#the hogmanay lads | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

renee-writer · 2 years

Text

My Soul Calls to You Chapter Nine

AO3

After the gathering, they tuck Alex into bed. The poor lad is exhausted from all the outside play. His parents have a lot to do also. Finishing the surgery, Jamie needs to talk more to his father and, Claire has another thing on her mind as well. “Jamie, I am thinking I need an assistant. Do you know of anyone here that can fulfill that role?” They are walking back to their room.

“Hmm, the only lass that comes to mind is Amelia. She is my cousin on my grandsire, Lord Lovett’s side. You recall meeting her, her husband and, their daughter Leary?”

She nods with a frown. “Yes, I like Amelia but Leary, she gives me a bad feeling. In honesty, she seemed way to interested in in you.”

He arches his eyes. “Leary, she is a mere wean of around fourteen years, I believe. I have ken’d her since she was a baby. You needn’t worry about her. Amelia is a hard worker and Leary may be able to help you with your herbs.”

“Has Amelia been a healer or midwife?” They are almost to their door.

“I dinna ken recall I haven’t been here in five years.” They both laugh at the truth of that. “You can ask Jenny.”

“I shall. I still don’t trust her daughter though.”

He opens the door and leads her in. “I am a man grown of Twenty-two or so years,” their still not sure, “and you, my wife, a woman of twenty-three or so. Why would a mere wean turn my head. She may want me but all I want is you. Come, let me show you how much.”

Their kisses are ferocious and Claire knows neither will get much sleep tonight, not that she minds that a bit. She is soon down to just her shift and Jamie is reaching for his belt. Claire recalls their wedding night and the sound of his belt hitting the floor. Wishing to hear that sound again, she moves his hands and undoes it herself. The belt and kilt fall with a whoosh and Jamie stood before her in all his glory. In front of the fireplace, his manhood glows, ready for her. He lifts her, his legs around his waist, and he leads her to the bed. Love is made slow and deep. Jamie longs to plant his seed deep in her. He adores Alex and couldn’t love him more, but he wants another bairn with his wife. One he will watch grow inside her, be nourished at her breasts. A mere woman she may be but to her husband she’s a Goddess.

The next morning, a small bang before the son rose fully, finds Alex, in his own kilt and shirt, at their door. “Da, may we go feed the horses. Grandsire told me all about them last night and I wanna help. I wanna help mam in her surgery too. May I please?” How are they to resist that. Jamie laughs with joy, at his son. His son!

“Mo mac, aye we shall. First, please allow your da and mam time for breakfast. Come greet your mam then we will have breakfast and give the horses theirs.”

He runs in and climbs on the bed, hugging and kissing his mam. She returns them with smiles, never feeling happier in her life. After she sends them on their way, something strange happens. She has the feeling she has been here all her life despite knowledge of her past and the stones. Weird how things were changing in her mind. Not in a bad way just a strange way. With a frown, she waves it off.

She finds Jenny sitting to breakfast with Wee Jamie. “Jenny, I would like to re-start a vegetable and herb garden in your mam’s old garden, if that is alright with you. I believe it would be a real help for us and he tenants.”

“I have no objections. When you left the first time and gave us instructions on what to do, those root vegetables kept us from starving. All the instructions actually. The egg laying chickens, ducks, turkeys, the wee cows, why, we had fresh meat at Hogmanay, never had that before. We kept the females for breeding and milk and one bull. The others we put up. It kept us going Claire. We have more time now. We know what is coming. I think we should do the same, starting now.”

“Agree. There is cave on property where Jamie would have hidden, a root cellar and, the priest hole. Let’s fill them up. Dig another root cellar too. We will be more then prepared. Jenny, I learned a lot in the time I was gone. How to sew, knit and even cook. I can and will help where I can but. I think you and Mrs. Crook have the kitchen. You should keep charge of the maids. They know and respect you. I will see to the garden and be a healer. With two mistress’s we need to divide duties.”

“I agree. You can cook, excellent sister. That will be a help. Your knowledge of the future though is the biggest help. We will be ready.”

“We sure will.”

Over the next few days the garden was turned and planted. She uses the seeds she brought with her and the seeds Master Raymond provided. The men readily agreed to build another root cellar. “Plant as many gardens as you wish, my daughter. We will see that there is a place to store the produce.” Brian had told her.

The surgery was also opened. She does bring Amelia in as her assistant. The lass is a quick study and hard worker. Her daughter comes with her occasionally. She doesn’t like Claire and doesn’t hide it. This doesn’t bother her though. She is a mere child.

The men are equally busy. More animals are brought. Breeding is begun. Nuts are also gathered, along with eggs each day. At first the wives are reluctant to eat or serve them, fearing they are poison. That is until their Laird and his family do then they are used in more recipes. Brian, Ian and, Jamie also buy goats and lambs. They maids make goat geese and the wool is used to be knit into clothes. The estate becomes more and more profitable.

Once a week, Claire gives Brian a gold ring to be sold at Inverness. Ian is quite impressed by the shillings they fetch, coin that is hidden in the Laird’s room, behind his bed.

At six months pregnant, three months after they have returned, Jenny is quite round with child and her feet have some swelling. Claire insisted she sits more with her feet up and she takes over some of her duties. That is how she happened to be out, helping with the wash, with Mary, Amelia and, Leary when she catches the young lass, lifting up one of Jamie’s shirts and sniffing it. She isn’t happy and decides to talk to Brian and Jamie about it later.

Ian come up. “Claire, the ring fetched 45 shillings. Quite a lot of coin. What do you think we should do with it?”

“That is up to the Laird as it is his coin not mine. But. I have some ideas on what we can do.” As they walk away talking, Leary tries to listen. Her mam catches her and smacks the side of her head.

“You shame me Leary Fraser. That is the business of Master Murray and Lady Fraser. Not yours. Now get back to work.” Amelia knows she will need to talk with her husband about their daughter. Even though, she herself, is expecting again, she doesn’t let it affect her work. Even the children of the estate do their chores and her daughter was mucking about. This would never do. Maybe they should send her to Castle Leoch and away from Jamie Fraser. Everyone ken’d that her daughter fancied herself in love with him, all accept his Lady, who was to smart to pay the wean any mind.

Claire walks in to see Jenny knitting. She sits down with a thump that catches the other woman’s attention. “Are you ill sister?”

“I don’t feel well but don’t believe myself ill. Jenny, I have missed two cycles. I am expecting.”

With a huge smile, she replies, “Sister, we shall have children together, fill this house up. Mary is expecting also and you ken Amelia is due around the same time I am. What blessed lasses we are. Does Jamie ken yet? I know he would love a lass.”

“Not yet.”

The men enter just then, discussing whether to invest the money from the gold ring or hide it away. Jamie looks to his wife, who turns green just then before jumping up and running outside. He quickly follows.

“Sassanach, what’s wrong?”

She stands back up and wipes her face off with her apron. “Nothing my love. All is right. I carry a child, our child.” He lifts her up and spins her around.

“So happy you finally figured it out.” She laughs even though his spinning isn’t helping her queasy stomach.

“You knew.” He sees her face and stops spinning her.

“Sassanach, your courses are late. They have only been late one other time. I noticed.”

“With all that is happening, you kept track. My husband, you are truly the king of men.” He laughs and kisses her. Alex comes up and stops as he sees them kiss. They are so happy and he doesn’t wish to disturb them. He heads back inside where they find him.

Wanting him to know next, they take him to their room and sit him on the bed. Jamie asks, “Alex, my lad, how would you like to be a big brother?”

Alex looks at his da in astonishment. “Really! A big brother. Me?” He looks to his mam. “I would love to. Mam are you having a baby like Auntie Jenny?”

“I am. And remember, as soon as Uncle Murtagh gets back with Fergus, he will be your brother also.” They have sent him to fetch the lad, a bit sooner then they would have meet him but, he is theirs and they wish him home.

With two son’s and the possibility of a little lass, Jamie feels as proud as a peacock. Alex jumps up and his mam catches him. “Careful lad. Recall your mam is carrying a baby.” He tries to scold but his smile gives him away.

“I am sorry mam. I didn’t harm you or the bairn, did I?”

“No baby. I am fine. You just must be a bit careful. You will be the best big brother ever.” His da takes him and they head into the Great Room to tell the rest of their family.

Jamie stands before his father. “Da, I have something to tell you. Claire is with child. As we are bringing another child back from France, we shall soon have three.”

Hi father walked up and hugs him, a deep bear hug. “Your mam dreamed of this house full of children and now her dream is coming true. You make me proud son, as do my daughters. Everyone hugged, after Ian helped his wife up. Mrs. Crook grins broadly as she sits lunch out. The Fraser family has always been good to her and now she is seeing it grow. A blessed day. All are happy as they sit down to lunch, all but one person.

Leary looks in on the celebration with pure hate. How dare that English bitch be having another child with her man. Amelia sees her and decides that she must go away. After smacking her daughter on the head again, she drags her home. There she will discuss with her husband the idea of sending her away to Castle Leoch as a maid. Jamie Fraser wasn’t for her. She needs to find someone who is.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #my soul calls to you #chapter nine #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom

5 notes · View notes

lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

THE HUNGER OF MY HEART

//PROLOGUE// //PART ONE// PART TWO

PART THREE

For easier reading here’s the link for ao3 (X)

Jamie stepped into the Lallybroch stables and whistled melodically through his teeth. A wide-browed grey horse poked his head out from the corner stall, hitching his ears forward as he blew excitedly through his nostrils.

"Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Said Jamie fondly, firmly patting the long dappled neck of the horse and scratching behind his ears. "Di' ye miss me, my wee laddie?"

Nothing was wee about Cobhar. He was a good-tempered, but spirited 14-hand gelding that had been the first foal that Jamie's father let him care for when he was a lad, still mourning his mother and needing distraction.

Cobhar's big head came down and mouthed affectionately at Jamie's curls then cheeks in greeting, as he always had done, then descended down to his knuckles, eager for the sweet treat he could smell hiding in his palm.

"Och, ye miss being spoilt is all then? Didn'a think of me once while I was gone, di' ye?"

Cobhar huffed impatiently and nudged his head against Jamie's chest, nibbling at the buttons, while swishing his dirt-blonde tail side to side.

"A'right, laddie," Jamie chuckled, patting him again. "Here ye go. No need to knock me over." The stallion's soft velvet lips plucked the whole apple from out his opened palm and devoured it in one loud and juicy crunch.

"Fattening auld Cobhar a'ready, Jamie?"

Jamie grinned ear to ear as he looked aside to see his best friend, and now brother-in-law, Ian, amble up beside him. He was tall and whipcord lean and strong, with an honest, good-natured face about him that had captured his sister, Jenny's heart when they were naught but bairns.

"Ye're one to talk, Ian. My sister didn'a get big as a house on her own, di' she?"

Face a rich blush, Ian laughed and bashfully scratched his nose, crooked from when Jamie broke it years before, having found him and Jenny in the most compromising of ways.

"Still a wee shite, Fraser. And still redder than a roosters arse," said Ian, as he playfully smacked the back of Jamie's head.

As had everyone else in the family since he arrived back home. His uncle's, aunties and brutally by his beloved godfather, Murtagh, for being away from Lallybroch for so long. But the real blackening had come from Jenny, a feat for a pregnant woman who had once been no bigger than his thumb. Thank Christ, he had a skull made of solid stone (though as predicted she had embraced soon after and kissed him more than what was decent for a sister to).

Rubbing the multitude of throbbing black and blue bumps on his head (but after having given Ian a hard punch to his shoulder), Jamie spotted what looked to be an envelope under his brother-in-law's arm.

"Plan on feeling the bills to the white sow, Ian?"

Ian looked at him quizzically before making an "O" with his mouth and pulled the envelope out.

"It came yesterday, before you di'," said Ian, handing it over to Jamie, who curiously flipped it over.

It was a letter actually. He grinned, almost laughing, as it was addressed to James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser and had been tied thoughtfully with twine and a sprig of greenery embedded (accidentally?) in its bow that he brushed a blunt forefinger to.

It was from Claire.

Jamie glanced up to see Ian smirking at him and felt his ears blush hot.

"Ye're damn lucky I saw that before yer sister di'. She'd be holding it up to the light and steaming the seams open."

"She'd do no such thing," Jamie retorted, with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Yer wife would tear it open wi' her teeth and wave it in my face."

"That she would," Ian agreed with a chest shaking chuckle. "But our lass is a bloodhound and will find out sooner than not about the puir lass that ye've set yer heart upon."

The last was said almost in question. A hope that maybe Jamie had found a way to balm his wearied heart, knowing that his travels were not just a simple bout of wanderlust and the outlandish reason why. He had the look of a man now awakened, as if he'd been reborn. Something Ian himself had experienced the day Janet Fraser gave him his first kiss at the tender age of six and had never recovered from.

Nor had his nose.

Jamie met Ian's hazel eyed gaze.

"Her name's Claire," he beamed, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice that rivaled the reverence of a prayer to the creator above. "I met her in London a week ago. Spent every second I could wi' her."

And leaving the woman of his dreams had been like having his heart cleaved in two.

"Then you'll have to write to me," Claire had said, beneath her gates woven green with ivy, having clasped her fingers to his, while her other hand held his arm as if to draw him back to her marvelous world.

"Letters, ye mean?" He gulped, having felt himself sway to her power.

She nodded. "I prefer it. I can't stand the ringing and pinging of a telephone. Will you, Jamie?" Her voice had sounded unsure as if it were indeed possible he could ever refuse her.

"Who do I address it to?" He had smiled, while grazing a tentative thumb to the back of her palm. "The funny house no one can see at the end of nowhere street?"

"You're a smart one." She pulled her hand away to tap his nose but had let her caress linger innocently, cluelessly, down his ginger stubbled cheek as he shivered with desire, wanting to kiss the base of her thumb, count her freckles with his mouth. "Address it to this empty lot and your letter will find me. Just don't be forever."

Jamie had pressed his hand over hers, not knowing if he could ever let her go, feeling his breath stitch tight.

"Then until I see ye again, Sassenach."

She glowed at the name he'd given her the day they'd met. Had told him before it suited her better than even her given one.

Jamie hadn't agreed with that at all and wanted to tell her what Claire was in the Ghàidhlig.

One day he would.

Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart.

Tha gaol agam ort

But apparently a day had been far too long for her.

"I think she's the one," Jamie continued on, in almost startling disbelief as he grinned like the lovesick fool he was. "The one that's been calling for me all these years."

"Christ, man! She's real?!" Ian gripped his shoulder, matching his excitement. "Should we be expecting yer Claire for hogmanay with a wee one of yer own?"

Before Jamie could stutter a heart racing answer to that query, the two were interrupted by Jenny hollering for them.

“D’ye two want yer dinner, or shall I feed it to the dogs!?”

Said dogs, Luke and Elphin, Mars and auld Bran, howled in answer while Jamie groaned at his sister's impeccable timing.

Ian slapped his back though and gave his dearest friend and bràthair an encouraging smile and waggle of his dark brows. "Read the damn letter, man. I'll take care of yer sister. Just remember when yer wean's born to name him after me, aye?"

After watching Ian depart with a wink, Jamie threw a long leg over Cobhar's stall door (shushing the nosey beast with a promise of sugar cubes) and settled himself low in the hay.

After pocketing the bit of green to his breast pocket with a delicate hand, he carefully untied the twine and opened Claire's letter. The sweet fragrance of elderflowers and chamomile kissed the page where a simple request was written that had Jamie hopping over the stall door and running towards Lallybroch, with his pack of dogs yapping at his heels.

My Dear Jamie,

At the end of the week I'll be in Edinburgh.

Join me?

"Are ye ever going to tell me what's in this thing, Sassenach?"

Up and down the winding streets of Edinburgh, past the many sloping buildings and cafes and bitty book shops stacked beside one another, Jamie had been carrying a heavy and ornate wooden chest for Claire as she walked ahead of him, looking for the shop to deliver it to.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and her young apprentice, Elias, beside him, who'd taken quite a shine to the older Scotsman. He too had been tasked with carrying a package. It was strapped to his back, a long leather cylinder that could've held anything from mundane documents to a treasure map. Jamie wasn't sure at all.

"It's not for me to say. Besides it would only worry your dreams."

"That doesna make me feel any better," Jamie murmured, staring warily at what he held in his arms which amused Claire greatly enough to bite her posey lush lips from laughing.

"Then pretend it's a cake box."

Elias snorted, catching Jamie's attention.

"Ye ken what's in this thing don't ye, mo charaid?"

"Aye - I mean yes. But -" Elias flicked his round eyes to his mistress's straight back then cupped his hand to his round cheek. "I'll tell you later. It's downright awful and I nearly lost my -"

"You know I can hear you both? I'm not that old."

"And how old is that?" Jamie asked half teasing, half with genuine curiosity, while Elias pinked, snorting loudly once more.

Claire stopped in her tracks and spun on her heels, cutting a look at the younger lad who quickly cowered behind the much taller man.

"I'm old enough to remember Queen Victoria but not the Bonnie Prince. Is that enough for you?" She replied flatly, crossing her arms.

Jamie went a bit bug-eyed, mentally counting the decades since the little Queen's reign. Then his wide mouth twitched.

"And ye say ye're no' a witch?"

Claire rolled her eyes and continued walking but a smile had peeked on her lips that encouraged Jamie to tease her more.

"Ye ken," he began, walking beside her now and shifting the weight of the chest as he did so. "There are auld highland tales that say curls wild as yers are the mark of a Ban-druidh, and that the crows favor them to make their nests."

She tugged at her dark locks and watched as they bounced back on release with utter disdain written on her face.

"They're more of a tumbleweed curse if you ask me," she frowned, making Jamie quickly regret his words.

"I didna mean it that way, Sassenach. Truly. Yer curls are lovely. They're like the ripples in a burn when the rain and leaves fall upon it. Luminous as the sky rich in twilight. And yer eyes, Christ, they're. . ."

Jamie's voice trailed off when he realized they'd stopped walking and had the wide-eyed attention of both Elias and Claire.

As well as everyone else on the street alongside them.

How loudly had he been blabbering?

But then a smile of pure delight broke across Claire's face, reflecting brightly in her eyes, as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, only for another far more impetuous to take its place.

"How has no one snatched up a charmer like you, Jamie?"

One had. A very oblivious one.

Jamie sheepishly shrugged and found unparalleled interest in the engravings of the wooden box he carried as his face blazed the very color of his beating heart. He looked very much like a schoolboy.

Unnoticed by them though was dear Elias, whose sea-grey eyes darted between them both, grinning sweet as pie.

Walking down another street, Claire finally announced they had arrived, and the men, sore footed and muscle strained, sighed in relief.

The shop exterior was hard wood and painted coal black while the door was a dark and flaking green. And written in gold on the long framed window beside the door, Jamie read to himself

THE WITHERED BONE

Potions // Trinkets // Antiques

The Finest Biscuits This Side of the Black Realm

"Biscuits?" Jamie murmured, knotting his brow. "What kind of shop is this? Like yers, Sassenach?"

"Not necessarily," she said, hand hesitant on the brass doorknob. "For one it's in plain sight. But if you want to call anyone a witch the three who own this place would fit the bill. I think they even have a cauldron."

"They do. I saw it with - uh, nevermind," Elias choked at the last, blushing beet red.

Claire arched her brow. "Now Elias -"

"I know, ma'am," he drawled, fiddling with the strap over his chest. "Stay away from Ms. Annalise and keep to your side."

"And Jamie -"

He looked at her smiling wryly. "Ms. Annalise?"

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You stay at the front of the shop. There's nothing there that can bite your nose off."

Claire then ushered them both through the door.

Inside, it was a cluttered jumble of anything and everything. An elaborate display of lost treasures from Africa to France and most prominently the Jacobite resistance in all its doomed glory. There was an array of vintage costume jewelry, stacked stop tables against the walls and racks of overflowing clothing a group of young girls were pawing through, where one in particular, all flaxen hair and big doe eyes, was swaying to the melancholy chords of a record that crackled softly in the background.

What makes you think love will end?

When you know that my whole life depends

On you

It was a tune Jamie remembered his parents dancing to. His mother had been wrapped in his father's arms as he nuzzled her cheek, softly mouthing the words against her skin. The young girl hummed it too as she gazed dreamily at a dress in her hands.

Overhead hung a simple iron chandelier that seemed to have been ripped straight from a castle's dungeon, dripping hot candle wax to a metal bowl placed on the hardwood floors. One burning drop fell down Jamie's neck as he walked beneath them, that had him cursing underbreath as he scrunched his shoulders and knocked his knee into a table, rattling the knickknacks.

"Ye break it ye buy it, laddie," came a voice from the front of the shop. "I'll take cash and the blood of yer first born."

"Oh, Geilie," said Claire and crossed over to the counter, leaning over the glass display of dirks and sgian dhu (with a cookie jar atop) to kiss a rather wicked to the bone looking redhead's cheek. "You are terrible."

"It wasn'a as if I lied," Geilie snickered, turning her attention first to young Elias who flinched under her unnerving gaze then to Jamie, blatantly raking over his physique before Claire stepped into her view.

"Who's the clumsy stag ye've brought wi' ye, Claire?"

"A friend who I very much like as he is. No twitching your nose or feeding him your biscuits." She then mumbled to Jamie at her shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel, remember?"

"Ye're never any fun," she pouted, then pointed her chin. "Have ye a name, stag?"

"Jamie," he replied simply, not at all trusting the unsettling woman before him with more than that.

"Weel then, Jamie, ye can leave that in the corner there and you," she looked at Elias with a devilish grin as she propped her chin on her hand and drummed her fingers to her cheek. "Louise will be waiting downstairs fer ye, Annalise too. But ye kent that aye?"

While the young lad experienced a sudden shortness of breath, Jamie set the delivery down and rather dumbly asked, "What's downstairs?"

Geilie's eyes shimmered like the feral beast whose blood she probably bathed in, chilling Jamie down to his bones.

"Why? Are ye needin' an ill-wish like the wee lasses over there." She gestured over to the girls taking their leave. "Mebbe something far more entertaining and lethal like a summoning? Those require a blood sacrifice, ken. Nothing so tender as yer sweet lass here wi' her trade of bits and bobs.

She wasn't kidding.

Jamie glanced at the doorway that led downstairs, carved with cabbalistic symbols. A faint whiff of bitter herbs wafted through a pigeon blood red curtain that shadowed it, mingling with a coppery tang he could taste on his tongue, tainting the air. It churned his wame with sick.

"Or are ye wantin' - Oh!" She quickly shot a strange and startled look over to Claire.

"Leave him be, Geilie," Claire chided, unaware of the questions in her sometimes friend's eyes as she threw all her attention on Jamie.

"We'll only be a minute," she assured him with a hand running down his arm, sending a shock of steadying warmth through him that he knew came from someplace bewitching within her. "And don't worry about Geilie, she won't touch a hair on your head when she knows I can shrivel hers like a prune."

Jamie smiled at his own Ban-druidh. Must've whispered it too, to deserve the pinch she gave him before leaving with Elias downstairs to the witch's grisly lair.

"I ken what yer after, mo bhalaich," came Geilie's voice, softly speaking to him as if he were a friend. "I can see it festering in ye like hemlock, yer love fer the Sassenach."

Jamie nervously glanced over to the doorway. "I dinna ken what yer on about, woman."

"Dinna bother hidin' it, no' like she can see it anyhow. She hasn't the heart fer it, ye see. Hers was taken by her old master, the wee frog, who lived in that house of hers before she di'. She hasn'a a clue where it is, doesn'a even ken it's missin', and wi'out it she canna love ye back."

"Why - Why should I believe you?" Jamie asked haltingly, for his throat was being strangled by his heart, ripped from beneath his ribs.

"Why would I lie, ye puir wee fool? Save yerself, getaway, or that love ye carry will swallow ye whole, heart and soul and breath."

Only when she touched the tender spot on his chest did Jamie realize he was bent over the counter a hair's breadth away from the witch, close enough to see the harsh and earnest truth pooling in her eyes.

Then she pushed him away.

"All done," said Claire, coming through the curtain, and cast her gaze between the two in front of her.

"What have you two been doing?" She waved a finger at them both.

"Oh, a little talking is all. Nothing more," grinned Geilie, face a mask of perfect innocence.

Claire hummed, believing otherwise and tried to make light of whatever she saw troubling Jamie's face. "You should know whatever Geilie told you, it's probably only half as bad or twice as worst,"

"Och, I'm sure of it, Sassenach. Shall we go?" Jamie said hurriedly, not meeting her eye. Trying to forget what the witch had said.

She slowly nodded, her face lined with concern, but tucked her slender arm through his and gave Geilie a half-hearted goodbye. Immediately, Jamie felt the blood in his veins flow to his heart now beating in its proper place and air return to his lungs.

But somewhere deep inside himself, Jamie could feel the beginnings of a rotting ache bloom and take root. He was already too far gone.

"You didn't eat the biscuits did you."

He managed a weak chuckle and swallowed. "No lass." But then he swiveled his head. "Where's the wee lad?"

In five seconds flat, Claire had Elias by his arm like a child, his face a burning fever red and eyes bowed to the ground with Ms. Annalise leaning at the doorway, a beguiling smile on her face.

No time is wasted that makes two people friends

THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments on this fic. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!!

!!MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Now Author Notes

*First off sorry for all the messy mistakes and eye gouging writing

*Thanks to @soinspiredbyyou/ @mo-nighean-rouge for help with the line tweaking "Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart." Although hers was actually better "Perhaps preceded by a phrase stirring in his heart" but preceded sounded too smart and too good for my dummy words.

*The descriptions of Cobhar are from the book cause I don't know anything about horses.

*The song is Never My Love

*I may come back and fiddle with this chapter but I really wanted to get this done before Christmas.

*Next chapter will be the last

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

clandonnachaidh · 4 years

Text

Remember Remember the Fifth of November

“D’ye think she’ll be warm enough?”

I looked down at our daughter and swallowed the urge to comment on the fact that he’d asked that very question at least ten times in almost as many minutes. His strong jaw was clenched in concentration as he wrestled a cosy knit hat onto her head, trying to be as delicate as he could so as to not wake her but having to go to war with her already abundant curls as they fought back against constriction. Brianna was in my favourite place, cocooned in a wrap that held her close to my chest with her head resting heavily on my shoulder as she slept. I even welcomed the drool that would no doubt be spilling from her parted lips as she dreamed.

Amongst all the other blessings that having a child of our own brought to us, the fact that she was such a good sleeper was not one to go unmentioned.

I smiled softly at the sight of my husband, huge and imposing in every way but somehow unbelievably gentle when it came to his daughter. Jamie was looking at her with the sheer adoration that appeared only when he was looking at Brianna.

“She’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be warm beside the bonfire.”

“Aye but nae too close,” Jamie warned me, pointlessly.

“Don’t worry, lad, I don’t have any inclination to launch our daughter into the flames.”

He quietly muttered ‘dinna even joke’ under his breath as he put an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my temple, showing me that I was forgiven for my attempt at comedy.

Brianna shuffled slightly so I checked that she was comfortable, made sure that her little booties were firmly on her feet and saw that her hands were cradled in tight fists under her chin. Jamie retrieved his favourite Barbour jacket from the wardrobe and slipped into it, pulling his own beanie down around his ears before he caught sight of the three of us in the mirror.

Of course I was biased but the picture reflected in the glass was glorious. We looked like the perfect little family. Jamie towering over his two girls, ever the protector. I hadn’t been aware that I was beaming with pride but when I saw myself, my face was split into an open grin. Our little unit, all bundled up against what would be a cold autumn night, complete with matching wool jumpers that had been a gift to Jamie and myself from Jenny the previous Christmas with the promise of a smaller version being underway for Brianna to receive this year.

We could hear Ian and Murtagh having a loud discussion about where best to stick the Guy even through the thick walls of Lallybroch. With a chuckle, Jamie decided that it was time for him to wade into the discussion lest his godfather and brother-in-law decided to try and drown the other in the basin full of water that had been set up so the children could bob for apples. Just as we made it into the kitchen, Wee Jamie was caught red handed trying to stick a single finger into the treacle that was cooling around the toffee apples that were supposed to have been a surprise for later. A fact that wasn’t lost on my husband.

“Yer ma will tan yer hide and ye ken fine well.” Jamie grabbed his namesake around the waist with his free arm and lifted his giggling nephew out into the cold air, his other arm never dropping from the shield that he had created around Brianna and myself.

Lallybroch had come to be our home. It was beautiful in the spring with the first buds beginning to bloom and the small walk down to the burn was worth it for a dip in the midst of boiling hot summers. Of course, it was picturesque enough to be on a postcard when it was covered in soft, fluffy snow but my favourite had to be autumn. The trees that surrounded the land had all turned, greens deepening until they turned bright orange and red. It hadn’t been too windy so even though the ground was covered in a deep layer of leaves, the huge trees were anything but bare.

“Go and sort them out before I stuff one of them into the Guy’s outfit masel’,” Jenny’s voice came from behind us and Jamie snorted a laugh as he moved towards the two men who were still having words with each other over the correct placement of the effigy that had lovingly been made from potato sacks and straw with a somewhat terrifying hand-drawn face thanks to the efforts of Wee Jamie and his little sister Maggie.

“Mary, Michael and Bride, they’re worse than the weans sometimes,” Jenny sighed heavily, a sentiment I was not going to disagree with. We watched the three men bicker over this and that before finally coming to the conclusion that they would play rock, paper, scissors to determine the outcome of a very simple issue.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I laughed as Murtagh clipped Ian around the head, clearly not happy with the result. Victorious, Ian pulled the physical representation of Guy Fawkes from the ground and placed him proudly on the bonfire, balancing him right in the middle of a particularly dense patch of branches to serve as a sort of throne.

I hadn’t noticed Jenny had gone until she reappeared with two mugs in her hands, spirals of steam rising and disappearing into the air.

“I slipped something special intae yer hot chocolate, mo phiuthar,” Jenny gave me a wink as she pressed the warm mug into my hand. I inquisitively stuck my nose close to the rim and felt a wry smile creep onto my face as I confirmed my suspicions with a look at my sister-in-law.

“That creme brûlée liqueur I got you?”

She nodded before taking a solid glug from her own cocktail, “The very same.”

From his place at his dad’s side, Wee Jamie bolted towards us and pulled at his mother’s arm, dragging her towards her husband as he begged the two of them for the bonfire to be lit.

With a look down at my own sleeping offspring, I took a sip of my hot chocolate and closed my eyes appreciatively, letting the warmth flow down my throat and into my chest.

“Christ alive, Claire.”

Jamie’s husky voice appeared from behind me and I smirked at him, knowing that only my husband could be one of the only men to see his wife enjoying a hot drink and make it a sexual thing.

“There’s booze in it. Here, try.”

I offered my mug to him but instead he closed the gap between us, careful to cradle Brianna’s head in one of his hands, and kissed the taste from my lips.

“Delicious.”

“Uncle Jamie, hurry! Da’s doin’ it!”

We all convened around the modest structure that had been built from old fence posts, planks from barn doors and old bits of timber from wooden pallets. I spied the leg of a kitchen chair that had met an explosive end the previous Hogmanay after a drunken Jamie and Murtagh had fallen into it during what had started as an eightsome reel and quickly descended into the two men trying to spin each other as hard as possible until they both lost their footing.

As if she knew that it was time for the festivities to start, Brianna started to make the little noises that meant she was beginning to wake.

“Ah, the wee snuffle pig is comin’ around, is she?” Jamie whispered soft words over her as his hands began to untangle his daughter from the folds of the wrap. I giggled at the nickname that he’d given her and stretched the tired muscles of the small of my back now that I didn’t have an extra 10kg of weight hanging off of me. Even though she was only a year old, Brianna was affectionately referred to within the family as ‘the long baby’ due to the Viking genes that had been passed down through her father.

As her sleepy eyes began to blink open, the first thing in her line of sight was her father which produced a rather spectacular smile.

“Daaaaaa,” she groaned with joy.

It was the only thing that she said, not yet having mastered any sort of name for me. She had, however, had given me the gift of a very specific, very shrill screech to know when it was mummy that was looking for. As much as I joked about him pipping me to the post, it was my favourite thing to see Jamie’s utterly radiant smile each and every time she said it.

“Did ye have a nice wee sleep, m’annsachd?” he asked as he kissed her head and then each cheek for good measure.

“Look, darling!” I put on my best excited face and pointed towards the bonfire where Murtagh held a torch and Ian held Maggie on his hip, Wee Jamie at dutifully at his side.

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November! Gunpowder, treason and plot! We see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot!”

With a round of applause for the two Murray children, Murtagh put the torch to the woodpile.

It went up with a whoosh causing Murtagh to stagger back slightly. He caught himself before subtly giving the finger to Ian who was doubled over laughing.

“Ye’ve got a bit less beard the noo!”

Shaking my head at the childish antics of the two eldest men in the family, I set my sights on the reflection of the flames dancing around in Brianna’s beautiful blue eyes. A lighter higher up, I saw the same vision replicated in the eyes of her father.

“D’ye like it, Bree? Can ye see the manny on the top there?”

“One year old might be a touch young to start explaining about why we burn a man on a bonfire, Fraser,” I said sardonically.

He made a face at me before bringing his mouth down to meet mine, Brianna’s pudgy hand caught somewhere between our bottom lips.

“She’ll be raised on stories of rebels, Sassenach. Guy Fawkes and Robert the Bruce and the like.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “Any women in that list?”

“Aye, ‘course. Joan of Arc, Sophie Scholl. All the good ones.”

I nodded once with a smile to tell him that I was happy with his additions and we turned back to the bonfire, watching as the effigy burned in front of us. Jamie secured Brianna on his hip, burying his face into the riotous curls that had escaped from her hat and delighting in the resulting giggles. His other arm was wrapped around my side, sheltering me under his arm. Despite the cold, he was warm enough for all three of us.

We watched as the flames licked and crawled over the wood, bursts of air popping as the heat became too much. It was a beautiful clear night, even with the smoke from the bonfire billowing upwards and all at once, a huge explosion of white light lit up the night sky.

Brianna’s face at the sight of her first firework was something I knew that both Jamie and I would cherish forever. Her mouth hung open, eyes glittering with excitement as the colours burst in the sky. White and blue and green and red illuminated the pale skin on her face and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

She began to make breathy noises of awe, her little hand gently resting on Jamie’s cheek just to make sure that he was watching it all unfold with her. He quickly snuck a glance at me and smiled knowingly when he saw the tears in my eyes. A laugh snuck out of me, ready to dash my eyes and make a self-deprecating comment about being a silly, emotional mum but Jamie pulled me tighter against him and laid a kiss on the crown of my head.

“I am the luckiest man alive,” he announced. “Happy Bonfire Night, my beautiful lasses.”

#outlander #outlander fan fiction #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Brianna #ao3

91 notes · View notes

let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

Hogmanay Hauntings: A Christmas Carol Crossover

Chapter 1 -- Past: Creideamh

Read on AO3

“No.”

It was a grunt, a growl, a snarl, perhaps all three.

“For Christ’s sake, brother, ye didna even let me finish,” Jenny huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“I didna need ye to,” he snapped. “I’m no’ going.”

“And why no’? If no one is in danger, can ye even think of another reason to no’ go?”

“Ye canna guarantee safety, and ye ken it.”

“Jamie, it’s been four years since Culloden. We havena had any visitors in a year! The villagers said the harassment has lightened considerably,” she reasoned. “The tenants miss their Laird, Jamie.”

“I’m not their Laird.”

Jenny flinched a bit at the coldness. “Aye, I ken. But they do still see ye as such. Ye’re their hero whether ye like it or not.” She paused, moving her hands from her hips and crossing her arms over her chest. “And the tenants arena the only people that feel that way.”

“What d’ye mean?” He was still staring at the dirt between his feet, still refusing to look at her.

“The lad,” she said, her voice softening. “Your lad.”

Your adopted boy.

She had called him that.

“He’s...no,” Jamie said hoarsely. “He isna mine.”

I have no children.

“Christ, Jamie,” her voice regained the bite it had lost. “Try telling that to him.”

“What d’ye mean by such?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Ye’re no’ the only one that lost her.”

He stood up abruptly, propelled by boiling rage exploding in his blood.

“I’ll no’ be intimidated by yer pathetic excuse fer a towering bear.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Claire was — ”

“Don’t say her name.”

“ — the only mother the lad ever knew. And ye ken it well,” she went on as if uninterrupted. “There was no need fer him to be orphaned entirely. Yet here we are.”

Jamie growled with rage, shoving over one of his piles of books, sending them flying all about. He should not have been surprised that Jenny would turn asking about Hogmanay into throwing her into his face.

“Fine,” Jenny said calmly, unaffected by his tantrum. “Suit yourself.” She hiked up her skirts and made to leave, but paused at the entrance of the cave, turning around again. “Christ, Jamie...I ken ye have sorrow. And I only wanted to bring ye a bit of happiness. I ken how much the holiday meant to ye when we were bairns. And it’s the grandest party we can afford since the rising.”

Jamie was momentarily seized by guilt, remembering the sad holiday they’d had last year. After Caitlin. Jenny had been grief stricken nearly to the point of no return, and Ian had suggested they not have a party at all. But she’d picked herself back up and thrown together whatever they could afford at the last minute. For the children, perhaps; they’d already lost enough. But for herself, as well. It had always been important to her, too, Hogmanay. And Jamie knew it.

“I just...I miss my brother. This…” She gestured to his hunched, ragged form, the cramped quarters of his cave, “isna my brother.”

“This,” Jamie bit back bitterly, “exists to keep the rest of ye safe.”

“One night, Jamie. That’s all. But if ye canna bring yerself to quit yer wallowing...suit yourself.” She turned again, and then she was gone.

He stood still for a moment, allowing his sister’s enormous presence to truly leave the cave, his chest tight, his fists clenched.

No, he would not go. Not only was it a threat to their safety, no matter how Jenny insisted that she’d insured there would be protection, but his presence was a blight. He would not bring misery to those he loved by dampening their joy on a night meant for rebirth and celebration.

He had nothing to celebrate, nothing to look forward to in the new year, or any year thereafter.

His future was gone. All that existed was his present, these dark walls, the quiet forest on days where he hunted. And pain. Such...pain.

His future...her future.

For the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her. He thought of them. Four years...his bairn would be four years old. Running around with Jenny’s bairns, a child now, not an infant anymore. Claire would struggle to pick up the child, especially if it grew like a Fraser.

It. He’d never know what to call it.

The months he’d spent in the Bastille, not knowing the fate of his wife or child, trapped in his own mind as much as in his cell...he was living there again. Except this time, nobody would come to his rescue, nobody would enlighten him about his child, tell him it was a beautiful girl, what she looked like…

Ah, my sweet Faith.

And for the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her, too.

Claire and the bairn were not dead, not really. But their loss had felt just as acute as that of his wee lost daughter.

I have no children.

A small scuttling sound jolted him from his reverie, and he sniffled, swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“Uncle Jamie?”

Christ! How had the bairn…?

“Milord?”

Ah.

The smaller voice belonged to the head of strawberry blonde that bobbed into the cave, blue eyes wide.

“Are ye really no’ coming to Hogmanay, Uncle?” she said, her lips full and drawn into a sad frown.

Jamie was always sinfully grateful for the isolation of his cave. It physically pained him to look at the children. Especially wee Maggie. The red hues of her hair, always accentuated in firelight, were far too much like the copper hair he saw in his dreams, copper hair that only Claire had really seen. He couldn’t bear to look at her, at any of the lasses, and think that Faith would have played their wee games with them, and perhaps so would the new bairn, were she a lass. Were he a lad, he’d be traipsing around wee Jamie and Michael.

If he had his own bairn with him, if he had its mother with him...perhaps it would be different.

But that hair, those eyes, that sweet frown...it was too much.

“No. I’m not.”

His voice was far too short and harsh. She was only seven years old.

“But Kitty and I made ye a gift to give ye at midnight.” She twisted her apron in her hands, swaying a bit.

“Yer Ma will give it to me. Dinna come back here, it isna safe.” His eyes flicked up to Fergus, who’d been hanging back to allow this conversation to unfold. “Ye’re a fool to bring her here.”

“She will not remember,” Fergus said. “She was crying, Milord. I thought — ”

“Ye thought wrong. Quit my sight.”

The wee girl sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. He was wracked with guilt at the sound, at the sight. For a split second, he almost fell to his knees and pulled her into him, whispered into her hair, rocked her.

No, he’d fall apart if he did that, and he’d never be able to put himself back together. He’d never be able to let her go.

“Now, Fergus,” Jamie snarled. He couldn’t bear to listen to her anymore. He couldn’t bear to be confronted with the knowledge that he was incapable of bringing a child comfort. Because all of his children had been stolen from him.

“You are a heartless beast,” Fergus said with great disdain. “I do not want you at Hogmanay anyway.” He stepped forward and took Maggie’s hand. “Come, petit.”

And they were gone.

Aye, lad. I am a heartless beast.

His heart had been gone for four years. Never to return.

——

Jamie was in a deep, heavy sleep. Ian had come by with whisky, not to try and persuade him to come — quite the opposite in fact. He’d essentially encouraged Jamie to get piss drunk alone in the cave, and that was exactly what he’d done. His head had hit the pillow like a stone, and he’d passed out.

A gushing wind roared inside the cave, and it roused him immediately, like a bucket of icy water poured on his head. His eyes shot open just in time to see his singular candle knocked over by the gust, blowing the light out. He lay there in silence for a moment, waiting for the deafening wind to stop. When it did, he counted a few breaths, swallowing thickly.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a deeply ingrained sense of foreboding and dread.

He got up then to re-light the candle; though it was night, sleeping without the light of the moon had always been difficult, even after four years. A candle was a poor substitute, but it had to do.

As he fumbled around blindly, he was aware of something glowing behind him, as if someone had suddenly lit a fire. Yet the color was different, as if the fire were ignited by the moon itself. Brow furrowing, he turned around, and he staggered back at what he saw.

It was a child. A wee lass, barely even reaching the height of his waist. Barely bigger than wee Janet. But she was glowing, like her tiny slip of a nightgown was sewn from strands of moonlight. If Jamie didn’t know any better, he’d say that above her head was a flickering flame. Or maybe it was just her hair...fiery red. Like his.

And her eyes, how they glowed.

Like amber in front of a flame.

Like whisky.

“Hallo.”

She spoke, and her voice sounded like music underwater, like ringing bells in an echoing cave. Far away, yet right in his ear. He jumped at the sound, staggering back again, stumbling until he landed on his rear in his makeshift bed.

“W...what d’ye want…?” Jamie stammered, his eyes frozen and unblinking on the ethereal being. “Are ye...a spirit?”

“Aye,” she said calmly, a placid, gentle smile on her cherubic face. “I was sent to ye.”

“Sent...to me?”

“Aye.” She giggled, and it made his head spin. She was so...sweet. So lovely. Her hair was floating above and around her, never resting on her shoulders or back, like it was floating in water behind her. For the first time, he noticed the wreath of holly she wore atop her little head.

“By who?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He was a devout man; he’d not be tempted by one of Satan’s visions, sweet bairn or no. Yet, there was a lingering paganism in him, the part of him that believed his dreams of Claire were not makings of his own fevered imagination.

“By the Ghost of Hogmanay past,” she said proudly, as if reciting a poem taught to her in her lessons. She smiled, giggling again, and Jamie was overwhelmed by how small her glowing white teeth were.

“The...the what…?”

“She’s a little girl spirit like me,” the wee thing explained. “She gave me this crown of holly berries so I could do her job fer tonight.”

Jamie blinked dumbly, not at all understanding.

“It’s a very rare thing fer the spirits to appear,” she said, again like reciting lessons. “And even rarer that the honor be given to someone else. Like me.”

Jamie swallowed against a painfully dry throat, wracking his brain for what to say. “Why...why’ve they given ye the honor this time?”

She giggled again, and he swore he could feel it fluttering his heart. “Because the mortal they needed to reach was my Da.”

Something pricked him on the skull between his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

“Da…?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

She nodded, her fiery tendrils bobbing midair, that flame that may or may not be atop her head flickering. She smiled sweetly, beatifically. “It’s me, Da.”

He thought he might faint. Copper hair, her mother’s eyes —

“It’s Faith.”

He lost vision completely for several seconds, but still glowed behind his eyelids, burned into his mind.

Faith.

His eyes opened again, burning and watery. The tears slipped out, unabashed, and a sob tore through him.

“Faith…?” he stammered, making to stand, but falling to his knees on the stone. “My...my Faith…?”

She was still smiling, twirling back and forth like any mortal wee lass, oblivious as to the effect she had on her father.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” he wept, inching forward toward her on the floor. “Christ, ye’re beautiful...I never even dared dream of ye...and here ye are...so bonny…”

She was now in arm’s reach, and he made a desperate grab for her, meaning to gather her in his strong arms and cradle her to his chest, rock her there for hours, never let her go.

But his hands met nothing but thin air, white-hot air, and he fell forward, his palms slapping the stones.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

She said it like she’d been caught eating too many bannocks or tormenting the chickens.

He heaved with shuddering breath, unable to look up at her again just yet after having his heart broken like that. He watched as his tears dotted the stone beneath her glowing feet.

“Mortals canna touch spirits.”

He bit back another sob, swallowing hard. Spirit or no, his daughter deserved better than to see her father completely unravel like this.

“It’s…” He sniffled. “It’s alright, lass.” He picked his head up, daring to look at her again. “It’s enough to...to see ye. To hear yer sweet wee voice.” He sniffled again, breaking out into a smile against his will. “I’ve...I’ve always loved ye, though I never saw ye. D’ye ken that?”

“Aye.” She nodded sweetly. “I ken. And I always loved ye, too.”

He was wracked by another sob, overwhelmed.

“Yer...yer mother…” he stammered. “Have ye…”

“No,” she said lightly. “Ma doesna need me.”

His brow furrowed. It was incomprehensible. How could Claire not need this? How could some powers-that-be decide that a mother need not see her child?

“Doesna need ye…?”

“I ken she misses me. But that’s no’ the same as needing me. That’s what the Ghost of Hogmanay Past said.”

“And why is it that I...need ye? And what’s all this about a Ghost of Hogmanay…?”

“It’s my job to show ye things ye need to see,” she said, that sweet, youthful pride pouring out of her again. “Hogmanay’s past.”

“I...I dinna understand…”

“It’s alright, Da. I’ll just show ye.”

She stooped down, reaching for his hand, and Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Perhaps he couldn’t touch her, but she could touch him. The thought almost had him weeping again.

But then there was fiery heat in his left hand, and his guts were in his mouth as the world dissolved around him. He cried out in fright, but there was no sound to be heard above the roaring wind.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and Faith was no longer holding his hand. He didn’t even see her at first, and the panic that that created was enough to make him completely unaware of his surroundings.

“Faith, mo chridhe? Where are ye? Come back, please…”

He whirled around and was met with a rowdy pair of children running headlong for him, and it was far too late to move out of their way. Much to Jamie’s horror, they ran right through him, as his hands had gone right through Faith.

Christ! Am I dead?

A small giggle.

He whirled around, and there she was, floating, flaming hair, glowing white skin and all.

“Ye’re no’ dead,” she said, shaking her head at his foolishness. “Ye’re...a visitor. But ye’re no’ really here. Everything here has already happened. Ye ken?”

His brow furrowed, and he finally took in his surroundings. He was...home?

But he wasn’t just inside the main house. No...something was different.

The parlor was decked out as Jenny always had it for Hogmanay when they could afford it, but it was far more extravagant than as far back as Jamie could remember. The greenery and the holly and the wreaths and the candles were simply beautiful. It was like stepping into a magical woodland castle, the air drugged with joy and high spirits.

And then he saw them.

“Da? Mam…?” His voice was no more than a choked whisper, and he found his feet bringing him closer to them before he even willed it.

They were whirling around the dance floor, and Jamie sidestepped other couples in vain. It didn’t matter anyway; they danced and twirled right through him. His mother was radiant. He’d forgotten, forgotten how beautiful she’d been, how full of life. And his father...he looked at his mother like he was holding the entire world in his arms. Jamie had forgotten what it was like to look at two people so in love, knowing that he had come from that love, however abstractly he’d known it at that age.

They were both laughing, red in the face from exertion. Jamie could not even keep up with them in following them around the room. He felt inexplicable giddiness bubbling in his chest. He used to watch them whirl around the floor all night, lost in the music of the fiddler accompanied by the laughter of love. Mam used to blow kisses at him and wink, sometimes Da would throw him up on his shoulders, or Jenny, or even both at once, tossing them both over each shoulder like sacks of grain.

“Willie! Lemme! Lemme!”

A piercing, chillingly familiar voice stood out among the throng. Jamie whirled around and completely froze.

That’s me.

Little Jamie was standing there, the tips of his ears red, his face twisted in a ridiculous scowl. He was watching two other children dancing clumsily, a little girl twirling around the finger of her partner.

“Willie…” Jamie breathed reverently, coming closer to the cloister of three children, unblinking, hardly daring to breathe.

“I want tae dance!” Little Jamie protested, stamping his foot. “Lemme!”

“Haud yer whisht!” Little Jenny scolded. “If ye dinna quit yer scowling, I’ll tell Mother to hide yer presents!”

“Jenny,” Willie interrupted. “He’s just a wee lad. Let him dance wi’ us.”

“He’s clumsy!” she protested, little nose wrinkling beneath mirthful, cunning blue eyes.

“He’ll never learn if he doesna get to try.”

Jamie crouched down nearby, watching and listening in awe. There Willie was, protesting about his brother being a wee lad, when he himself was only ten years old. He was wee as anything to Jamie.

And he’d be dead in a year.

“This must’ve been our last Hogmanay all together,” Jamie whispered before he realized he was saying it aloud. He didn’t need to look to know that Faith was standing beside him; he could feel the heat of her fiery presence, could see her glowing from the corner of his eye.

The little Jamie he was looking at was no older than five, Jenny was about seven. Willie would be eleven and dead soon, and his mother would follow in three more years. This was the last time everything had been truly magical during Hogmanay.

“This was...the last time,” Jamie said, unable to elaborate so that his tiny daughter would understand.

Willie finally convinced Jenny to allow Little Jamie to hold one of each of their hands, and they twirled and skipped in a circle. Little Jamie’s scowl seemed to transfer to his sister’s face, apparently unhappy that her nagging wee brother had gotten his way, but before long, all three children were laughing and squealing, tripping over each other in glee.

“The last time what, Da?” Jamie could not tell if his daughter was genuinely asking, or if she was wiser than she seemed and was trying to get him to reveal the contents of his weary soul.

“The last time we were...together. Happy.” Tears stung his eyes. “Willie was my very best friend, ye ken? I was so young when I lost him that I...I dinna even remember what it was like. But look at me....I’m looking at him like he hung the stars.”

And he was, Little Jamie. He adored his big brother. So did Jenny.

The fiddler ceased that particular tune, and everyone paused to applaud wildly, whooping and cheering. Da made his way over to his trio of wee Frasers. Jenny began hounding him to allow her to dance with him instead of Ma, Jamie began demanding to be sat on his shoulders. To compensate, he reached down with a great playful growl, scooping them up and tossing them over his shoulders as the fiddler started in again. Little Jamie and Jenny squealed their wee heads off as Da fully performed a jig with two bairns on his back, and Ma laughed her head off, taking Willie’s hands and swinging their arms between them.

Before long, the rest of the room took notice of Brian’s absurdity and was cheering him on, and then both of his wee children were sitting atop his shoulders, clinging to each other over his head as he danced. The jig finished and the room erupted again. Eyes leaking with tears of laughter, Ellen took Little Jamie into her arms, kissing his temple and rustling his wild hair as Jenny settled on Brian’s hip. His parents kissed, sweet and chaste and beautiful, and Jamie’s heart felt full and empty all at once.

“This truly was the last joyful holiday we had,” Jamie said with a sense of finality. He could live in this memory forever, forget the suffering that was to come, the fate of his poor brother and mother, the fate of himself all those years later. He wanted to fold himself into that loving embrace of that family of five, to meld himself with his five year old soul and live this night forever and ever.

“It wasna the last one, Da,” Faith said gently.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a tiny, delicate hand grasping his again, and before he could speak the panicked protest on his lips into existence, his family was melting away in a whir of color, and the deafening wind was back. Jamie’s frightened cry made no sound, lost to the howling wind.

Colors began leaking back in around them, dimly lit and getting brighter by the second. It was like watching a painting being created right before his eyes, all around him. Then the parlor was back, the Hogmanay decorations all in their place, but just the slightest bit different. Jamie frantically whipped his head around, completely disoriented. His eyes took in a crowd gathered around a dancing couple, and he weaved in and out of them, apparently forgetting that he could just walk right through them if he wished. His heart soared, ready to find his mother and father again, but his breath was taken away at what he saw instead.

Jenny was grown now, hair long and flowing and tied back with a bow, her face bright and beaming, hands clasped with…

Ian.

He was laughing just as heartily, twirling and skipping and dancing right in step with Jenny.

Both of his legs.

Jenny was a young woman, clearly in love with the man that would be her husband, so this must have been…

“The last holiday before...” Jamie breathed reverently. “Before…everything.”

Before Fort William, before Da, before Ian’s leg was taken.

Before Claire.

“Mhmm.” Faith nodded in confirmation, swaying ethereally to the music. “Auntie is very bonny, aye?”

It took Jamie a moment to register her words, entranced as he was by the sight of his sister’s joy. So much had been lost, her brother, her mother. She’d become the woman of the house before she could even see over a washtub. Far too young. Yet, here she was, glowing, radiant.

She’s already stronger than I’ll ever be.

He smiled then, nodding. “Aye, lass. She’s bonny.”

He’d been so blind! How on earth hadn’t he seen the way his sister looked at his best friend? Where was he now that he hadn’t seen this, hadn’t heard the crowd whispering about what a bonny match they’d make someday?

A whooping roar sounded behind him, and Jamie whirled around, following the sound into the dining room, where he laughed out loud at what he saw.

Murtagh and his father were tossing back mugs of whisky and so was…

Himself.

It was not the same as looking at himself as a bairn; it was much stranger. It was so clearly him, yet it wasn’t at all. He was so young, this Jamie. So foolish; present Jamie could tell. He had that stupid glint in his eye, like he was seconds away from doing something foolish at any given time. The crowd roared again as the three men — or, rather, two men and the lad — slammed their mugs down. A drinking game of sorts.

“Aye, I remember,” Jamie breathed, laughing. “Da is about to drink me under the table!”

He’d passed out that night, so hell-bent on drinking more than his father and godfather that he hadn’t taken into account exactly how much he’d been consuming.

“I was sick as a bloody dog the next day,” Jamie went on, still laughing to Faith. “Da wouldna let it go fer weeks. Jenny didna even seem to notice, didna nag me as she would ha’ to see me in such a state. Her mind was elsewhere, I reckon.”

Jamie threw a look over his shoulder into the parlor, finding Jenny still bounding about the room with Ian, joined now by other couples. Jamie looked back again, watched as his father slapped younger Jamie’s back ruthlessly, causing him to sway, and causing the crowd to laugh raucously.

Then there was Da, beaming bright as young-and-in-love Jenny was.

Jamie had seen with his own two eyes how much losing his mother had crumbled his father. They were the loves of each other’s lives, there was no getting around it. Brian lost a piece of his heart when Ellen died, after having already buried a piece of it with Willie. Jamie knew the pain of losing a child, and he knew the pain of losing his wife.

And yet there he was, his father.

None could deny that there was always a quiet sadness about him after Willie, after Ma. But then he tossed his head back, howling with laughter as his son stumbled again, and Jamie’s heart twisted.

He carried on.

He looked back at Jenny again upon hearing her laugh, a shrill, shrieking sound that he’d always hated as a lad, but that now brought him such aching joy.

Certainly growing up too quickly had hardened her; it was unavoidable. And the horrors to come, Randall harming her, the rising and its aftermath, losing her own child...they’d all make her harder still. Jamie could see it in their present.

But she carried on.

Jamie did a visual sweep of the dining room, practically overflowing with food and decoration, every painstaking detail in place to give joy. He was certain that Jenny had done her best to recreate such a thing in her present day, for her children, for Fergus.

For him.

The way his Da had carried on and continued to make each holiday special after losing pieces of his heart had instilled itself into his daughter as well.

And it had missed Jamie himself.

Jamie was overwhelmed with crushing shame, tears stinging his eyes. His eyes bore into his father, so full of life, into himself so full of life. So young.

“Da...I…” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “I’ve failed ye. I have. I’ve failed Jenny, and Ma. I ken ye’d be disappointed in the man I’ve let myself become.”

How far had he fallen that such strength had eluded him? What was so bloody pathetic about him that he could not carry on as his father had set the example for his entire life?

“D’ye see, Da?” A little voice jolted him out of his reverie of self pity, and he finally tore his eyes away from the pillar of a man that he still loved fiercely, still missed with a painful ache.

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Aye, lass...I see. I see that I’m a...a bloody coward. A puir excuse fer a son.”

“Oh, Da,” Faith’s wee voice was tinged with sympathy, as if she were coddling one of her dollies.

Jamie sniffled, then turned to look down at his beautiful wee daughter. “The spirits sent ye to humble me, then?” he said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice for her sake. “To remind me how far I’ve fallen from this time of great joy?”

“Aye...I think so.”

Had he not felt sick to his stomach, Jamie might have laughed at her sweet innocence.

“But,” she went on, “all is not lost.”

She grasped his hand again, and Jamie threw a desperate glance back at his father, tossing his head back in laughter again; the last time he’d ever see him until the Eternal Kingdom.

The lights, the music, the laughter, and the joy all faded away like melting wax until the cave molded back into existence around them. His candle was still turned over, the only light in the room Faith’s glowing essence. Jamie’s head was spinning, so much so that he nearly forgot what Faith had just said:

All is not lost.

“What...what did ye mean, mo chridhe…? What isna lost?”

She giggled. “All!”

He laughed despite himself, his heart straining in his chest. He knelt down in front of his daughter, his hands physically aching with the need to reach out and touch her, and his heart splitting upon remembering that he couldn’t.

“Cheeky wee thing,” he said softly, his eyes glistening.

“It’ll be alright, Da,” Faith said sweetly. “The other spirits will help ye understand.”

“Others?”

“Aye, I only showed ye the past. The spirits said ye must see the present and future as well.”

“But what...what good’ll it do…?”

She smiled, reaching out to ghost a white hot finger over his nose. “It’ll do all the good in the world, Da. I promise.”

Jamie leaned into her touch, but was met with nothing but air.

“Can ye promise me ye’ll keep yer heart open?” Faith asked, and the room suddenly seemed to get darker.

Her light is fading.

“Faith? Faith, mo chridhe, what’s happening?”

“Promise, Da. Promise that what I showed ye has opened yer heart fer the next spirits.”

She’s leaving.

“Please, lass, dinna leave me…”

“Promise,” she begged, fading dimmer and dimmer.

“Aye,” Jamie choked, a sob wracking through his body. “Aye, my sweet babe...I promise.”

Faith sighed with relief, smiling brightly. “Thank ye, Da.”

“Wait…!”

“I love you, Da.”

And she was gone.

Jamie fell forward onto his hands and knees, sobbing gutturally, every inch of his body alight with the horrible pain of losing her again.

“I...I love you too, Faith.”

The room was entirely black, black as his heart felt now that she was gone. He didn’t bother to light the candle, didn’t even move from his hands and knees as he wept for his lost brother, parents, his poor daughter, and the mother that would never be given such a gift as he had to see her and hear her voice.

Then there was light again; he could see it behind his burning eyelids. He looked behind him. The candle was still turned over, unlit. He turned back around, sitting on his haunches and beholding the next glowing spirit to grace his presence.

He almost fainted.

“...Sassenach?”

49 notes · View notes

flock-keeper · 5 months

Note

🎉❤️ yeeting Nando

Send 🎉❤️ for a new year's eve kiss from my muse!

Fearghas smiled at Nando and placed both his hands on his waist. “It was pure quality tae meet ya Nando, talking with ya…you’re such a great lad. Handsome on tae outside, and a great lad personality wise.

He then looks into Nando's eyes and said, "I love ya, Nando. I really do. Here's something from me tae begin tae New Year. Happy Hogmanay, Nando!” He then kisses Nando passionately on the lips.

#ambivalentatmosphere #musician fearghas

1 note · View note

scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Don’t Call It Love

A/N With Saorsa done and dusted, it’s time to return to the Metric Universe. When we last left Jamie and Claire in October 2017, they were sharing comforting silence and attending a Depeche Mode concert together. Will things fall easily into place now that they have tripped over the line from being roommates to being friends? Oh, hell no. What would be the fun in that?

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

The song by Zero 7 (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

Winter, 2017 - London, England

It happened by accident. Happenstance. Serendipity. Fate. The words she used to explain the fact that she and Jamie started seeing each other outside of the flat in social circumstances that would typically be characterized as dates varied, but her opinion remained fixed. They weren’t dates. Jamie was her roommate, a good friend, a fellow enthusiast of the culturally obscure, and a brilliant pub trivia partner. They had both agreed that a romantic relationship between them would be disastrous; ergo, there was nothing romantic about their increasingly frequent outings. If she could memorize the names for the 206 bones in the human skeleton, she could certainly manage to keep her feelings for Jamie inside the tidy box she had built for them.

Non-Date #1

They crossed paths inside the massive Spittalfields Market, both of them with shoulders damp from the chilly November rain. Jamie was on his way to the fishmonger, while Claire carried a cloth bag filled with late-season vegetables, determined to eat something other than take-out on a rare day off from lectures and the hospital.

“Are ye on yer way back tae the flat, then?” Jamie asked, physically fighting the urge to offer to carry Claire’s wee sack.

“No, I’m off to the charnel house first.”

“The what, now?” Surely he’d misheard her.

“The charnel house. Don’t tell me you’ve been living over top of a medieval burial ground all this time without realizing it?” Claire teased.

Intrigued as much by her beguiling smirk as the opportunity to explore a bit of London’s history, Jamie followed Claire to a commercial highrise near the edge of the market. Descending a non-descript stairwell in Bishop’s Square, they came to a halt in front of a glass wall. On the other side was an excavated ruin, the crypt of the long-vanished chapel of St. Mary’s Spital hospital, a quick scan of a nearby information plaque informed him.

“They only discovered it was here when construction of the office tower began,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face. “For centuries, travelers and the victims of London’s many plagues were buried around the hospital, quite literally in the Spital fields. When the graves overflowed, they brought the excess bones here and stacked them for safe-keeping until the Apocalypse. Imagine, forgetting something so...fundamental.”

Jamie grunted in acknowledgement, seeing the reflection of Claire’s face superimposed on the glass. He couldn’t decide if this human tendency towards forgetfulness pleased or disappointed her.

“Tis rather...”

“Macabre?” she suggested with a grin, turning away from the display and climbing back into the cloud-roofed square.

“I was gonna say morbid, but as ye like.”

“We build our present on the bones of our past, my Uncle Lamb used to tell me. He was referring to archaeology, but I’ve found it to be true of life itself.”

They walked back to the flat, collars raised against the hastening rain. Jamie had bought enough hake for two, so they shared the narrow worktop, dicing fresh vegetables and letting their shoulders bump together occasionally.

Claire ate at the two-person dining table while scrolling social media on her phone. Jamie used the coffee table to hold his plate and the gaming magazine he was flipping through.

It wasn’t a date.

Non-Date #4

Her cellphone rang as she was leaving the bathroom, thoughts bouncing between her end-of-semester exams and her non-existent plans for the Christmas holidays. She accepted the call with one hand while starting the tedious job of separating her soaking curls with the other. At first there was only static. She glanced at the screen, recognizing the familiar number.

“Jamie?” she tried.

“...mac na ghalla, Hamish...” followed by muffled noises and masculine jeering. She switched hands and started to towel off, making certain first that the video call button wasn’t active.

“Hal-lo. Paging Mr. Fraser. You have a call on line one.”

“Ach, sorry Claire. I didna mean tae... That is, the lads were just... How are ye?”

She giggled at his discomposure. “I’m well, thank you. And you?” They had seen each other that morning, as he came off shift and she was leaving for her morning lectures, so she assumed there was more to this call than a polite inquiry into her state of well-being. She had learned over their months as roommates that sometimes you just needed to wait for Jamie to get to his point.

“Braw, thank ye. I was... weel, I’m at the park with some o’ the lads, tryin’ tae put t’gether a side, an’ we’re short a winger, an’ I was jus’ thinkin’, ye said ye wanted tae learn tae play an’...”

Another James Fraser quirk was that he rambled in broad Scots when he was nervous.

“Jamie, are you asking me to play rugby with you?”

“Aye. Aye, I am. If ye wish, o’ course.”

“I did just step out of the shower...” she mentioned, already peering outside at the threatening sky and mentally assessing her wardrobe for something suitable for a ruck and maul in the rain. “Hello?” when there was no sound from the other end in some time.

“Aye, I’m here. Nevermind, Claire. I dinna consider, ye must be gettin’ ready to study fer yer finals, an’...”

“Where are you?” she interrupted, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of yoga pants.

“Victoria Park?” Jamie replied, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Splendid!” She could hear his smile down the line.

“I better not get mud in my hair, Fraser,” she retorted before hanging up, her own smile lingering on her face.

There was nothing romantic about rugby.

Non-Date #7

The flat was strangely forlorn, even with Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the living room windows and a tiny fir tree precariously balancing its five ornaments standing in the corner.

They had exchanged their gifts on December 23rd, sipping on hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua and grinning shyly at each other. She’d bought Jamie the next Call of Duty game for his XBox. Nothing intimate, just something he’d mentioned in passing he was looking forward to trying. His boyish glee upon unwrapping the package warmed her more than her drink. Hands shaking slightly, she delicately opened the tastefully wrapped rectangle he presented to her. Inside was a cashmere scarf, luxuriously soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it.

“Is this?” she asked.

“Aye, tis the Fraser plaid. Ye ken there’s no’ a clan named Bee-cham, right?”

She was deeply touched, and thanked him was a kiss against his scruffy cheek.

Jamie had left for Scotland the next day, having somehow managed to secure a week’s worth of leave from his uncle over the holiday season. As was her wont, she’d put down for as many shifts as possible while medical school wasn’t in session, but by some fluke she wasn’t scheduled to work New Year’s Eve for the first time in recent memory.

Some of her classmates from nursing college had invited her along to a “raging party in Shoreditch”, but she’d made up some excuse. The truth was, she wasn’t in the mood for loud music and over-priced drinks with a group of virtual strangers. If Geillis had been in town, she would have allowed her friend to coerce her into whatever mayhem she had up her sleeve, but Geillis was still in Columbia and eight months’ pregnant with twins, to everyone’s collective shock. Especially the mother-to-be.

No, what she really wanted was a quiet evening at home, snuggled under her favourite fleece blanket on their couch, the latest Ferrante novel in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir at the ready. Jamie had a turntable and a surprisingly well-curated selection of vinyl in his bedroom, but she didn’t like entering his domain without his permission.

Without giving it a second thought, she rang his cell. It was only upon hearing the raucous sounds of a party in full swing that it occurred to her that just because she was spending New Year’s Eve alone, it didn’t mean Jamie was as well.

“Claire?” he yelled over something that sounded a lot like live music. “Are ye all right, lass?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Jamie. I just wanted to ask... never mind. It’s not important. Enjoy your party...”

“Wait!” the background noise mutated, sounding like a riot underwater, and then there was a wooden slam. Jamie huffed a sigh of relief.

“Mu dheireadh. Are ye still there, Sassenach?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling sorry for herself. She might be the most pathetic thirty-year old in London.

“Did the hospital no’ call ye in for a shift, then?”

She tucked the blanket under her feet, warding off the chill that always seemed to creep in from the wall of windows. The Christmas lights she’d strung reflected against the glazing in alternating colours: blue, red, green, blue, red, green.

“No. By some miracle of the festive season, I have the night off,” she joked halfheartedly. “I’m sorry for interrupting your night out. I wanted to ask if I could borrow your turntable and a few of your albums?”

“O’ course. Ye didna need tae ask. An’ I’m no’ out. I’m at home, at Lallybroch.” He pronounced the word with a guttural flourish that made Claire think of an exotic kind of pastry or a rare tribal custom. Any time Jamie spoke of his family’s home in Scotland, he imbued it with an otherworldly quality, like a fortress in a fairy tale, a far away land of warriors and mist. It was strange to think of him there now, while she sat alone in their flat.

“It sounds like quite the party.”

“Aye. The Frasers take their Hogmanay celebrations verra seriously. Ye shoulda come wi’ me.” Then, as though realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, “We could use a doctor. Dougal sprained his ankle doin’ a sword dance, and Angus singed his arse somethin’ fierce jumpin’ o’er the bonfire.”

She laughed, her mood suddenly much lighter, and asked for more particulars as to how his cousin’s naked ass came to be in close proximity to open flame. Without either realizing it, the last minutes of 2017 crept by.

Fireworks erupted outside, followed by the tolling of bells and honking of horns. On the other end of the call, she could hear cheering and an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne. They were both silent, embarrassed to have been so caught up in their trivial conversation as to have missed the arrival of midnight.

“Happy Hogmanay, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice came soft and sure over the line.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” she replied. “I should really let you get back to your party. Your family must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

He hummed noncommittally. It occurred to her that had they been in the same place, they would likely be kissing right now. It sent a shiver of want down her spine.

“Jamie?” Her voice sounded thready, like she had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Hmmm?” Shivers, again.

“What’s a Sassenach?”

He laughed softly, and she had to bite her lip. What was the matter with her? “Tis a Scottish word for a foreigner, particularly an English one,” he explained.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Claire remarked.

“I’ve ne’er spoken tae ye while on Scottish soil. T’wasn’t an accurate description ‘til now.”

There was a long silence. She could hear the sound of revelry through the door of whatever room at Lallybroch he’d hidden inside. Outside the flat there were firecrackers. They reminded her of mortar rounds heard from a distance in Afghanistan.

“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she guessed. It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to know that bright flashes and sudden pops of sound would trigger his PTSD. They really were a mess, the pair of them.

“Nay. Jenny an’ Ian’s bairns love them, an’ I told them no’ tae hold off on my account, but they insisted on a bonfire instead. It reminds me o’ when I was a lad, a’fore ye could buy fireworks along wi’ yer ham at the local Tesco.”

Jamie launched into a long account of the significance of bonfires in Highland culture, and she let herself drift on the melody of his voice, the turntable long forgotten.

“Tell me about yer most memorable New Year’s,” he prompted after his cultural diatribe wound down.

“Oh, well, they all rather blur together, actually. Too much drink, too much spent on the cover charge. You know how it is.”

“Nah, I mean when ye were younger. Ye must ‘ave celebrated in some remarkable places.”

She thought back to her time spent following Uncle Lamb around the globe. Truth be told, traditional holidays weren’t something that stood out in her memory. They felt like a foreign custom, a series of drawings taken from a picture book that showed a mother, father and children crowded around a loaded table while snow piled up outside. They bore no relation to her reality. It was no wonder Christmas and New Year’s left her feeling ambivalent.

Still, she didn’t want Jamie to feel sorry for her, so she launched into one of her favourite tales.

“One year, I must have been eleven, Lamb was leading an excavation of a Berber oasis town in northern Mali. The site closed down for the Christian holidays, but Lamb decided to stay behind rather than travel back to England. We ended up riding camels through these enormous sand dunes, following a local guide on an ancient caravan route. On December 31st, just as the sun was setting and we had begun to make camp, the camel Lamb had been riding let out this infernal noise, leapt to its feet, and started to gallop away. Lamb and the guide set off after it on foot, hollering and waving their keffiyeh in the air. It was the funniest thing.”

“They left ye all alone in the desert?” Jamie asked, horrified.

“Oh, well, they came back eventually. The camel had been stung by a scorpion, you see. Once it got over the fright, they were able to catch it and bring it back to camp.”

“Were ye no’ scared, tae be out there in the dark by yerself?”

“No. Not as I remember it. The sunset was glorious, and little by little the sky came alive with a million stars.”

“Ye brave wee thing.” Jamie sighed. “I wish I was there wi’ ye.”

She didn’t know if he meant with her on that sand dune, or with her at their flat. Either way, her answer was the same.

“I wish you were too.”

They finally hung up well past two o’clock. It didn’t count as a date if the other person was five hundred miles away as you whispered goodnight.

Non-Date #12

The Royal London was expanding its pediatrics wing, and Claire was invited to a fundraising gala held, fittingly, in the Museum of Childhood. The invitation included a plus one, and she’d been putting off asking Jamie if he could join her all week. It wasn’t that she doubted his suitability as an escort. Far from it. But the gala was taking place on February 14th, of all nights, and the symbolism made her nervous. Still, the alternative was spending the night being hit on by a drunken internist or hedge fund investor, and that was a headache she could do without.

“So,” she began casually a few nights before the event, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?” If he said he was working or had, god forbid, a date, she would just have to go stag.

Jamie set down his gaming controller and turned to face her desk. The pulsing colours from the screen lit his curls like a neon nimbus in the dim room.

“Nah, nothin’ definite. An’ ye, Sassenach?” he asked tentatively, as though easing himself out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the depth of the ice. The nickname he had assigned to her during his holidays in Scotland had stuck. She didn’t correct the inaccuracy, as she rather liked the idea of having a name that was only his.

“Well, I’ve been summoned to a fundraising gala for the hospital, and I was wondering... not that you need feel obliged... it’s black tie, which is really the height of pretension, if you ask me... anyway, there’s no way to decline gracefully short of an aneurysm, so...”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach,” he prodded.

“Mightyouconsiderbeingmydate?” she blurted, before taking a large gulp of tepid tea.

“Yer date?” he asked as though he had never heard of such a thing.

She sighed, resigned to the fact he was going to make this difficult. “Yes. My date. My plus one. My social companion. And hopefully, my defence against spending the evening being pitied and set up with someone’s second cousin, Nigel, the chartered accountant.”

“Do ye have somethin’ against accountants, then?” The corner of his lip was twitching with the birth of a grin.

“Oh, very funny, you bloody Scot. Look, I need a date on Valentine’s Day and you are the only man in the Greater London Area who won’t interpret that as an opportunity for a pity shag. The offer is on the table. Take it or leave it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t interpret. Then it was gone.

“Ne’er fear, Sassenach. I’ll protect ye from all the wee Nigels.”

***

She’d forgotten to ask whether Jamie had suitable attire for a black tie event. It was too late now, regardless. They were meeting at the museum, since she was on shift until eight. Using the nurses on-call room to get changed, she slinked into her burgundy chiffon gown, its gauzy layers wrapping around her like millefeuille. Her hair was a lost cause, so she slicked it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and hoped for the best. Silver chandelier earrings and a dab of cologne below her jaw, and she was ready to go. She carried a small beaded clutch and her dress shoes - there was no way she was navigating the Tube in stilettos.

The museum was a single massive space, conversation and the tympani of glassware echoing against its high-arched ceiling. She stood in the entryway after checking her coat, spinning in circles and trying to get her bearings. More than one lascivious glance was directed her way, but she studiously ignored them in favour of looking for Jamie. With his height and red hair, he shouldn’t be hard to pick out of the crowd.

There was an appreciative murmur from behind her, a gust of fresh air, and then a soft tap against her bare shoulder. She turned around.

No. Not hard to pick out from a crowd at all. Standing before her was James Fraser in full Highland regalia. He wore his family tartan, a black velvet waistcoat, brilliant white dress shirt and a black bow tie. When her gaze fell to the floor, she noticed his polished brogues and white socks pulled up to his knees. She’d never before considered how a man’s knees might be alluring, but there it was. Jamie had very sexy knees.

“G’d evening, Sassenach. Ye look... weel, ye look bonnie.” Jamie’s normally deep voice was gruffer than usual, perhaps on account of the cold night air. Or maybe his bowtie was tied too tight.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she replied once she found her voice. “You look, well, if you were a Jacobite, I’d say you looked regal.”

The tops of Jamie’s ears went red, and he ducked his chin, his tamed curls falling briefly forward. It gave him the look of a bashful child receiving unexpected praise, completely at odds with the strikingly masculine figure he cut.

“No’ a Nigel, then?” he teased.

“No. Definitely not a Nigel. Come, let’s get something to drink before all the top-shelf liquor runs out. You wouldn’t believe how much some of these doctors can put away!”

Jamie was a perfect date. He stood by her elbow as she mingled and greeted various colleagues and professors, nodding at their tales of medical misfortune and smiling at their awkward jokes. He spoke confidently about his work and current affairs, and patiently tolerated endless jibes about what a true Scotsman wore beneath his kilt.

When she politely excused them from one such conversation, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they walked away to fortify themselves with more alcohol.

“I’ve a mind tae lift my plaid an’ moon the entire assembly the next time one o’ yer wee doctor friends asks about my underthings. Are ye sure they arena raising funds for a new proctology department, Sassenach?”

She snorted in a truly unladylike fashion and turned to meet his unrepentant smirk. Just then, a figure approaching from the bar caught her eye.

Oh no. It couldn’t be. After five years, she’d finally relaxed her vigilance, had ceased anticipating his presence at every turn, and now, here he was.

“Sassenach?” Jamie was watching her with concern. The blush had drained from her cheeks, leaving her wine-stained lips and sintering eyes the only colour on her face.

“Claire! Fancy meeting you here!” Had his voice always been so nasal? His eyes so glassy and vacant, like portals into nothingness. He’d obviously been drinking heavily. A blond woman half his age had her arm linked through his.

“Frank,” she uttered his name. Jamie stepped into her side, his posture erect, somehow sensing that she needed his protection from this unheralded threat.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise. I’d heard you’d gone into the army, or some such thing. Afghanistan, was it? Well, with your penchant for violence, I suppose that’s fitting.”

She breathed deeply through her nose. She would not let him get the better of her. She wasn’t that person anymore. With a clammy hand, she grabbed onto Jamie’s fingers where they rested around her hip. He squeezed back. He was here. She wasn’t alone. It was all the strength she needed.

“Yes, that’s right. I served overseas for a time, but I’m back in London now. In medical school. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

Focusing on each step, she turned towards the exit, Jamie’s hand now warm upon the small of her back. Her chin wobbled, but she bit down hard to stave off tears.

“A doctor?” Frank taunted from behind her. “Wouldn’t a demolition expert be more apropos, darling?”

She froze, spine trembling with anger. Jamie made a questioning noise, asking without words if she wanted him to intervene. She didn’t.

Glancing over her shoulder, she dealt her parting blow.

“Give my best to Amelia and the children.” Without waiting to witness the aftermath of her pronouncement, she made her way out into the chilly night air, Jamie’s bulk a silent sentinel at her side.

It wasn’t a date if it ended on the floor of your bathroom, crying ugly sobs as mascara stained your cheeks, while your partner held your shoulders and made soothing noises with his throat.

That wasn’t dating, that was survival.

***

mac na ghalla = son of a bitch

Mu dheireadh = finally

#my writing #outlander

76 notes · View notes