#☤ . we go where the wind takes us ／ threads

[leighiche]

@frser

the walls of lallybroch had always been home , though now ? he finds the walls altered with the passing of time. jenny , and ian not quite as he remembered them ... memories that linger and do not quite match what has happened in his absence , absence there's guilt. an air to jamie that he knows stems from the desire to be once more known to tenants , to uphold his fathers name whose untimely death never quite sat right in heart. the idea of his father watching him as randall unleashed hell upon broad shoulders was enough to weaken any man with a strong constitution. his father had been the only man whom jamie wished to measure himself against. ' are you saying you don't like who i've become ? ' his brows knit as an eyebrow arches , ' claire i cannot turn my people away .... perhaps it is ego that rules me , the want to be everything that my father once envisioned for such a place ' his voice steadfast , stubbornness and pride swell. ' for i can see the past and present within these very halls and i don't think i was ready for such a thing , it's my fault you don't know jenny ... my fault that i have perhaps been drinking more than my fair share - my father's shadow is one that is more painful than i care to admit ' the fireplace etches his features in such a light that make him quite vulnerable , the idea that he is but three and twenty. in later years he'll look back with the knowledge that he hadn't been the best husband , that marriage was more complicated than one could imagine.

' i love you sasanach , i'm sorry if my fear of the past has mixed with the present ' an arm going to rest upon the hearth of the fireplace that resides in their bedroom , a room that had once belonged to his parents , ' what can i do to put you at ease ? '

"The problem isn't who you've become." A young and uncertain husband, unsure of what to do with his time traveling, forward thinking wife - in his position, she's not sure what she'd do either. However, they have grown into their dynamic. They had well before their wedding was ever arranged. No, that's not what she refers to here. He took her past the threshold of Lallybroch and became someone else, that someone is not Jamie.

"Jamie, if I had the opportunity to meet Jenny sooner then who is to say I would have gotten to meet her at all. You wouldn't have been at Leoch, your shoulder wouldn't have been injured. I'd probably be dead in the ditch because Murtagh wouldn't have been there to find rescue me in my confusion." The pieces had fallen just so for their meeting. She isn't religious, never put so much faith in a singular being in that way, but for Jamie and this mysterious connection, this constant need to be near to him that puts a shame to her marriage with Frank and all the love she thought herself capable of wanting, needing, and able to give. "Jenny and I will come to terms with time. I am a sassenach," there's a sting to the word that bites unlike the loving way Jamie says it, "In her home. I will have to gain her trust just as I di the McKenzie's. I only hope that there will be less crass language in the process."

Claire removes herself from the bed. Arms dragging quilt from it with her where she bundles herself up in its warmth. She stands behind Jamie. "It's not the drinking. I think I know my way around a drunk Scot by now. You're trying to be someone you're not." A hand braves the cold, thankful for the comfort of the hearth to keep the nipping cold at bay, and takes one of Jamie's hands. "I stayed to be with you because I love you, James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser." It's an admission that still stings deep in her heart. A spark lit by the gold band she still wears upon her finger, shaming her. "I want you to come back to me, but I'm not sure what would ease me would ease you. What if you told me about your father, I'm sure I would have loved to have met him."

[leighiche]

"Nor have I you. I guess we just weren't meant to meet until this very moment."

        "I haven't like - seen you around here before."

late-night starters ! | @leighiche

[leighiche]

@proofwhisky

The stairs creak beneath the weight of every footstep. Sea glass blue eyes don't look up from her hands. Fingernails too busy digging into the crevices of another to dig out blood that has dried there despite best washing practices and gloves. It's probably her own blood at this point.

Claire sighs at the top of the steps. Her body hits against the wall with a quiet thud and an even louder sigh. Nothings changed. She enjoys being busy. It gives her something to do. She's not sure what she'd do with free time if she did happen to have it. All she knows is it'd be talent put to waste if she did have it.

She fumbles into the pockets of her uniform for her keys. Fingers gently touch against the door to her little apartment to find it give, creaking open with the pressure.

"Mrs. Williams?" she calls down.

She hadn't left it unlocked, Claire is certain of that. She proceeds with caution. Fingers pushing the door just a little more open. Head looking in the open space between the wall and the door for some kind of answer to why things are out of place.

[leighiche]

@proofwhisky - a plotted starter

Days had passed and Claire's surprise patient was still weighing on her mind. Not the particulars of how he was doing, but the specifics to his wound. A professional curiosity. How had her impromptu kitchen stitching held up to whatever it is a man like Mr. Shelby does on a daily basis that isn't what she assumes it to be.

She steps off her beaten path from the hospital to the one place she knows the Shelby family can be spotted. The Garrison. More like a lion's den.

The door to the establishment doesn't stop her from her main goal. She is a nurse, first and foremost. She comes baring fresh bandages, alcohol wipes, and fresh sutures if needed. This time she's prepared including for the possibility of another gun pointed at her head.

The door swings open, and she's surprised to see it's relatively quiet with few patrons. "I'm looking for Mr. Shelby," she announces after a brief look around. "He isn't expecting me, but I'm afraid he has no other choice. Tell him it's the nurse, Claire."

[leighiche]

@proofwhisky asked: would you stay with me through this?

A hand dips into the water. "I don't have a habit of abandoning my patients or my soldiers." Fingers clutch tightly onto the wash cloth to ring out the excess water. The cloth rubs gently against his face to clean off excess shaving cream. "What would you have me do?"

[leighiche]

"Only the ones that actually work," she clarifies. A subtle grin upon her face. "I am not a fan of the sugar pills and blood letting that some still prescribe, too. Medicine has come a ways since then." Just not as far as it has in the 21st century. Claire's hands rest in front of her, stressed yet relaxed against her bodice. "I'm a bit partied out myself," the healer confesses. Hands open up in a vague gesture to the solace of a nearly empty room, "Which is why I find myself here. My husband is far better for party conversations than I. I'm not the storyteller that he is."

" do not tell me you subscribe to all that nonsense about possets and tonics, " caroline says, directing a wry glance at her unwelcome companion. " i had hoped that a woman would not be so easily swayed by such foolishness. " her ire is not deeply felt, nor is the opinion offered with any seriousness... but, as is always the case when she feels cornered, she cannot help lashing out. she'd left the crowded party to seek the ladies retiring room - the closeness of the ballroom leaving her momentarily light-headed. she needs only a moment alone - and perhaps a glass of canary - to put her to rights. what she does not require is an overly solicitous healer with cold hands and prying opinions. " besides - " she leans against the arm of the settee. " i'm sure the party is far more interesting than i am... though perhaps only just, " she adds, a smirk on her lips.

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 --> @leighiche

[leighiche]

@proofwhisky asked: ❝ i don’t want you to think of me like that. ❞

"Then how would you like me to think of you? All I know of you is what your reputation has to say about you. You are not an easy man to get to know." Her head shakes in her bewildered confusion. "Would you prefer I think of you as a stranger? I'm afraid I am not the greatest actress in the world when it comes to feigning memory loss."

[leighiche]

@proofwhisky asked: ❝ i need to know that i can trust you. ❞

"I do believe I have proven that already." Her hand moves slowly down the length of his torso. It stops near his midriff and shifts to the side where her stitchwork still remains. "I've told no one about our wonderful drink upon my dinner table, Mr. Shelby. If it is my loyalty that you want then you will not have it. I see no reason to give it to you. You have shown me no reason for me to trust you other than a foolish attempt to point a gun at your only hope at surviving in a single woman's home."

She will not be intimidated easily. Too many men thinking the woman the weaker sex. "I don't know what you insist on getting out of me. I have helped a man in dire need of medical attention. What more could you need from a nurse like myself? I have no business in this business of yours outside of mending what I can and helping loved ones identify what remains to identify."

[leighiche]

@highlnderbrn​ said  “  look at me,  you’re safe.  and you’re not alone.  and i’ll never let you be alone again.  you understand?  ”

Claire nods her head frantically. She knows it somewhere in her shaking bones, shivering from the shock of recent events. Her hand journeys out from the safety and reaches out for Jamie’s. He’s the only comfort she has in this time that feels somewhere between home and a foreign place. “Could you,” she hesitates to say the words at the tip of her tongue, “Help keep me warm? It’s shock, I just need a few moments until my body matches up with my mind.”

[leighiche]

She doesn't let it show, but she understands. The soldiers' lives lost escorting her. The cries she still hears on random nights - a grown man calling for his mother like a little boy as she cowers in hiding. "Unfortunately there is nothing I can do to heal that wound." Clean out a wound and patch it up is what her hands are good for even the odd amputation or two if necessary. "I can only suggest finding some reason to keep going - a cause, family, friends, girlfriend, a dog." There's a pause in her words as tongue wets her bottom lip. "Anything that gives you a reason to keep going."

@leighiche (continued.)

A sigh in relief, and Caleb blinks slowly once the good news is relayed, leaning his back against the chair he was seated in. He had moved it closer to the bed occupied by Francis, intent on watching over his injured friend nearly the entire time Claire's healing hands worked their magic on the wounds.

One less thing to worry about, though it doesn't slow his own thoughts down for long before he stumbles upon another that is just as troubling. “Sure, but- there's worse things…” He shakes his head, bringing a hand over limp and heavy digits and letting it rest gently on top of them. “Living when you...feel like you should've died is a lot harder than doing the opposite.”

[leighiche]

tag drop 2

[leighiche]

highlnderbrn​ / JAMIE

❛ I have everything I want.❜   written by @sassenchbrn.

      Jamie had an arm across her shoulders, his deep blue hues not bothering to leave the sight of his wife with their son on her arms. To watch at least one of their children grow up, besides being nursed by her day and night with his help, was a gift never expected to recive but was glad to have such blesssing bestowed to him. Robert’s amber eyes, just alike his mother’s, listened to her voice and smiled, bouncing his little fists and Jamie thought his heart was going to burst. ❝ I think the laddie kens it verra fine, Sassenach.❞

Deciding to test a theory the scot pulled out of his jacket’s pocket something he had been working on for a while. It was of the right size for the bairn to play with, without any risk of hurting himself of eating it. ❝ Do ye like horsies, Rabbie? Da has something fer ye.❞ said Jamie, placing the wooden horse in Robert’s small hands, grinning ear to ear.

It was almost everything, but she knew their daughter was safe which was all she could ask. It was leagues safer in the 1900s comparatively to the 1700s. That is where her fear rests with her newborn son. All the dangers of this time period. All that is still unknown to humans or simply unavailable to certain populations. There was no way for her to protect him from the dangers of small pox that was so common for children to catch at a young age. No vaccines to prepare his immune system outside of the antibodies her body would share for such a short period of time while he fed from her breast. There were plenty of things to worry about raising a child in the 1950s, but much more now thanks to her knowledge of what was possible but not yet been.

Small fingers splayed out to touch the wooden toy. Hands grasping at thin air before it was just in reach for Robert’s little fingers to clutch onto, and without any hesitation, the wooden mane was seated between two sets of gums. Claire laughs, the baby bouncing against her with each shallow breath. “I think that’s a yes,” she says, “But I don’t think he’s ready to start helping out in the stables quite yet.”

[leighiche]

A silent laughter makes it way to Claire's face. It doesn't deter her work. His insistence is amusing yet surprising. She hasn't met many men in Birmingham quite so insistent for a woman's talents. "Then I'd say I wouldn't know whether to call you wise or foolish." Ahead of his peers for certain. "And that stalking is the strangest form of flattery."

Bewilderment aside, it does not distract her from the task before her. The needle goes through the skin with little issue. She's done this a hundred times before if not thousand ( she's not been keeping count ).

Claire gives the suture a confirming tug with her clamp. "That should do," she confirms to herself. The nurse sets the equipment down besides Tommy with an incidental loud clunk as she stands. She rechecks the size of the wound and steps away. The heels of her shoes hit against the hard wood floor with soft clunks, a practiced step across the echo of linoleum floors.

She looks through her kit for a large enough bandage. "I am allowed to think your choice in actions strange. It is not most days or any day for that matter," she clarifies upon her return, "That I find a patient in my home upon my return from my shift at the hospital, and I'm certain this isn't your typical practice otherwise this wouldn't be our first meeting."

HE STARES AT THE CEILING IN AN effort to hide the very obvious roll of his eyes. It's quickly becoming clear that no matter what he says, sincere or otherwise, will be considered to be either worthwhile or true. Thomas truly does not have the desire nor the energy to argue the point. Instead he just lets his eyes fall closed, counting the seconds between each of her movements, taking a advantage of the rare opportunity to be simply exist in the present ; not planning endlessly for the future, not plagued with painful memories of the past, nor consumed with fear & anxiety due to circumstances of the present.

Tommy is not the type of man to trust others blindly. He's not even the type of man to trust others who may very well deserve to be trusted. The mere fact that he allows himself to lie back quietly, eyes closed, abdomen exposed, at the mercy of a total stranger, is actually quite a feat. She would definitely argue with him, should he choose to point this out.

"I see," he finally replies, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling again. "Have you ever considered that, perhaps, when men refer to you as the best medical professional in Birmingham, they may actually have meant to do so ?"

The mention of the war is met with further silence, though he does begin to realize that his uncharacteristic display of trust is likely due to her ghostly familiarity. The combat medics & nurses during the war had been some of the only people to truly gain his respect. Any person, man or woman, who would offer their own lives in an effort to aid strangers, is worthy of some form of trust. Misguided or otherwise.

"Would you rather I demean your work & skill ? Or tell you I've been keeping my ear to the ground looking for the worst medical care available, leading me to your door ?"

[leighiche]

An amused hmph let's her opinion be known without words. The smirk on her face added just for good measure, but Claire's never kept her opinions entirely to herself. It's gotten her in trouble multiple times - not just in the 1700s but in the 1900s. The saying women are to be seen, not heard is not a foreign concept to her. It just so happens to be one of many that she disagrees with.

"That I'll dare say." Him and Geillis ... she's still trying to wrap her head around it, even knowing what she knows now about her. The thought doesn't linger for very long, thanks to the wicked growl hidden in her husband's words. Her brows raise in turn, "Such as when I call you a rotten little bastard?" she teases.

Jamie leaves her side, and Claire's brows furrow watching him. "Jamie." She tugs on the blankets freshly wrapped around her and holds them tight around her shoulders. "Where are we going?" she whispers quietly. The teasing air from just a second before completely vanished. What did this man up his sleeve this time? She holds onto his hand. The whereabout of Lallybroch are still foreign to her without a candlestick to light her path. It appears Jamie will be taking the place of the candlestick this evening.

"Jamie, where are we going!?" she yells in a harsh whisper as they leave the threshold to the home. Fingers hold on tighter to his hand while the other clings to the blanket as he's taken her outside the warmth of their home in nothing but her shift otherwise.

Relief is found first when Jamie's footsteps seem to still. No longer stuck in confusion and surprise, Claire takes in her surroundings. It's been a while since anyone has been here, it seems. Plants have taken their home here, but not so much that it's beyond seeing it for what it was or that it is impossible to trek through - even in Claire's current state of dress.

Her attention flits back to Jamie. There's a punched feeling in her gut at his words. She understands that it isn't what he meant, but a life surround by love ... a playground, however makeshift it is ... she knows what he means, if he isn't aware of it just yet. "It's beautiful, Jamie." Claire lingers in her current spot. "I can only imagine what kind of mischief you got into with Jenny here when you two were children. Thank you for showing me."

they are promises that he intends to do well on , to ensure not only her happiness but the security that comes with such a union. he is naive , perhaps idealistic about this kind of union for him ; marriage and love seemed to not only be a joining of hearts but the idea that your soul was safe. he hopes that one day he can tell her the breadth of his vows , not only with words but actions that are sure to convey just how strong of a hold she has over heart.

at dougal's name jamie allows a laugh , ' quite think he was getting one over me ... marrying me off to you - and you to me ... he's a miserable bastard that perhaps would like to nothing better than to know that you were perhaps miserable within this union ' he moves from her side , from the fire , and goes to reach for her hand. ' little would he know how much you crave my name at night ' his eyebrows arch , his tongue dipped in the kind of wickedness that comes from the knowledge that he has heard his name upon her lips in the most intimate of moments.

still , he reaches for warm blankets , fur blankets that he goes to then wrap one around her shoulders as he then goes to open the door to the outside hall. lallybroch is still at night , the remnants of lives lived just hours before. the settling of manor as the floors remain cold , the candles that light corridors burnt down to the wick as jenny had made sure to put them out.

looking behind his shoulder he then wraps his fingers around her own. taking her from the safety of lallybroch and taking her upon grounds. a garden is there , a garden that had been of his own mother's creation. the garden had been tended in the years since her death , jenny taking over as it became a project that was truly borne out of love.

upon arrival he opens iron gates , and pushes the gates open. some foliage has long ago been dimmed by the cold weather , though the pools of water reflect the beautiful moonlight. bathing the garden in silver , and green. there is a bench that sits in the middle of it all. a swing that extends from a tree, and a small building that in his youth he had pretended to defend against enemies. ' this was my favorite place as a child ' the vines spreading upon walls as he then goes to remove a blanket and spread it upon grass , ' i wanted to share it with you because i want our lives to be surrounded with love , and here ? here is where i felt it most '

[leighiche]

"I heard what you said, but when men say the best professional in town they don't mean a nurse or any woman's profession for that matter." Not unless he's been spying on her specifically, watching her when she calls the doctor she's attending a fucking moron for missing an obvious ailment because his head is too far up his own ass to see what is right before him.

She pulls the thread tight through the skin, needle high up in the air while Claire's focus is on keeping the skin flat. "Mr. Shelby," she repeats, "I suppose that would explain the gunshot wound and most other gunshot wounds I've helped clean up outside of my services during the War."

It also explains why he came at her with a gun pointed at her head, hiding within her own home instead of preferring the far more comfortable option that is the hospital where he might have been fortunate enough to have been put under a full anesthesia as well instead of being forced to endure the full brunt of pain that is hunting for a bullet amidst tissue, organ, and blood.

"I DON'T BELIEVE I SAID you were a surgeon," he replies cooly, forcing himself to sit still while she works on his abdomen. "Nor did I say you were anyone's personal nurse. The exact words I used were 'best medical professional in Birmingham,' if I recall correctly."

Tommy turns is head so that he can take another swig of whisky, gulping down three more mouthfuls before replacing the cap & setting it down on the table, by his hip.

"And my name is Thomas," he says. "Thomas Shelby."

Nobody who lives in Birmingham is ignorant of the Peaky Blinders or their leader, Tommy Shelby. Sometimes it's a blessing. Most of the time, it's a curse. It comes in handy more often than not, but if he wants to be anonymous when he should be, like at a hospital, for example, he has essentially forfeited the right.

[leighiche]

"I'm not a surgeon, Mister ...," right, she never got his name given the great intrusion he put her in, "Whatever the bloody hell your name is. Just a nurse. A damn good nurse, but not a surgeon. My job is to help every patient who walks into the Birmingham hospital. I am no one's personal nurse, no matter what you and your bloody gun might think."

Claire sighs, shoulders easing when he lays back down. The first needle puncture is made with ease, fingers gently pinching the skin together as the man drinks. "You did that to yourself, sir. If you were in a hospital you could have received a local anesthetic. I don't think you get to go around with a woe is me tale."

Suturing is lightwork especially in comparison to what was done just moments before. It's simple and methodical. Claire's done it thousands of times before.

HE ROLLS HIS EYES AT HER comment, knowing as well as she that she isn't going to be able to just pack up and leave at a moment's notice. Still, he understands. An injured man threatening them with a gun is probably the last thing any medical professional expects to find upon returning home.

"If you move, I'd just find you again," he says. "& besides, do you really think a man too secretive to go to a hospital would tell anyone about the residence of the best medical professional in Birmingham ? He'd have to be a pretty stupid man."

It's not a threat. That much is clear. It's pretty obvious that he'd never intended to harm her in the first place, that the gun was more of an insurance policy than anything else.

When she presses the bottle into his chest he grabs it gratefully, pressing the neck to his lips to gulp down two mouthfuls with a sigh, falling back against the table afterwards. He glances at the suture kit as she holds it, then lets his eyes fall closed again, not commenting on his assumed familiarity with it.

Again he drinks, taking in a sharp breath through his nose, like the laugh of someone who's forgotten how to do it.

"Soldiers losing a leg get local anesthetic and go into shock," he retorts. "I am not afforded either luxury."