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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

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A Place to Belong Chapter 44: Suddenly I’m Holding the World in My Arms

Chapter 43

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One week later

Jamie was sweating like a sinner in church. Claire watched him get dressed, the fabric of his clothing rippling with how his hands trembled. She didn’t think he knew she was awake, so she watched him silently, her heart aching.

He was nervous.

Brianna had boldly declared at supper last night that she was going to ride her horse with her Da, the very next day. He’d completely lit up, his deep blue irises glowing, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Whatever ye wish, a leannan.”

He could deny her nothing.

But now, when actually faced with the prospect of truly being alone with her, of doing something so conventional as father and daughter, he was scared. Terrified.

He turned back to the bed, presumably to kiss her good morning and tell her he was going to be off soon, but was instead met with her open eyes, watching him intently.

“Good morning, Sassenach,” he said quietly, hiding the wee jump he’d had at seeing her awake. He did indeed move to the bed and kiss her, sitting beside her and letting his fingertips rest on her hairline.

“Good morning,” she answered, reaching up to take his hand, closing her fingers around his and resting them there on her head.

He then brought her hand to his lips, kissing it reverently. Claire sighed in ecstasy. “I dinna think I shall ever tire of this…of simply…waking up wi’ ye beside me. Surely I couldna, before…but now…it’s…”

“I know,” Claire finished. “It’s exactly the same for me. After years of blindly reaching for you and feeling…nothing…to actually feel you, see you when I wake, it’s…”

He leaned down to kiss the tears that escaped her eyes and lingered on her cheeks. “It’s alright, now, Claire. I’m here, mo nighean donn, now and forever.”

She gratefully kissed him again, breathing him in, savoring him. She’d never stop thanking God; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost alike for bringing him back to her. When they pulled away, the apprehension was back in his features.

“Jamie…” she said gently, sitting up and caressing his face. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Afraid?” he said, a bit too quickly. “Dinna ken what ye mean.”

“I thought you were going to collapse while you were getting dressed just now.” She was teasing, but not lying altogether. “What is so frightening about an eight-year-old girl?”

She caressed the stubble of his chin as was ingrained in the marrow of her bone to do, gently coaxing it out of him.

“You can tell me anything. You know that.”

“Aye, I ken…” But he couldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s…it’s foolish, is all.”

“No, it isn’t.” She gripped his chin now, forcing her to look at her. “Talk to me, Jamie.”

He cleared his throat and gently removed her hand from his chin, holding it between both of his and, stroking it, rubbing it, molding it as if it were clay. His hands were always restless when he was uncertain.

“I’ve, ah…I’ve been wi’ bairns before, ye ken,” he began, nodding as if to assure himself rather than her. “I ken how to make them smile, and laugh; I ken the wee games they play. I love that look in their eye right before they ask something of ye that perhaps they shouldn’t; I love the way their wee teeth are always crooked. I love the…the feel of their wee bodies against my chest. It felt…right to cradle Jenny’s bairns.” Claire’s eyes became misty, and Jamie cleared his throat again. “It made me feel like I was meant to cradle my own someday. Jenny always said I looked braw wi’ a bairn in my arms, ye ken.” He sniffled, and Claire added her other hand to the mix of his and hers, covering the fidgeting hands and rubbing circles over them.

“When I sent ye home from Culloden wi’ wee Fergus,” (It stung, calling him wee, something he most certainly was not anymore.) “I’d made my peace wi’ never holding my own. I thought I was meant to die. And then, again, at Ardsmuir, I…I tried to fill my mind wi’ images of you wi’ Fergus, kissing that curly mop and nagging him to death. And images of ye cradling wee Kitty, swinging around wee Jamie, Maggie. It made me ache to think of ye never to bear a child of yer own. I kent how badly ye wanted to, Claire. Especially after…after Faith.” His eyes averted hers, but she still nodded, understanding, urging him to continue.

“There were nights when I…I just wept. Because I couldna give ye the life ye wanted, the life ye deserved. Because I…I’d never look at a bairn and see you in her, I’d never look at those wee crooked teeth and know that you and I made them.” He shook his head, his breath trembling. “But now…to suddenly just…just have that…to know that…that all these years there was a lass wi’ my eyes and my hair, and yer nose and yer smile…I…I thought I’d die in that prison, or at least be there ’til my old age. And even if I’d gotten out I’d convinced myself that ye’d remarried, ye had bairns of yer own, or even that…perhaps ye’d gone back to yer own time, to Frank. I just…I knew that we’d never have a family. Even when I came back to ye I thought it…it just couldna be meant to be. Wi’ everything that happened…wi’ Faith, the war…everything.

“But I look at that lass, and I…” His voice finally broke, his resolve crumbling, unbidden tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Jamie…” Claire whispered, moving her hands to caress his face, smooth his hair, wipe his tears. “It’s alright, love…”

“I…I canna bear how much I love her, Claire…”

“I know.”

“I would lay the world at her feet, I’d tear out my heart and give it to her if I could.”

“I know, Jamie.”

“But she…she doesna even know me. And I ken, she will,” he said quickly, before Claire could interject with her endless platitudes. “I ken she knows I’m her Da and she’ll learn to…to love me. I ken that.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “But I…I canna disappoint her, Claire. I canna lose her because I’m no’ the man she wants me to be. I’m as much a stranger to her as she is to me. I’ve seen ye wi’ her, Claire. Yer like two sides of the same coin.” He smiled wistfully despite himself, remembering the images of Claire holding up a doll, unabashed, coaxing giggles from the wee thing.

“She’s…she’s no’ a babe, no’ really. I canna just pick her up and tell her I’m her Da and have her accept it as truth fer the rest of her life. Eight years old…when I was eight years old I’d already had and lost my mother. Eight years was an entire lifetime to me.”

“Jamie…she knows who you are…”

“Aye, she knows who I am. She doesna know me. And I dinna ken her.”

“She will. You will.”

“But what if I can’t?” He finally looked into her eyes again. “What if I canna be what she needs? She’s…accustomed to no’ having a father. She got along just fine wi’out me.”

“That is not true — ”

“But it is, Claire. Ye dinna have to spare my feelings. I ken how you grieved and mourned and ached…but to her I never existed. All she had to go on was yer word. She was none the wiser to what she was missing. But fer me to drop out o’ the sky and suddenly be a father to her…what if it’s no’ what she needs?”

“Is that what this is about…?” Claire said gently. “You’re afraid she doesn’t need you?”

He sighed. “It sounds selfish to say it that way…but I suppose that’s part of it. Jenny’s bairns loved me, before, but they didna need me. They had their own parents. Fergus…I ken he was a son to me and he loved me as his father. But he’s a man now, a man that I didna help to raise. A bairn, a truly newborn babe is…so full of need, ye ken. When I pictured our children, I…I pictured their being so wee, and helpless, depending on us… on me.”

“She’s still a little girl, Jamie,” Claire assured him. “You haven’t missed everything.” She kneaded a hand through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “And, you know…I need you Jamie. I lived for twenty-seven years not knowing that you even existed. I spent a whole lifetime not knowing that I needed you. But we met, we married, we fell in love…and now I know that all those years were leading me to you. Because I needed you. I was, am, a grown woman that is in desperate need of someone.” Her hands trailed down the length of his face, cupping his chin. “I grew to love you, and quickly realized what I’d been missing. And so will Brianna. Yes, it’s true. She could have grown up and thrived without…without a father. She was surrounded by love, always, I had all the help raising her that I ever could have asked for. But now that you’re here, her life will be all the richer for it.”

Claire gently kissed him, and he gratefully kissed her back. She nuzzled her nose into his, her warm breath tickling his lip.

“Are…are ye sure?”

“What?” She pulled away a little so she could look into his eyes again.

“Are ye sure that I can…can make her life richer?”

“Of course, Jamie. What do you mean?”

“I’m a broken man, Claire,” he said despondently. Claire’s brow furrowed in concern. “Prison was…dehumanizing.” Her eyes misted again. “I dinna ken if I…if I have it in me to make the bairns laugh…to make my own child smile.”

“You do, Jamie,” Claire insisted. “You’ve survived so much, and you are still the man I fell in love with. I know it might not feel that way to you, but you’re still…you. To me.”

“And to Brianna?”

“She will love whoever you are, because you love her. Prison can take away a lot of things, but it did not destroy your ability to love. I know that, and your daughter knows that.”

“I just…I canna fail her, Claire.”

“You won’t.” Claire kissed his jawline. “And besides, all you’re doing today is holding the reins of her horse and guiding her around the corral. You can manage that can’t you?”

“Aye, I can.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“One step at a time, Jamie. You’ve met her, you’ve held her for the first time. Now she just wants to ride her horse with you. Just listen when she talks, smile at her, tell her she’s doing a good job.”

“I…I can do that.”

“She is only eight, after all. Easy to please, and eager to please, at that.”

He nodded. “What if she…asks me questions I canna answer?”

“She knows not to ask about the war or the prison. I’ve talked to her about that.”

“Aye but…what about…anything else?”

Claire chuckled. “Like you said, you’ve conversed with plenty of children. I think you’ll be able to come up with an answer about how a horse gets its color. Or something along those lines.” He finally genuinely smiled, chuckling softly. “And besides, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Will ye?”

“Of course. I hardly ever take my eyes off of her, God forbid I miss a seizure. Fergus knows what to do, just in case I’m not around for whatever reason, but I’d really rather be there. Especially when she’s on a horse, so far off the ground. If she falls I have to check for head trauma, and I know Fergus would catch her of course but…just in case.” Jamie’s panic was growing the more she talked, and she didn’t realize until she stopped rambling. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you about all that.” Claire nuzzled his nose again. “It isn't as serious as I’m making it sound. I’m just…a worrier. You know.”

“Aye,” he said uneasily.

“I do of course enjoy watching her ride and play aside from just hovering and worrying.” She smiled weakly. “The epilepsy gives me an excuse to watch her all the time, I suppose. Two birds one stone.”

He smiled again. Then sobered, leaning back to properly look at her. “Ye say that Fergus knows what to do if there is a…a seizure.”

“Yes.”

“And Jenny, and Ian, they know?”

Claire nodded. “Ian isn’t around to help as much as Jenny, but he has helped enough to know what to look for, what to do.”

“Can ye…can ye teach me?” His brow was knitted together, yet his eyes were wide. “How to…to help our daughter?”

“Right now?”

“Aye.” He nodded solemnly. “I want to know before I spend time wi’ her. I dinna want to fail her before we even begin.”

“Alright.” Claire nodded. “Come here.”

She took his hands and led him off the bed, bringing him to the open space on the floor. She retrieved a blanket from the armoire, then knelt in the center of the room, gently pulling him down with her.

“Alright. So. You remember what I said about her eyes, and her arm? And the shaking?” He nodded. “Good. Now, she’s old enough now to know when one is coming on, so we always sit her on the floor until it starts. We also put a blanket down for her to lay on, because she always vomits at the end.” Jamie didn't say anything, but she could practically hear him saying Christ, in that way she’d grown accustomed to hearing.

“Always loosen her collar and untie any bonnets she might be wearing before it starts. Her neck needs to be free so she doesn’t choke.” He exhaled heavily, and she swore she actually heard the Christ that time.

“She goes stiff, her arm goes into that position, and she falls flat on the floor.” Claire demonstrated slowly, laying down. “Her head must be protected, which is what the blanket is for. Come here.” She handed him the blanket. “She needs to be on her side so she doesn’t choke on her saliva or her vomit.” Claire turned on her side. “Like this. Now take the blanket and surround my head with it without restraining me. She cannot be restrained.”

“Aye…dinna restrain her.” Jamie bit his lip in concentration as he arranged the blanket around her head. “How is that?”

“That’s good,” Claire assured. “Now, I’m holding myself up because I’m conscious, but she’ll have no control over her body. So you’ll have to keep your hand on her back so she stays on her side. It is critical that she stays on her side.”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded, moving his hand to the small of her back. “Here?”

Claire let herself go limp to demonstrate the reality, and he immediately readjusted, a bit higher, actually keeping her propped up.

“There,” Claire said. “Good. Keep your hand there, but don’t touch her anywhere else — ”

“Dinna restrain her,” Jame finished for her.

“Good.” Claire sat up to look at him. “When she’s under, it’s unclear whether or not she’s aware of what’s happening around her, whether or not she can hear anything. And then after she doesn’t remember. But just in case, I always talk to her, comfort her. I think it helps.” He nodded. “Which is another thing, you have to be calm. You have to keep her calm. Any distress could make it worse. It took a while to get used to, of course, but these seizures are normal now. She’s had them her whole life, she knows what to expect. They are normal, for her at least. But it is still scary for her, and as long as you’re calm and ready, she will be too.”

He nodded.

“Afterwards, once she stops seizing and after she vomits, you can move her. I always hold her and remind her that she’s safe. She’s very lethargic afterwards. She doesn’t talk, she can’t stand or move very much. But that’s normal. We give her chamomile tea afterwards to calm her muscles. When she was a baby I used to shovel droplets of it into her little mouth with my finger while she was seizing. I still don’t know if it made any difference. But the herb does relax muscles, so it makes her feel calmer after she’s had a seizure. She’s out of it for a few days after. I have to monitor her pulse and her breathing afterwards to make sure there wasn’t any internal damage done. But she’s always been just fine, just very sleepy for two or three days. Depending on how long it was.”

“How long are they usually?”

“Typically between thirty and fifty seconds. Her worst one was a minute and a half when she was a baby, the next worst one was around seventy seconds.”

“Christ, all that fuss for thirty seconds…” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I know, it’s hard to believe, but those thirty seconds can be incredibly dangerous if not handled properly.”

“Aye. I ken.”

Claire took his hand sympathetically. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I promise it’s not as much of an ordeal as it sounds. You just have to be prepared. Do you have any questions?”

He cleared his throat and wet his lips. “How, ah…tell me again…how many ways were there…for her to choke?”

“Jamie…” She stroked his cheek. “She won’t choke. That only happens to people that aren't cared for properly. As long as there isn’t anything tied around her neck and she’s on her side, she will not choke.”

He nodded, his jaw hard.

“I’ll be there when it happens to guide you. Or you can just watch. You don’t have to help until you feel ready.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll help.”

Claire smiled warmly and kissed him briefly. “Good.”

“When is…the last time it happened?”

“February was the last one, so it’s been about a month and a half,” Claire said confidently. She kept very close track. “She typically has one every couple of months, anywhere between four to eight times a year.”

“Christ…”

“It could be a lot worse, Jamie,” she assured him. “She is a very healthy little girl aside from all this. And right now,” she caressed his chin. “She is waiting for her Da to accompany her to the corral.”

He smiled again. “Aye…she is.”

“Your little girl, Jamie.”

“Aye…” His eyes misted over. “My wean…our wean.”

She kissed him gently, sweetly, reverently. “Ours.”

----

Hello all! In case you didn't notice, I've given this chapter a hard stopping chapter; the final chapter will be 45, so one more after this! BUT, dinna fash, I've always had in mind that this story would go all the way into Brianna's adulthood, and it will -- just in a sequel! I decided that I want to leave this story as is, keeping it mainly about Claire's grief and bond with Jenny and finding her place at Lallybroch, and then explore all the ideas and pre-written new plots I have in a separate story! So yeah! This isn't the end of the APTB babies, it's really only just beginning! So stay tuned for one more chapter, and then stay tuned for the sequel -- already in the works, to be posted in 2021! So much love to y'all!<3

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desperationandgin · 4 years

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The Dreams We're Holding (Market Price)

Rating: G

Also Read On: AO3

Read all of Market Price in Order

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Summary: Jamie gives Claire a present for the baby, a conversation ensues.

A/N: Thank you so much to my beta crew. The true MVPs. And MANY thanks to Danielle for the nugget of an idea that blossomed into what you’re about to read! Now with a moodboard by the incredible @veryfaintveryhuman. Thank you SO MUCH!!!

“Now can you feel anything?”

For days, Claire has been able to catch flutters of life in her womb, and when she thinks it might be strong enough for Jamie to feel - and if he’s in the same room - there are mad grabs for his hands, trying to guide him toward the movement. It never happens in time, though, and she’s starting to feel a little guilty each time his eyes light up.

There’s hope now, with his hand resting flat on the spot where she planted him, but as soon as he grins, it fades. “I cannae be sure...I thought, mebbe…” If there was a kick, it was too fleeting, and he doesn’t feel anything else.

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she sighs, reaching out to let her thumb lightly graze the dashed scar on his cheek. “Maybe I should stop saying anything.”

“No, I dinna want to miss it,” Jamie counters stubbornly, though he does lean down to speak against her delicately-rounded belly. “Ye could make yerself known to me any day, a leannan,” he murmurs, then looks up at Claire, eyeing her also-round (and larger) breasts. “I suppose I can just appreciate the visible evidence for now.”

“Don’t be filthy in front of the baby,” she admonishes, lightly smacking his shoulder.

“Sassenach, if the baby can hear us, then I dinna want to think about what filthy things it’s heard already.”

Their peals of laughter drown out the television, but he reaches for the remote and turns it off anyway before standing.

“Speakin’ of the bairn, I have somethin’ for ye. For both of ye,” he amends as he hesitates for a moment, then simply disappears down the hall to their bedroom.

Curious, Claire shifts so that she’s sitting upright on the couch, quietly pleading with the already-stubborn life inside of her to throw Jamie a bone. When he reappears, he’s carrying a small, darkly-stained wooden box with a fleur-de-lis pattern carved into the top.

“Jamie, that’s beautiful.” As soon as she says it, her forehead creases in confusion. “Have I seen it before?”

He smiles and sits beside her, holding out his gift. “Aye. It sat in the study at Lallybroch, tucked away on a shelf. ‘T’was only waiting on me to fetch it.”

“Why now?” she asks, taking it from him and running her fingers along the smooth wood.

“Ye’ll see,” he encourages, eyes on her face as she lifts the lid.

Inside is the christening gown his grandfather wore, then his own father, then Willie, Jenny, and finally Jamie himself. He watches as Claire picks up the soft white garment, heart giving a tight pull at how reverently she handles it before he’s even told her the importance of the gown. She simply knows, and he explains quietly, eyes never leaving her face.

Pressing her lips together, she tries to find her words and battle the urge to cry at the same time. She’s touched and means to say so, but instead, her voice cracks when she speaks.

“I don’t have anything like this to give to our baby.”

Frowning in confusion and concern, Jamie moves the box so that it’s out of the way and he can take her hands. “What do ye mean? Ye’re giving our bairn life, that’s no’ small thing, mo chridhe.”

“I only mean...I don’t have family heirlooms, or stories to pass on,” she manages to say even as her voice wavers. “No one from my family left anything behind.”

His heart feels as though it might break into pieces at her words, and he gathers her up right there on the couch, pulling her to his chest and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“We’re building our family, a nighean. This gown is ours now. Our bairn’s. And one day, one of the children will have this for their own. Ye’ll give it to them,” he decides, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “And ye’ll give our eldest daughter the pearls ye wore on our wedding day.” Jamie’s lips press to the side of her neck now, a comforting gesture to infuse peacefulness back into his wife. “Ye have all the love in yer heart to give. That’s no small thing, Claire,” he finishes softly.

Her arms are looped around him, mindful of her belly, and she closes her eyes, letting her thoughts drift and coalesce. Previous worry soothed, she offers him a new one.

“Both of my parents died when I was so young...I-I can’t remember them. My uncle loved me, dearly, but it was so unconventional, Jamie. What if I don’t know what to do?”

It boggles him, that the same woman he’s watched spend entire weekends playing with his nieces and nephews, taking care of them, doting on them, is now worried she doesn’t know how to be a mother. One hand moves to her belly, still able to cup a large span of it.

“I suspect there will be a fair amount we dinna ken, Sassenach. But we’ve learned quite a bit from Jenny over the years, aye?”

Claire nods, but she still looks doubtful. “It’s different when I’m only ‘Auntie Claire’ for as long as we’re at Lallybroch, or they’re here. I don’t have to worry if I’ve done something that will shape who they become as an adult.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Jamie chuckles, then reaches out to stroke her cheek softly with the pad of his thumb.

“Ye ken what I think?”

“No, but I need you to tell me,” she confesses quietly. They rearrange themselves first, so that he’s sitting at one end of the couch and her head is on his lap with her legs stretched out. One of his hands rests protectively (possessively) on her stomach, and her fingers drag lightly up and down his forearm.

“I think bein’ a parent is terrifying. I didna ken what to do for yer morning sickness when ye couldna keep anythin’ down. I was worrit out of my mind, but ye taught me how to make the ginger tea. From then on, I always had it ready for ye. And I didna ken how to change a nappy ‘til Jen showed me how.” His free hand rests on top of her head, gently massaging.

“What we dinna ken, we’ll learn together,” he promises her. “And ye have a sister-in-law who will be more than happy tae tell ye what to do,” he adds with a fond roll of his eyes.

That pulls a laugh from her, and Claire reaches up to cradle the side of his face, her thumb sweeping across his bottom lip. “Together, Jamie,” she repeats. Tugging him down to meet her, she nuzzles against the side of his nose. “I love you.”

Jamie’s mouth drifts down to meet hers, kissing her thoroughly before dropping softer, gentler kisses against her cheek. “I love ye, Sassenach.” His hand rests lightly over her breast and drifts until he can feel the beating of her heart. “I’ve been watching yer body change as ye grow our bairn. Ye give yerself to our child every day,” he murmurs.

“Giving life isn’t the same as knowing how to sustain it. Nurture it.” She knows, somewhere in the back of her hormone-addled mind that she isn’t lacking in warmth, but the words make it out anyway.

Jamie’s look of admonishment confirms it. “Ye’re the most nurturing person I know.”

Tugging at his hand, she kisses his knuckles in silent gratitude for his words. “But what did my mother do when I fell down? Did she sing silly songs when I was upset? Did she soothe me at night by rocking me or…” She isn’t sure what the other options are, and she trails off, looking at her husband helplessly.

Moving his hand from her chest to the side of her face, Jamie lets the back of his fingers glide across her skin. “In the moment, ye’ll ken what to do, or we’ll work it out, the two of us. Aye?”

Claire closes her eyes, pressing her cheek into his hand. “Aye,” she agrees with a small smile. He’s never failed to find the right thing to say, and every now and then, she wonders how he does it. “Thank you, Jamie.”

He hums, helping her sit up. “I’m only speaking true.”

“And you gave me a wonderful gift,” she adds, holding onto his hand as he stands and helps her once more. “Something for all of our children.”

“First present for our bairn.” He pulls her close to kiss her forehead, smiling when he feels her hands rest against his lower back.

“It’s only fitting that it’s come from you.” With a tender kiss to his neck, they hold one another in the living room until he simply lifts her off her feet, carrying her to their room. It makes her laugh, and she rests her head against his shoulder. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Aye, but why bother when ye have me?”

She laughs again as he places her gently on the bed, then sighs contentedly as he joins her, curling up in his new sleeping position - head by her belly, as if in his sleep he’ll be the first to know if anything’s amiss.

She enjoys it; the first time he slept there it broke her heart wide open, and she’d somehow loved him more than she had the moment before. Now, her fingers reach down to tug at his curls affectionately.

“You spoil me, you know,” Claire hums, closing her eyes.

“‘Tis my job,” Jamie replies seriously, though he kisses her stomach as he does. “I’ll always take care of ye.”

Their eyes meet, and she smiles warmly at him. “I’ve never doubted it.”

Before he can say anything else, Jamie glances at her stomach sharply - she felt it too, an insistent little kick. Both of them pause, his hand not moving from that spot as they wait. The five seconds between moments feel like hours before finally, there’s another movement, like something rolling under her skin, and Jamie’s eyes widen in awe.

“There’s our bairn,” he breathes out, eyes focused on the spot his hand is covering, even as his head drops to press kisses all around the immediate area. “A leannan, can ye hear me?” he murmurs. “‘Tis yer da.” When another kick comes, he laughs and looks up at his wife in sheer joy. “What a braw little wean.”

The tears that were threatening retreat as Claire laughs in delight, covering his hand with her own. “Now that you’ve felt movement, what do you think, Da?”

He smiles, pressing the curve of his lips to her stomach for a moment before responding. “I think ye’ve given me the best gift ye ever could, Sassenach. I’ve wanted to be a father for most of my adult life. Feeling our bairn inside of ye, Claire…”

It makes it real, makes everything he’s working for hold more weight

“Ye gave me a purpose when ye found me, a nighean. A reason to work harder. And now…” He’s just as emotional as she is this time, a tear dropping to the apple of her cheek. “Ye gave my life meaning, aye? Everything I am is for you.”

She doesn’t know what to say, a lump in her throat making it impossible anyway. They breathe one another in, both on their sides and holding onto one another. After a soft brush of her lips across his cheek, she guides his hand to her chest, over her heart.

“Come love me, Jamie,” she whispers quietly, sighing as he cups her breast and rises just enough to envelop her against his body.

When they’re still together in the quiet after, he returns to his new sleeping position and traces his fingers lightly over her skin.

“Sleep now, mo nighean donn. Dream of our bairn.”

By the time he says it, she’s already half-way there.

#outlander #jamie x claire #outlander fic #market price #my fic

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Now or Never Now

A/N Really more of a PSA: drunkenness and unrequited (or unacknowledged) feelings for your roommate aren’t the best of bed fellows.

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

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

May 1, 2018, The Pride of Spitalfields, London, England

If he were forced to account for his twenty-eight years of life, he reckoned he’d made a decent start of things. It helped to have been born into a loving, boisterous family, cradled in the bucolic nursery garden of the Scottish Highlands. A good education, good values, a strong sense of duty: these he owed to his parents.

Since moving to London at twenty-two, he’d begun to weave the advantages of youth into the intentions of adulthood, with varied results. Failed relationships, the struggles of establishing a career in his uncle’s shadow and the cataclysm of his accident were setbacks, to be sure, but they forged his character in the blast furnace of adversity. He enjoyed the comradeship of a tight-knit group of colleagues and friends. Only three months ago, he’d been promoted to Crew Manager at the Bethnal Green station, and he had his eye on a Station Officer post before he turned thirty-five, his ambition to finally break free of Dougal’s influence. And Claire. He couldn’t count his blessings without numbering his Sassenach among them.

He performed this annual stock-taking as he walked to his local pub. It was his birthday, and he was meeting some friends for a celebratory drink. To absolutely no-one’s surprise except her own, Claire had finished her first year of medical school at the top of her class, and he’d convinced her to join them.

The air was warm and sweet with blossoms as he entered the pub to a rowdy cheer. His mates had secured two tables near the tiny stage where a three-piece band were setting up. The party was well underway, and a pint of lager was thrust into his hand before he’d even taken his seat.

He thought he’d been rather surreptitious in checking the door each time it opened, but Hamish slapped him hard on the back and commented in a voice the whole table could hear.

“Yer Sassenach missus willna get here any faster wi’ yer eyes glued tae the door, lad. Christ, has she got ye whipped!”

He felt the tips of his ears grow warm as the rest of the table laughed and joined in on the good-natured ribbing. When he looked back up, Claire was standing there shedding her coat. He momentarily forgot to breathe. She was wearing black tights and the jean mini-skirt from their first meeting in this very pub, along with a sleeveless, cropped, ruffled confection that he’d definitely never seen before. She was, quite simply, stunning. The momentary lull from the rest of the table told him he wasn’t the only one who thought so. He stood and hastened to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Jamie!” she cried. “Happy birthday!” Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned in to return his kiss, barely missing his lips. He could smell whisky on her breath.

“Did ye get a headstart on yer celebratin’, Sassenach?” he asked, both amused and confounded. Claire hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and it wasn’t like her to drink alone at their flat.

“Aye, I have,” she giggled. “I had a partner in crime. Look who’s here!”

Claire gestured towards the coat check, where a familiar redhead was flirting with the attendant. His wame plummeted towards his shoes.

“Geillis,” he greeted as she approached. “Welcome back tae London. I didna realize ye were visiting.”

“Aye, we just arrived yesterday. Happy birthday, fox cub. Ye look well,” she commented with a smirk.

“As do ye,” he replied politely, glancing quickly at Claire to gauge her reaction, but she was observing the band, who had just begun to play.

“Och, mince,” Geillis replied. “My arse needed its own baggage allowance, but at least my tits are huge. Ferget about the bairns, I hadta pry Juan Carlos off ‘em so I could join in yer wee festivities!”

It was comforting to see motherhood hadn’t dampened Geillis’ spirit in the slightest.

“I see the lads are all here,” Claire segued quickly. “What are we drinking?”

Jamie slid his chair over to make room for the two newcomers. Before she’d even sat down, Geillis bought a round of shots for the table, to the general delight of his mates. It was going to be an interesting night.

***

“Com’ dance wit’ me!” Claire yelled in his ear louder than was absolutely necessary. Several hours had passed, and he’d lost track of the number of pints and shots she’d consumed. Realizing one of them would need to stay relatively sober, he’d been nursing the same ale for the past hour.

“Claire, I really dinna dance o’ermuch,” he stalled as she dragged him towards the small area between tables where a few other couples were rocking together to a slow ballad.

“Neveryouworry, lad. I’ll lead.” Of course you will, he thought fondly.

Instead of leading, Claire literally fell against his chest, allowing his bulk to catch her. Chilly hands met behind his neck and began teasing his curls where they lay against his nape. He couldn’t’ help it. He shuddered. Drunk, he reminded himself. She is drunk, she is yer roommate, and she trusts ye.

“Are y’ havin’ a good birthday, Jamie?” she murmured into his clavicle, where her forehead was resting. He couldn’t help smiling. He’d once compared her to a lioness, but right now she was doing a fair impression of a dozy kitten, allowing him to sway their bodies side-to-side in complete contradiction to the music’s rhythm.

“Aye. Aye, I am. And ye, Sassenach? Did I mention how proud I am of ye fer acing yer exams?”

The moist air of her chuckle seeped through his shirt. “Only a dozen times. Thanks for keepin’ me fed and caffeinated whilst I studied. I couldinit have done it wi’out you.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach. We make a braw team.”

He said it offhandedly, but Claire stilled in his arms, leaning back to peer up into his face. There was something there, behind her slightly glazed eyes, that he’d given up hope of ever seeing.

“We do, don’t we?” she whispered, gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips, before skittering away. The humid air of the pub seemed to press in on him from all sides, making it difficult to draw a solid breath. A warning bell began to peel somewhere in his mind, alerting him to the fact he was in very grave danger of making an ass of himself.

She’s no’ yours, lad, he coached himself. No’ unless she wills it, and she canna know her own mind when she’s hammered. He tried to divert the conversation to safer territory.

“Tis good tae see Geillis again. Ye must have missed her somethin’ fierce.”

“Mmmm,” Claire hummed noncommittally. One of the hands that had been resting behind his neck began to thread through his hair, fingernails scraping lines of pleasure into his scalp. Christ, that wasn’t helping his cause at all.

“Claire...” he entreated into the scant space between them. Her long legs had somehow become entangled with his own. She was practically riding his thigh. Another few inches, and she was going to come into contact with the only part of him that was enthusiastic about dancing with a beautiful lass.

“I think iz time y’ take me home, James Fraser,” the limpet formerly known as his roommate purred in his ear. Thank Christ. Another few minutes of that sultry upright writhing, and he might have taken her right there on the beer-stained table in front of the darts board.

Navigating Claire’s increasingly pliant body towards the door and the salvation of the cool night air, Jamie ran directly into the diminutive roadblock of her best friend. Pulling him aside, she grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged his head down to her level.

“I ken she’s yer roommate and ye look at her as though she’s the sun after a thousand days o’ rain, but she’s my best friend an’ I love her. She’s scared, but she trusts ye. Dinna fuck it up.”

Without awaiting a reply, Geillis spun around and returned to their table. When he turned towards Claire, she was giving him a peculiar look. He shrugged it off as nothing more than inebriation, and started the short three-legged stumble back to their flat.

“Ye know, Sassenach, this is twa times I’ve had tae practically carry ye home from tha’ pub. Ye’re a verra predictable drunk.” They were navigating Brick Lane with a heavy list to starboard, where Claire leaned heavily into his side.

“First of all, milad, I am. Not. Drunk. You canned be drunk if y’ can shtill walk upright. Thas your rule, may I remind you.” Mid-lecture, the heel of her boot caught between two cobbles. She would have gone down in a heap were he not already bearing most of her weight. “Ooops!”

“An’ second of all,” she continued undaunted, “when didyu carry me again? Since? Fuck! Before?”

He chuckled. If nothing else, Claire was a very amusing drunk.

“Twas the first night we met, actually. Ye were shipping out tae Afghanistan the verra next day.”

They’d reached their front door. He was fumbling for his keys when he noticed Claire had gone remarkably silent. Even in the yellow glow of the hallway, her face was incredibly pale.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach? Are ye gonna be sick?”

What came out of her mouth next was even worse.

“You fucked Geillis. That night. In our shower.”

Golden eyes interrogated him, tearing away any hope of evasion. Gone was the cuddly kitten, and the lioness was on the hunt for blood. Christ, he was going to kill Geillis for sharing intimate details of their one-night stand. Assuming he lived to see tomorrow.

She trusts ye. Dinna fuck it up.

His father had an aphorism he was fond of repeating. Being an adult has little to do with your actions, he would say, and everything to do with living with the consequences of those actions. Any callow lad could stick his cock in a lass, but it took a man to live up to his responsibilities thereafter.

“Aye. I did. Twasn’t planned, nor somethin’ I’m particularly proud of, but thas’ the truth of it. It didna mean anything, Sassenach. Twas jus’ sex.”

They were inside the flat now. He was mentally trying to evaluate whether it was safe for Claire to shower, or if he should simply tuck her into bed with a basin and some Gatorade. She wasn’t moving, though. She stood in the streetlight that illuminated their living space, a disheveled, beautiful mess.

“It’s my turn.” She sounded sober, all of a sudden. He poured a tall glass of cold water from the sink for her, regardless.

“Yer turn fer what, Sassenach?”

“My turn for you to fuck me.”

There was a hollow thunk and the cool splash of water against the cuffs of his trousers as the glass he had been holding hit the floor. His chest felt like he was trying to suck cake batter through a straw. To make matters worse, while he was in the kitchen she had shed her top and was standing in a sheer black bra, the peaks of her nipples cast in silvered shadow.

“Claire...” he breathed out.

She approached slowly, extending a hand to lay over his sprinting heart.

“Don’t you want me?” Asked by any other woman, the question would be coy, but he heard the truth behind her query. She really didn’t know. Either he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for, or she was still seeing him through the filter of her past mistreatment.

“So much tha’ it hurts tae breath, lass. But ye dinna want this, Claire. No’ now.” His body was already protesting his declaration, a pulsing ache centered in his balls, but rooted in his heart.

“It’s now or never now, Jamie. This is all that I have to give. Isn’t it enough?”

She took his hand and placed it over the scalloped seam of her breasts. Without volition, his fingers curled, testing the pliant firmness beneath them. His muscles ached from holding himself in check.

“Tis far more than I deserve, Sassenach. But the answer is no.” He pulled his hand away, his fingertips still tingling from the velvet of her skin. “Ye should get some sleep.”

Her glass face showed every emotion, each more painful to witness than the last: hurt, anger, embarrassment, spite, and finally betrayal. Mumbling a hasty goodnight, she practically ran to her own room. He could hear her there now, sobs muffled by the wall he placed between them.

Dinna fuck it up.

He cradled his throbbing head in his hands. How could doing the right thing turn out so horribly, spectacularly wrong?

***

May 21, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

It has been twenty days since Claire’s drunken proposition, and they’d barely spoken a word to each other in that time. As much as he was prepared for awkwardness to descend upon their once-easy relationship, he was shocked by how much her avoidance pained him. Couldn’t she see that he’d acted out of affection, and as her friend, ignoring the very great temptation she’d lain at his feet?

His first strategy had been to give her space. He snatched at any excuse to be out of the flat: long runs, a pint after work with the lads, and even a long weekend with his family at Lallybroch. Each day his phone was a constant weight in his hand, waiting for the moment she would text him about something bizarre she’d read, or call to ask where he’d hidden the olive oil. She never rang.

Next he tried haunting their flat, planning to bump into her and force that first, clumsy conversation. He was certain that once they got past that hurdle, they could begin to rebuild their rapport. Almost certain. Desperately certain. She didn’t come home, working double shifts at the hospital and timing her visits for a shower, nap and change of clothes to coincide with his work shifts. One night he fell asleep on the couch listening for the sound of her key in the door. He woke the next morning covered in the plaid from his bed, but once again alone.

He sat in an outdoor cafe, watching London unfold under the warming sun like a rose, and considered what he knew about Claire that would help mend the breach. She was stubborn. The past twenty days were testimony of that. She was proud. She would sooner suffer than accept help. She held herself to incredibly high standards, and hated to fail at anything. She would have taken his rejection in the worst possible light. She’d been badly hurt and deceived. Their relationship had been one cautious step after another across the tightrope of trust strung between them. Fueled by drunken emotion, she’d leapt forward, and he had not been there to catch her.

He opened his phone and stared at her photo in his contacts. She’d been furious with him the day he snapped it. He’d dragged her to a park on her day off to play rugby, only to find out the match had been cancelled on account of the heavy rain. Heavy ringlets hung over a soaking jersey, and her glowing eyes promised swift revenge.

A dozen flowery or flippant texts were considered and abandoned before he opted for the simple and true.

I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, and I want to make it better. Please tell me how.

He pocketed his phone and crossed the road to the fire station for his evening shift. If she hadn’t answered by the morning, he’d try again, and keep trying until she finally responded.

Twelve hours later, dawn was just cracking the sky as he prepared to walk home. The station alarm rang out, but the day crew would take the call. Even now, they were throwing on their gear and firing up the engine.

“Corbet Place. Isn’t that your neighbourhood, Fraser?” the driver commented as he hastened past.

Ice water flushed into his veins. There were exactly two buildings on Corbet Place, and one of them contained a flat where a beautiful Sassenach was currently sleeping off a double shift. A beautiful Sassenach who could sleep through a fire alarm.

He hoisted himself into the cab of a departing engine.

“Hey lad, this isn’t a taxi!” one of old hands joked, but sobered when he saw Jamie’s face.

The streets were empty. They made the trip in record time that felt like an eternity to his racing heart. As they drew near, the reek of a burning structure filled the air. A half dozen other engines were parked haphazardly in the adjacent lot, their booms extending like insect antennae towards a cruelly familiar five-story brick building. Flames licked the corner of one of the lower levels, punctuated by the pop of shattering glass and the skeletal groan of old beams giving way.

Grabbing a spare coat, hat and respirator, he ran towards his building, ignoring every professional protocol and ounce of common sense he possessed. Claire was in their flat, and there wasn’t a power under the sun that would keep him from getting to her.

“Jamie!”

He spun towards her voice, thinking he might be hallucinating. But no, sitting on a picnic table, wrapped in his Fraser plaid, was his beautiful Sassenach. His knees turned to water and he sank to the bitumen at her feet.

“Claire...” he wheezed, adrenaline still coursing through his limbs.

“Were you on your...”

“How did ye...”

They both spoke, then lapsed back into stunned silence.

“Ye’re safe.” He said it as much to himself as to her. “Ye’re here. I thought.. when I heard the call... Christ, Sassenach. I’ve never been sae scared in my entire life. How did ye get out?”

“I got your text. I was dozing on the couch, waiting for you to come home so we could talk. The fire alarm woke me. There was already so much smoke. I used your plaid to cover my nose and mouth and ran down the fire escape. Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

Claire’s chin fell towards her chest, a lone tear streaking through the soot that marked her cheek. He ran a shaking hand through her unbound hair.

“Why are ye sorry, Sassenach?”

“All your things. Your memories. They were all in that flat.”

He tilted her up by the chin.

“Claire, look at me. There isn’t a feckin thing in tha’ flat that I care about that isna sitting in front of me right now. Jesus, woman, do ye no’ ken the thought of losing ye tears out my guts?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, peering into his very soul. For once, he did not think to hide behind a mask. Let her see how she utterly destroyed and remade him. All around them, the world faded to smoke.

“You... you love me?”

Nownownow.

“Aye. I do.”

#my writing #outlander

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mo-nighean-rouge · 4 years

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Gone - Epilogue

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference changes everything.

A/N: This is it, folks. Again, thanks to @ianmuyrray for betaing, and to all of you who have read along, or might just be starting now.

November 20, 1748 | Paris, France

“Seas, a bhailach,” Jamie whispered to the beast as he brushed its shining coat. He’d taken quickly to the horses in Mary Hawkins Randall’s stables, but the black sorrel pony had stolen his heart for its similarity in appearance and character to his own Donas.

The horse was still riled after his afternoon jaunt with Faith. The lass had more confidence than experience on horseback, and had led the horse into mischief with a puddle, even under her father’s close supervision.

Jamie had sent Murtagh upstairs to deliver a squirming and filthy Faith to Claire. In fact, it had been quite a while since, and he hoped the man was not dallying his time flirting with Suzette, who had recently come into the Randall estate’s employ.

Dubh, aptly named by Faith, huffed impatiently as Jamie recalled Grey’s promise to release Donas, Brimstone, Thistle, and Blanc within ten miles of Lallybroch.

A week after their arrival in Paris, Jenny had written of Ian’s surprise to open the front door one morn and find all four beasts grazing in the kailyard.

It warmed Jamie’s heart to imagine the sight, and made him long for home all the more.

He hadn’t long to wait, as their parole was nearly complete and they would soon see the shores of Scotland once again. Much as he was willing to sacrifice the sight to see to his family’s safety, he was looking forward to leaving the confines of the city.

Jamie figured it couldn’t come at a better time. While Mistress Randall had welcomed their company in the lonesome and overwhelming time she had found herself, she had recently made a good match. According to Claire’s account, Robert Isaacs made Mary very happy, and the engaged couple were looking forward to staffing their well-established estate.

So long as the bairn arrived safely within the next few weeks, the Fraser family would stay whole and make it back to their homeland. Jamie couldn’t wait to re-introduce his children to Lallybroch, and most of all, watch the years touch Claire…

Jamie’s thoughts were interrupted by the swift re-entry of Murtagh, balancing Faith on his shoulders. While the lass wore a fresh dress, her face had only been wiped quickly, still smudged with streaks of dirt.

Murtagh grinned. “Ye’re needed upstairs, a charaid. The bairn seems to be comin’ quick, and Claire’s asking fer ye.” He bounced Faith once, and she broke into giggles.

Jamie dropped the brush and let it clatter to the stable floor. He wasn’t sure he could keep his jaw from doing the same. “Ah dhia, she’s laboring now?”

“Aye lad, get tae it. Ye don’ want to miss the birth of your son.”

Jamie nodded, clapping his godfather on the shoulder. He felt his eyes mist over as he studied the man that has served his family since before he was born.

“Ye have the bairns? The others?” he asked, stammering, his mind rushing to catch up.

“O’ course, just fetch us when ye’re ready.”

“Thank you, a ghostidh… for everything.”

“Och,” Murtagh exclaimed. “Dinna get soft on me now. Go see yer lady.”

Jamie raced out of the barn, heart hammering. That she be safe, she and the bairn...

“Da!” Fergus called in the corridor, the lad balancing a stack of clean rags from the kitchen. Jamie stopped short to gasp for breath.

The lad had called him such by a slip of the tongue during their first weeks back in Paris – so used to hearing Faith use the precious word – then had immediately blushed scarlet.

Jamie had simply clasped his shoulder and returned with a simple “Aye, mon fils?” as he had called the boy for more than a year.

Fergus had cautiously tested the word ‘Mama’ out on Claire not long after, bringing her to tears as her heart soared.

“You heard about Mama?” Fergus exclaimed, rocking back on his heels in his excitement.

“Aye,” Jamie cracked a smile. “Gi’ those here, I’ll take them on my way. I’d like ye to bide in the barn with Murtagh.”

The lad’s face fell. “But if Mama needs me –”

“Dinna fash about yer mam. Faith needs ye.”

Fergus brightened. “You can count on me, Da.”

Jamie concentrated on the soft weave of the old towels in his hands as he mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to reach his wife. In his hurry, he tripped over the blonde porcelain doll that had been cast aside and forgotten earlier. He shuddered. Annalise had once gifted the toy to his daughter, and its resemblance to the woman herself was that bit frightening.

He burst through their bedroom door, nearly plowing over Mary, who was setting water to boil as if she were lady’s maid to Claire, rather than the other way around.

“Apologies, Mistress,” he murmured, grasping her elbows to keep her upright.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm. “You’re just in time.”

He was careful as he squeezed back, unsure of the strength of his grip, especially as his eyes landed on Claire with her face red and scrunched in pain, breathing rhythmically at the gentle direction of Mother Hildegard. Her eyes popped open to meet his, relief swelling in their whisky depths.

Jamie crossed the room in four steps, his hand finding Claire’s naturally as he knelt to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Good afternoon to ye, Mother.” Mary had housed the nun in one of her many guestrooms for the past week, well aware that Claire’s time was quickly approaching.

He brought Claire’s warm, sweaty hand to his lips as he kneeled behind her stool, content for her to use him in any way she wished. He’d missed the birth of their first child, and had since sworn she’d never go through the experience alone again.

Just then, Claire braced her back against Jamie as she wailed in pain. Her short fingernails scored Jamie’s palms as the contraction crested and she breathed out deeply.

“That’s a braw lass, a ghraidh,” Jamie whispered, placing a kiss on her shoulder and caressing the swell of her belly.

Several sharp contractions later, Mother Hildegard continued softly coaching at Claire’s knee. “Keep breathing, my child. I can almost see the head.”

“Jamie,” Claire croaked, short of breath. “If anything happens…” she whispered, just as the powerful force overtook her body once again and she screamed.

“I willna hear that talk, Claire,” he answered sternly, massaging her lower back.

“Push, Claire.” Mother Hildegard’s voice rose above the noise of the room.

Jamie felt Claire inhale deeply once more, then gather her strength from him for the task ahead.

________________________________________

Claire smiled through her tears, admiring the little one cradled in her arms. Mary had bathed the baby as Claire delivered the afterbirth, then passed their blessing swiftly to Jamie, who had admired the sight with flooded eyes until tiny lips had begun rooting around for sustenance.

Their newest child had latched on with impressive speed and skill, inspiring jokes about Jamie’s own appetite.

The man himself eased carefully to Claire’s side, placing a steady arm around her and pressing his face into her neck, just watching her sustain the new life.

Little brown eyes popped open as the meal ended, searching for something familiar in their new surroundings.

“Hello, baby boy,” she cooed. While the lad’s red fuzz stood out starkly from the moment he appeared, she was thrilled to find something of herself in him.

Jamie reached over her shoulder to brush the boy’s diminutive cheek with his broad thumb. “He’s a braw lad, Sassenach.” He kissed her hair. “Thank ye for our son.”

Claire grasped the hand he had left on her shoulder, swaying gently with the baby. “He’s just as much a gift from you to me. We’re so lucky to have him, all of them.”

A gentle knock sounded from the door, followed by Mary peering around the corner, her own wee Denys at her heels. “Ready for some introductions?” she asked softly.

Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Please, bring them in.”

“Mama!” Faith scrambled in, dragging Murtagh behind her. She approached the bedside slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bundle in Claire’s lap.

Jamie stood to give her a boost upward, settling their daughter between them easily. “What do ye think, a chuisle?”

“So bonny!” Faith whispered, reaching to grasp Claire’s free hand. “Ye did it all by yerself, Mama?”

Jamie chuckled. “She did, lass. Wasn’t that canny of your mam?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Da cheered me on.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “I’m glad you like him, Lovey.”

Murtagh slapped Jamie’s shoulder before leaning over to pat Claire’s. “A wee lad, then?”

“Mmmph,” Jamie replied, grinning widely.

Fergus appeared in the open doorway. “Look who is up from her nap!” Holding tight to his hand was a toddler with red hair already trailing halfway down her back, rubbing her eye with her free hand.

She perked up at the sight of her parents, dashing to the bedside and slamming into Murtagh’s knees. He scooped her up swiftly, depositing her on the mattress knees first. She scrambled closer to Claire’s knee, looming over little brother.

“It’s the bairn?!” she squealed, bouncing in place.

“Gentle, Bree.” Faith scolded. “He’s still wee, see?”

“Sae wee,” Brianna whispered reverently.

Jamie chuckled. “You were this size once too, a nighean ruaidh.”

“And you were even smaller,” Claire added, tickling Faith’s chin.

The girls exchanged dubious looks.

“Nah.”

“Canna be!”

Fergus stopped next to Claire. “How do you feel, Mama?”

Claire’s heart warmed for the son of her heart. He’d offered to wait on her hand and foot these last few weeks, to the point that she’d laughed and told him to take a rest for himself.

Claire leaned her head against him as his arms folded carefully around her neck. “Just fine, my love. Would you like to hold him?”

Fergus nodded, his eyes wide.

Claire eased the baby into his arms, reminding him to be gentle of his head and neck. She welcomed Bree into her arms not a moment later, smoothing hair out of her blue eyes.

Murtagh cleared his throat, ineffectively covering his emotions. “So who do we have here?

Claire met Jamie’s twinkling eye, nodding her approval.

“This is Robert Franklin Murtagh William Fraser.” He swallowed deeply. “Our second son.”

Murtagh’s bushy eyebrow had creased at the second of the boy’s names, but he stood visibly straighter at the third. “’Tis a fine name.”

“That’s so many,” Bree stage-whispered, to the amusement of everyone else.

Faith rolled her eyes dramatically. “No more than you, Brianna Ellen Claire Jan-dit Fraser,” she taunted.

“Alright,” Claire sighed. “The lot of you all have as many names as the others. It’s certainly not a competition.”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s enough o’ that. Stop bouncing. We should let your mam get some rest.”

The children each kissed their mother’s cheek, then let their father herd them out the door as he cradled wee Rob to his chest.

Claire watched them file out the door one by one, each stopping for one more glimpse of her and the baby. She waved at them fondly, blowing kisses. Before Jamie could follow them into the corridor, she caught his hand.

“Stay?” she asked him.

“Aye.” A smile tickled his lips. “I willna go far.”

Claire patted the empty space next to her. “Here.”

He turned, then folded her into his side carefully.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching their son sleep until her own eyes drifted shut, a promise of their life together, and their family’s to come.

April 17, 1967 | Oxford, England

Professor Roger MacKenzie Wakefield shuffled through the ever-growing piles of paper crowding his office desk. Amid his lesson plans, papers still to grade, and disorganized files, he’d be surprised if he set off for home in time for supper.

Even still, his curiosity overwhelmed him as he broke the seal on an envelope of research left for him by his colleague. Ever since he was a boy, fascinated by the solemn disappearance of Claire Randall, he had pieced together clues about her whereabouts with the help of his beloved uncle. Her husband’s death last year had only energized his search. Perhaps if he could find answers at long last, it would bring meaning to the most discouraging period of Frank’s life.

More and more, the evidence had begun to point toward something not of this world, much as Mrs. Graham had insisted over the years. He retrieved the file that he had been accumulating for decades, thumbing through what he already knew. The marriage certificate for one James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp, the Deed of Sassine willing the Lallybroch Estate to a James Murray, and a curious pamphlet of medical advice attributed to a C.E.B.R. Fraser.

Roger dumped the new stack of documents on top of the current chaos. The top sheet caught his eye, heart skipping a beat as he read the photocopied print dated from the 1770s, with only the last digit smudged:

"It is with grief that the news is received of the deaths by fire of JAMES MACKENZIE FRASER and his wife, MISTRESS CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP FRASER, in a conflagaration that destroyed several crofts on the estate of Broch Tuarach. Their five children: FERGUS CLAUDEL, FAITH GLENNA, BRIANNA ELLEN, ROBERT FRANKLIN, AND JULIA ELIZABETH, also perished and now lay at rest with them."

Roger shook his head and blinked. Once. Twice. All the hope and warm imaginings he held for the kind woman that he was almost sure he remembered, all for them to be dashed with one headline bearing tragedy.

If there was something, anything, he could do for her and her family, he would in a heartbeat.

He stilled, skin tingling. Christ, but who was to say there wasn’t…

FIN

*Note: The obit is adapted from a screenshot of the news clipping from Outlander Season 4, all credit due.

#Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Faith Fraser #Brianna Fraser #Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Roger MacKenzie #Gone #Canon Divergence au #Outlander #Outlander fanfic #my fic

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scotianostra · 4 years

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And so we come to my last historical post of the day, the month, the year and the decade, and it's a meaty one, I really should have posted it in a few easily digestible segments but I left it too late in the day so here goes.....most of the post has been taken from John Gregorson Campbell’s The Gaelic Otherworld.

Hogmanay high jinks, it's all a matter of tradition in Scotland.

It has been said that Hogmanay is a Godless Christmas celebrated to excess – and Scots have long known how to celebrate the New Year with devotion.

With the old feast of Christmas generally discouraged by the Kirk following the Reformation, special focus was placed on New Year with the period running up to Hogmanay, and its aftermath, always celebrated as a holiday period in Scotland.

This period was known in Scotland as the ‘daft days’ – a time given over to celebration, merriment and excess, with licence given for enjoyment during the often bleak midwinter.

Now anyone who follows my post on here might remember the ‘daft days’ from previous posts, it is also the title of a poem by the Edinburgh Poet who inspired Burns, Robert Ferguson.

It covers the period in the year running from Christmas (25 December), through New Year, and into the first Monday of the year, known as Handsel Monday. After the Reformation of 1560, the old feast of Christmas was generally discouraged by the church, but the period running up to New Year’s Eve, and its aftermath, was always celebrated as a holiday period in Scotland. The first Monday of the year was called Handsel Monday because it was the custom on that day for Scots to exchange a handsel, or gift, as a good luck token. The word handsel derives from Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon and means to ‘give into the hand’.

It is still the primary period of national celebration in Scotland, with stage-managed events in Edinburgh on Hogmanay (‘New Year’s Eve’) – a word believed to derive from Old French ‘aguillanneuf’ (and in Northern French ‘hoguinane’) meaning a seasonal gift. Others suggest it was first used by the Celtic Druids and could be derived from terms of the celebration for the turning year used by the Icelandics, Saxons

In the daft Days Fergusson describes the darkening, bleak weather, the stillness of the wildlife, and the shelter that Edinburgh offers. In the city people can take their fill of food and drink while enjoying conversation, dance and music. But he warns the reader not to drink too much aqua vitae (whisky) or else fall prey to the notorious city guard, whom he also mentions in the poem Hallow Fair.

The Daft Days

Now mirk December’s dowie face

Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace,

While, thro’ his minimum of space,

The bleer-ey’d sun,

Wi blinkin light and stealing pace,

His race doth run.From naked groves nae birdie sings,

To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings,

The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings

From Borean cave,

And dwyning nature droops her wings,

Wi visage grave.Mankind but scanty pleasure glean

Frae snawy hill or barren plain,

Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train,

Wi frozen spear,

Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain,

And guides the weir.Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole,

A bield for many caldrife soul,

Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,

Baith warm and couth,

While round they gar the bicker roll

To weet their mouth.When merry Yule-day comes, I trou,

You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou;

Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou

O’ gusty gear,

And kickshaws, strangers to our view,

Sin fairn-year.Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw,

And fling your sorrows far awa;

Then come and gie’s the tither blaw

Of reaming ale,

Mair precious than the well of Spa,

Our hearts to heal.Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’,

Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel;

Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl

To spoil our glee,

As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel

We’ll drink and ‘gree.Fidlers, your pins in temper fix,

And roset weel your fiddle-sticks;

But banish vile Italian tricks

Frae out your quorum,

Not fortes wi pianos mix –

Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.For nought can cheer the heart sae weel

As can a canty Highland reel;

It even vivifies the heel

To skip and dance:

Lifeless is he wha canna feel

Its influence.Let mirth abound, let social cheer

Invest the dawning of the year;

Let blithesome innocence appear

To crown our joy;

Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer

Our bliss destroy.And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae!

Wha sways the empire of this city,

When fou we’re sometimes capernoity,

Be thou prepar’d

To hedge us frae that black banditti,

The City Guard.

In the 18th century, it was recorded that children out and about on 31 December in Scotland would shout out: “Hogmanay, Trollolay/Give us your white bread and none of your grey.”

The world ‘trollolay’ from the Scots song may also come from the Icelandic word trolldir which denotes a troll or evil genii who devoured mortals who strayed into their territory.

Fantastic records exist on how Hogmanay was celebrated in Scotland over time.

In the Highlands and Islands, the seven days from Christmas to the New Year were known as Nollaig.

During the “easy-going olden times” no work was done during the period but men gave themselves up “to friendly festivities and expressions of goodwill,” according to John Gregorson Campbell’s The Gaelic Otherworld.

Another wee rhyme that was used in "olden times was ......

Get up, goodwife, and shake your feathers,

And dinna think that we are beggars;

For we are bairns come out to play,

Get up and gie's our hogmanay!'

And another I would suggest was maybe recited by first footers, chapping on the doors of their friends and neighbours to wish them a happy new year.....

My feet's cauld, my shoon's thin;

Gie's my cakes, and let me rin!'

A common saying of the festive period was often shared: “The man whom Christmas does not make cheerful/Easter will leave sad and tearful.”

Hogmanay was referred to as either ‘night of the candle’ or ‘night of blows’ given the popularity of one ritual which involved a man having a dry cow hide placed over his head before being beaten like a drum as he and his friends moved around their village.

Usually led by a bagpiper, the group would move around each house, turning anti-clockwise, striking the walls and reciting rhymes to raise the householders. As doors opened, the group would pile into each home to receive refreshments, such as oatmeal bread, cheese, flesh and of course, a wee dram of whisky.

The leader would then give the man of the house the ‘caisein uchd’ or a shinty stick wrapped in the breast stripe of a sheep or tail of a deer. This was then singed in the fire, put three times anti-clockwise around the family and then held to the noses of all in the room, Campbell said.

“In this style, the villages, men and boys, went from house to house – preceded in many cases by a piper, and drowning the animosities of the past year in hilarity and merriment,” according to Campbell.

Fancy dress and guising was a popular element of Hogmanay in Scotland through time. The rich would dress for fun, while the poor would dress up to entertain and collect food for their last feast of the year.

Holly and cheese were other elements of a traditional Hogmanay. Holly was hung in the belief it would keep the fairies away with boys whipped with a branch of the greenery.

A slice of cheese cut at this feast was considered to have a “special virtue” if the piece contained a hole. A person losing his way during the ensuing year, in a mist of otherwise, has only to look through the hole and he will see his way clearly,” according to Campbell’s account.

Sometimes the owner of the lucky cheese would place it under their pillow for good luck.

Hogmanay night was sometimes referred to as New Year’s Night with the fire in the home playing a central part in the superstitions during the countdown to midnight. It was feared that letting the fire go out would invite bad luck into the home with only householders – or a friend – allowed to tend it. Candles were usually lit as back-up to ensure a flame remained in the house with 31 December often referred to as Candle Night as a result. If the fire went out, no one was allowed to ask a neighbour for kindling to start another.

New Year’s Day, like the first of every quarter of the year, was a great ‘saining’ day across the Highlands and Islands when rituals were at their most intense to protect cattle and houses from evil.

Juniper was burnt in the byre, animals were marked with tar, the houses were decked with mountain ash and the door-posts and walls and even the cattle were sprinkled with wine.

Campbell said: “Nothing was allowed to be put out of the house this day, neither the ashes of the fire nor the sweepings of the house, nor dirty water, nor anything else, however useless or however much in the way.

“It was a very serious matter to give fire out of the house to a neighbour whose hearth had become cold, as the doing so gave power to the evil-minded to take away the produce from the cattle.

The morning of 1 January started with a dram poured by the head of the household with a spoon of half-boiled sowens given for luck. A young man entering with a armful of corn was considered a joyful omen but a “decrepit old woman asking for kindling of her fire was a most deplorable omen,” Campbell’s account said.

It was unlucky for a woman to enter the house, or anyone to come in empty handed, with a form of the superstition evolving into Scotland’s tradition of ‘first footing’.

Of course no post about the Auld Year ending and new one beginning would be complete without mentioning Auld Lang Syne.

Every year, the streets ring with the same lilting song. Sweet, nostalgic, hopeful; “Auld Lang Syne" it has become an absolute tradition in New Year’s Eve celebrations.It is also the second most song, sung around the world, only Happy Birthday is sung more often.

Burns never intended his work to act as a farewell to the old year; it’s a piece which partially reproduces, partially originally pens an older folk tune.

He originally sent the piece to the Scots Musical Museum with a note: “The following song, an old song, of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript until I took it down from an old man.”

Don't shoot the man for it, the same was true of many of James Hogg and Walter Scott's tales of folklore and verse.

The phrase “for auld lang syne” essentially boils down to “for (the sake of) old times”. It’s a work which essentially calls for the preservation of our oldest, dearest friendships; perhaps observed in the reflective quality of New Year’s Eve itself. A time when people come together to recall past joys and sorrows, specifically those spent in each other’s company.Now, there are several variations of what’s sung on New Year’s Eve; first off, I have posted Burns’ original Scots verse if you want to keep things authentic. Below that, a simplified English translation.

BURNS’ ORIGINAL SCOTS VERSEShould auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?CHORUS:

For auld lang syne, my jo,

for auld lang syne,

we’lltak‘ a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!

and surely I’ll be mine!

And we’ll tak' a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.CHORUS

We twa hae run about the braes,

and pou’d the gowans fine;

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,

sin' auld lang syne.

CHORUSWe twa hae paidl’d in the burn,

frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar’d

sin' auld lang syne.

CHORUSAnd there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

and gie's a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll tak' a right gude-willie waught,

for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

ENGLISH TRANSLATION.Nah dinnae bother wae it, if ye cannae sing the Scottish version ye don't desrve tae ken the English yin. ;)

Happy New Year when it comes to all my followers here on Tumblr.

John Gregorson Campbell was a Scottish folklorist and Free Church minister at the Tiree and Coll parishes in Argyll, Scotland. An avid collector of traditional stories, in he became Secretary to the Ossianic Society of Glasgow University in the mid-1850s.

#Scotland #scottish #happy new year #hogmanay #traditions #aviation history

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renee-writer · 4 years

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Of Her Dreams Chapter 27 A Child Is Born

“How about James Lambert?” She is huge( in her eyes) and has felt their child move. An occasion that brought tears of joy to both parents eyes. It also prompted this discussion of the child's name.

“I dinna need the bairn named after me.” Said as he strokes her over where they had felt the baby move.

“So do you have an idea?” She replies relaxing under his gentle touch. He smiles and drops a kiss on her lips before bending down to kiss his child.

“Aye, I do. Brian Lambert Henry Fraser. To honor all his patriarchy, aye?”

“Oh Jamie! Perfect.” They don’t discuss female names. So sure it will be a lad.

She spends time sewing and knitting little gowns to cloth her child. Jenny, who had discovered her own coming child a few months ago, shows her how to fold and diaper with the cloth clods. Jamie builds a cradle and a rocking chair. Brian pulls out the Christening gown his children used, presenting it to her. She wept.

She and Jamie choice Murtagh and Geillis as Godparents. “I would have picked you, Uncle Lamb, if you were committed to staying.” He has only agreed to stay until the baby is born.

“I understand love. Murtagh has done a fine job in that role for Jamie. I am sure he will for my grand nephew or niece.” Lambert is having trouble reconciling the pregnant lady with the wee girl his niece was not long ago. He feels such bittersweet pride whenever he looks at her.

She is rocking in the rocking chair when the first pain hits. She stills waiting to see if it will come again. It does and she pulls herself up and goes to find Jamie. He is in the barn. “Jamie.” He looks up and knows.

“It is time?” she can only nod as the pain returns, running through her like a vise. He comes up and takes her hands. She clings to him until the pain releases her. He hurries her back to the house calling for his family. Jenny takes her leading her to her room, stripping her down to her shift. Ian is dispatched to fetch the midwife.

“Oh my lamb. Is there anything I can do?” Uncle Lamb frets as he watches the pain run through here.

“Got in morphine handy.” She grunts.

“Sorry. Fresh out.”

“Well hell.”

A few hours later, the midwife and Jenny lead her around the room as the men drink and pace below them. “Jenny, I can’t do this!” The pains are coming every three minutes, as strong as the tides that shape the shore and she is exhausted.

“Mo phiuthar, ye are. Ye are stronger then ye ken ye are. Every pain brings the bairn closer.” They make another round around the room.

“I want Jamie!” she cries out a half hour later. The pains are right on top of each other and she needs him.

“It isna done. A lad in the birthing room.” The midwife relies.

“I want my husband! Now!” She growls.

“I will go get him.”

“Mistress Murray, ye canna.”

“Mo phiuthar needs him. I can.” She tells her before hurrying out and downstairs.

The men are sitting around the fireplace, all but Jamie. He paces back and forth. He stops when he sees Jenny approach.

“Is he here?”

“Nae. Close. Claire has need of ye bráthair.” He doesn’t hesitate, taking the steps two at a time.

“Jenny, my niece, she is alright?”

“Aye Lambert, she is. I promise.” He sighs in relief as she runs back upstairs.

“Oh God! Oh hell! This bloody hurts!” She tells the room as Jamie supports her as she presses down in effort to bring the child into the world.

“Aye, but ye are almost done. I see the bairn's hair. Red like da's.” the midwife cheerfully says. Claire redoubles her efforts. A deep groan and breath and she starts pushing again. “Verra good.”

“Ye are the bravest lass I have ever known.” Jamie praises as she continues to push.

“Oh God! It burns!”

“The bairn’s head is emerging. It will stop in a moment.” Jenny wipes the sweat of her brow and whispers a continuous string of Gaelic. A prayer. Jamie holds tight to her hands as her helps her push off him. “There, the head is out. Just a bit more.” She presses down once more. The shoulders turn and slip out. “There ye go lass. Your nighean is here.”

“Daughter?” Jamie whispers.

“Aye, and a fine one she is.” She is lifted up to her parents.

“A daughter! We didn’t even..” she looks down at her through a film of tears. “Oh Jamie! She is so beautiful!”

“Aye, just like her mam.” His throat is filled. She has his hair, red and curled but her mam's whisky eyes. Her face, except for her cat like eyes, is all Claire.

The cord is cut after it stops throbbing, bringing the last of her mam's protective blood and a high dose of oxygen to her. The afterbirth is delivered and mam and daughter is cleaned up and placed on a clean bed.

The midwife helps her get the baby started nursing. She then leaves the little family alone. Jenny goes to tell the others.

“What shall we name her?” Claire asks Jamie. He is watching his daughter take her first meal with big wonder filled eyes.

“Oh my Sorcha, after all you went through to bring her birth, ypu may name her whatever you wish.

She strokes the incredible softness od her child's curls as she thinks. She then smiles. “Quinn Ellen Julia Fraser, after Uncle Lamb and her grandmas.”

“Quinn, for Quinton. I really love it. “Mo nighean, Quinn.” He softly says as he strokes her hand open. Her tight grip on his finger causes a wave of intense pride and love. “My braw lass.”

After she is feed, he goes to get his family. They file in and Jamie turns to Claire and the sleeping Quinn.

“My family, may I introduce, our daughter, Quinn Ellen Julia Fraser.” Claire says.

“After my Ellen.” An emotional Brian says.

“And your mum and me.” An equally emotional Lamb adds.

“Yes. To honor all her family. Come see her.” They do, each taking a turn holding her. Then all but Lamb leave the new mam to rest.

“To see your daughter, as beautiful as you were as a baby.” Lamb whispers as he looks at Jamie cradling his daughter. Claire watches with a love so deep she feels like exploding.

“I know. She is so beautiful. I can’t believe we made someone so lovely.”

“Your mum said something similar as she cradled you. She was just as awed.” The tears came then.

“Would she be proud of me?’”

“She would be over the moon proud of you Claire bear. She is looking down on you, both your mum's are, with extreme pride. Now rest love. I am sure you have earned it.”

“Oh she has.” Jamie replies.

Later as he watches his wife and daughter sleep, Jamie prays over them. “Mo Dhia, tapadh leibh airson mo bhean is mo pháiste. Cúm an sábhailte.”

The Gailec

My sister

Brother

Daughter

My daughter

My God, thank You for my wife and child. Keep them safe.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #of her dreams #a child is born

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

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Road To The Aisles

AO3

Thanks for all your likes and reblogs and comments. Hope you enjoy this next chapter. It’s time for William to meet the family.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve and @wickedgoodbooks

Chapter 3: A Poignant Assembly

And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

While Jamie went to pick William up for the first time, visibly bristling with excitement, Claire moved systematically from room to room, checking that no rogue dust had somehow manifested during the night.

She knew that Jamie was right. It didn’t matter to Brian, Murtagh, Jenny or Ian whether anything was out of place, but it was important to her. She wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted a perfect family, the kind of family life she had never had, for William and the children she and Jamie would have together.

Claire had just finished unloading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep were Brian and Murtagh. Brian greeted Claire with a warm embrace while Murtagh rushed past.

“Sorry, Claire, I canna wait. I’m burstin’ fer a piss. Been desperate since Glencoe. Yon man wouldna stop. Couldna wait tae get here.”

Brian followed Claire into the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

Brian nodded.

“You are actually quite early, you know. Jamie’s only just gone to fetch William.” Claire said as she put the kettle on and collected the coffee from the fridge.

“Aye, I ken. But I jes’ wanted tae see ye before all the commotion with the bairn and Jenny and her rabble. I wanted tae check how ye’re doing with all this.”

Claire stopped preparing the coffee and turned to face Brian.

“I’m fine… truly. I must admit, it is going to be strange at first, having William around for part of the week. But it’ll be strange for Jamie too. It’s one steep learning curve for both of us. It seems like we’ve been planning and talking about this for so long and now it’s here we’re a bit in shock.”

Brian laughed. “Ye and every other new parent. It’s nae different, ye ken.”

Claire added coffee into the cafetière and poured the boiling water over it. “And Jamie has William for a few day visits before he stays overnight. So, I guess Jamie’s being eased in gently, you might say.”

“Ye better make sure Jamie does all the tendin’ in the night. Dinna make it too easy fer him.” Murtagh joined them in the kitchen. “Christ, I feel better fer that. Brian made us leave Lallybroch afore six this morning, with no stops. He canna wait tae see his new grandson. And, I admit, I canna wait either. He looks a braw laddie from his photos.”

“Well, if it’s been such an early start this morning, do you two fancy some toast, or...how about a bacon sandwich?”

Brian and Murtagh looked at each other. Claire sighed. “I can cook some stuff, you know.”

“Aye, sorry lass. We jes’ are so used tae not eating anything prepared in this kitchen, on account of Jamie’s lack of… er… skills. A bacon sandwich would be grand. Thanks.”

Claire made to move across to the fridge. Brian caught her arm and gently pulled her back to him. “Claire, I dinna usually say things like this, but Jamie is a lucky man tae have ye stick around. And he kens it. His mam woulda loved tae see him settled like this.” Brian stroked Claire’s hand. “And his mam woulda loved ye, Claire. Truly.”

Murtagh cleared his throat.

“A-Aye, Claire. Ellen woulda loved ye.” Murtagh repeated.

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

Claire, Brian and Murtagh sat companionably around the kitchen table with full stomachs and empty plates. The clicking of the key in the front door lock alerted them to Jamie and the newest family member.

Brian immediately stood up and rushed into the hallway, closely followed by Murtagh. Claire hung back a little and gathered her phone, ready to capture the family welcome.

Jamie led the procession and carried William in his car seat into the living room. Brian and Murtagh settled themselves on the sofa while Jamie placed William’s car seat on a chair and unfastened the straps. Claire stood in the doorway, phone at the ready.

Gently, Jamie lifted his son, holding him close to his chest, and passed him to his father. Brian’s eyes glistened with tears as he gazed down at William, still fast asleep. Jamie stood next to Claire, who was busy taking pictures of Grandda and grandson together, with Murtagh softly stroking the little lad’s head.

Claire put the phone down and looked at Jamie. He smiled and drew her close to him. “Look at them, Sassenach. I canna believe that we’ve got here...when I think back on all the difficulties of the past year. But, let me tell ye, on the way home, he smiled at me. A real smile, no’ just a random movement… a proper one. Mebbe, he’ll smile fer ye later… although ye may not get a chance tae cuddle him today, especially once our Jenny sets eyes on him.”

“That’s ok. I’ll have plenty of time when it’s just us. Let your family have their time today.”

Together Jamie and Claire watched as William finally woke in his grandfather’s arms.

“How was Geneva, by the way?” Claire continued.

“The same as ever. She gave me a laminated sheet with William’s schedule on it and a list of items tae be returned. Oh, and told me no’ tae get his outfit dirty. It’s Gucci, apparently.”

“Gucci? Who buys a baby a… Oh never mind. But maybe, when you go and change his nappy, change him into one of the ‘outfits’ you’ve bought him.”

William started to turn a bit red as his face took on a look of intense concentration.

Claire laughed. “Which may not be too long. Time for daddy duty.”

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

Jamie complimented himself on his much improved nappy changing abilities, mess totally contained this time. William lay on the changing table, happily kicking his legs, enjoying the freedom.

“So, ma wee man, we’ll keep yer Gucci designer clothes all nice and clean fer yer ma-- mummy -- and we’ll pop ye in an outfit from that famous designer, er, ‘Asda’, shall we?”

He slid a fresh nappy under his bottom as William, as if in agreement, gurgled before releasing a miniature fountain over Jamie’s hand.

“Argh, ye wee tyke. A clean nappy and ma hand…”

Jamie quickly reached for the wipes and yet another nappy.

With William freshly changed and dressed in his supermarket outfit, Jamie headed for the stairs. A sudden crescendo of noise downstairs announced the arrival of Jenny, Ian and their children. Even from upstairs, Jamie could clearly hear his nephew calling him.

“Unca Jamie, Unca Jamie, where is ye? Mam says ye have a ‘prise fer me. What is it? Can I play wi’ it?”

Jamie came down the stairs slowly, suddenly very aware of the fragility of the baby in his arms and followed the noise into the living room.

Wee Jamie immediately rushed to his uncle. “Whatcha got? Can I see?” he cried pulling at Jamie’s shirt.

“Careful, Jamie,” Jenny scolded. “Come over here and ye can see with me.”

As Wee Jamie obeyed his mother, Jenny turned to Claire and whispered. “I havena told Wee Jamie anything about his cousin. His uncle can do all the explaining, and serve him right too. Let him figure out what tae say tae a four year old.”

Jamie gave William to Jenny. He immediately settled into her arms, bringing his hand up to his mouth. After a few attempts, he succeeded in finding his thumb and started sucking intently.

Her face softened as she stared at the baby. “Oh Jamie, he’s so lovely. When I think about…” Jenny paused and cleared her throat, blinking back tears. She tried again. “...when I think about all ye’ve been through… the pair of ye. But tae look at him, he’s worth it.”

Wee Jamie huddled close to his mother, staring at the baby with a bemused look on his face. “A baby. Is that ma ‘prise… a baby? We already got one o’ them.”

He jerked his thumb in the direction of Maggie, sitting on Claire’s lap, happily chewing the corner of a soft baby book.

“An’ ye canna play games wi’ her. She canna play the footie, can she Da?” He addressed the last remark to Ian.

Ian smiled. “No son, she canna yet, but give her time. She and William will be able tae join ye soon enough.”

“Unca, did ye borrow the baby? Where’s his mam and da then?”

“Jamie, I’m William’s Da. He’s ma son.”

His nephew grinned. “Nah… ye’re Unca, no’ Da.”

He looked to Jenny for confirmation. She momentarily drew her attention away from William and raised her eyebrows at Claire before speaking. “Jamie, yer Uncle is William’s da, like yer da is Maggie’s da too.”

Wee Jamie screwed his face up in thought and quietly went to sit down between Brian and Murtagh.

While Jamie went to make tea for everyone, different conversations sprang up around the room: Claire and Jenny talked together, while Ian, Brian and Murtagh started discussing how Jamie’s life would change. Nobody noticed how quiet Wee Jamie was.

Once all the adults were settled with a cup of tea, Jamie brought a glass of apple juice over to the lad before sitting on the floor next to his legs.

“Ye’re awfa quiet,” Jamie commented.

“Maggie came out of Mam’s tummy,” his nephew began, patting Jamie’s head playfully. “Mam said Da planted her there. And Mam’s tummy got awfa fat, so as Maggie had room tae grow in there. But…”

The other conversations died down as everyone listened.

He continued. “... but… Claire’s tummy didna get fat. How did William fit in there?”

Jamie felt himself redden. He looked over at Claire. “Claire isna William’s Mam. It’s a lady called Geneva.”

Jamie was pushed aside as Wee Jamie launched himself across the room and clung to Claire’s legs, burying his head in the part of her lap not occupied by his sister.

“Care bear, I dinna want ye tae go.” His voice was muffled.

Ian took Maggie from Claire, leaving her free to comfort the now sobbing child. She scooped him up onto her lap, brushing his hair away from his face before giving him a noisy kiss. Jamie came and perched on the arm of the chair, next to Claire.

“Jamie, look at me.” Claire spoke softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Your uncle and I are getting married, remember. And I’m moving all my stuff in here in the next couple of weeks, so I’ll be here all the time.”

“But William’s mam…”

“William’s mummy has her own house, same as your uncle. So William will spend some time at his mummy’s house and the rest of the time here with his da. Don’t worry, Jamie. We’re fine.”

Wee Jamie put his hands on Claire’s cheeks, pulled her close and looked directly into her eyes.

“And ye’re no’ going nowhere? Promise?”

“I promise.”

The little lad twisted around to face his uncle. “Unca? If ye didna want tae live wi’ that lady, why did ye plant William in her tummy?”

Jamie blushed once more as everyone turned to look at him. He could see Jenny biting her lip trying not to laugh.

“Er… weel… I didna mean tae… it was an accident.”

Wee Jamie patted his uncle’s hand reassuringly. “Never mind, Unca. Next time, remember tae plant the baby in Claire’s tummy.”

He looked around as everyone burst out laughing, confused as to why his family were all laughing at his eminently good advice. Still he ploughed on with his questions.

“Care bear, what will William call ye… will he call ye Mam?”

Claire thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t think he”ll call me that. I’m not sure what he’ll call me..., probably Claire.”

“He canna call ye that. Ye need a special name.”

“What do ye suggest?” Jamie joined in the conversation, relieved that his nephew's line of enquiry had shifted.

“I dinna ken…. what about what ye call Claire? I hear it. Ye call her… er… er... Sackasan. William can call ye Sackasan.” Wee Jamie heaved a sigh, pleased that he had sorted out all his family’s problems.

Jamie put his arm around Claire. “How about it, then? Are ye happy tae be William’s Sackasan too?”

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

Once everyone had left and Jamie had returned William, now clad once more in his still clean Gucci romper suit, to Geneva, the house seemed incredibly quiet.

Not that Claire or Jamie minded that. It had been a wonderful family occasion, one to be treasured and William, although he would never remember it, had been warmly welcomed into the Fraser family.

But now, Jamie and Claire were both exhausted. It had been a very emotional day. They sat together on the sofa, Claire’s feet resting in Jamie’s lap while he rubbed them.

“Hey, ye should be doing this fer me. The amount of times I’ve been up and down those stairs today, fetching, carrying, changing. Ye may want tae think about doing the odd nappy change in the coming days, Sassenach.”

“But you’ve managed so beautifully today, Jamie. And feeding as well, no problem.”

“Aye, he's a good lad right enough. And I canna tell ye what it means tae me tae see him today with Da and Murtagh and Jenny… and ye. He’s part of the family… part of our family now.”

Claire closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. The foot massage was practically sending her to sleep. She yawned.

“Claire…”

She opened her eyes and looked at Jamie, now focussed on her face. He leant over her and kissed her cheek. “Ma Sassenach.” he breathed. “I wouldna be here, so happy and content wi’out ye.”

“So, what do ye think of Wee Jamie’s suggestion then? Are ye tae be William’s Sassenach too?” He continued.

“Such an awkward name for a little boy to pronounce, though.”

“Och, he’ll manage it somehow.”

“Yes, Jamie, I’ll be William’s Sassenach. Although, I should remind you that technically, Geneva is also a Sassenach… as is her mother.”

Jamie shuddered at the thought. “Aye, that may be. But ye and ye alone, Claire Beauchamp, will be our Sassenach, now and forever.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #Chapter 3 #modern au #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #wee jamie too

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 5 years

Text

Edinburgh To Boston - Chapter 11 - Redux

Good evening all, Here is the next chapter of Edinburgh To Boston. I hope you all enjoy it. We met some old friends and a person oft-spoken of but never seen.

Chapter 12 is nearly done. It is in the revision stage then off to my lovely beta @curlsgetdemgurls whom without her, this would not exist. Many, many thanks Emma for everything.

As always, I look forward to your thoughts, comments, and respectful criticism.

Without further delay, I give you...

Edinburgh To Boston

Chapter 11

Redux

“Rabbie, ye wee gomeral! Dinna stick yer brother’s head in the snow, aye. He canna breathe in there.”

Rabbie MacLennan was busy shoving his brother Davey’s head deeper into a snowbank. At his grandmother’s reprimand, he let go and ran off cackling to himself.

There must be something wrong with that boy, she thought. She hoped she wouldn’t see him on one of those Most Wanted Shows when he grew up.

Davey freed himself from his frozen entombment and found himself covered head to toe in snow looking rather like a scrawny snowman. Shaking himself like a dog, he removed much of the fine flakes sticking to his hat, hair, face, and clothes.

“Wait for me,” the lad called racing after his brother to see what other devilry they could stir up.

Maizie gave a long-suffering look toward her husband that said: Do something.

Harry, in the language of the long-married, returned the look, asking: Like what?

She glared back at him, I dinna ken. They’re your grandsons, do something.

Jamie and Claire observed the mayhem headed their way. They turned and looked at each other smiling.

“Lass, it’s Harry and Maizie. I dinna think we would ever see them again.”

Jamie raised his arm waving it furiously loudly calling out, “mo charaid.”

“Come along a nighean,” he said laughing and pulled her along. He moved toward the elderly couple with a decided determination.

Harry looked up recognizing their acquaintances from the plane, took off his cap and began waving it in his own brand of frenetic gesticulations calling out, “Hallo.”

“Ye see who it ‘tis, my love? ‘Tis the lad from the plane with his lass,” he said with a broad smile plastered across his face.

Smiling she began to wave as well. “So ‘tis. They look happy, do they no’?”

“Aye, they do.”

The men reached each other and began the time-honored male ritual greeting composed of handshakes, hugging, and back pounding.

Observing this male disposition, it occurred to Claire that this habit of pummeling each other in a form of welcome might be the reason that men were impervious to superficial pain.

The ladies, however, greeted each other more genteelly, clasping each other’s hands, kissing a cheek, and exchanging pleasantries.

Of course, it was just like men to wander off in pursuit of their own conversations while leaving the women to mind the store. This entailed clearing the snow off a bench for them to sit and keep a watchful eye on the two rapscallions. Bloody men.

“How goes it, lad? Ye look happy and I might add so does the lass.” Harry cast a glance back toward Claire.

If it were possible, Jamie’s cold-reddened cheeks would have turned scarlet.

“We, ah, talked, and found the truth between us. She, um, weel, she loves me as I do her. So, we are together,” he smiled so brightly it would have rivaled the sun. “I still dinna ken how ye were so certain about such things.”

“Laddie, it is as plain as the nose on yer face. A blind man could see that ye love each other and belong together. ‘Twas not hard at all. All ye two needed was a push in the right direction.”

Harry turned his eyes to gaze intently upon Jamie. His expression hardening like a stern schoolmaster about to chastise an errant student.

“Remember lad, she is a braw lassie, strong, capable, independent. Dinna underestimate her. But, she can be very fragile, delicate, and her heart, once given, can be easily broken. Take care of her, love her rightly and if ye do sae she will be yers forever.”

“Aye, sir I will. Ye can trust me.”

A snowball whizzed by Harry’s hat, missing it by a fraction of an inch. He looked up and saw his grandson Rabbie hanging upside down, monkey-like from a tree. His younger brother stood below with a stockpile of frozen missiles.

“Oi, ye wee scoundrels, what are ye about then?” Harry stormed toward the tree where the lads were. Jamie keeping pace brought up the rear as reinforcement.

Davey hopped up and down trying to get his brother’s attention wanting him to pull him up into the tree and away from his Grandda’s grasp.

“Jump Davey, jump.”

Rabbie extended his hand as far as he could and with one final long stretch, he just managed to grasp his brother’s hand. With a mighty pull, he brought Davey up and out of reach of his grandsire. The lads sat swinging their legs back and forth from their high perch enjoying the view of their frustrated and angry grandfather below.

“Do ye want them down?”

Harry snorted, “I do.”

“Now listen here, lads. Either ye come down or I come up. And ye willna like it if I do.”

“Yer auld. Ye canna climb up trees,” said Rabbie with a smirk on his face.

“Aye, I can. I climb trees, mountains, and rock walls.”

“Are ye Spideyman then?” asked wee Davey with a hopeful look on his face.

“Nay, but I ken him.”

“Ye do???!!!” The little boy’s eyes widened becoming positively goggle-eyed.

“Aye, he came to the hospital where I work to visit with the sick bairns. He told me all his secrets for climbing. If ye come down, I’ll tell ye.”

Davey looked awestruck. Rabbie looked at Jamie with skepticism.

“I dinna believe ye,” he said eyes narrowed to slits and glared.

“I have pictures of Spider-Man and me. He taught me some of his spidey moves. I have a video too if ye want to see it.”

Davey was beside himself with excitement. Rabbie, however, more of a doubting Thomas required proof. The two laddies were busy trying to scramble down the tree. Rabbie older and bigger pushed his way forward wanting to be first.

Davey had another idea. He hung down from the branch by his fingertips, “Catch me, Grandda,” and let go dropping five feet straight down.

Harry ran forward hoping he would be in time to catch the rascal and not drop him. Jamie got there before Harry, opened his arms and caught the boy in the nick of time, saving him from serious injury.

“Lad, do ye no’ ken that ye weigh as much as a good draft horse when ye fall from that height? Ye nearly broke my back.”

The wean laughed, “Can I see the pictures now, please?”

He set the child down, pulled out his phone and scrolled through the pictures. The lads were enamored by them and began acting out the poses they saw.

Jamie Fraser had convinced a friend to dress up as Spider-Man and come to entertain the children. He posed, signed autographs, took pictures, and gave out little gifts. At the end of the wee party, a spectacular Spider-Man cake was rolled out and happily and messily consumed by all.

Each year Dr. Fraser planned a different event for the children. Wherever he worked or trained he would manage to beg or borrow, cajole or arm-twist enough money to plan a wee party for the weans. All done in memory of his brother Willie. The children broke his heart. For some, the hospital was their home, for others they would never leave it. Some of the lucky ones would get well enough to live their lives but not without experiencing more than any child should have to.

Claire and Maizie sat on the bench talking of this and that while keeping a watchful eye on their men.

“Are ye happy then, lass?”

Claire looked up first to Jamie then to Maizie.

“Yes, very happy. Happier than I have been in a long time. Probably happier than I have ever been in my whole life.”

“Aye, I thought so. I can see it in the way ye look at him. And in the way he looks at ye,” she chuckled softly.

“Yer man, he is a Highlander, is he no’?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Weel, they are proud men, strong of body and spirit, honorable to be sure, disciplined, loyal, courageous, patient and honest. Can ye handle a man like that lass? He can and will be a handful at times.” She looked at Claire searching her face for the truth. “Oh, and did I mention stubborn? Once they have made up their minds, there is no turning them back.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My man is a Highlander too. It has been a bonnie life with him, never dull,” she chuckled. “I wouldna change him or the life I had with him for anything. He has been a challenge at times, but I set him straight,” Maizie said with a wink.

“Oh, and one more thing lass, if ye dinna kent it yet. They have hearty appetites in bed!”

Claire opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and shut it. She felt the heat of her embarrassment rising up her face.

“I see ye ken what I say is true,” she laughed heartily.

“Well I...ah, well, mmm, damn.” Claire flushed a lovely shade of pink.

“Enjoy his love for ye lass. ‘Tis a blessing. I still do,” she said with a lascivious smile.

She looked up at the sky, seeing that the sun had begun to lower, checked the time on her watch.

“‘Tis late. I need to get my lads home, dry and fed.”

“Harry! Harry! Get the lads, ‘tis time we were going home.”

The boys and the men’s heads snapped up at the words going home.

“A leannan,” he said in his most silky voice, “the lads are having such a good time. Might we be able to stay a little longer?” All four members of the male contingent shook their heads in unanimous agreement to this request.

“Ye can have ten more minutes, then we must leave. ‘Twill be getting dark soon,” Maizie said with a shiver.

Claire had been watching Jaime play with the boys, roughhousing, laughing, throwing snowballs at each other, helping to build a snowman, and generally acting like one of the boys. Her hands went reflexively to her belly. He was meant to be a father, she thought. She worried if she couldn’t give that gift to him would he hate her? Worse yet, would he leave her?

“Dinna fash, lass. Yer time will come too,” she observed Claire’s hands protectively on her abdomen.

“I wasn’t able to before with, with my ex-husband.”

“If he’s yer ex, then perhaps it was for the best. Looking at yer lad there, I think things will be different this time.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said with a hopeful look on her face.

Looking toward the men hard at work making the most of the last few minutes of playtime, Maizie called out, “Come along lads, ‘tis time for our suppers.”

The male heads rose up at the mention of food.

They bid farewell to each other, repeating the ceremonial handshakes, hugs, and backslaps. The boys were counseled to listen to their Mam, Da, Grannie, and Grandda, eat their vegetables as Jamie would be seeing Spider-man again when he got back to Scotland. Rabbie and Davey nodded their heads solemnly and promised to be on their best behavior and (Blah!) to eat their veggies too.

The women embraced, Claire, thanking Maizie for all her advice. She kissed her cheek softly and bid her goodbye.

“Come along Spider-Man, let’s get you back to the hotel and out of those wet clothes, shall we hmm?”

“Will ye help me out of my wet clothes then, mo ghràdh? I’m so cold and wet that I think my cock will snap off.”

“That my dear would be a catastrophe,” Claire said with a smirk.

Jamie began to speak, instead, he wrinkled his nose, squeezed his eyes together, and let out a volley of sneezes. He began to sniffle.

“Hmm, things seem more serious than I thought. Let’s get you back to the hotel and warm you up.”

“Aye, sounds like a good idea. Will ye warm me then, Claire?” There was a twinkle in his eyes as Jamie waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Men!” she snickered.

**********

They lay nestled together in the twilight of sleep, neither fully awake nor fully asleep. Warm. Complete. Filled with love. His arms enclosed her. One hand cupping her breast while the other drew around her waist bringing her closer. A finger idly traced the slope of her breast coming to rest on a nipple. Stroking it lightly, it came alive under his touch hardening, rounding, wanting. Her arse settled fully in his groin wanting to eliminate any space between them.

“Does it ever stop, the wanting you? Even when I've just left ye. I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.”

She wiggled closer feeling the effects of her movements against him.

“I want you too, always,” she mumbled sleepily.

His lips pressed soft tender kisses to her neck and felt her quiver.

He turned her onto her back raining a succession of heated kisses along her chin, chest, down the hollow between her breasts.

“Mo nighean donn, I hunger for ye.”

He blazed passionate kisses down her body paying homage to her.

Reaching her navel, a distant grumbling sounded from within the depths of her abdomen.

Jamie startled, “Sassenach, yer making wee noises, but no’ the ones I was hoping for.”

“Hmmm, seems I’m famished.”

“For food?”

“Mmhm. It’s been a long time since breakfast and we did have a busy afternoon.”

“Aye, we did.” He rested his head on her belly. “Would ye like me to order room service or would ye like to go to the restaurant?” He hoped she’d pick room service.

“Well, I bought a new dress to wear for the last dinner at the conference. It would be a shame to not get to wear it.”

“Alright then, lass, the restaurant it is, but first I must have my dessert.”

********

Jamie sat on the end of the bed showered, shaved, and dressed in his charcoal grey suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He hummed a rhythmless tune while his foot tapped in a futile attempt to keep time. Taking out his phone, he idly scrolled through the news, and his social media accounts watching the videos of dogs and cats engaged in ridiculous antics.

His eyes drifted back toward the closed bathroom door wondering what was taking Claire so long. To save time they had showered together. He had soaped her up, sliding his hands over her slippery body becoming captivated with each curve, and rounded area of her body. Ah Dhia, that sweet fat arse of hers. He would never tire of fondling it. And what she did to him. Lathering him, she stroked him with her soft wee hand turning his legs to jello. Christ, the lass knew just how to… His pants were becoming uncomfortable. He stood up adjusted himself and walked to the bathroom door.

“Claire, are ye alright, lass?”

“I just need another few minutes, Jamie.”

She’s been in there for at least a half-hour. What takes women so long to get dressed?

He walked to the large window and watched the lights of Boston twinkle like fireflies on a warm summer’s night.

He heard the sound of the bathroom door open and Claire stepped out.

She was a vision in red. The dress was floor-length, long-sleeved with a high neckline. It hugged every curve of her body in a sensual way. Her hair was up with tiny tendrils draping around her face and neck. Her makeup lightly done except for the red lipstick accentuating the bow of her lips.

“Do you like it?”

He mouth opened and he gaped at her. His eyes sweeping over the sweet long lines of her body.

Her walk was sultry. Her hips swayed. She exuded sexuality. Jamie placed his hands on the swell of her hips. He swallowed, “Yer beautiful, mo nighean donn.” She was mesmerizing. He could not wait to have her on his arm walking through the hotel and into the restaurant, the envy of every man there.

She lightly pressed her mouth on him leaving a trace of her scarlet kiss on his lips. Seductively she traced her thumb across his mouth erasing the crimson mark.

“Claire, I... ”

She gave him a knowing smile, “Let’s go then.”

She turned to reach for her clutch and then he saw it. The dress was backless. The gown laid her bare from the nape of her neck to just above her gluteal cleft exposing the dimples of Venus on her back. It hugged her buttocks emphasizing the roundness, the fullness of her.

“Sassenach! Yer no’ going downstairs like that are ye? Christ woman, I can see clear down yer arse.”

“No, you can’t. I had the sales girl take a video of me moving in all different directions in it and you can’t see anything. I checked. Want to see?” She said smugly.

He didn’t want to see and he didn’t want any other man to see either. The woman would be the death of him.

Deciding to use another tactic, he inquired, “Won’t ye be cold then? Would ye want my jacket, lass?”

“Oh, you’re right, I forgot my wrap.” Walking over to the garment bag she took out a matching stole and wrapped it around herself.

“Better?” she asked batting her eyelashes at him.

“No! It only covers half of ye. Claire, ye canna go out like this,” he sputtered.

“Hmm, I see it’s doubled.” She gave it a little shake to open it completely. She swirled the silken fabric around her back like a matador twirling his red cape in front of a snorting raging bull.

“Is it better now?”

The edge grazed the top of her natal cleft. Any movement she would make exposed her.

“Aye, ‘tis better,” he conceded, “but no’ by much.”

Seeing that Claire would not give up on going to the restaurant wearing that, that dress Jamie conceded defeat.

“My Lady, may I have the honor of escorting ye to dinner?” He extended his arm offering it to her to take.

“I would be honored, my Laird.” She reached out placing her dainty hand in the crook of his elbow feeling him draw her close to him.

He hoped they would make it through dinner without incident.

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

Brian Fraser looked at his youngest son, drooping and moping about over some lass who would not give the lad the time of day. To make matters worse, Jamie had seen the girl kissing another boy in a remote part of the school library. “Laddie, if the lass is no’ interested in ye, then mayhap she is not the one for ye. Pining away for her will no’ help. Remember, be careful about what ye wish for, because ye may just get it. When ye find the right woman to love, ye will just ken it.”

Jamie Fraser got just what he had hoped for. Male heads turned as they walked into the restaurant. He was the envy of every man there and he didn’t like it. In truth, what he didn’t like was the way men looked at Claire. Some looked at her with a straightforward appreciation of her beauty while others leered at her with outright lust on their faces. It roused his jealousy and need to protect her. His eyes, a search beacon, swept across the sea of men on guard for any potential threat to her or her virtue. Being in love with Claire Beauchamp would not be easy.

Jamie so deep in his need to be on guard that he missed the way Claire looked at him. She was fully aware of how the women looked at him. He was beautiful. That fiery mane with soft curls at the nape, ocean blue eyes that you could drown in, broad back, lean muscular body, and his hands. Ahh, his hands. Hands that held her and played her body like a fine instrument. Stroking it, coaxing it making it crescendo. He is perfect in every way. And yet, he doesn’t know it.

The maî·tre d'hô·tel seated them in a secluded area of the restaurant thanks to the generous bribe, er um, tip Jamie gave the man.

Finally, he felt he could relax. They were seated in at a cozy table for two away from the general traffic of the hotel.

The restaurant L’Orchidée was beautifully appointed. White and violet linens dressed the table while a napkin folded into the shape of a flower sat upon a gold charger awaiting their dinner choice. Candlelight created an intimate mood. Crystal goblets and wine glasses sparkled as they waited to be filled.

The Sommelier appeared suggesting wines to pair with their dinner. Jamie fluently speaking French ordered for them.

“Are ye happy, mo ghràdh? I mean that we are together? Do I make ye happy?” He reached over picked up her hand and began to rub his thumb across her knuckles.

“Happier than I have ever been in my whole life. Do I make you happy?” she asked shyly.

He interlaced their fingers together, “Sae happy.” He hesitated for the briefest of moments then continued, “My heart has been yours since first we met. In truth, you hold my soul in your hands. I am yours, my Sassenach, body, and soul forever.”

The waiter came to serving their dinner. A lovely glazed salmon with a tomato romesco seasoned with garlic, almonds and spices, heirloom carrots and wild rice for Jamie. Claire chose roast chicken rich with a sauce of garlic, herbs, and butter, potato mille-feuille, summer squash with wild mushrooms. The Sommelier appeared pouring their wine selections and bid them bon appétit.

They ate and drank, savoring their meal as much as each other’s company. They talked, laughed, touched, cast shy glances at each other, acting like lovers do.

Jamie’s other vice, besides whisky and Claire, was chocolate. A dessert of a triple chocolate mousse cake accompanied by a froth of whipped cream flavored with Frangelico and a scattering of crushed hazelnuts completed their meal. He insisted on feeding her. He cut off a piece of cake swirled it in the flavored cream offering it to her. She opened her mouth accepting the sweet morsel. Her mouth became coated with the intense taste of dark chocolate and fatty hazelnut whipped cream. An unctuous drop lingered on her lips. His finger swept across her mouth removing the offending particle. Her pink tongue peeked out and licked the tidbit from his finger.

He brought her hand to his mouth pressed a tender kiss to the palm of her hand. His breath warm and moist on her skin making her quiver and her heart flutter.

“Mo chridhe,” he whispered huskily. “I need ye, Claire. I need ye sae bad.” He licked his lips looking at her with darkened wanting eyes.

Jamie was intent on his love and did not see the man approach.

“Hello, Claire,” said a male voice with a cultured English accent.

Claire felt ice run up and down her spine. She knew that voice all too well.

She set her lips in a taut grim line. “Hello, Frank.”

#edinburgh to boston #chapter 11 #redux #old friends #someone we talked about but never met yet #My writing #outlander fanfiction #@curlsgetdemgurls #Here Goes Nothing

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jack-andthestalk · 5 years

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Our Son, Arc II, Normal, Chapter 8.

Guys once again thanks so much for your comments and love for this fic, it always amazes me how supportive you all. @balfeheughlywed knows I was a royal pain this week, she asks questions that make me think and it really helps. I also may have asked her and @ladyviolethummingbird to write this chapter for me because I had myself tied up in hoops trying to move the story forward. I suppose what I want to come across is although Jamie made a stupid move in not getting legal advice, he didn't do it maliciously. He didn't consult with Claire because he thought she wasn't capable of helping him make a decision. He just isn't rehearsed at relationships or decision making, nor is Claire. This is a harsh lesson, but he is trying to find a way forward without losing her.

Our days were focused on keeping things normal for Willie’s sake. But the inevitability of Jamie’s departure hung over us like a dead weight. I wasn’t capable of sharing my feelings, too much resentment and hurt bottled up but most of all heartbreak at the thoughts of losing him. To protect him and me, I couldn’t let it show. Jamie’s parents already had tried multiple attempts to thwart him leaving, ranging from selling everything lock stock and barrel to throwing all their savings into a hotshot barrister that would lead us into endless legal fees and no happy ending guaranteed.

I couldn’t live with them not having their home, their retirement. The Frasers were good people, who had supported Willie and me since I came into their lives. I wanted their happiness safe just as much as Jamie. It was this common bond that allowed me to forgive Jamie or at least to understand why he had to follow through, I knew he loved us, and he loved his parents. It shouldn’t be a matter of choosing, I could rebuild in Boston, they could not.

So here we were hours before Jamie’s departure, I needed to say goodbye to him, just wanting solitude, him and me. Regret over turning from him the past few weeks, as I minded the hurt in his eyes every time I avoided his gaze, his touch or his words. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them; it just was more painful to be close to him knowing it was fleeting.

I had some time in Scotland after Jamie left, watching Willie worry and pine over Jamie’s move; I had promised him we could stay until the end of his term. It would soften the blow of missing his Da, having all his family around him. Jamie came home early, packed a few things only enough for a long weekend, I had raised my eyebrows but said nothing. Jamie was firmly gripping denial, he couldn’t see himself there long-term. Convinced that he would manage to pull off something that he may get the Dunsany’s to release him without repercussions.

In a way, I needed him to go so I could get on with losing him. Grieve for what could have been so I could start to move on, anything would be better than trying to coexist, acting like strangers when it couldn’t have been further from the truth. But tonight would just be about goodbye.

_______________

“I cooked” my hand gestured vaguely to the stove, “ I don’t know if you feel like something or if you have maybe other things to do…” babbled words and sweaty palms, it would take me a few moments to settle, to strive for normalcy.

Jamie stood arms hanging loosely at his sides, the taken aback expression my invitation had elicited, only lasted a moment before it was replaced with eagerness.

“I would love to eat with ye Sassenach.” Holding my gaze, he continued, “just normal aye?”

“just normal”. I promised.

He crossed the kitchen then purposefully, taking a bottle of wine from the fridge and uncorking it. Pouring two glasses and placing them on the kitchen table, “Do ye need any help?”

“Nope, just plating up…it’s Simple really…nothing fancy.” I was talking too fast, my hands brushing nervously down my thighs. Normal I repeated to myself trying to quiet my mind.

I sensed Jamie’s warm breath on my back, hesitating for a moment before he gently enveloped my shoulder with his hand, kneading it once and allowing it to rest. I stood stock still, conscious that it been a while since we touched like this.

“Anything ye cook is braw Sassenach.” He said softly. I thought he would move away, just an assuring gesture, but his body stilled behind me, and I felt his hand hovering over my shoulder for a minute before he made a decision lowered his arm, wrapping it around my stomach, wordlessly.

“Thank ye.” He whispered quietly. I placed my hand on his and squeezed it once before I turned to him. I rested my hands on the counter, hips tilting towards him but not close enough to touch.

“Have you everything packed?” I quirked an eye upwards, knowing full well he had packed maybe three things, “I am hoping I won’t need much”,

“Jamie,” I said in a frustrated breath, “I really think you need to accept that you could be there for some time…”

He shook his head firmly, “If I canna get something on them, I have a contingency…” His voice went quiet and I could see he wanted to tell me. I knew he was going to attempt to convince me for the millionth time that he would dig himself out of this mess, we had one night, and I didn’t want it filled with unfeasible promises.

“Look”, I said firmly, “if we are going to do this ‘normal’ thing, then let's not talk about England or tomorrow. I gestured towards the table, “I am going to feed you, it’s just you and me now, no promises, no planning, just us.” He stepped toward me and tried to smile. Jamie’s smile had always been remarkable, the kind that makes you weak and happy all at once, a game changer. This smile, however, was not like that. It was tighter,

strained. He did not want to concede this could be our last night together as some form of a couple, but he would accept it because it was all we had.

_________________

Dinner was simple in every way, we stuck to every day, Willie, his school, Lamb, Jenny, Jamie’s parents. We didn’t mention Brian’s grey pallor, Ellen’s face constantly etched in worry or the enlisted solicitors that had come through Lallybroch like a revolving door. It was pleasant, complete make-believe but we smiled, drank and ate, while occasionally meeting each other’s eye with a glint of something only between us.

When we had finished, Jamie pushed himself back in his chair, eyeing me carefully.

“Is it something ye wanted?” I raised one eyebrow, and he tilted his head towards Willie’s bedroom, “bairns”, he explained. Jamie’s body was relaxed as he swang casually on the back legs of his chair, this wasn’t meant to start an argument, it was worded with curiosity light, flirtatious, first date kind of stuff.

When I faltered to answer immediately, he didn’t rush me just allowed his eyes to linger on my face while toying with his bottom lip.

Eventually, I sighed, smiling at him over the rim of my glass. “bit late for this conversation, isn’t it?”

Jamie placed his glass down and straightened his chair.

“I meant before if Willie hadn’t happened, was it something ye planned on?”

“Oh, I see.”

"Well I was young--er, hadn’t really had a mother myself—it wasn’t something that was foremost in my mind – but no I didn’t see it in my future until Willie happened."

Jamie nodded and ran his finger around the rim of his glass, “I reckoned as much.”

My eyebrows shot up, “You did?”

“Aye well, its just ye were so driven at yer career when I first met ye, being a doctor was so important and ye were fierce independent…I remember thinking it would take a lot to settle ye.”

“Settle me?” I crooked one skeptical eyebrow at him, but my real struggle was stopping the smirk threatening to shadow my face as I fought the idea that Jamie had considered trying to settle me.

“Ye werena like other lassies Claire…I could tell ye dinna need the picket fence and a house full of bairns…or even a man, yer a free spirit…I suppose” his eyes skimmed over me for a minute and he drew in a long breath, something unsaid ran between and he exhaled shifting on his seat to rest his ankle over his knee. Jamie’s eyes grew dark, and my heart sped up at the effect I was apparently having on him.

“Well” while I attempted to change the subject, Jamie just continued to stare brazenly at me, tilting his wine glass to and fro. My stomach was coiling in on itself, and I felt like crawling across the table to run my tongue over his lips.

“ya, ken ye never once rang me when ye got back to Boston?”

“What?” I asked narrowing my eyes at him. He smiled confidently at me and leaned across the table. “Ye went back to Boston, and ye dinna pick up yer phone and ring me once” his index finger pointed to the ceiling illustrating the number of times I didn’t call. “I only heard from ye, after ye found out ye were pregnant.”

My chin dipped into the neck of my sweater as my mind raced trying to remember.

“Jamie – I don’t think” irritation started to creep into my tone. What was he playing at dragging this up now?

“It’s the truth” he replied plainly. He tilted his wine glass pointedly at me. “Ye know –“ he scraped a hand down his face, “if it wasna for Willie, I am not sure I wouldha heard from you again Claire.” His tone was light, still teasing but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t quite place, uncertainty perhaps.

“That’s not true”, I shook my head and took a sip for my glass, trying to hide my features.

“Oh aye it is, I said all sorts to ye that night in the cottage, I didn’t hold back, ye said ye would call as soon as ye got home. Ye never did.”

I needed to tell him how much I wanted to, but the reality of returning to Boston was like a bucket of cold water, suddenly the thing that seemed very real while in Scotland now made me feel abashed, we had known each other for such a short time yet Jamie was right we didn’t hold back the night in the cottage and then I had worried he would see me as less, too brazen, too easy. So I chickened out and didn’t ring him. Now facing his inquisitive smirk, I found I couldn’t say any of that.

Instead I settled for “I meant to call”, weakly whispering it into my sweater collar.

Jamie rolled his eyes laughing, ““ye meant to call, did ye?”—his voice went up a pitch—“what happened, ye forgot?”

I gave him a withering look, “I didn’t forget”, he took a long pull on his wine glass and settled it down on the table.

Lacking any real excuse I could share with him I threw the questions back on him, “Why are you going over all this now?” I pointed my wine glass towards him accusingly. “Nostalgia can be dangerous Fraser”.

Jamie’s tongue darted out and he wet his lips nervously, he lifted his glass and lowered it without drinking. He leaned across the table abruptly, face determined. “Something ye said in the barn the night of the engagement party”, my hand trembled as I reached for my wine glass, I tried to feign nonchalance “What was that?” my tone was casual, but my heart was drumming a loud beat in my ear. I sunk my lips into the wine glass to hide the colour rising up my cheeks while I waited for him to answer.

“Ye said, ye felt like an obligation.”

Oh god, a devious lump started forming in my throat, and I begged myself not to surrender to it.

Jamie took my silence for what it was, acceptance, so he continued.

“It struck a chord with me ye see, registered, I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders casually. “I always felt like ye were obliged to maintain a relationship with me, and had Willie not happened ye might not have contacted me again.”

“Why would you think that Jamie? It’s so far from the truth.”

“Claire,” he said exasperatedly, “ye ken as much as I do what happened the night Willie was conceived?”

I sat back slightly in my seat not sure where he was taking this, “I cajoled ye up there.”

“I went willingly” I corrected.

“Fine,” he said sighing, “but ye ken, as well as I, do that all the times I bedded ye that night, only once did I control myself long enough to think of precaution.”

I rolled my eyes “Jamie it wasn’t ‘bedding’, half the time we didn’t even make it to the bed!”

Jamie gave me an impatient glare, “fine” he replied haughtily “sex, all the times we had sex, only once did I use protection. My head rolled back “this is why you are in this mess Jamie” I waved my hands vaguely around the cottage,” you take on too much responsibility – my tone dipped coyly –“ I never asked you to use precautions the many other times we had sex ….I thought it would be ok.” Now I was positively scarlet at my own naivety, an almost qualified doctor, what the fuck had I been thinking? A little voice in my head whispered quietly, you wanted him pretty bad too.

“Aye but Claire I canna tell ye how out of character that was of me.” My eyebrows shot up to my hairline, “are you suggesting that it was characteristic of me…” I started to argue, he waved his hand dismissively. “It’s no that, what I mean to say is, even then I wonder if I was trying to anchor myself to ye.” My head lurched back in surprise. “Jamie, are you saying you consciously tried to get me pregnant?”

He rucked his hand through his hair agitatedly “no, not consciously anyway” Jamie stood suddenly, opening his mouth and closing it again dumbstruck. His head fell back, and he looked at a spot on the ceiling.

“Jamie Fraser will you tell me what the hell you are on about!” I said firmly.

He lowered his head and met my eye, “Claire I dinna wish to compare ye to other women because there is no comparison, but it would be lying if I said that when it comes to preventing bairns, I am if anything overcautious.” He crooked one auburn eyebrow, “with others –his cheeks blazed red – it would put the fear of God in me to tie myself to someone by having a bairn with them.”

He sat down again and began toying with his wine glass, his voice dropped low and husky, his eyes stayed fixed on the glass, “yet that night with you, I dinna care if I was bound to you forever, I think I didn’t stop to use protection because it dinna frighten me what a future with you might hold.”

He shook his head shamefully, “I never stopped to think of what you might want.” His head shot up, and he looked me straight in the eye, “So Claire if anyone is the obligation here, its no you – he exhaled loudly – it's me.”

“I was always too guilty or shamed to tell ye, he said softly, but I would feel more so if ye were under the impression ye were of any obligation to me Claire.”

He half snorted under his breath, “Christ even when ye rang to tell me ye were pregnant, half of me was giddy at the thoughts of you carrying my child, the other half was scared shitless ye would hate me for it.”

#outlander fanfic #ourson #thankyou

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quietcatastrophe · 6 years

Text

To Begin Again- Chapter 7

Big shout outs to @mo-nighean-rouge for being the bomb beta, and @sassy-sassenach for the beautiful moodboard

previously: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

The crackle of the intercom rouses Jamie back to awareness, blinking slowly as he reorients to his surroundings. He didn’t expect to fall asleep, but the surge of emotion and adrenaline from recounting his past left him as drained as if he’d run a marathon. And with Claire’s warm body nestled against his, it didn’t take long for him to be pulled under. But now his arm is dead at his side, stinging with pins and needles, his circulation impeded by the curly head still tucked against his shoulder. He’s loathe to wake her, but their stop is approaching, and the urge to shake the sensation back into his arm grows more pressing by the second. He raises his unpinned arm, brings it around to gently tuck her hair behind her ear. He speaks to her softly, not wanting her to wake startled.

“Claire, a nighean, we’re almost at our stop.” She shifts slightly, pressing further into the curve of his shoulder. He can’t help but chuckle at her sleepy reaction. It makes him wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning—wonder if she hits the snooze on her alarm several times, or if she springs up awake and alert. He runs his fingers gently up and down her arm, hoping the sensation brings her closer to consciousness.

The train lurches as the breaks engage, slowing for arrival at the station. She makes a noise that is somewhere between a grunt and a moan, lifting her head from his chest. Her motions are slow, still partially held in the grasp of slumber. Her hands come up to cup her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and the drool from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flash to his suddenly, and then quickly down to his shirt.

“Oh, Jamie. I’m so sorry! I’m afraid I’ve drooled all over you.” She brushes her fingers over the damp spot on his shoulder, her cheeks flushing red like strawberries. It reminds him of the first time they met—when she was nothing more than a clumsy stranger, and he was just a man who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Was it really only a month ago? He struggles to remember what his life was like before he met Claire. Doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before she became part of his life.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Ye can drool on me anytime ye like.” He smiles brightly at her, and she crinkles her nose in return.

“So what’s our plan?” she asks, rising slowly from her seat, bending to stretch the muscles in her lower back. He rises to stand beside her, lets his hand come to rest on the small of her back, applying gentle pressure to help further ease her tension.

“Well, we’re expected at Jenny and Ian’s this evening, so from the station we’ll grab a taxi. It’s only about a fifteen minute ride from the city. Knowing my sister, I’m sure she’s prepared quite a dinner spread for us.”

Her stomach gurgles audibly at the mention of food, and she rests a hand upon her belly. “Well that’s very fortunate, since it seems the baby is rather famished.”

“Oh, aye, the baby” he gives her his best approximation of a wink, and she sticks her tongue out at him in return.

They disembark from the train, Jamie grabbing both of their bags, despite Claire’s protests of being perfectly capable of handling her small rolling luggage.

“Will ye no’ just let me be a gentleman?” he asks, eyes dancing with mirth. She raises a stern eyebrow at him, letting out a frustrated huff, but she doesn’t move to reclaim her bag.

The train pulls away, leaving them standing on the platform. He’s about to lead her toward the stairs for the exit when a small force suddenly collides into him. He hardly has time to process what’s happened before he hears the excited shout of “Uncle Jamie!”, and he looks down to see the curly brown hair of the boy wrapped around his legs.

“And who is this wee scoundrel?” he asks loudly, ducking down to pick the boy up, then swinging him up in the air.

“It’s me, Uncle Jamie!” the boy excitedly squeals.

“No, it can’t be. Ye mean to tell me that this…” he holds his nephew straight out in front of him, his legs dangling as Jamie pretends to examine him, “this long, gangly lad before me, ye mean to tell me that ye are wee Jamie? I dinna ken if I believe it.”

He sets the boy down, and crosses his arms, as if he’s still assessing. He can see Ian’s head above the crowd now, eyes scanning frantically through the clusters of travelers on the platform, until they finally land on his, and the tension drops from his shoulders. He approaches them quickly, his relief and his anger tangling in equal measure across his face.

“Jamie! Just what did I tell ye about running off!” His tone is firm, but he drops to his knees in front of his son, sets a hand upon his shoulder. “Do ye ken how sad I’d be if I lost ye, a chuilein? Not to mention what yer mother would do to me!” He exclaims dramatically, his eyes opened wide in mock horror. “That doesna bear thinking about!” He stands again, reassured of his son’s safety.

“But Da, I came straight to Uncle Jamie!” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the concrete of the platform, his small hands twisting behind his back, eyes cast down.

“Even so, ye must stay with a grown-up when we’re out in the city, aye?”

“I’m sorry Da. I was too excited. I dinna mean to run off.” Ian pulls the boy into his side, ruffling his fingers through his hair.

“Well, I canna blame ye for being excited, my boy. It has been quite a while since we’ve seen yer Uncle Jamie.”

Jamie freezes for a moment, flooded with guilt for slacking off on his visits. The look Ian gives him, while not quite as harsh as Jenny’s, is certainly one he’s learned from her—pursed lips, arms crossed, brows raised in consternation. Before he can form a reply, make an excuse, he hears Claire clearing her voice behind him.

“That’s a bit my fault, I’m afraid.” She demurs, stepping around him to extend her hand toward Ian. “Claire Beauchamp. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiles as their hands clasp, and Ian does the same.

“Aye, the pleasure is mine. The lad hasna stopped talking about ye, I feel as if we’re already friends.” Jamie observes the way her eyes flick to his, the hint of a blush painted on her cheeks, as he swats at Ian for teasing him. He’s flubbed this introduction already, too distracted by the sudden appearance of his nephew to remember his manners.

Claire stoops down to the best of her ability, bringing herself nearly to eye-level with wee Jamie. “Your uncle has been helping me an awful lot this month, and I’m very sorry if that’s kept him from seeing you.” She smiles warmly at the boy, and his cheeks pink up in her proximity. It seems as if his nephew is under her spell already, not that Jamie can blame him. He knows what it’s like to be the object of her attention.

“Are ye having a bairn?” he asks, gesturing to her prominent belly.

“Yes, I am, in fact.” Her face lights in the sweetest smile, making Jamie’s heart lift in his chest.

Wee Jamie’s eyes widen, his excitement practically bursts out of him, as he exclaims “My mam is…” but the statement is cut short by Ian’s hand quickly covering the boy’s mouth, playfully sweeping him up and tossing him over his shoulder.

“Yer mam has supper ready for us all, and will be verra cross if we keep her waiting. He tickles the boy’s sides before planting him back on the ground. As they start to walk toward the exit of the platform, Jamie notices Ian’s not-so subtle reminder to shush, his index finger pressed to his lips. From the bright smile on his brother-in-law’s face, he’s sure that whatever they’re hiding is a happy secret.

They make their way to Ian’s car, serenaded by the animated chatter of wee Jamie, excitedly recounting all of his latest adventures to his uncle. Jamie wants so badly to tangle his fingers with Claire’s, wants to walk right beside her, rather than trailing slightly behind. But she’s conversing amiably with Ian, and wee Jamie is demanding his full attention.

“Ye’ll have to take me to this fort of yers, so I can see it for myself.” He looks down to the boy, anticipating his excited reply, but he’s met with an indignant huff instead.

“Uncle Jamieee, the fort is on Minecraft! We canna actually go to it.” The boy rolls his eyes in a frightening approximation of his mother, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it would have been, had he been paying attention.

Jamie shakes his head, reaches down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Someday, laddie, I’ll show ye how to build a real and proper fort.”

They arrive at the car, and after another brief argument over the duties of a gentleman, Jamie crams himself into the back seat, angling his knees toward the middle to have more room. It’s certainly not the most pleasant way to travel, and if the ride were longer he’d be worried about getting sick, but he’s more than happy to sacrifice his comfort for hers.

They’re hardly on the road for five minutes before wee Jamie is asleep, head slumped forward in a way that seems to only be achieved comfortably by young children. Ian makes eye contact with Jamie in the rearview mirror, smirking at his sleeping son.

“We couldna get him to settle down last night. It was his idea that we surprised ye at the station.”

Jamie smiles fondly at the boy, proud that his presence in their lives is so important. His heart still feels a bit raw from rehashing his past, but it swells with gratitude for the way things have turned out. “He’s a braw laddie. I’ll do better to come round more often, make sure he’s getting a proper Highlander education.” Jamie attempts to wink as he catches Ian’s glance in the mirror again, baiting him as effectively as when they were kids.

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Fraser?” The bickering banter is familiar territory between them, a natural camaraderie between life-long friends, and a smile sparks across Jamie’s face at the clear challenge in his brother-in-law’s voice.

“Well, I can tell ye, a charaid, that if it were up to me, he’d be building his forts in the forest and not on the Mind craft.”

“It’s MINEcraft, ye dolt. And I can guarantee that I am still a much better fort maker than ye will ever be.”

“Oh, ye think so, do ye? I dinna suppose ye’d care to wager on it? I happen to know a very fair, impartial woman who could act as judge.” He sees the smirk that crosses Claire’s face at the comment, even if she is shaking her head at them.

Ian looks to Claire beside him, before glancing at Jamie in the mirror again, as if he’s weighing the option. “No, I’m afraid that willna do. If she’s half as sweet on ye as ye are on her, there’s no way I’ll receive fair judging.”

Jamie feels the heat of a blush rising on his own cheeks this time, with no way to deflect, and no desire to refute his brother-in-law’s claims. He’s afraid to look at Claire, afraid that if he sees her now, he won’t be able to hold his feelings back. But he can’t let Ian’s barb go unanswered, won’t give him the satisfaction of the easy win.

“Sounds like the talk of someone who’s scared to face a more worthy opponent, a bhràthair.” He does his best to imitate Jenny’s stern eyebrow raise, but he can’t quite hold it. It breaks the tension, has them both laughing out loud, which wakes wee Jamie in short order.

“What time’s it?” He mutters sleepily, just as Ian’s car turns down the long drive.

Ian briefly peeks over his shoulder, smiling at the boy as he rubs his still tired eyes. “It’s dinner time, a bhalaich, we’re just getting home.”

It’s never been his home, but there’s still something about turning down the lane that ignites a warmth in Jamie’s chest. It doesn’t have the same shadows as Lallybroch, the same memories waiting to be triggered. And as much as he loves his home, the Murray residence has become his preferred retreat.

Ian parks the car, and the cutting of the engine causes a cascade of Murray family chaos around them. Both girls come barreling out of the house, bouncing up and down as soon as they see them. Wee Jamie scrambles to unbuckle himself, no doubt in a rush to return to his fictional fort. The old Border Collie, Fergus, lifts his head to see what all the fuss is about, ultimately deciding their presence isn’t worth any alarm. And lastly, summoned by the commotion of her children,Jamie’s sister appears in the doorway. He smiles warmly at her, and she returns an appraising smile of her own.

He’s determined to make a proper introduction this time, focuses all of his attention on Claire rather than their luggage. It’s become a habit now, to place his hand on the small of her back, to walk with her in the cove of his arm, and he doesn’t think about the fact that he’s done it in front of his sister until he sees the furrow in her brow, notes the way her eyes focus on the position of his hand. They travel the short distance from Ian’s car to the front step, where suddenly both girls have gone shy, tucked against their mother, one on each side.

“Hello, Janet.” He greets his sister, pulling her into a brief but strong embrace. “Hello, James.” She replies, a cheeky smile illuminating her blue eyes. He bends down to include the girls hiding behind her legs. “And hello to my favorite wee lassies as well.” He straightens back up, his hand finding its place on the small of Claire’s back once again.

“I’d like for ye to meet my very good friend, Claire.” His eyes shine with pride as they drift from his family back to her. “Dr. Claire Beauchamp, this is my sister, Jenny, and the wee lasses are Maggie and Katie, my nieces.” He takes a small step back, giving her space to make her own introduction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenny. Jamie speaks so highly of you and your family.” Their hands meet in a firm grasp, and Jamie raises an eyebrow at his sister, a warning to be friendly.

“Aye, it’s a pleasure to meet ye as well, Claire. My brother has hardly mentioned anything else these past few weeks.” He wonders if his family conspired ahead of their visit to embarrass him as much as possible. Fortunately, Claire takes it in stride, only the tips of her ears tinging pink at his sister’s remark. She turns her attention to his nieces, once again crouching down as far as her belly will allow.

“Hello ladies. I’m very glad to make your acquaintance.” She smiles warmly at the girls, eliciting shy grins from them in return. Maggie is the first to find her voice, uttering a quiet but polite “hello” before huddling against her mother once more. Not one to be outdone by her big sister, Katie takes a step away from her mother, her tiny hand reaching toward Claire. Jamie briefly thinks that she’s going to go for a handshake, imitating her mother, but instead her palm lands gingerly on the swell of Claire’s belly.

“Is this yer baby?” she asks sweetly, her little nose scrunching in contemplation.

“It is my baby!” Claire beams back at the girl, bringing her hand to rest atop her tiny fingers.

“Mama has a baby in her belly too!” The little girl shrieks with excitement, as if it’s the most magnificent coincidence in the entire world. Jamie’s eyes flash to his sister’s, and he finds her smiling back at him, shaking her head at her daughter for ruining the surprise.

“Truly, Janet?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

“Aye, it’s true. We were going to tell ye over dinner, but someone simply canna wait to not be the youngest anymore!”

As if to prove her mother’s point, Katie excitedly screeches “Not the baby! Not the baby!” forgetting all about her shyness as she dances away from her mother’s side, spinning in circles.

Ian walks up behind them, both of their bags in tow. Jenny smirks at her husband, who dodges out of the way of his whirling child. “Well, yer daughter has let the cat out of the bag.”

He leaves their luggage behind them, maneuvering around them to join his wife on the step. “Aye, yer son nearly did the same at the station, would’a succeeded too, if I werena master of distraction.” He waggles his eyebrows at his wife, his goofiness still able to make her laugh, even after so many years together.

“Well, we’re already outnumbered. What’s one more, right?” She asks playfully, leaning into Ian’s side. His eyes widen, and he pretends to wipe the sweat from his brow, earning a swat to the shoulder.

“Ye had just as much hand in this as I did, and don’t ye imply otherwise, Mr. Murray.”

“I wouldna dream of it, mo ghraidh. I love ye and all of the bairns we have now, and any that are yet to come.” he smiles proudly, thinking he’s found the right answer.

“Ohh, so ye think ye’ll be touching me again, do ye?” Jamie laughs as he sees the color drain from his brother in-law’s face. Jenny turns to head into the house, indicating with a tip of her head for them to follow.

Jamie grabs both of the bags from where Ian set them, and they shuffle inside the house. The fragrance of a home-cooked meal immediately greets them, and he finds that his mouth is watering. The aroma is one he’s quite familiar with— the recipe passed down for generations on his mother’s side— and he feels the familiar tug of melancholy that comes from remembering her. The happy memories are always viewed through the shadows of her absence now, but he can still recall the warmth of her presence, still remembers helping her to peel and chop the vegetables to add to the hearty stew.

“Why don’t ye leave the bags for now, we’ll save the tour for after supper?” Jamie has no argument, and happily places their things on the landing of the staircase.

Ian calls for the children to come to the dining room, and the scamper of their rushing feet echoes down the hallway. “Like a herd of wee elephants, they are” Ian remarks, and Claire chuckles at his side.

“Come on, Sassenach, best get out of the way of the stampede.” Jamie guides her through the entry hallway, his hand tucked lightly between her arm and her ribs.

The table is already set before them, adorned with the rich linen tablecloth and the fine porcelain he knows his sister usually reserves for holidays and special occasions. It fills him with warmth to know that she’s trying to impress his guest. He helps Claire to her seat, making a show of gallantly pulling her chair out for her, then waiting to push it back in. She rolls her eyes at him, but he can tell from the small smile she’s trying to conceal that she appreciated the gesture. The children rush in, settling on the long bench on the other side of the table, leaving the opposite heads for Ian and Jenny.

Ian enters the dining room a moment later, the steam still rising from the basket of freshly baked bread he’s carrying. Jenny trails closely behind him, a large pot of the famous MacKenzie lamb stew gripped tightly in her oven mitted-hands. They set the food in the center of the table, taking care to ladle the stew into the childrens’ bowls first. Jamie takes the bowl set in front of Claire and fills it generously. As he serves himself, he watches from the corner of his eye as she takes her first bite. This meal is so symbolic for him, he hadn’t considered that it would matter to him were she not to like it. His momentary fears are allayed by the small moan she emits as she finishes the first spoonful.

“Jenny, this is absolutely magnificent!” The compliment spills forth as she reaches for a roll from the basket.

“Thank ye, Claire. I’d take more of the credit, but the recipe is older than Lallybroch, so it’s had a long time to become rather perfect.” It’s a true, if not unusually modest answer from his sister, who is not one to typically deflect praise. He thinks that it’s a good sign— she not trying to show off, not trying to prove anything— and he feels a surge of affection for her.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook myself, so I always treasure a truly home-cooked meal.” She smiles warmly at Jenny, who seems to almost blush at the praise. He lets his hand fall below the table, rests it briefly atop her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. She turns her eyes to his, and he tries to communicate how very much he appreciates having her here with him through his smile and his gaze alone.

The meal passes with comfortable chatter, and bowls refilled with seconds and thirds of the hearty stew. He watches as Claire engages with the children, able to draw them out of their shells until they’re all giggling at tales of her childhood, particularly the time when she scared her uncle by hiding in his tent wearing a headdress uncovered at one of his dig sites.

“He thought I was the ghost of a priestess, come back to reclaim her belongings. He confessed to me, many years later of course, that he nearly wet himself on that particular occasion.”

Wee Jamie shrieks with particular delight at the idea of making a grown-up have an accident, and Jamie can already see the wheels turning in his nephew’s brain. He’ll have to be on guard this visit, lest the wee scamp get the best of him.

With bowls emptied and bellies full, they begin to clear the table. Jamie is inclined to do the washing up, but Ian shoos him away from the kitchen. “Why don’t ye show Claire to the guest room, so she can settle in. Wee Jamie has generously offered to share his bunk bed with ye, so ye can take yer things up as well.”

He hadn’t necessarily thought of the logistic of their sleeping arrangements, but the bottom bunk with a single bed certainly isn’t ideal. For one night though, he knows he’ll make do. Tomorrow they’ll leave for Lallybroch, and the thought alone has his heart lifting in his chest. She already fits so comfortably with his family, and he couldn’t be happier that she agreed to make this journey with him. They exit the dining room side by side, trailing behind Jenny as she ushers the children upstairs to get ready for bed. Jamie grabs her bag once more, lets her start up the stairs before him. Once up top, he leads her to the second door on the left, into a modest sized room with pale yellow walls and plush double bed. It’s usually where he sleeps when he stays over, but he’s more than happy to forfeit the space to her. His mind wanders into potentially dangerous territory, when he imagines a return visit where they’ll share this room together.

“I’ll leave ye to get comfortable, Sassenach. I’ll just go settle my things with the lad before he goes to sleep, make sure he’s no’ hiding any headdresses or the like anywhere in the room.” He sends her his customary attempt at a wink, and she laughs as he departs.

He leaves his bag at the foot of the bunk, taking care to remove his sleep clothes and setting them on the bed for later. He’d rather not have the drag of the zipper wake the boy from his slumber. He turns down the sheets—Power Rangers themed, and not particularly soft — and moves to exit the room. He finds his sister in the hallway just outside the bathroom, supervising the children as they all brush their teeth. He wishes them all goodnight, and meets his sister’s sternly raised eyebrow when all three of them rush away from the sink to all but tackle him with hugs. She’s able to promptly restore order with only the clearing of her throat, and all of the wee Murrays return to the sink to complete their nightly routine. He moves to the next door, finding it partially open. He knocks gently, not wanting to startle her by just pushing in. He hears Claire’s soft “come in”, and nudges the door open further. She’s changed into her night clothes, a satiny looking set of long pants and a button-up top, and he feels a nearly magnetic pull to run his fingers over the material.

“I hope you don’t mind that I changed. I know it’s not very late, but I’m afraid I’m rather exhausted.” She looks up at him shyly, still not totally accustomed to this sort of intimacy, and he steps further into the room so that he can reach for her hand.

“I dinna mind at all, Mo Nighean Donn. I want for ye to be comfortable.” He gives her fingers a reassuring squeeze, and she leans slightly closer to his side. “How about we head down for a cup of tea, and then ye can call it a night?” She nods in the affirmative at his suggestion, lacing their fingers together rather than dropping his hand as they head back toward the stairs.

He leads her to the family room, and the large recliner near the hearth. It’s sinfully comfortable, and he knows it’ll support her back where it tends to give her trouble. Fergus rises from his pillow in the corner, finally deigning to examine their visitor. He rests his snout on her knee, and Claire runs her fingers over the long, silky fur of his ears. Jamie turns to head for the kitchen, chuckling as she asks the dog if he’s a very good boy.

Ian is just finishing up the washing as Jamie sets up the kettle, and he pulls down four mugs from the cupboard. From the glance his brother in law sends him, he knows he’s trying to gain information without actually having to ask. Jamie doesn’t bite, simply smiles in return, content to let him stew until he verbalizes a question.

Ian shakes his head at him, wiping his hands on the dish towel before hanging it back over the sink. “Well, I guess I’d better go kiss the bairns goodnight then.” He hesitates for just a moment.

“Aye, that’s a fine idea, they canna go to sleep without a kiss from Da.” Jamie smiles obnoxiously at him, refusing to reveal anything more.

The kettle reaches a boil, and he prepares their cups, knowing now just how she likes her tea. He finds her resting with her eyes closed, the dog now curled up protectively near her feet. It seems that no one, man or beast, is immune to her charms.

He clears his throat gently, and she opens her eyes, smiling at him as she reaches out for her mug. She holds it close to her chest, breathing in the steam and the aroma, relaxing further into the plush chair. He perches himself on the hearth, and they sit in comfortable silence, taking small, slow sips from their steaming mugs. He’s never shared his family with anyone before, never brought a girl home—friend or otherwise— and he’s still so pleased with how she just seems to fit so seamlessly.

They’re each lost in their own thoughts when Jenny comes into the room, clutching a mug of her own. “The wee beasts have finally settled. I swear, some nights I feel more like a zookeeper than a parent.” She lets out a long sigh as she flops onto the couch, her eyes falling shut as she takes a long sip from her mug.

“They’re remarkable children. I don’t know how you manage three… well, soon to be four now. I’m terrified of having just the one.” Claire quietly confesses, her free hand coming to rest on her belly. She’s voiced her doubts to him before, her fears about not being a good enough mother, but he’s never had any doubt. Seeing her tonight, interacting with his nieces and nephew only served to further solidify his feelings.

“Well, I canna pretend that it’s easy. They challenge me and push me every day, sometimes to the point where I’d like to tear my hair out. But to see them grow, to nurture them and care for them… it’s the greatest work and the greatest joy.” Jenny’s hand seems to also migrate to the just barely-there swell of her belly, reaffirming her connection to the life growing within.

They fall quiet once more, content to sit and drink in contemplation. Claire finishes her cup first, and Jamie takes it from her, setting it beside his own on the hearth so that he can help her up from the chair. Her mouth opens wide in a yawn, and he slides a little closer, supporting her with his arm gently around her waist. “Goodnight, Sassenach. I hope you have a pleasant slumber.”

She hugs him briefly, forgetting for a moment that his sister is in the room, and she steps back with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Goodnight, Jamie. And goodnight, Jenny. It’s been so lovely to meet you and your family. I can’t thank you enough for hosting me.” Her exhaustion makes her soft, almost timid even, in a way he wouldn’t ordinarily associate with her.

Jenny simply smiles back in return, offering thanks of her own. “It’s my pleasure, Claire. I dinna think I can recall ever seeing my brother happier than he’s been this visit, and I thank ye for that. I hope ye’ll sleep well.”

Claire’s fully blushing now, but he also sees the way the corners of her lips turn up in the hint of a smile. He lets her head up the stairs alone, however much he may wish to follow.

Alone now with his sister, Ian suspiciously never having reappeared, he can feel her assessing gaze, waiting for him to crack. He sighs deeply, knowing there’s no avoiding Jenny when she’s on a mission.

“Out with is Janet, say whatever it is ye mean to say.” He’s not quite put out, but he doesn’t know how much he’s comfortable revealing to his sister, especially before he’s sorted his feelings for himself.

“Jamie, ye told me ye were coming with a friend. And Claire is lovely, dinna get me wrong, but if Ian treated his friends in the manner you treat her, I’d hang him by his bollocks in the yard.” She raises her eyebrow pointedly.

“It’s no’ like that Jenny. Claire and I...we are friends. It may not be conventional, but it works for us.” It’s not entirely true. They are friends, and their relationship is unconventional, but what he feels for her is so much more. It may not be “like that” now, but he’d give anything for it to be so. He’s sure Claire feels something for him, something more than simple friendship, but he’s hesitant to be the one to push. She’s given him enough signs to know that there is something worth waiting for, and he’ll wait as long as it takes for her to be ready.

“Aye, for now. But how long do ye expect to stay just friends with someone ye’re in love with?”

Her faces softens, arched brows coming to rest, and he realizes they’ve never had a conversation like this before. She’s never seen him in love, never had the opportunity to play the protective big sister role, making sure her baby brother’s heart remains safe.

“I intend to be friends with Claire for the rest of my life, if she’ll have me.” He pauses for a moment, watches her faces as she prepares to scold him, “If and when she decides that she’d like for me to be more than just her friend, I intend for that to be for the rest of my life as well.” His tone is unambiguous— this is it for him, Claire is it— and he hopes that the moment he finally gets to tell her isn’t too far off. Jenny nods at him, her eyes swimming with unfamiliar emotion, a mix of pride and something else he can’t quite describe.

Jamie smiles at his sister as he rises from his seat at the hearth, crossing the room to bid her goodnight. He leans down, laying one hand on her shoulder as he places a kiss to her forehead. She meets his eyes as he pulls back, her expression so very like their mother’s—always sharp, always thinking, but still so very full of love.

“Are ye sure ye ken what yer doing, brother?” He can’t stop the smile that springs to his face.

“No. I can’t say that I really do. But I am ready.”

Jamie turns from the room, heads toward the staircase, practically drowning in his own thoughts. His fingers drag up the banister slowly, his feet feeling heavier with each step. And then, he nearly stumbles backward down all of them, as he practically trips into Claire seated on the top step.

#outlander fan fiction prompt exchange #outlander #jamie and claire #modern au #I remember when I thought this story was going to be five chapters long l o l

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thesketchingwitch · 6 years

Text

The Hush

A/N apparently some of you weren’t entirely satisfied with the ending of ‘The Delivery Room, and ‘ a baby cries’ so this wee vignette and drawing are for you. 😀

In the dark of the night, Jamie sits back down in the wicker bedroom chair, and continues his whispers to the wee one in his arms.

‘Ah, now where were we, mo nighean? Before you so rudely interrupted me with your squalling... Ye’re all dry now, so no more noise, aye? Your mother’s sleeping. Ah, yes, I was saying that ye were a bit of a surprise. It’s true. But so welcome. ‘ He places the swiftest of kisses on her head ‘We didna expect to conceive on the honeymoon. But well, in all the excitement, pills were forgotten! ‘ The baby settles and seems to sigh in agreement.

‘Aye, my wee prawn. That’s right. Get comfortable. Ye are, you ken. All shades of red and pink, and wrinkled t’boot.’

He laughs lightly, careful not to joggle the small body held so carefully within his hands. ‘Your mother’s very fond of prawns. And of throwing them too.’ He smiles at the memory.

‘You know of course already that ye have the best mother in the world. You’ve had nine months to get to know her, aye? Claire.... ‘

He chokes up, pauses while he wrestles with his emotions, all the while gently stroking his newborn daughter’s bright auburn hair, marvelling at its softness. He can’t tell whether she’s actually fallen asleep again, though her eyes are closed.

‘Claire, she loves you so so much, mo chuisle. As do I’

The baby suddenly wriggles and whimpers. ‘So you’re still listening then?’

More struggles.

‘Aye, Wee Red, I know you’re fussing, but your Ma, she needs her rest now. She’s had quite a day of it. Yes, I ken you have too. But you’re going to have t’just make do with your Da.’

He can’t help but grin as he pronounces the last word, still hardly believing that he is holding his own child, this perfect mix of him and Claire, their love made flesh. He leans down and very gently presses his lips to his daughter’s forehead, softly, lingeringly.

At this tender contact, the baby opens her eyes. Jamie knows that she is already very familiar with his voice, its bass tones. He has been telling tales of old Scotland to the bump for months. But she is still unused to his touch. His bonny bairn. His mouth twitches. All these names he has for her already. She continues to stare solemnly up at him, trying to focus.

The weight of her in his hands, this warm body, so delicate, and yet so strong, infinitely precious. It seems so extraordinary that just hours ago, he had only known her as a curve within Claire, a series of movements and kicks, and now here she is. The smallest parcel of snuffles, sighs and light soughs. And the smell. A milky sweetness that is already ingrained within his psyche. And he can’t stop looking at her. He is enchanted by the smallest details. Her perfect wee fingers. The hint of translucency within her ears. The length of her lashes. She is a miracle of life.

Within the absolute quiet of the bedroom, he almost imagines he can hear her heartbeat. He can certainly feel her breathing, a series of tiny vibrations, though he canna really see it, so slight is the rise and fall of her chest.

He involuntarily clasps her tighter. To love her and protect her with his very life is now his raison d’être.

She’s already survived so much. The scare at 4 1/2 months when Claire had had significant bleeding. Then again at 7 months, at which point she was put on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. But she was strong, his wee girl, so braw, and determined. ‘Like your Ma’ he whispers into her hair.

He pulls back and strokes her cheek again, and then her brow, and watches in fascination how her eyes close again, and within moments, he feels just the tiniest change in her breathing, as she falls back to the sweetest slumber, held safe in her father’s embrace.

His Faith.

#the hush #modern au : newborn #modern au #newborn sketch #the hush sketch #the wee prawn 🍤#modern au snapshots

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

A Place to Belong Chapter 45: A Father’s Love

Chapter 44

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Claire swore she had never been happier in all her life.

Jamie had been antsy all through breakfast, despite Claire’s endless assuring squeezes of his hand under the table. She thought he was going to explode when Brianna set her spoon down and said:

“Ready, Da?”

It had amazed Jamie to see how confident she was, how unabashed, unafraid.

“Ready, lass.”

Now, Claire stood outside the corral, arms crossed atop the fence, leaning limply on the worn wood.

“D’ye ken how to brush a horse, Brianna?”

“ ’Course I do.” Brianna stuck her nose up at him quite adorably.

“Aye, forgive me fer asking such a foolish thing.” This at first made Claire nervous, but the way Jamie smiled after he said it, the way Brianna giggled, convinced her that they were only teasing one another.

So natural together.

“Can ye show me, then?”

Brianna nodded curtly, almost smugly, and brushed Alastair precisely the way she always did.

“See?” she said pointedly, her little nose in the air again.

Claire shook her head at her cheekiness. Perhaps her daughter took after her just a bit too much.

“Aye, that’s braw, a chiusle,” Jamie said gently. “Short wee flicks; who taught ye that?”

“Fergus. Said he learned from you.”

That took his breath away; a long lost memory of showing his son how to properly care for a horse long before he ever even learned to ride. “Aye. I suppose he did.”

Jamie took his own bit of hay and began brushing Alastair’s other side.

“Fergus,” Jamie continued. “He isna cross wi’ me fer taking his place wi’ ye in the corral?”

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Alastair’s coat.

“That’s good. I wouldna want to upset him, or you.” Brianna didn’t respond. “I ken ye’re…used to things being a certain way. I’m very grateful that ye allowed me to spend this time wi’ ye.”

Brianna smiled and looked up at him. “He likes you.”

“Does he, now?” Jamie moved in front of the beast, narrowing his eyes slightly, pretending to size him up.

“Aye,” Brianna confirmed with a little giggle. “He likes when ye do this. I’ll show you.”

She nestled herself right beside Jamie and reached a hand up to cup right beneath Alastair’s snout, then ran three fingers gently up and down between his eyes.

“Ye have to use three,” she said very seriously. “Two doesna feel as good, and four would make your fingers get too close to his eyes, and he doesn’t like that.” Brianna glanced down at his hands. “Except your fingers are giant…so maybe you should use two fingers.”

Jamie laughed out loud. “D’ye no’ ken well enough now that I’m no’ a giant?”

She giggled. “ ’Course. But ye still are giant.” She gently removed her hands from Alastair’s snout, but not before rising up onto her toes and pressing a wee kiss right on his nose. The sight of it warmed Jamie’s heart to its very core.

She’s fiery, aye, bold, brash…but so, very tender as well.

Like her mother.

“Your turn,” Brianna said, cocking her head to Alastair.

Jamie nodded and carefully placed his hands exactly where she had, taking care to use two of his giant fingers.

“Like this?”

“Aye.” Brianna beamed in approval.

“Ye’re a very clever lass, Brianna,” Jamie said tenderly, stroking Alastair. “Very caring and considerate. Ye took special care to learn exactly what yer horse likes and doesna like.”

Brianna’s grin grew ever wider, and Claire’s heart was fit to burst.

“He trusts me,” Brianna said proudly, rocking on her heels.

“Aye, I can see that. He’s a lucky horse.”

“He trusts you, too, now.”

“Then I am a lucky man.” Jamie removed his hands from Alastair’s snout.

“Kiss his nose!” Brianna said urgently, as if the matter were serious as death.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Canna forget that.”

Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Jamie bending slightly and kissing a horse’s nose. He was putty in their daughter’s hands.

“Alright then, lass. Let’s see how ye ride.”

Brianna bit her lip with excitement.

“D’ye need help mounting?”

“Only a little,” she insisted. “Just can’t reach her neck yet. So I need a hand.” She put her foot in the stirrup and looked up at him. “But you don't need to hold me. Fergus hasn’t done that since I was seven.”

Jamie chuckled softly; to hear her talk you’d think it had been quite a while since she was seven, and not a mere few months ago.

“Alright then, lass.” He reached his hand out to her. “Up ye get.”

Jamie was quite impressed to see the way she heaved herself over, despite how she gave several little bounces before fully committing to it. How many times, he wondered, had she attempted this with Fergus, only for her to fall short and collapse into the lad?

“See?”

“Braw, Brianna. Very braw, Indeed.”

She smiled smugly again. She took hold of the reins.

“You should take hold of the rope before Mummy starts shouting,” Brianna said.

Jamie threw his head back for a loud laugh at Claire’s expense, and Claire rolled her eyes, though she could not help her own laughter.

“Mummy shouts, does she?”

“Oh, aye,” Brianna said gravely, nodding, looking very much like her auntie. “If Fergus isna holding on for just a little tiny bit she has a conniption.”

Jamie laughed even harder at that, never imagining an eight-year-old to come up with such a word.

“Am I hearing things, Brianna, or did you just accuse me of having conniptions?” Claire called indignantly from behind the fence.

“But it’s true, Mummy! ‘Fergus!’” Brianna’s speech immediately melted into Claire’s posh English. “‘Take hold of the rope this instant! Fergus! Don’t you dare let her go!’”

Jamie’s eyes were leaking with tears of laughter.

“You are both in for it when you get out here!” Claire called, though, again, she was powerless to stop her own fit of laughter. Brianna’s impersonation really was quite spot on.

“Then we’ll stay in forever!” Brianna declared, sticking that nose up again. “We’ll eat grass and hay like the horses! Won’t we, Da?”

Jamie had to wait a few more moments before his laughter subsided enough to answer. “Aye, lass. We’ll be just fine out here. But I’ll only stay if ye brush my hair wi’ the hay the way ye do Alastair.”

Brianna laughed out loud.

“You are insufferable! Both of you!” Claire called.

“Why thank you.” Jamie gave a low bow, causing Brianna to laugh all the harder. “Alright then, a nighean.” Jamie finally took hold of the rope. “Off we go?”

Brianna clicked her tongue and gave the beast a light squeeze with her legs, like an expert wee jockey. Jamie didn’t know what he expected exactly, but he hadn’t expected her to be so natural. Claire had told him the lass loved her horse, but he had no idea how deeply this love ran for her. As he held the rope and led her around the corral, watched her steer the reins, listened to her gentle praise of the creature, he could not help the tears in his eyes, nor the hard lump in his throat.

It’s almost as if I taught her myself.

Claire, too, was nearly beside herself with emotion. This image, her daughter’s father smiling up at her, glowing with pride, doing something together that they both loved so deeply, it was more than anything she ever dared hope for. It was indescribable, overwhelming; the fierceness with which she loved them both.

“Yer Ma said ye were a fine rider, Brianna. But she didna tell me ye were a natural,” Jamie said, the pride in his voice uncontainable. “Reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

“Mummy says I get it from you,” she said lightly, grin wide as ever.

“Does she now?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, curls bobbing. “She says I get a lot from you.”

“Aye, my thick skull being one,” Jamie said, recalling their first encounter.

She giggled. “Aye.”

“What else does she say ye get from me?” His voice was suddenly light, lilting, entranced at the idea of his child taking after him.

“My eyes and hair, o’ course,” she said, then her nose wrinkled slightly. “My temper.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye, s’pose that’s so. Though I’d wager yer mam had something to do wi’ that as well.”

“That’s what Auntie Jenny says.” Brianna nodded in serious agreement, causing Jamie’s head to toss back with laughter again. “Once, I heard Mummy say to Auntie Jenny: ‘She’s far too good at lying.’” Her posh English came back, much to Jamie’s delight. “And then Auntie Jenny said, ‘Oh, aye, that she gets from her father.’” She thickened the Scot in her voice, then, imitating Jenny’s cadence quite impressively.

Jamie laughed again. “That’s true, indeed. Yer mam canna lie to save her own hide. I always say she’s got a glass face. Ken what I mean?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, smirking.

“Yer a sneaky wee thing as well, then? Listening to yer Auntie and Mam talking?” She blushed a bit at that, but her mischievous wee smirk didn’t go anywhere. “Ye get that from me as well,” he whispered, leaning in.

She giggled. “I’m always scaring Auntie wi’out meaning to. ‘Ye scairt the bowels out of me!’”

“Aye! I used to get that a lot when we were bairns.” Jamie’s cheeks were sore from smiling. “Yer also quite braw at switching between tongues. Dinna get that from me or yer mam, I should think. That’s a trait that’s special fer Brianna.”

She beamed at that, sticking her chin up proudly. “Aye. Mummy says I sound more Scot when I’m excited or angry. But I can sound whatever way I want to,” she said smugly. “When the Redcoats come I talk full Scot so they dinna find out I’m half-English. Works every time.”

Brianna’s tone was light and playful, but Jamie couldn’t help it when his face darkened with that knowledge. How often, he wondered, did Brianna have to hide who she was? Did they stuff Claire in the priest hole? Or did she manage to get away without speaking every time they came by?

Jamie cleared his throat, afraid of putting her off with his silence. “That’s very clever, lass.”

“It was Mummy and Auntie’s idea. When they come, we pretend that Auntie is my Mummy and that Mummy is my Auntie. Though I canna say ‘Mummy,’ have to say ‘Ma’. Too English, ye ken.”

Jamie nodded hesitantly. “Does it happen often?”

“Not as much as it used to.”

“Ye’re a brave wee thing, Brianna.”

“Och, it isn’t scary,” she assured him. “It’s fun pretending that Kitty’s my real sister and no’ just my cousin.” She smiled warmly.

Jamie’s heart felt heavy. To Brianna, it was a game, a fun source of entertainment: outsmarting the British. She got to do her playacting and pretend that her very best friend was her sister. She had no idea what the dire consequences would be if the charade was discovered. He hadn’t even asked Claire, or Jenny and Ian for that matter, how they’d fared in terms of Redcoat harassment while he was gone. He hadn’t at all considered the implication of Claire, clearly English as soon as she opened her mouth, raising a child so thoroughly resembling Red Jamie. Jenny’s idea to pretend she was hers was a braw one indeed.

“Ye get along well wi’ Kitty, then?” Jamie said lightly, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, aye. She’s my very best friend since the day I was born. We fight sometimes, but Mummy and Auntie say it’s because we’re both stubborn as mules.”

He chuckled. “Aye, the two of ye seem to share the thick-skull trait.”

She nodded. “Maggie is my best friend, too. But it’s different than wi’ Kitty. Maggie doesn’t like horses like we do, and she doesn’t like to run around or shout. She’s very quiet.”

“Nothing wrong wi’ that.”

“I know,” Brianna assured him. “Playing with Maggie is just different than playing with Kitty, that’s all. We paint instead of running and shouting.”

“Aye, that makes sense to me.”

“Maggie helps Mummy in the garden,” she went on. “ ’Course I do, too, but Maggie really loves it. Says she wants to be a healer like Mummy when she grows up.”

Jamie’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Claire was passing her gift down to his own kin, her bonny wee niece. “And what about you, Brianna? What do you wanna be when ye grow up?”

Her face screwed up, her nose wrinkling again. “I dinna want to grow up, Da.”

He laughed out loud again. “Aye, that’s fine, lass. I dinna want ye to grow up just yet either.”

——

The day continued as such, and eventually Claire ended up sitting on the wooden fence, leaning on her hands, knocking herself off balance every time either Brianna or Jamie had her tossing her head back. At one point, Fergus appeared behind her and deliberately spooked her, almost causing herself to jerk forward and fall on her face. Brianna insisted that Fergus join them in the corral, so he did, walking alongside Jamie, holding onto Alastair’s bit to keep pace as Jamie led with the rope. Claire could not hear what Jamie and Fergus were saying, but there was a great deal of laughter, from them and Brianna as well, and it warmed her from head to toe.

They haven’t skipped a beat.

My boys.

“Mummy!” Brianna called, jolting her out of her blissful reverie. “I want to go fast! All around! May I?”

Claire shielded her face from the sun with her hand. “Alright,” she called back. “Would you like to ride with Fergus? Or me?”

“Neither!” she cried. “I want tae ride wi’ Da!”

Claire could literally see the wind being knocked out of Jamie. She blinked in shock for a moment; not shock that Brianna would want to ride with him, but purely because Claire was not at all used to Jamie being included in the mix. Even as he stood right there in front of her, it hadn’t even been a thought in Claire’s mind that Jamie would participate in something that had become somewhat ritualistic for this family.

Our family. Mine and his.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Alright, darling. Let Da get you down, and then we’ll put Alastair away and get everyone else saddled up.”

Claire could hear Brianna from where she sat, insisting that she did not need help dismounting, and she chuckled to herself. Jamie stood back and let her dismount, instinctually putting his hands out to catch her when she wavered on the ground. She didn’t miss a beat, however, standing up tall and brushing his hands away. Claire shook her head, laughing, and she heard Jamie and Fergus laugh as well.

Brianna led Alastair back to his stall herself and, with a bit of help, she removed his saddle and bridle herself as well. Jamie ruffled her hair proudly, beaming down at her. It was such a simple gesture, so natural for a father to do to his child. And yet it meant more than the world to Claire, and to Jamie as well. She could tell.

“Aye, she’s spirited,” Jamie said as he and Claire were saddling their horses, and Brianna helped Fergus with his. “Like ye said. I kent it well from this past week, but tae see her out here…” He shook his head, his grin wider than ever. “She reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

Claire chuckled. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Och.” Jamie rolled his eyes, but his grin did not fade. He finished saddling his horse, and he leaned on the leather with his elbows. “She wants to ride wi’ me, Claire.”

Claire looked up, gazing at him over her horse with eyes aglow with adoration. “Of course she does.”

Jamie’s eyes glistened, and Claire was overcome with the desire to kiss him, unfortunately unable to reach him over two horses.

“You’re slow!” Brianna cried. “Fergus and I are done already.”

Claire and Jamie snapped out of their longing gazes and whipped around. “Aye, slow indeed. If ye’re sae clever, get o’er here and help us, aye?”

Brianna bounded over, helping with the finishing touches of the bridles and saddles.

“Do you have the rope, Fergus?” Claire asked.

“Aye, it was with my other things,” he confirmed, holding it up.

“What’s that for?” Jamie asked, leading his horse out of his stall.

“For you. And Brianna,” Claire said. “It goes around both of you so she doesn’t fall off the horse if a seizure comes unexpectedly.”

“Which it never has,” Brianna said with slightly more attitude than Claire appreciated.

“I know that, Brianna Ellen,” Claire said with the smallest hint of a threat. “It’s just in case. You know that.”

With one final look, Brianna shrank, nodding. “Yes, Mummy.”

“And don’t try to pull a fast one on Da,” Claire went on as the four of them emerged outside from the stables. “He knows all the rules and all the precautions.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Claire exhaled lightly with a smile. “Alright. Here we go, love.” She crouched down to kiss Brianna’s head. “Have fun with Da.”

Brianna smiled, squinting in the sun. “I will.”

Claire mounted her horse, as did Fergus. Brianna looked up at Jamie, shielding her eyes with her hand.

“I do need your help mounting this time,” she said. “Your horse is giant. Like you.”

Jamie laughed out loud, then crouched down to poke her nose. “I’d look rather foolish on a wee beast like Alastair, would I no’?”

“More than rather,” she said, giggling.

“Alright. Up we go.” Jamie scooped her up under her arms, and Claire did not miss how he lingered with her there. She knew the feeling, the overwhelming knowledge that you alone were holding your child, you alone were their safety. He deposited Brianna on the saddle, then swung himself on.

Jamie felt the air blown out of his lungs as Brianna inched back, pressing her entire back against Jamie’s chest.

“Make sure you tie it tight,” Claire said as Jamie began winding the rope around them both. “Stop the horse immediately if she slumps over. You know what to do.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, finishing off the knot. “I’ve...I’ve got her.” He placed a protective, loving hand on the top of her head, pulling her tighter against him with the other. Claire smiled sweetly at him.

I’ve got ye, lass. Now and forever.

“I get to hold the reins, you know,” Brianna said.

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, lass. I know.”

She nodded curtly, taking the reins in her hands, and Jamie willed his fingers to stop trembling as they closed around her tiny wrists.

“Ready, lass?” he whispered into her ear, and her enthusiastic nod had her curls tickling his face.

“One...two...three…” Brianna said, anticipation building in her voice. “Go!”

In perfect tandem, Jamie and Brianna snapped the reins, and Jamie squeezed the horse’s torso with his legs, and they were off.

Jamie was in awe. If Brianna was happy on Alastair in the corral, she was alive now.

She hunched over as much as the restraint of the rope would allow, and Jamie followed, crouching as much as he could without crushing her. She really was excellent with the reins, even at this speed, and Jamie hardly had to intervene. Her hair was free and wild, obstructing his vision more than was probably safe, and he made a note to plait her hair next time. After a while, she was whooping with joy, positively laughing her head off, and Jamie could not help but join her.

“It’s like flying!” she cried over the pounding of hooves and rushing of wind. “Aye, Da?”

“Aye, lass!” he called back, his stomach flipping with joy. “Indeed i’tis!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus and Claire occasionally blur into his field of view, but he could hardly see anything but the fiery tendrils dancing in front of his eyes, could hardly process anything over the whooping laughter of his daughter.

His heart physically ached with how deeply he loved her.

Her joy was putting a light inside of him that he did not think existed, was bringing to life something that he had thought long gone. He’d expressed to Claire that he did not think he could connect with children anymore, that his spirit had been too broken beyond repair.

But Brianna was putting his spirit back together, and she wasn’t even trying. All she had to do was squint up at him with that gap-toothed smile, or shake her head so that her curls bounced, or cry out with joy on her horse.

She was making him whole again.

My beautiful, sweet, cheeky, perfect lass. My flesh and blood. My daughter.

----

And that's a wrap on this one! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and Happy New Year as well! All my love! Stay tuned for a sequel to this story sometime in the new year!<3

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desperationandgin · 5 years

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Deep as the Road is Long (Part III, Chapter 28 - COMPLETE)

Rating: General Audiences

Author: desperationandgin