his breath in gaelic as he finished gulping. “Well? Were you fighting someone? Did you get in a fight??” 

“No,” he said at once, still trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t just the exertion, though. His teeth were slightly gritted and—yes, damn him!— he was avoiding my eye. “Please, just believe me, Claire there’s nothing to—” 

“Just believe? When you come home bloodied, James Fraser, clearly being evasive about it,” I said, trying not to raise my voice, “I have absolutely every right to ask and worry. And you not telling me what the devil is going on is—It’s just—” 

He held up a hand, and I surprised even myself by falling silent at once. “I’ll tell ye, if ye insist, Sassenach,” he said, sounding defeated. “But will ye give me another several moments to calm my breath?” 

I opened my mouth, then nodded, crossing my arms. He drank another glass of water and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, leaning over the sink. 

“Will you at least let me bandage your hands?” I said stiffly. 

He looked over his shoulder at me in surprise, and after only a moment’s hesitation, smiled faintly and nodded. 

I retrieved the First-Aid box in silence and set it on the counter next to the sink. Just as wordlessly, he shook off his hands after rinsing them in cool water and presented them to me. Most of the dirt that had been in the raw flesh had been washed off, but I still pulled out the antiseptic and carefully cleansed the area. He winced, and had to grit his teeth against the stinging onslaught, but he didn’t pull away or cry out. 

As I was just beginning the tricky task of fastening the bandages, he very quietly said, “I punched a tree.” 

In the immediate split-second following, I very nearly burst out laughing AND unleashed a withering barrage of ‘you WHAT??’ and its subsequent questions and demands. The result of this internal war was stalemate, my face remaining blank as paper as I simply said, “Why?” 

Jamie didn’t respond at once, and I was obliged to look up into his face. He, though, was staring down at his feet, clearly not wanting to look at me. 

I resumed the bandaging, torn between loving patience and snapping at him to get the bloody hell on with it. I gave him a bit more time before firmly asking again, “Why, Jamie?” 

A beat. Then—

“After Culloden....” 

Two less likely words to emerge from his mouth in that moment, I couldn’t have fathomed. 

We had scarcely spoken of the battle, nor of the two years that followed before he came through the stones. He’d tried, from time to time, in response to careful questions on my part, but one or the other of us would change the subject in the end, the horrors of those memories doing more harm than good in the revisiting. I’d hardly any notion of what those years had been like other than the broad brushstrokes of pain, fear, loneliness, and heartbreak.  To hear him freely volunteer the information now...

“I felt the fight within me die, that very day.” He spoke in a near-monotone, the bones and muscles of his face set in a rigidity that terrified me nearly as much as the words themselves. “It wasna only the battle, little of it as I recall; but also the devastation of the battlefield as I lay in fever....hearing the Redcoats shooting the prisoners, my friends.” He spoke slowly, as though forcing himself to give every single experience the respect of full, heartbreaking acknowledgement. “Seeing the bodies heaped high to be burned....the fever burning within my flesh as I longed to be killed alongside them.... Then being brought to Lallybroch; the slow healing as I learned to walk again.... the cave.” 

I said nothing as I kept at my work of bandaging him, to give him the privacy to speak, but I very softly ran my thumb across the back of his hand. A gentle pressure warmed me in return. His voice didn’t change, though. 

 “Between the horrors of war and knowing I’d lost you forever, mo chridhe, any fight within me was gone, immediately.” His voice was steady, but hoarse and low, hardly to be heard. “Every new day was merely another bootprint, stamping it further and further into the ground. Loneliness, still more; hunger, still more; longing and regret, still more, still deeper.”

The morning stillness, so soothing and peaceful a quarter hour ago, now seemed to hiss with ghostly shrieks. 

“’Fight’?” I asked carefully as I gave him back his hands, wanting to make sure I understood; and feeling it the only thing right to ask, in that moment.  

“The spirit, the— power that turns man into warrior. Rage, I suppose; whatever fire within him that propels him into dangers he ought naturally to fear. I had it once, ken?”

I nodded. I had known him as Red Jamie for longer than I’d known him as Jamie of the twentieth century. I knew how that ‘fight’ within him, as he put it, had enlivened and driven him, for better or worse, along his path of life, from cattle raids to prison breaks to battle charges. I knew the certainty and the safety of that power, as well as the almighty terror it could unleash. 

“That power was incarnate within me for so long, being so one with my life as a man that when I felt it snuff out that day, along with the losses I’d suffered already..... I didna ken who I was, Claire, or if I was anything at all. Most days in that cave, when I had nothing save time to think, I was convinced I wasna.” 

A flicker of memory stirred, a flash of that that first morning after he’d found me, that same haunted voice. 

I havena been a man since you left...before Culloden

“After I found you and Brianna,” he was saying, the slightest spark lightening his voice now, “Every day since then, I’ve been—Christ, so happy, unbearably so; so blessed by joy and plenty that I scarcely gave it a thought, that warrior spirit that used to reside in my body, the man that was capable of such violence. Nor did I miss it,” he said with sudden urgency, meeting my eyes for the first time, his own burning intensely with the need to be believed. “Unlike in the cave, when such fire might have sustained me, the absence of it here, in this life—It was a relief, Claire. I no longer needed it to ken who I was or whether or not I was being a good man, ye see?” 

I did see. But I also hadn’t overlooked his use of the past tense. “And now?” 

He let out a breath, relieved. “These past few months, even before Ian arrived, I found myself more and more feeling the sparks of that fire again, blazing through my body. I couldna ignore it for long. For a time, I was able to dispatch it by hard work outdoors at the barn—or else by coming to your bed,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “But it’s a bit like your Immunities, I suppose. What might once have cured an illness immediately due to the novelty of the remedy might be insufficient to the same task years later, because the body has adapted to it, making the potency less keenly felt. Did I get that right?” he asked suddenly with a brief tug of a smile. 

“Close enough,” I said, returning it, though my belly still seemed full of writhing worms.  “So you...punched a tree as a new kind of remedy? Because it’s getting worse?” I personally had suggested that method to him years ago, on the road with the rent party. The thought of him in enough distress and frustration now to necessitate it again was both alarming and, if I were being honest, a bit hurtful. 

He nodded, shame clouding his expression again. “Whenever I can, I’ll go running. I’ve seen folk do so for recreation, and thought it might help; which it has. Rather than walking in peaceful contemplation, as I used, I’ll run, as fast as I’m able, getting as exhausted as I possibly can, and it—It helps, usually. Gets it out of my system, as it were. Only today, I’d been running and running, and I could still feel the grip of it upon me, such that once would have stoked me to kill a man with my bare hands, and I—” 

He cut off quite abruptly and turned aside, closing his eyes as he leaned his back against the counter, torn between dismay and fury at himself, by the way his mouth and jaw were working. I thought about putting my arms around him, of holding and soothing him, but I knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t yet the time. I leaned against the counter next to him without compelling him to look at me. 

“It was a relief to be free of it,” he said again, tightly, “to have moved, or so I thought, beyond it. Now that it’s back... I dinna ken what I’m to do about it.” 

“Was today the first time that it—” I groped for an appropriate word. “—overflowed like that?” 

“No. Several times a week, I’ll feel my heart quicken and my breath come fast through my nostrils and I feel as though I must do—SOMETHING—or die.” He winced as he unconsciously clenched his battered fists. “Usually I’ll just leave and stand on my own for a time until I feel myself calming, or else I’ll be short wi’ someone in my irritability. I’ve not yet resorted to physical violence, but sometimes I—” 

“I’ve never seen that from you at home,” I said softly, meaning to reassure him. “Never.” 

“Aye, but I work verra hard to make it so,” he said, a tinge of mournfulness now showing in his voice. “You and the bairns are my life and my joy, and would swear on my mother’s grave that I should deplete all my strength before letting myself be aught but gentle wi’ the three of ye, and yet still there are times when it comes verra close, and I—” 

Before I could interject, he swore and threw his hands up in despair. “I mean, have men changed so greatly in these two hundred years that they no longer have such feelings to control? Am I just an animal, then, that I canna—” 

“They do,” I said at once. “The world has changed, of course, and it’s no longer a fact of life that men must be physically ready to fight, but certainly, many feel some of that latent drive within them; a greater number than you’d know by looking at them, I think.” 

“And what do they do about it?” he asked, looking over at me eagerly, genuinely needing the answer. 

“Well....” I sighed, feeling the bleakness of the world suddenly crowding around me. “The worst will make headlines. They’ll murder or violate, or pursue lives of crime; perhaps they’ll become soldiers to do such things under the government’s banner. The more common sort might find simply themselves always angry, with all that energy pent inside them. A good many will drown the feelings in drink, or take that need for physical violence out upon those closest to them—their wives and children, usually.” 

I had been talking more or less without thought, letting the speculations roll from my tongue unchecked, fascinated by them even as I formed the words. Coming back to a sharper awareness, though, I looked up at Jamie, who had gone pale. “I swear to ye, Claire,” he said, face hard with resolve and hurt and fear, “I wouldna ever—EVER—” 

“I know,” I said at once, almost laughing with the absurdity of it as I came around to stand in front of him and take his face in my hands. “I know that. You made me a promise, remember?” 

Attempting to lighten the mood with oddly-fond memories of the one time he had beaten me apparently was not the correct move. He looked still more devastated at the reminder, so before he could speak, I cut him off. “You said it yourself: you are a warrior, and—” 

“Were,’  he corrected. 

“Are,” I insisted right back. “It’s in your bones and your brain, still, just as surely as your knowledge of languages or chess. It’s part of you; but you’ve never been cruel, Jamie, and I have absolute trust that you’d never allow it to consume you like those types I was blethering on about.” 

“Still...” he said with a shame-faced shrug, “I might lash out when I oughtn’t, or say something to the bairns in such a state that—” 

“Well that’s just bloody being a parent, isn’t it?” I said with feeling, and he was so shocked that he laughed. “No matter how carefully we try, there will be days when both of us will snap and shout and lash out with our words or need to leave the room to compose ourselves. That’s being a human, not being a man,” I said, my voice dropping suddenly back to tenderness. “I’m not saying I feel the same things as you, but you’re not completely alone in it, either.” 

He took my hand and kissed it before laying it back against his cheek, keeping his own atop it. 

“I think you should join Charlie’s hurling league.” 

“What??” That startled him enough that both our hands dropped. 

“I didn’t think of it before, but that’s the positive side of what men nowadays do to cope with their fighting impulses,” I said excitedly. “They’ve got more leisure time than you or your brother-in-law or your father or any of your ancestors had, and so they play athletic games, to run and knock one another about. Gives them a chance to get their rage and energy out, in a way that people enjoy and encourage! So, I think it would be a good idea for you to do likewise!” 

“Aye, it’s a thought,” he said, seeming actually to consider before shaking his head with decision. “But no. I appreciate the suggestion, but I’ll be fine.” 

“If your idea of ‘fine’ is coming home every weekend with bloodied knuckles, it absolutely is nothing of the sort,” I said dangerously. “Why not join? You adore Charlie and his mates, don’t you? It would give you a lovely chance to—” 

“I’ll not give up our spare time together, Sassenach,” he said sincerely, “at the evenings or the Week Ends only to play games with the lads. T’would be— selfish and damnably frivolous. It isna fair to ye, nor the bairns, and—” 

I stopped him with a finger over his lips. “It isn’t frivolous. It isn’t unfair to me. It’s an hour or two a week at most, and if it helps you with this, then it’s well worth it for all of us.” He was unconvinced, but I soldiered on. “Besides, when the weather is nice, and when Ian gets a bit older, the children and I can come watch you play! It’ll be good to get out and socialize more.” Slumped as he was against the counter, I was able to thunk my forehead gently against his and give him a playful, wheedling smile. “I want you to try it, love. Please?” 

He stayed stonefaced for a few moments, then a slow grin began to spread. “Alright then.” 

“Excellent,” I said, kissing him on the mouth. “Something tells me it will be MUCH more fun to punch Irishmen than trees. At least they’ll give you a run for your money!” 

[hardblazesong]

Noir Nocturne Part 1 Chapter 7 Further Exposition

Jamie got control of his temper by the time they got to the door of the house, but it was a close thing. The talk the men had had outside had not gone well. He knew Murtagh wouldn’t hurt Claire for love nor money but Dougal and Angus were like ill-tempered bulls even when not faced with life altering circumstances. He was also beginning to suspect that they both might have feelings for Claire that were not welcome.

He recognized this could just be jealousy on his part, but he was new at being in love. He’d been infatuated a time or two, but that was entirely a different thing, and this new state of being was confusing. He wanted to protect her, provide for her and show her off whilst also wanting to hide her away from anyone or anything not himself. He also thought he had a duty, as her husband, to guide her, not be led by her. Six weeks of being her friend and three days of being her husband were just not enough to show him the ways of it.

His mother had died too early in his life for him to really know what he expected from a wife. His father had obviously loved his mother, but he wasn’t privy to the inner workings of their marriage. Now he had a completely different time to adjust to as well. He had expected to take her home to Lollybroch at some point. He understood that life, wanted that life. Would there be a way to make something like it here? He’d studied history. He knew people didn’t change as much as the times did. Still, nearly two hundred years had passed. He was just going to have to let events unfold and pray that she could come to love him enough that they could make it work.

“Jamie? In here please.” Claire said leading him across a porch and through a door off to the side where the others had disappeared while he was mulling over his circumstances. He smiled down at her while trying unobtrusively to notice everything at once.

The room was large and so white. Everything gleamed and looked familiar but strange and much too bright. He noted a fair few cabinets, and a large round table with eight chairs off to one side. The floor was like nothing he had ever seen. It wasn’t tile, marble, wood or packed dirt. It shone as well. There were no candles, and he couldn’t see a fireplace, but did see something that looked like it could be an oven of sorts.

“Have a seat with your friends you two. I’ll put a kettle on and get the Sister here shortly.” Father McDaniel said as he waved in the direction of the table. Jamie heard a clicking noise, saw the Priest take a small box down from a shelf and pull out a tiny stick that he somehow kindled and lit a flame with on top of the oven type box object. He gasped, as did Angus.

Claire giggled as she sat down at the table. “We must have missed the light switch, just look at your faces! Electricity, gas and indoor plumbing that does not include chamber pots, oh my.”

Jamie sat as close to her as he could at the table and took her hand under it. “What did he just do over there Sassenach? Is that for cooking that thing he’s standing at? Is everything so bright in this time? What is this floor made of? Why do I smell lemons but canna see any? Do all homes now have so many windows?” He would have gone on but the look on her face stopped him. She was gazing at him as if he were a small child and she was trying not to laugh at his curiosity.

Father McDaniel laughed outright. “Oh, this is going to be one of the great joys of my life, educating you lot. Let us try not to get ahead of ourselves though. Perhaps you could take a few minutes to point things out to them and make the tea while I call for some assistance Mrs. Fraser?” He then stepped into a small alcove and they all heard him speaking to someone they couldn’t see “Yes, yes, come here now. Yes, I know it’s late. No, nothing’s wrong, just come here and be quick about it.”

Claire stood up and started to describe what was in the room to them while she looked for items in the cupboards. “That is an oven with a cooking surface, this is indoor plumbing called a sink which has running water. That rectangular object is called a refrigerator, you store food in it, like a pantry. He lit the stovetop with a match, not magic. This, thank God! Is Earl Grey tea! That’s to toast bread. This is a bread box.” She seemed to be having a good time pointing at and collecting things so Jamie just enjoyed the novelty of it and her typical nonstop manner. He tried not to think about all that she knew that he didn’t, that way lay madness.

“So, there’s food in here then? This is a Kitchen? What’s to eat?” Angus nearly shouted at her.

Father McDaniel came back in and stepped to the refrigerator where he began taking out assorted foodstuffs. He moved to a counter top and started to make sandwiches with some leftover ham. “No need to fret Son. They’ll be plenty with some to spare for the next part of your journey.” He then opened yet another cabinet and took out a bottle, and collected six small glasses.  “Here, a bit of the old sod won’t go amiss while the tea steeps. Purely medicinal you understand.” He handed a wee tot to each of them and lifted his own glass in a toast. “Here’s to new friends from very old times and one lovely lady to see to their welfare!”

The men all saluted with their glasses and drank quickly having known from the aroma a good whiskey when they smelled it. Jamie looked askance at him though. He knew about Prohibition after all. It’s what had nearly started a brawl outside. “Father, how did you come by that bottle? I thought it wasna’ permitted?”

Father McDaniel shrugged and looked at Claire “Told him did ya lassie? Might have wanted to wait on that one. Ah well, I have my ways Son, I have my ways. Now get to eating or there will be no end of trouble with the Sister if she gets here and finds you drinking.” He laid a platter of sandwiches on the table along with jars of mustard, pickles, onions and assorted other nibbles.

Claire handed each of them a plate and brought the tea things to the table along with cutlery. She shook her head and teased him saying “I know you must be out of sorts as well Father if you are letting them eat without saying grace. Thank you just the same for everything.” She then sat back down by Jamie and reached for his hand again under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“You wanted to know more of my story Father? Well, in 1945 I was in Scotland, um vacationing, when I happened upon a circle of standing stones. I heard a strange buzzing noise and reached out to the tallest stone and the next thing I knew I was in the midst of a skirmish between these men and some Redcoats. They believed me to be some sort of spy and led me back to their Larid and his lands to keep an eye on me. I thought I was being kidnapped until I understood it to be 1743. I then tried to fit into their world as a healer, I’m a nurse you see, while I tried to figure out a way to get back to the stones and my own time. Meanwhile, Jamie here had been injured and while tending him, we became friends. It took a great deal to adapt to the situation I found myself in Father. It was not easy and I thought it possible that I would never return and certainly did not expect to be transported here and now by yet another mystical means. Circumstances beyond our control led to Jamie and I being wed. It had to do with clan politics and a nefarious Captain in the Dragoons, but that is another tale.” She stopped there and Jamie saw her frown and give the Father the oddest look, as if she were silencing him into keeping secrets.

“Ahem, yes, well, I am sure we can talk more on this soon Claire.” Father McDaniel said with a sage look at her. Jamie wasn’t sure what was going on between them but they appeared to have some sort of unspoken agreement. It made him uneasy and he didn’t know why.

The Nun, Sister Mary Margaret appeared in the doorway and coughed. She looked astonished and wary to Jamie. He saw her take in the sight of them all in the kitchen late at night and then look at the Father as if he might be losing his mind. “You needed assistance Father?”

“Yes, take a couple of these men to the stores in the basement and outfit them with a couple changes of clothing, some undergarments and coats and hats. Give them a blanket each as well. Then come back and do the same for the other two. Then take Mrs. Fraser and outfit her too. She will be needing a sundries kit bag as well Sister.” He then pointed at Murtagh and Angus and said “Go along with the Sister. We’ll all be sitting right here when you get back laddies.”

Jamie hid his grin in a bite of the sandwich. He knew Murtagh wasn’t inclined to go anywhere without him and wouldn’t like missing anything that would be said in his absence. Claire beamed her brightest smile at the two of them and told them it was the thing to do. He couldn’t help but feel proud at that. She was so clever and even though she sometimes spoke without thinking she appeared to know that they were taking her lead gracefully and wasn’t using her authoritative tone anymore.

“Father, where can we find lodging and employment?” Claire asked after they’d gone. “We also will need to find a pawn shop.”

“OH, I have that all sorted my dear. You are going to need to walk a couple of miles tonight to where they are building an outdoor Greek Theater. You can kip for the night under the stage. In the morning, you will be heading to Mrs. Barnett’s Boarding house which is close to an employment center in Hollywood. I also have the address for a reputable Pawn Shop and I will be phoning ahead to all three places to be expecting you. I will draw maps, so you won’t be getting lost. We don’t have a shelter here and the church bus isn’t kept here at night, so I have to be sending you out on foot sadly. I expect you to phone me first thing after you have settled into your lodging. That’s not too much to be asking, do you think?” He asked while smiling and giving the three of them a stern look under his brows.

“No Father, it is most definitely not.” Claire had what looked to be tears in her eyes when she said this. Jaimie understood her emotion. He felt very grateful himself.

“Yer a good man Father. I thank you for your kindness.” Dougal said, surprising them all as he had been unusually quiet in the kitchen.

“Ah think nothing of it. You know I’ll be expecting you all back for Mass and we can always use a bit of help around here. Mrs. Fraser, I believe I know a clinic that could use your help as well. They won’t be asking too many questions when I phone them. You wouldn’t happen to speak Spanish, would you?”

TO BE CONTINUED

[keykidpilipili]

Hamilton(AYFS AU)-Second chance

@badromantics @sarcastic-swl-dragon please take this late humble George^2 offering. Maybe a bit ooc at times but they’re drunk soooo I tried.  Hope you like it, sorry again for the lack of smut. QwQ

Are you for Shores belongs to @badromantics

George Peterson let himself fall on the couch after yet another exhausting day : managing the debate club plus his new duty as class president was quite draining, even with his boys helping. Unfortunately there were the incoming mid-year finals to count in his schedule as well! Never as a college student he wished so hard for days to last more than 24 hours!

At the very least Frederick attended classes once more, there were too many feelings better left unsaid which had been laid out in front of the whole college. Nobody deserved that, nobody. Alex and Thomas had taken this challenge way too far but he couldn't even begin to apologize to his ex-boyfriend who kept getting dragged away by his people. Before this he had attempted to check on Frederick due to the worryingly long radio silence except Lee had set up camp before his boss' door and refused to let anyone not from the Royalist group inside. Exhausted and entranced by the tune of the water hitting the window, the general let himself drown in his deep thoughts.

Last year Peterson had remembered his past life entirely, his boyfriend had very quickly noticed something had changed: Washington would take longer to reciprocate touch, get lost in day-dreaming all while refusing to explain. Maybe the general had wished to pretend things wouldn't change despite his memories and Thomas so eager in gathering his old acquaintances. In the end he never knew how Frederick learnt the truth, however slowly King would stop cuddling, come back late or go missing for days altogether.

Till that one morning past 2 am when regardless of many texts and calls his boyfriend hadn't been at his own flat or in classes, he found him tagging on the walls with Charles Lee of all people. Peterson in the spur of the moment outed himself as first POTUS resulting in Frederick crying and laughing for ten minutes with everyone else too flabbergasted to ask what the hell was going on.  “I-I can't believe you just told a total stranger about your past life and never me!” Had uttered King between two giggles while the Redcoats were burning holes in Washington with their disapproving glare. Later in the morning Frederick came to pick up his stuff, revealed he remembered his other life a week ago following the news of his favorite cousin Amelia being deceased, once his daughter two centuries ago. All while meeting Peterson's eyes King choked how he couldn't get a hold of his lover during those events because he was out with his past friends. He even told him in person who he used to be but his boyfriend didn't pay attention somehow.

Washington's daydreaming was broken by a knock, suppressing a sigh he got up: only Alex was reckless enough to climb the rain gutter multiple times past second floor. However in front of the glass a bruised and drenched Frederick plastic bag in his other hand starred sheepishly at his ex-lover. Frozen and confused by the sight the general stood there for a few minutes before dragging him inside by the hoodie, disappeared into his room then soon came back with a change of clothes and a towel.

Little red-riding hoodie now dryer spread the contents of his bag on the table: cans of beer and partly smashed chocolate box. The quizzical look from the host was answered by a sly grin and a sultry 'Movie night' whisper by the unexpected guest who after setting the DVD dragged his ex-boyfriend back on the couch. Peterson could hardly hold back his laughter as the title screen appeared, of all the things they watched together Frederick pulled THAT movie!

“Hey! It wasn't that bad,” Pouted the red-riding hoodie leaning further in the sofa, “ probably not worth sneaking out of my conservative grandparents' house though.”

- Definitely not. The restaurant was nice but that's because I was the one to pick it!” Retorted Washington half-smiling glancing the student wearing clothes two times his size. “Then you got grounded for breaking three gutters trying to get back in!”

- Okay! Okay! We had more closet time though the week after that so it was all good. Let's not cry over spilt tea.” Shrugged Frederick winking at the host first despondent then just groaning taken back by the return of the bad jokes.

- PLEASE it's not even past midnight yet! You know what? Never mind! Tell the world how General Washington was slayed by royal puns!” Moaned Peterson clutching his chest, slouching deeper and deeper into the couch while his other hand was reaching for the sky.

Time passed swiftly once Frederick had broken the awkward silence between the two. The film did hold their attention otherwise they would playfully bicker over rations with King falling off the couch trying to keep them for himself. More often than not the latter would cautiously close in the space separating them, repeatedly glancing at Washington's face searching for disapproval. Yet as they became less and less sober he leaned on the general's broad shoulder and later simply rest his head on his lap. Their hands had long found their way back together as naturally as geese fly south craving with absolute certainty. Once in a while the red-riding hoodie would tighten his grip, in his haggard eyes a shimmer of fear he would wake up to an empty bed and icy cold sheets. As for Peterson  he was twirling then untangling the ginger curls, aware of the need to discuss how to work out this relationship but content with this moment of peace after such dreadful weeks.

At some point the general startled by the menu music blasting from the speakers suddenly recalled they had started a movie. Once the TV was turned off, he nudged King whose snore still sounded like a cat's, faint almost like wheezing. Things didn't change that much after all: the grumpy look on his face as he reluctantly opened one eye assessing whether he REALLY had to get up or not, was the exact same one. Speaking of bedtime Washington ought to move the guest on his bed and leave the sofa for himself not exempt from morning classes. Tentatively the red-riding hoodie swayed back up on the couch, ignoring the black spots in his vision stared at the host for two minutes then mumbled followed by falling right on the other side: “I'm stayin here night.”

- Nope. Unless you wanna rise at six.” Spelled out Peterson dragging into the bedroom his guest who dropped on the mattress nearly the second they entered. Objective number one accomplished and after grabbing a blanket and a pillow was ready to head out when a hand clasped  his wrist pulling him on the bed.

- Hey... I know... you didn't help Hamilton with that pamphlet...”, Confessed King avoiding his ex's tired eyes attempting to cover it with a forced laugh and rambling, “I mean they didn't even checked my spelling! I was like 'Wow, these new beta-readers are crap!' Anyway... thanks for letting me in. Had a great time! Tell me if you wanna spend another night with me any time bed or couch!”

- Shhh talk less.” Spoke the general as he warped his arms around the stressed red-riding hoodie who crumbled under the touch whimpering, having missed those embraces for so many months. Ultimately both slipped under the covers, reveling into this tender warmth tied to much simpler times deprived of ancient and heavy memories. Loneliness and longing vanished under the new dawn, it was still dark but they were together once more.

The following morning Frederick groggy bumped into the same wall twice and a desk, tripped over a coffee table before recalling he was in his ex-lover's apartment and not his own. While the mist had cleared up, the nausea refused to let go of the past monarch who settled on a glass of water and reluctantly crossed slushie off his shopping list. Suddenly the realization that no one except Peterson knew where he was he hit him like a canon ball, with the violence of a hurricane he flipped over every pillow and blanket searching for his phone until he saw a note on the coffee table signed by the host.

“Pudding in the fridge and tea bags in the cupboard. Also in your latest story the writing for the actions scenes was clumsy and awkward, meet me at 1:30 pm closet under the stairs next to the chemistry classroom for practice,     Peterson.”

A quick glance at his watch displaying 1:20 slapped the red-riding hoodie awake as he hastily threw over his sweater, still wearing his borrowed clothes. Though the campus Frederick ran the goofiest grin on his face, jubilant over having a second chance at their romance.

Later in the afternoon, Peterson, after fixing his collar to hide a hickey, opened the door of the debate club ready to greet his fellow soldiers. Unfortunately the light headache from this morning spiked up at the sorry sight before him: Alexander moping on the floor mourning another comrade lost to the red coats with John reminding the group he was still alive and so was Burr despite the latter being busy banging his head against the well in denial. In the end only Lafayette and Thomas seemed to have retained their sanity or so the general thought as the two pulled him asking every detail of his intercourse with King. Suppressing another sigh Washington considered that maybe they should stop having sex in school closets.

[mike-talliferro]

Tales of the Rona - 2020

The bar was a riotous mixture of conversations, laughter, song, loud voices raised in celebration, the clunk of heavy tankards on the rough wooden tables; a cornucopia of sounds that only drunken celebrating sailors can make. The crew was celebrating and why not; their maiden voyage had produced no less than three merchantmen to be relieved of their cargo, a victory over one of the largest man-o-war they had ever encountered and a new First whom the crew loved and respected. So, pouches bulging with coin the men drank, sang, recounted their exploits and bargained for the attentions of ladies so inclined; truly a night of celebration.

Speaking of her First, Talia looked down the bar where he stood in conversation with Cast, his first tankard of the night still half full; she knew he drank and toasted enough to be cordial with the men but otherwise he sipped the ale sparingly, yet another curious piece of the puzzle that was her new First. It was a puzzle she intended to solve but later, right now her tankard was quite empty and that was an unacceptable condition; raising her cup she motioned the barmaid for a refill.

“Bartholomew Hayes! In the name of the King you are bound by law!” The voice was loud and authoritative, cutting through the din and silencing the room as if death himself had walked in the door. Turning Talia found herself facing a dozen redcoats their muskets raised and aimed at the back of her second in command, damn.

For his part Bully had not moved a muscle, he still stood facing the bar, tankard in his hand and from her vantage point it appeared an amused expression on his face.

“Step away from the bar and present your hands to be manacled.”

“Who are you?”

“I am leftenuant Patrick Moore of his majesty’s royal marines, currently on special duty from my post at the garrison of Galveston. Now step away from the bar and present your hands.

“Name my crime.”

“You are to be remanded to the stockade of the garrison until such time as the royal executioner arrives when you will be hung by the neck until you are dead.”

A quiet gasp filled the room, a hangman’s rope was not a way any sailor wanted to end; drowning was bad but at least it was a way for a seaman to go. Jerking at the end of a rope like a fish on the line while you pissed and shit yourself was no death for a man, or woman, in their collective opinion.

“I did not ask my fate” he still had not moved, “I said name my crime”.

“The charges against you are not germane to this situation, you are wanted and now you are caught.”

Now Bully turned, slow and deliberate, knuckles of the hand holding his cup white, the muscles

Talia could see through the thin shirt he wore, bulged with tension and barely restrained fury; even in the heat of battle he had been calm and collected, thinking strategy and ways to win with as little risk to the crew, his crew, as he could manage. This was the Bully she had seen when those men accosted Beaumont, rage unbound and ready to kill. The dozen men were across the room, armed and with muskets pointed at him but Talia could tell more than one was shrinking from the sight before them.

“I SAID”, now his voice was loud and authoritative, putting the lieutenant’s previous shout to shame, “Name my crime!”

The lieutenant was flustered, he was unused to people who were not intimidated by his rank, bearing and uniform; his authority came from the King and as such was beyond contestation. He was about to snap orders and have his men take him by force but looking around the room, seeing all eyes upon him he decided there was no harm in ascending to the request, reaching into his pouch he removed a piece of parchment and unfolded the warrant; holding it in front of him with a regal air he pulled himself to full height and began to read, “Bartholomew Hayes you are hereby charged by his majesty with the crime of attacking and assaulting a good citizen of the crown causing grievous bodily injury.”

The snort of derision, and the distain behind it, was clear to all in the room, “Good citizen of the crown indeed. But surely lieutenant you and your brave men have not come all this way over a scullery maid or blacksmithy so tell us oh all reaching arm of the crown, who was this ‘good citizen’?” Sarcasm dripped like honey from his words, his attitude one of utter contempt.

The lieutenant was growing weary of this exchange and that made him careless, as a result he read the name off the warrant without thought, and immediately regretted it. “The good citizen you assaulted was Master Henry Percivil.”

“AH HA!” Bully acted as if a great shroud had been lifted, his eyes going wide and his expression one of amazed discovery, “So the ‘good citizen’ whose assailant you have come fifteen hundred miles to apprehend is none other than the son of Sir Harry Percivil, the Governor of Galveston!”

“Yes”

“Master Henry Percivil, the first born son and male heir of the Governor?”

“Yes”

“Ah yes, a twenty year old spoiled, self-important, drunken oaf with a penchant for the company of young girls”

Reed, enjoying the attentions of the young woman sitting on his lap laughed and joked, “Likes me the company of a young woman meself, I do.” As he tickled her causing her to squirm and giggle.

Bully’s face had lost all semblance of mirth, it was as hard as the side of the Rona as he hissed, “I said ‘girl’ as in ten year old girls”.

“Christ!” Reed exclaimed and spit as if the ale had turned putrid in his mouth.

“I know of no such slanderous accusation��� the repudiation was automatic and without conviction.

“Well I do left-tenant, your ‘good citizen’ tried to have his way with the daughter of his father’s housekeeper and beat the woman near to death when she intervened. Afterwards he had her dismissed and thrown into the street, a woman that had helped raise him. That is who I am accused of assaulting.”

This was going terribly wrong, every one of the solders knew it but they were helpless to do anything about it, except the lieutenant and he found his voice to have abandoned him.

“Well left-tenant, I stand here before all those in this room and confess, I did beat that miserable excuse for humanity until he pissed himself and begged for mercy and you may rest assured he will never strike another woman with that useless bag of bones that hangs at the end of his right arm. But that is not why the Governor had you traipsing all over hell and gone looking for me is it?”

Bully waited for the redcoat to respond but when he saw true confusion and befuddlement on the soldier’s face, understanding blossomed and his face lit up with unbridled mirth. “You really don’t know do you? They didn’t tell you the real reason the Governor has sent you across the ocean with orders to return me, not dead, but alive to face the hangman.”

Growing more confused by the moment, if only he had time to think about what Hayes was saying, the lieutenant could only shake his head faintly.

“Well you have traveled hard and long to find me so the least you and your men deserve it to know the truth. The reason the Governor wants me alive and well has nothing to do with me facing a hangman and justice, no it is about revenge pure and simple. You see after I beat and maimed the good right hand of the Governor’s beloved only son and heir“, he paused and smiled with satisfaction, “I turned him into a eunuch!”

The admission caused several of the men in the room to groan and clamp their legs together, hands covering their privates.

“That is why you are on this tiny little island, so far from hearth and home lieutenant and if you have nothing else to say then you and your men had best go ahead and shoot as I have no desire or intention of attending the Governor’s little te-ta-te.” He stood tall and resolute and Talia felt her heart skip.

“If you don’t mind, I have something to say”. Bully did not recognize the voice that spoke but he did recognize what came next.

Click………click……..click, click

Click, click, click

Click…………….Click

Lieutenant Allister Brown was a proud second generation member of the King’s marines; his father had even once guarded the inn where the King spent the night and retired after twenty years loyal service. That had always been his goal, retirement after a long and spotless career and his own son following in his footsteps; but right now he would settle for surviving the next two minutes as he scanned the room with ever growing terror.

The hand of every man, woman and even the crippled boy in the corner held pistols, ever pistol was cocked, and the sound filling the room like a never ending metronome, and every muzzle was pointed at him, not his marines, only him; with the exception of Hayes who simply stood there expectantly. Even as he contemplated exactly what three dozen pistol balls would do to him he saw motion out of the corner of his eye; a handsome woman, fair of skin with crimson hair curling down her back was sauntering forward, her own pistol aimed square at his left eye.

Talia approached the redcoat as if she had not a care in the world, although being that close to the target of all those pistols made her skin crawl, she walked up until the muzzle of her own rested under the lieutenant’s chin, “I am sure you are used to people quaking in their boots at the sound of the King’s authority and the sight of you and your splendid men” she paused and looked them over appraisingly, “but this is Guadeloupe ‘Mr. Authority of the King” and we do not recognize your king or your authority.”

As she spoke the barrel of her flintlock had been slowly working its way down the front of his splendid uniform until it rested firmly against his cod piece, pressing it hard against him for emphasis Talia continued, “Now I do not know how things are done in Galveston but even if you had paper of worth or the local constable with you, that man is part of my crew and you do not walk into a bar in any port in the Caribbean and lay hands on a member of The Rona’s crew without so much as a parlay or ‘by your leave’ to me!” She jammed the barrel harder into his codpiece, pressing painfully against his left testicle.

Alister Brown was brave and dedicated, most others would never have dared this far into unclaimed territory for his prey, but he was not stupid and so tried to negotiate, “My apologies Captain I was not aware he was your man but by his own admission he is guilty and must face justice.”

“He’s right Captain”, Cast had walked from his place at the bar by Bully, his hand held no pistol but instead his trusty throwing blade and he twirled it absently as he approached the pair as if unconsciously considering where it would look best buried in this redcoat. “Now I do have a question left-tenant” his French accent was impeccable, “Was Mr. Hayes present to defend himself at his trial?”

“He had not been tried, only charged; I am to remand him for trial.” Alister recognized the trap too late.

Cast smiled, “Well then if it is a trial that needs be, no reason to go all the way to Galveston for one; we can have it right here!” Turning to the room he continued, “You have all heard Mr. Hayes admission to the charges against him, how do you find?”

“Guilty” was the riotous response and Alister almost breathed a sigh of relief, the captain and crew were going to be logical and cooperate; but then Cast spoke again, “And how shall justice be served for such a heinous crime?”

Again in unison, “A keg of Rum!”

“Each” Reed added, goosing his female companion.

Looking at the crestfallen face of the solider Cast said, “There you have it lieutenant, tired, found guilty and sentenced; Mr. Hayes now owes each of us a keg of rum. So you can go back to Galveston and report to the Governor that justice has been served.” Leaning in he laid the point of his dagger against the opposite side of his codpiece from the barrel of his Captain, which had moved not one hair, and pressed the needle point against the petrified soldier’s right testicle. “If you ever come back, every try to take Mr. Hayes again, I will see to it personal that you every one of these fine lads joins the Governor’s son in singing soprano. Do we have an understanding?”

A nod was the best Alister could do, he hadn’t drawn breath since the barrel had come to rest against his unborn sons for fear that small motion might cause the gun to go off.

“Good” Talia spoke with considerable heat in her voice, keeping the pressure on the redcoat ensuring he stayed off balance and unsure, “Now lay down those muskets and trot your happy asses back to your ship. You have until I finish my Rum to be anchor up and on your way or I and my drunken crew will pause our celebration long enough to blow you out of the water. Sober they are bad news, making them stop drinking and touch off cannons half-drunk will make them mean; you do not want to see them mean.”