#'twas around wee hours such as now

[michyeosseo]

semidoyi backstory;

title taken from lyrics to lifts, c/o my 아두 derangement playlist ♡

[lizardaggro]

the pulse of death, prologue 1

alrighty guys, here it is! vampire!twst au!!! please don't make fun of the title i'm sensitive about it... in any case, you'll notice from the title that this is just part one of the prologue. that's because this sucker is gonna be long af, and you're just gonna have to deal.

genre: gn!reader, will include romance, fluff, and angst down the line tw: none so far. yay! wc:3133

Twas an ordinary day, much like any other. After arriving home from your daily responsibilities, more than ready to mindlessly read fanfiction on your phone. You collapsed onto bed, looking for something to occupy the time until you were ready to fall asleep. Insomnia was something that had plagued you off and on for years; it became much less of an issue once you became an adult and were able to set your own schedule, but still. It wasn’t like it was predictable when you’d be able to embrace the night at last, either, but you managed somehow.

If asked what time it was when you were finally graced with a deep slumber, you couldn’t say. Perhaps it gradually crept up on you, so that you didn’t have the chance to notice. You didn’t remember your dreams, you never did. At some wee hour of the morning, you were awoken by who knows what, a haze still clouding your mind. You couldn’t recall if you’d brushed your teeth or not before you knocked out, so you made your way to the bathroom. Neglecting to flip the light switch due to the soft glow of the nightlight you couldn’t sleep without, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

Much to your surprise, instead of your own reflection, you saw a rather odd face staring back at you. It didn’t have much color to it, quite literally, but there was a bright green mist floating around it. Okay. This was fine. You must still be dreaming. It was then that the mirror-face-thing began to speak. Its voice was deep and ominous, but for some odd reason, you didn’t feel frightened. This was only a dream after all, wasn’t it?

“Oh, lovely and noble flower of evil. Magic mirror, tell me, who is the fairest of them all?” it? intoned. “O, one who has been guided by the Mirror of Darkness. Take the hand reflected in the mirror, and never, ever let go.”

As if right on cue, a ghastly hand appeared in the mirror. But it didn’t stop there, reaching beyond the mirror’s bounds and extending toward your form. You shivered as you felt its cold touch. You faintly heard the sound of horses braying in the distance, and perhaps hooves on pavement. There wasn’t much of a chance to register what that could mean, though, as your consciousness began to fade.

When you awoke again, your memories of what had happened were blurry at best. Everything was dark, and the surface you were lying on was hard. Were you going insane, or were you stood upright somehow? Wanting to better understand your predicament, you lifted your arms to feel around you. You were quickly able to determine that you were in a box of some kind. Now that certainly wasn’t ominous at all.

You didn’t have to ponder your fate for long, though, as you heard a voice from somewhere outside. “Hngh, gotta find some clothes so I can fit in,” they mumbled, as if they didn’t expect anyone to hear. It was a slightly nasally sort of voice, almost inhuman in a way. “Stupid coffins won’t open.” Wait, coffins? “Fnyaa, take that! The Great Grim’s special fire blast!” the voice shouted.

The gears in your brain began to turn, processing what that could mean. You had your answer sooner than you would’ve liked, as your little box began to become uncomfortably hot. Too hot. The lid blew off with a little ‘pop,’ and you were able to see at last.

You were in a grand room, with a medieval sort of theme to its décor, and rather dim lighting. There were floating coffins all along the walls, and you quickly surmised that you must’ve been in one as well. Then you turned your attention to the person in front of you. At least, you had assumed it was a person, but it appeared you were mistaken.

“…a cat?” you let out without quite realizing. The creature who’d freed you from that box was indeed a cat, with gray fur, and rather curiously, blue flames licking at its ears. It had a pitchfork-shaped tip for a tail, and a gray-and-white striped scrap of cloth around its neck, reminiscent of a collar.

“Hnngh, the Great Grim is not a cat!” it said. Because of course, the cat could talk. Why not, you supposed, when you had no idea how you’d gotten here and there were objects blatantly defying gravity in the background. “Now, give me your clothes!” it? demanded. You weren’t sure of the cat’s gender; the voice sounded vaguely male-inclined, but one could never be sure.

“I beg your pardon?” you asked, stunned. What use would a not-cat have for human clothes? It was plain to see they wouldn’t fit, and you didn’t think your fashion sense was that revolutionary. Though the fabric did feel a bit different than you were used to, smoother and softer, as if it were made of silk or the like.

You took the opportunity to give yourself a once-over and gasped in shock. You were most certainly not wearing what you had fallen asleep in. You donned a black hooded robe, with golden embroidery and royal purple detailing. You patted yourself down; it seemed you still had your old clothes on underneath, but your pockets were empty, no phone to be found.

“You won’t hand them over? Then I’ll just have to take them from you!” Grim, you assumed that was its name, shouted as it began chasing you, spitting fire from its mouth. Of course, you did what any individual of sound mind would do, and ran for your life. You still didn’t know how you’d ended up here, and there was no way you were going to keel over and die without finding out.

You dashed through corridor after corridor, until you found yourself in a room that resembled a library. Except, naturally, a number of books were hovering in the air, as well as the lanterns that lit the room. In awe at the silent beauty of the ambience, you momentarily forgot your life-threatening situation and gazed around.

You were interrupted soon enough, because Grim was on a mission and had no manners. “You can’t escape the Great Grim! Now hand them over!” Your eyes widened; you had no plan to save yourself in this moment, nowhere to run to. You shut your eyes tight, expecting the pain of being burned to death. But it never came.

When you opened an eye to survey the situation, you saw something rather… questionable. Grim had been bound by a whip of some sort, and was squirming against their restraints. Sure, they’d inadvertently tried to kill you, and allegedly weren’t a cat, but wasn’t this some sort of animal cruelty? Were they even an animal if they breathed fire?

“Fnyaa, what is this?! Let me go!!” Grim demanded. You weren’t expecting it, but a reply came from who knows where. “Ah, ‘tis my Lash of Love!” a voice exclaimed rather flamboyantly. Soon the speaker stepped into view. They were a rather tall individual, adorned with a mask with a beak shape on it. Their voice did indeed match their appearance, which you could only describe as some sort of obnoxiously accessorized medieval cosplay. It went with the building, you supposed.

The person then turned to you. It felt like their piercing yellow eyes saw right through you. “You there, you really must learn to keep your familiar in check- hmm? How peculiar. Pray tell, just what is a human doing here?” they inquired, which only served to confuse you further. What was a familiar? Why would you being a human be odd?

“Um, sir? I don’t want to assume anything though… Well, I’m not sure what you mean exactly,” you began hesitantly, fidgeting with your hands behind your back. “I just woke up inside a coffin in this big room, and then Grim came and blew the lid off and started demanding I give them my clothes. Was I kidnapped. Is this a cult? Where is this? I’m so confused…”

“A cult?” The individual snorted, puffing out their chest. “Certainly not. You may address me as Sir Dire Crowley, and I am the headmaster of this prestigious institution, Night Raven College. I would assume that the ride from the Ebony Carriage had addled your brain, but I do not recall allowing the admission of a human. How odd… Perhaps it was the will of the Dark Mirror?” He mused to himself. You had no idea what any of that meant, other than that this place was a school that Crowley ran.

The man stared off into space, thinking, for a while. Then he seemed to have a little ‘aha!’ moment and began speaking again. You could only listen intently, hoping to glean any sort of information that might be relevant to your situation. “Well then. Since the Dark Mirror has willed it, we have no choice but to oblige. You will remain here at Night Raven College. Only time will tell what secrets your mortal form may be hiding. Ahh, aren’t I so generous?” he preened. You’d begun to have a rather positive impression of Crowley, aside from the whole ‘lash of love’ comment, but that was crashing and burning now.

You had so many questions, but Crowley clearly had his own agenda, and you doubted he’d answer any of them. He spun dramatically on his heel and gestured toward the exit, still dragging Grim behind him. “Come along now, the entrance ceremony has already begun. We wouldn’t want to miss your debut into vampire society, now would we?” The fuck? Did he just say vampire? As in the supernatural creatures people on the internet simped for like no other? This was turning out to be quite the adventure.

You got the impression he really didn’t care what you thought though, so you just shuffled along behind him, doing your best to calm your nerves. First order of business: make sure you weren’t actually dreaming. You slapped your hands to your cheeks, shoujo-anime style, and to your surprise as much as your disappointment, it hurt. You weren’t dreaming. Probably. Second, uh, what came second? Not dying, probably. Yes, that was important.

Sooner rather than later, as much as you dragged your feet, you arrived at your destination: the room you’d initially awoken in. Only this time, the floating coffins were empty, and the room was jam-packed with people. You took a moment to consider if this was some sort of elaborate prank, but then you remembered the terror you’d felt when running from Grim. The fire they’d spat out had been very much real.

Scanning over the crowd, several hooded figures, all wearing the same robes they were, stood out to them the most. It was a varied group in every way, and you could almost swear one of them had cat ears, like those cosplay accessories some people wore. Whatever, you weren’t judging. Crowley looked weirder, in your not-so-humble opinion. They were all on an elevated platform of some sort, likely indicating a position of authority. If this was really a school and not a cult, maybe they were the student council?

“Headmaster Crowley, where were you?” the shortest one of the bunch inquired. “We had to start the ceremony without you.” Oops. That was your fault, you supposed. It wasn’t like you could help it though, and technically Grim was to blame more than anyone. You just hoped no one would be too mad.

“Ah, yes, I had to take a bit of a detour. One of the new students had managed to escape their coffin, and their familiar went on a bit of a rampage,” Crowley explained, not looking the least bit apologetic. You could feel all the eyes in the room turn to you, and you pulled your hood down lower in response. You didn’t know how much of that vampire nonsense was true, but you really didn’t care to be sussed out as a human or an outsider.

“Very well,” the diminutive person replied. “As long as we can wrap things up now.” “Yes, of course, Mr. Riddle. Now then,” he turned to you, “Step in front of the Dark Mirror and say your name.” You weren’t too sure what this ‘dark mirror’ was, but quickly figured it to be the giant mirror in the middle of the room. Who would’ve guessed? Following instructions, you took your place in front of it and stared straight ahead.

There was a face in the mirror, surrounded by an eerie mist. It seemed vaguely familiar somehow, but you couldn’t quite place it. Even more so than Mr. Crow Man, it felt as if it knew something about yourself lost even to you. You stated your name, not wanting to be the center of all this attention any longer. What that was supposed to do you didn’t know, but the face hummed, as if it were thinking about something.

“This one is suited for no dormitory,” it stated at last. Ah, so the purpose of this strange ritual was to be some sort of rip-off Sorting Hat. Go figure. But what did it mean that you were rejected? “Their soul is clear and polished, not like the rest. And they possess no magic, not a drop.”

Well no fucking duh! Of course you weren’t going to suddenly develop magical powers just because you’d been kidnapped straight out of your bed! But you could hardly say that now. If these people really did have some sort of inhuman abilities, pissing them off was the last thing you wanted to do. It was better to keep your mouth shut and play along for now.

One could hear a pin drop in the room after the mirror’s declaration. It seems no one knew how to respond. Even Crowley appeared to be stumped; you’d assumed he expected you to have more to you than meets the eye, but you were one-hundred percent certain you were just an ordinary, human, college student.

“Ahaha,” Crowley’s nervous laughter cut through the silence like a knife. “Come now, child, we’ll discuss this matter further in my office.” With that, he grabbed you by the arm and began to unceremoniously drag you out of the room. Now you knew how Grim felt.

Speaking of Grim, it appeared they were finally tired of being dragged along. With a burst of bright blue flame, they broke through their restraints and began shouting fervently. “If that human doesn’t have any magic, then make me a student instead! The Great Grim will show you just how powerful he is!” he exclaimed, spitting fire all around the room.

Everything quickly devolved into chaos after that. You weren’t there to bear witness to it though, as someone gently took you by the arm and escorted you straight out of that mess. You were grateful, sure, but also very confused. You knew it wasn’t Crowley; that man likely couldn’t care less about your safety. Was it one of the students then?

Once safely in the outside corridor, you turned to verify the identity of your rescuer. He was a personable individual, that much was true. You were pretty sure he was too old to still be in school, but then again, people could start college whenever they chose. His hair was quite fascinating all on its own. It was mostly white, but where it parted off to one side, it was black, making for quite the contrast. That couldn’t be natural. He wasn’t wearing the same robes as everyone else either. That left you utterly confused as to who you were dealing with.

The man eyed you up and down, likely judging. “Hmm. I thought I’d caught the scent of a human on campus, but I didn’t think I’d be correct. Come with me, pup, and I’ll get you all straightened out.” That was it. No introduction, no explanation, nothing. But you went with him anyway. What choice did you have? At least he didn’t yank you like Crowley had.

The mystery man led you into what appeared to be an office of sorts, though there was some sort of giant metal pot in the center of the room. Because nothing could be normal here. He motioned for you to have a seat in one of the plush armchairs opposite the spacious desk. You obliged, more than happy to give your legs a rest after all that running.

Your savior took a seat at the desk, which you assumed was his. Perhaps he was a teacher here. That would make sense. He gazed at you for a moment, likely contemplating something. You returned his stare, not wanting to let your nerves show. You were well aware of your position here, and you were not about to make yourself any more vulnerable than you already were.

Finally, after a few tense moments, he began to speak. “I believe an introduction is in order. I am Divus Crewel, professor of alchemy here at Night Raven College. Since our dear headmaster has declined to do so, I will see to it that your needs are met while you remain here,” he explained. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but Crowley is utterly unreliable. As such, you should come to me whenever you have a problem, pup.”

You nodded along, shocked that someone was actually willing to help you instead of dragging you along or outright attacking you. You could get used to this. It would be good to have an ally here in this unfamiliar place. You wouldn’t completely bare your heart to the man, of course, but this was a start.

“Thank you, Professor Crewel. I was wondering if you’d be willing to answer a few questions for me, actually.” A few was a bit of an understatement, but you’d try to keep it to the essentials out of respect for his time. He gave the impression that he was a busy man.

“Go on, pup. I’m sure you have plenty of things to be curious about,” Crewel offered with a wave of his hand. You were grateful for his understanding. Crowley hadn’t exactly done a great job of explaining. That is to say, all you knew was that this was a school. “Um, first of all, what’s this about vampires?” Wow, way to get straight to the point. It had been your intention to ask more general questions about what was going to happen to you and if you could go home, but it just slipped out somehow. But as Crewel narrowed his eyes, you got a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that curiosity may have just killed the cat.

[pinkcaddyconfessions]

Anything for You Darlin’ Christmas Special

- - -

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader (can be Austin!Elvis if you prefer)

Word Count: 957 words

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Child Birth, Language, Mentions of Insomnia(let me know if I miss anything)

Author’s Note: Well here’s the surprise I reference earlier!! We have a Christmas Special from Elvis’ POV! I hope y’all enjoy it! This is in the realm of the Anything for You Darlin’ universe.

Summary: Twas the night before Christmas and Elvis Presley is recalling memories of Christmas pasts.

@mslizziesblog

- - -

Ever since I could remember, Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I still remember the first Christmas i had with mama and daddy at Graceland like it was yesterday. I got the Santa and slight yard decoration. We got the best decorations we could find on this side of the Mississippi. It was truly a wonderful Christmas. When mama died, I questioned how Christmas was gonna be without her presence in Graceland and in my life.

And then a little (Y/HC), (Y/EC) girl named Y/N decided to walk into my life and flip it upside down. I had known Y/N forever, but it was after I returned from Germany that I really noticed her. One thing I loved about her right away was her love for all things Christmas. I remember her first Christmas season at Graceland. The year was 1964. When I drove her up to Graceland, she was in awe of all the decorations that adored the yard. As she as she saw the blue lights that lined the driveway, she asked me if planes had ever confused my driveway for the airport. Daddy had always teased me about it, but coming from Y/N made me laugh because of the innocence in her voice. That Christmas Eve, we curled up close to fireplace in the living room after everyone had left. I never wanted that moment to end. I got to know everything about that sweet girl. I knew right then and there I had to make this girl my wife.

Then in 1966, we spent our first Christmas as husband and wife. She went all out that year eight with the decorations, including getting a white nylon tree which had a rotating base that played Christmas carols. Y/N’s child like wonder when it came to Christmas made my heart melt and reminded me why I married her. The whole house looked like a Christmas card. Once again at the end of the night, we found ourselves wrapped up next to the fireplace like our first Christmas together. During that time, the topic of babies came up. We always knew that we wanted to have kids, but it just hadn’t happened yet for whatever reason. Y/N began to tear up and told me that she was scared it wasn’t gonna ever happen because she thought she wasn’t good enough. I told her that was bull shit and I promised her that I would do anything possible for us to have a child.

Almost exactly a year later, I found myself in the hospital watching my beautiful wife bring our first baby into the world during the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning. I remember feeling so bad that I couldn’t take away my baby doll’s pain whenever the next contraction would hit and tears ran down her face; however, it was all worth in the end. Little Mallory Love had our hearts from the moment she let out that very first cry. That beautiful, precious little girl was sent from heaven by my mama and her birth date confirmed it all for me. Mallory had me wrapped around her little finger when she looked up at me with her baby blue eyes for the very first time. I knew in that moment that every Christmas from here on out was gonna be magical for the Presley family.

Now here we are in 1977. Our family has grown over the years. We now have four kids, with each one of them having their own distinct personalities and looks. This Christmas is significant for many reasons. It’s the last time we’ll have a baby’s first Christmas with baby Kennedy being our last child. Y/N is taking it harder than I thought she would, so I told her to decorate Graceland until her little heart gave out. What didn’t expect was a Christmas tree in my living room the day after Halloween. I almost told her it was too damn early, but she looked at me her those big doe eyes of hers, I couldn’t say it. This girl has had my heart since day one and sometimes I think she uses it to her advantage. By the time thanksgiving came around, the whole house looked like Christmas.

Now it’s the wee hours of Christmas Day and I’m wide awake. The insomnia is really kicking my ass tonight. I turn over to see Y/N sleeping soundly. She looks so beautiful even with her hair all messed up from the pillows. I start to hear whimpering from the nursery so I know that means Kennedy is need of something. I get out of bed and make the walk down to the nursery. Her whimpers start to get louder and turn into cries. I get into the nursery and quick pick up Kennedy and get myself comfy in the rocking chair. I can’t help but to look at this sweet baby girl’s face as I begin to rock and comfort her. Her cries dampen into whimpers and before long she’s out like a light. I hold Kennedy for a little while longer just to make sure she’s asleep.

After I kiss her head and put her back into the crib, I go back to bed to find Y/N still sleeping like an angel. I pull her into my arms. I can’t believe God blessed me with a wife like her and four of the best children that any man could ask for. I can’t wait for everyone to wake up on Christmas morning to see what ole’ Saint Nick brought for them. Hopefully Santa will see the bright blue lights that still line the drive way so he knows where to land the giant sleigh.

[scotianostra]

Hogmanay and First Footing.

After the Bells at Hogmanay in ordinary times many Scots would then grab a few things together, in my days it would be your New Year bottle and maybe some shortbread, you would then go First Footing.

The term literally means the "first foot to step into a house after midnight is still common in Scotland. This is still full of tradition and even superstition. In order to ensure good luck for the house, the first foot over the door should be male, dark; traditionally they should take symbolic gifts such as a lump of coal, shortbread, salt, black bun and whisky. Blonds & redheads, and especially females with this hair colouring first-footers were considered bad luck.

The gifts meant the household would be safe and warm and have enough food for the year. These days, however, whisky and perhaps shortbread and the famous black bun are the most common gifts first-footers take. Of course most hosts would have plenty of food and drink in to offer to their guests.

When I was a youngster, we used to go first footing around the parents of my friends, often not get home until the wee small hours. I remember feeling more like an adult, aged about 16 and being welcomed in, special memories spending time with the likes of my mums best friend Nicky Bruce, who would more often than not be at her mother's house, Phemie. One of the other houses was that of Grace Fortune, who always had the best home made soup to warm us up before we traipsed to the next house, usually my Uncle Findlay and Auntie Margaret just down the street, I can still remember the route we used to take and all the houses we visited.

For others the party went on until the next day, or even the day after that, one of the best parties was always a couple in Park Avenue, where we lived, it was always one of the last of the New Year ones, Ann Tytler and John Hyslop had the best music, and was within easy falling home distance at the end of the night.

In the years that followed when I lived in Edinburgh First Footing wasn't as prevalent as in the towns and villages, people in Edinburgh used to gather at the Tron Kirk for "the bells" but The City usually now lay on a street extravaganza on Princes Street with concerts from top artists and a firework display from the Castle. I am not a great fan of massive crowds so I missed the more personal days at Loanhead, people singing the auld songs and reciting a few verses of Rabbie Burns, happier days indeed.

I've looked out a few old Hogmanay rhymes from the auld times...........

‘Get up, goodwife, and shake your feathers,

And dinna think that we are beggars;

For we are bairns come out to play

Get up and gie‘s our hogmanay!’ 

--------------

“A guid New Year to ane an` a` and mony may ye see!”

--------------

“Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.”

---------------

“Open the door for the auld year

/ It is the pairtin-time:

/ Open the door for the new year “

----------------

We’ve three bonnie bottles, but the third ane’i toom,

Gin the road ran whisky, it’s mysel’ wad soom ! *

But we’ll stan’ while we can, an’ be dancin’ while we may,

For there’s twa we hae to finish, an’ it’s Hogmanay.

-----------------

“My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,

My den is all a cosy glow;

And snug before the fire I sit,

And wait to feel the old year go”

------------------

“Wi’ muckle glee, but little din,

At doors the lassies sentries keep,

To let the first-fit in.

Nae auld, camshauchled warlock loon,

Nor black, wanchancie carlin

Sall cross ae threshold o’ the toun

Till ilk lass gets her darlin’ person

To kiss that nicht”

--------------------

A Guid New Year I wish thee, Maggie!

Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie

Tho’ thou’s how-backit now, an knaggie,

I’ve seen the day

Thou could hae gaen like any staggie

Out-owre the lay.

-------------------

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)

Read on AO3

Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.

He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.

Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.

And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.

The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.

Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.

“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”

“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.

Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.

“That’s too many names.”

“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”

“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”

She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.

“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”

“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.

“Not enjoying it so far?”

“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”

He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.

“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”

He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”

“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”

“And what would that be?”

“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.

“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.

“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.

“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.

“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”

“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”

His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.

“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”

That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.

“Bad date, was it?”

Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”

“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.

“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”

“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.

“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”

“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”

“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.

She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.

Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.

After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.

“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.

“I dinna think so.”

Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”

“Then they’re eejits.”

A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Eejits, huh?”

He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.

“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.

“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.

“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”

Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”

“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.

“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”

Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”

Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.

“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”

By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.

They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.

Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.

“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.

“Aye?”

“Can I…?”

An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.

A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.

He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 7: Trust

Chapter 6

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Jamie was sitting in front of her apartment building, fingers incessantly tapping the steering wheel. He’d been sitting there for a solid minute now, though he couldn’t exactly put a name to the feeling that was paralyzing him.

 He finally got himself to move by remembering that Faith had likely not stopped screaming since their phone call, and keeping them waiting any longer because he was something akin to nervous would be rather selfish of him. He swiped the wee horse off the passenger seat and departed his car, his pulse quickening with every step up to her second-story apartment. He could hear the screaming before he even reached the top step, and he clenched his jaw, his heart going out to Claire.

 He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Before he could even take his hand away from the door, it swung open, revealing a red-faced, swollen-eyed Claire. Watching the relief wash over her was like watching a devastating fire be put out, and Jamie finally released the breath he’d been holding.

 “Come in, come in,” Claire said, waving him inside and shutting the door. “Faith, darling, look who it is. It’s Mister Jamie, lovie. And look who he’s brought.”

 Jamie crouched down beside the wailing little girl and held up the stuffed horse. “Hallo, Faith. It’s alright now, Horsie is home. See?”

 Faith’s wailing abruptly ceased, quieting to little sobs and snuffles as she reached for the horse. She hiccuped and sniffled as she rubbed the toy on each of her cheeks over and over, and then squeezed it to her chest.

 “See? It’s alright, now. D’ye remember our big breaths, Faith?” Jamie said gently, taking a big heaving breath. “In and out. Remember? Can ye do that fer me? In,” he breathed in again, and Faith breathed in as well. “And out. Good lass. That’s it. One more time. In…and out. Good girl, Faith. There we go.”

 With a few more deep breaths, Faith was no longer shuddering or gasping for air, and aside from the tear tracks on her face, one would never know she’d been crying.

 “Faith…?” Claire’s voice sounded behind him, and Jamie felt his heart leap into his throat all over again. In calming Faith, he’d nearly forgotten that her mother was standing right behind him.

 “Are you alright now, baby?” Claire stepped around Jamie and knelt beside her. “All better now that Horsie is home?” Faith gave a tiny nod. “Good girl. Can you give Mummy a hug?”

 Faith melted into her mother’s arms, and Claire exhaled shakily, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She stroked the back of her head and kissed her temple, whispering to her as she rocked her back and forth.

 Jamie felt like he was intruding on a very private moment, but at the same time, he knew if he stood up and moved away, he’d be interrupting. So, he remained crouched on the floor of Claire Beauchamp’s apartment, watching her cling to her daughter for dear life. She was hanging on by a thread, he could tell, fighting the urge to burst into tears.

 He was overwhelmed by that feeling, that need. To stop her pain, to ease her mind, protect her from the hardships that life kept throwing her. Christ, had today really only been the third week since he’d first met her? How was that possible? It felt like those sad, longing eyes had been haunting him for years, keeping him awake at night with ways to make her sadness go away.

 After a few minutes, Claire pulled away and smiled warmly at Faith, stroking her wee cheeks. “Go put Horsie to bed and then we’ll have our dinner. Okay?”

 Faith obediently slipped away to her room and Claire looked startled, apparently having forgotten Jamie was there, just as he’d forgotten she was there earlier.

 “I really can’t thank you enough,” she said, standing up.

 “No trouble at all.” Jamie stood up as well.

 “Really, you didn’t have to do this…I feel ridiculous for having called you in the first place.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, making herself smaller. “Eventually she’d have to fall asleep and she’d wake up completely fine, albeit a little hungry…but I just couldn’t see that before…I was…”

 “It’s hard to think straight when they’re carrying on. Ye dinna have to explain yerself to me, Sassenach.” Jamie’s heart skipped a beat to see the corners of her mouth twitch up at the sound of the nickname she’d been unwillingly bestowed with.

 “Are ye…are ye alright, then?” Jamie began hesitantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He did not want to overstep, but he could not shake that immediate uneasiness in his gut when he first saw her earlier today. “Other than all this, I mean?”

 She blinked at him for a few seconds, in what he could only perceive as shock. Was it really that surprising to her for someone to ask if she was alright?

 “Um…yes, I’m…I’m fine,” she said softly, not meeting his eye. “Just a long day.”

 Jamie didn't say anything; he could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she was stopping herself. He gave her the time she needed to work up the nerve to say it.

 “I lost a patient today.” It spilled out of her like a leak in a dam, and he got the sense that she wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop the break from growing any wider. “For the first time. He was too young. A father, a husband. It was…hard. That’s all.”

 Jamie’s jaw hardened, and his chest tightened. He was slammed with a wave of pity for her. To have a heart so big that one could be so greatly affected by hardships and losses that were not their own must be a great burden to carry.

 “I’m sorry, lass,” he said gently. “I’m sure ye did everything ye could.”

 She folded her arms tighter over herself, nodding silently.

 “Claire,” he said pointedly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Ye canna beat yerself up over it. The patient…or yer daughter either.”

 For the smallest moment, she held his gaze, and he could see all the way through her in those eyes. He could see her fear. Fear of what? Of him? Of herself, her shortcomings?

 Christ, Sassenach. If ye only knew how worthy ye are.

 Faith burst from her room just then, more than ready for the dinner that had been delayed almost an hour. She swiped the happy meal off the coffee table and skipped off to the kitchen. The moment was gone, and that ghost of a smile returned to Claire’s face, as did the ache in Jamie’s chest.

 “Do you want anything?” she said briskly. “Tea? Coffee?”

 “No, no, I’m fine. Thank ye.”

 “Well, uh, thank you again. Really, you saved my life tonight.”

 “ ’Twas nothing.”

 “No, it really wasn’t nothing,” she insisted. “You saw how she was before you got here.”

 “Aye, I did.” He nodded, allowing a tight-lipped smile.

 “Listen.” She wet her lips and inhaled deeply. “I swear I won’t use your number ever again,” she said, fidgeting with a hangnail on her thumb. “It really was inappropriate of me to use your personal phone number like that.”

 “Sassenach, I told ye, I was happy to help.”

 “Still. It won’t happen again.”

 He allowed his grin to grow wider, unable to suppress a chuckle at how serious she was being. “Alright, lass. Whatever ye say.” He made his way to the front door, shaking his head.

 “Well, goodnight then,” she said, smiling sheepishly as she opened the front door.

 “Goodnight. Tell Faith I said goodbye.”

 Her smile widened. “I will.”

 Jamie gave a curt nod before turning around and departing down the stairs to his car. As he settled into the seat and started the car, he caught sight of a warm light coming through the windshield, and he looked up to discover its source. He nearly jumped clean out of his skin upon realizing that Claire still hadn’t closed her front door. She was standing in the doorway, and he caught her eye, only for her to jump and quickly close the door.

 Jamie gawked for a moment through the windshield before shaking his head and driving away, his head spinning.

 ——

 He arrived at the stables at nine-thirty that following Monday, a half-hour before they opened. Toni was already at her desk, starting up the computer and sorting through some papers.

 “Morning, Jamie,” she sighed.

 “Morning, Toni.” He brandished one of the two coffee cups in his hand, and Toni practically moaned.

 “Oh my God, I love you.” She took the cup in her hands and took a careful sip. “How did you know I needed this today?”

 Jamie shrugged. “Ye’re always hungover on Monday mornings.”

 “Ha-ha,” Toni said wryly, but she had no argument to make. He wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” she said, setting the coffee down. “Do you know what happened to the little horse in the lost and found bin?”

 Jamie blanched.

 “I think it’s Faith’s, right? It was there when I left on Friday but now it’s gone, and I’m worried it went home with the wrong kid.”

 “Ah, well, that’s a funny story actually.”

 Toni’s face screwed up as she picked up the coffee again. “Um…okay?”

 “Well, uh, she called me. Claire, that is.”

 “You mean Miss Beauchamp?” Toni said pointedly, but he could already see the smug grin spreading across her face.

 “Och, aye, the verra same.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “She called me and told me Faith was beside herself wi’out the wee horse. Wouldna stop crying or eat her dinner.”

 Toni stared at him incredulously. “So you drove back to let her in to get it?”

 “Ah, no.” Jamie felt his face get hot, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, drove it to her.”

 “You went to her apartment?” she was practically shouting now.

 “Will ye hold yer wheesht?” Jamie hissed.

 Toni suddenly burst out laughing.

 “Fer Christ’s sake…” Jamie grumbled, running a hand through his curls.

 “I’m sorry! You’re just killing me this morning! I can’t handle it when you go all Scottish on me…” She wiped away tears of laughter before continuing. “Jesus Christ, Jamie! You actually went to her home? You sly dog!”

 “Fer the love of God, Toni, I didna do it fer any reason other than to help her.”

 “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” She took another sip of her coffee. “You’re too damn soft for your own good. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a sly move, James.”

 He sighed in frustration. “I’m never bringing ye coffee again.”

 “No, no, no, no, I take it back,” she said quickly, giggling through her panic. “Come on, I was teasing! Jamie!”

 Jamie muttered something rather crude in Gaelic as he strode out the back door and toward the stables.

 That was the last time he told her anything.

 ——

 Claire couldn’t help but notice something was off the next time she brought Faith to the stables.

 Not in a bad or foreboding sense by any means, just…strange. Toni was grinning smugly at Jamie when she arrived, and he looked like he was torn between reaming her out and fainting. Jamie was hovering over them as they checked in, something that even Erica seemed to find a bit odd.

 “Alright,” Claire said the moment they were outside. “Now what was all that about?”

 “What’s that?” Jamie said.

 “All that side-eye with Toni,” Claire chuckled.

 “Ah.” He flushed red a bit. “She found out about…Horsie,” he said carefully, purposely not being direct in front of Erica.

 Claire blanched. “Oh! Christ, did you get in trouble? Jamie, I’m so — ”

 “Dinna fash, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled heartily. “I’m no’ in any trouble. Toni is just…”

 “Nosy,” Erica finished for him.

 “Aye, that she is. She likes teasing me, is all. No’ to worry.”

 “Oh…alright.” Claire relaxed. As they reached the stables, all conversation was dropped as Faith’s excited humming reached maximum volume.

 She likes teasing him…what was there to tease about…?

 There was no time to contemplate, however, as Claire became lost in watching Faith enjoy herself, as she always did. Jamie let Erica take the reins on getting Faith set up and leading her to the riding hall, and Jamie hung back with Claire.

 She knew he was amiable, and kind, and had a big heart, but it struck her just how easy it was to talk to him. Perhaps some wall she didn’t know existed had been knocked down when he’d entered her home, or perhaps she was just getting used to him. He’d proven over and over that he would make leaps and bounds to help Faith, and even to help Claire. She was really beginning to see him as somewhat of a friend, despite how inappropriate it may seem to refer to her daughter’s hippotherapist as such.

 She watched all of Faith’s little victories from behind the fence, her cheeks sore from smiling, clapping along with Erica and Jamie when they did so. This one hour a week of peace, joy, and accomplishment was something that Claire cherished above anything else in her life right now. And she could just tell that Faith felt exactly the same.

 Claire’s mind wandered back to something Erica had said the first day she met her:

 “I really wouldn’t be anything I am today without this place.”

 Claire could see now what she meant, and she could see in a few years, or even months, that she and Faith would be in a completely different place than they were right now.

 As usual, the hour was over much too soon, and Claire was reluctant to drag Faith away from her beloved Pippi. They arrived back at the welcome center, and as Claire was making payments and checking next week’s schedule, her phone started buzzing. She looked down and saw that it was the hospital.

 “Shoot, I’m sorry, I have to take this, it’s work.”

 Faith chose that exact moment to start bouncing in that all too familiar way. She had to use the bathroom. She began groaning and pulling on Claire’s arm.

 “I can’t take you right now, baby, please hold it…”

 Panicking slightly, Claire accepted the call. “Hello, Doctor Beauchamp, one moment, please.” She muted herself on the phone and desperately looked at Toni. “Could you please take her to the bathroom? Just hold the stall closed and make sure she washes her hands…”

 “Oh, of course. No problem at all.” Toni quickly maneuvered around her desk and took Faith’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go potty.”

 Claire fumbled to unmute herself and brought the phone back to her ear. “Hello, Doctor Beauchamp.” It was Doctor Moore, unfortunately, briefly confirming a switch in hours for the following week, and the call was over in under a minute.

 “Insufferable woman,” Claire groaned to herself, returning her phone to her purse.

 “Everything alright, Doctor Beauchamp?”

 Claire looked up to see Jamie leaning against the counter, giving her a lopsided grin.

 “Yes, just fine.” She smiled back, leaning against the counter as well.

 “Doctor, aye? Stony Brook, I assume.”

 “Right. Just a residency, though. I only just finished medical school.”

 “Ah, I see.” He nodded. “Came all the way from England fer a residency?”

 “I suppose. But also for this program. And to get away.”

 Claire hoped he wouldn’t press any further on that last bit, and he didn’t.

 “What about you? What’s a Highlander doing all the way out here in the Long Island suburbs?” Claire continued.

 “Same as you, really. Not doctoring, I mean, but the program. They have them in Europe, but no’ as many, and they’re overcrowded. Besides, none as good as this one. I did my research after I graduated, ye ken.” He smirked.

 Claire chuckled. “What made you want to pursue this? Something so specific, child psychology and horses?”

 “Well, I always had a way wi’ the horses, ye ken,” he said fondly. “I wanted to be a jockey as a lad. I, ah, grew to be much too tall as ye can see.”

 He chuckled, and Claire giggled.

 “But, I also always wanted to work wi’ special needs children, early on as I can remember. This line of work seemed to just fall into my lap, I suppose.”

 Claire smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful. How did you know that’s what you wanted to do from such a young age?”

 He briefly averted her eyes and bit his bottom lip. “My brother had special needs, so I grew up seeing him in his programs, helping at birthday parties, meeting kids wi’ all sorts of disabilities. My mam always said I was very natural wi’ ’em.”

 “You are,” Claire confirmed, smiling. “You say he had special needs? Was he…well, I don’t know how to phrase this any better…did he have something…curable?”

 “Ah, no.” His gaze dropped again. “He died when I was eight.”

 Claire immediately blanched, her tongue feeling like sandpaper. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “That was so incredibly insensitive and ignorant of me — ”

 “It’s alright, Claire,” Jamie said gently, though he still avoided looking at her.

 “No, it really isn’t. I’ve no right to…”

 “It’s alright.” He said again, finally looking her in the eye again. She did not miss how his eyes had misted over. “He had cerebral palsy. Had those wee crutches to help him walk, was developmentally behind fer his age. But he was a good lad. He was my best friend.”

 Claire felt her own throat constricting, her heart positively breaking for him. She gently touched his forearm in sympathy. She said nothing; he did not have to go on if he didn’t want to.

 “His uh…immune system was weak from the CP. Even the common cold was dangerous fer him. But he always came out of it just fine as long as we got him to the hospital.” He blinked rapidly, no doubt trying not to cry. “When he was eleven, he got strep throat. His body couldna fight it off no matter what the doctors did and the fever carried him away in three days.”

 “Jamie…” Claire squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

 “ ’S’alright.” He shrugged, sniffling. “It’s been a long time.”

 “A loss that great never leaves you.”

 He looked up at her then, a silent question in his eyes. No, she would not unburden her own losses onto him, not after she’d practically forced this story out of him.

 “What’s his name?” Claire asked softly instead.

 A little smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “William. Willie.”

 Claire smiled back. “Good name.”

 “Aye. ’Tis.” He nodded slightly, and she could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

 “I’m sure he’s very proud of the man you’ve become,” Claire said carefully. She did not want to overstep, but he had to know: “It’s…it’s beautiful that you’ve chosen to honor him this way. By helping children like him.”

 He exhaled with a shaky laugh. “Aye…I like to think he’s proud.”

 Claire blinked back her own tears. “He is.”

 Jamie suddenly moved the arm that she’d been absently touching so that he could slip his hand under hers.

 “Thank ye, Claire.” He gently squeezed her hand.

 “Thank you for sharing that with me.” She squeezed back.

 For a moment, they stood there silently, each reveling in the gentle assurance of the other’s touch. Jamie’s thumb moved slowly, back and forth, over her knuckles, such a simple, innocent gesture, and yet neither of those things at all. Claire looked up from their hands to see that he was giving her that look again, that stare. She wanted to look away, to make some stupid joke to break whatever this was…but she found herself unable to stop staring back at him.

 And then a door opened, and his hand immediately darted away and stuffed into his pocket.

 “Alright! All good to go! Hands washed and everything!” Toni emerged from the back room holding Faith’s hands.

 Claire forced a smile that might have looked rather frantic. Her face felt hot, and she could only imagine how red it was. Why did she feel this way? Like she’d been…caught. 

 Caught doing what…?

 “Alright, Faith,” Claire said, taking her hand. “Say goodbye, now.”

 “Bye-bye, wean,” Jamie said warmly, but subdued. He looked sadder than Claire had ever thought possible.

 “Bye, Beauchamp gals! See ya!”

 Faith waved jovially, and Claire triple-checked that she was holding Horsie in the hand that wasn’t holding onto Faith. When Faith was fastened in her carseat, Horsie in her lap, and Claire settled into the driver’s seat, she was surprised at the tears that lingered on her cheeks. She hurriedly wiped them away and sniffled.

 Christ, why did that conversation just break her heart?

 She was as pained as she’d been when Paul Castano had died before her eyes, as she’d been when the elderly Henrietta Nolan hadn’t survived her stroke this week. She’d never met little Willie, didn’t even know what he looked like. All she knew was that he was someone that Jamie loved. And someone that Jamie lost.

 Why does that thought hurt so badly?

 She chalked it up to her bleeding-heart and her doctor-brain, and started the car. She drove away from the stables, shaking Jamie Fraser, his pained face, his tight voice, and his tears, out of her mind.

[ofmermaidsandmarauders]

stolen dreams took our childish days - chapter 3

read on FF or AO3

I hope you all enjoy this next chapter in Jamie and Claire’s foster care adventure. It’s a bit shorter than usual, but... Enjoy! xoxo

March 2020 

It’s about three weeks before they’re able to arrange a visit after school for Fergus to see his mom. It means Jamie has a few extra hours to kill before he has to pick him up from the visitation center. He’s finishing up at the office when his phone dings. It’s on do not disturb which means the notification is from Claire, the only person whose number will bypass the setting.

Maybe you should pick up a treat for Fergus. I’m sure that he’ll be sad to be leaving his mom. He told me that he loves chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe ice cream. Or idk, Jamie, maybe he won’t need a snack and his mom will have brought him something.

He could sense Claire’s frantic energy in the text, a grin splitting his mouth wide open. 

Breathe, Sassenach. What a fine idea. I’ll pick him up something special. See you tonight.

Glancing at the time, Jamie decided the workday was done and that he’d need a few spare minutes to pick up a treat for the lad. 

It didn’t take long at the bakery to pick out a cookie, and before he knew it, Jamie was waiting patiently in a vinyl chair with no support. He kept glancing at his phone, answering a few emails before he heard a door open and looked up. A kind woman with cropped curly hair and dark skin with a badge around her neck stood in the doorway of one of the rooms just to the right. “Mr. Fraser?” she asked, at which he stood and nodded. “I’m Veronica, I’m the one covering the visits.”

“Aye, I am. It’s nice to meet ye as well,” he responded softly, taking a few steps toward her. 

“Fergus is having a difficult time leaving his mother. I’m not sure if you have a few minutes, the transition during the first visit is always the hardest,” Veronica explained, gesturing to the room.

“Would it be alright if I said a quick hello and tried to help ease the lad back to my home?” Jamie inquired, the bag from the bakery in his left hand, lifting it as if showing that he had brought bribery.

“Well, alright… As long as you’re comfortable.” Veronica turned back into the room and Jamie stepped toward it, stopping in the doorway as he saw Fergus crying in his mother’s arms, the woman’s own eyes appearing glassy.

“Fergus, lad?” he called softly, knocking on the dark wooden door. Fergus’ head peeked up before he started to cry harder, burying his face back in his mother’s neck. 

“I don’t wanna go!” Fergus cried out, his knuckles white from the grip on his mother’s shoulders. 

Jamie took a moment to observe the interaction. Fergus’ mother appeared younger than he expected. Very young, actually. Jamie was preparing to turn thirty-two in a few months and made the mistake of assuming that Fergus’ mother would be close to his own age, but she looked as though she couldn’t be older than twenty-five. 

Her curls were thinner than his wife’s, but she had the same dark hair. For a moment, Jamie envisioned her as a younger version of Claire, like a younger sister who had lost her way in life. Claudia was nothing like the monster that he had created in his head. She looked tired, her eyes were sunken in a bit. Her skin was pale and the lass was thin. Eerily thin. 

What Jamie then noticed was how fiercely she was holding Fergus, like she was afraid to let him go. He felt guilty, as if he was the one forcing the two apart, but he had to remind himself that this wasn’t the case.

“Och, lad. Are ye no’ going to introduce me to yer mam? I ken ye’re sad but I’d like tae meet the lass!” Fergus looked at Jamie and cracked a smile, likely at Jamie’s accent.

“Mama, this is Jamie. He talks funny, but he’s real nice. He and Claire… that’s his wife, you ken? They’ve been really nice. Claire said that maybe me and you could talk on the phone before bed at night if you’ve got a phone. And Jamie makes Mickey pancakes really good and…” Claudia held up a hand, a pained smile on her lips, though Jamie was sure Fergus couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Maybe I could introduce myself to Jamie, now?” Her smile became softer and more teasing as she kissed Fergus’ forehead before placing him on the ground, stepping tentatively toward Jamie. He squared his shoulders before holding his hand out.

“It’s a pleasure tae meet ye, lass. Fergus speaks verra highly of ye. He’s quite the lad. Brilliant and funny and charming,” Jamie trailed off, his cheeks going pink as he realized he was telling her about her own son.

“Oh, well… I thank you for that. It’s obvious he’s fond of the both of you.” Claudia looked at her hands, picking at the cuticles. She swayed on her feet before looking back at Fergus.

“I hate to say it’s time to go, lad, but ye have yer schoolwork to finish, aye? Say goodbye to yer mam,” Jamie instructed, feeling uncomfortable with the fact that he had to be the one to end the visit. Wasn’t Veronica supposed to step in at some point and do this? Why had he said that? Maybe he was being too forward?

“Mr. Fraser is right, Fergus, but I’ll pick you up from school again next week and you’ll get to see your mom again, alright?” As if on cue, Veronica stepped in and began tidying up the toys in the room, speaking softly to Claudia before Fergus gave his mother one final tight hug and kiss. Jamie picked up the lad’s knapsack in his free hand, gesturing for Fergus to lead the way from the room.

“I bought ye some cookies. Claire told me they’re yer favorite. Ye can have one in the car if ye promise to be careful with the wee crumbs. Do ye have a lot of work to do tonight?” Jamie filled the silence on the walk to his car, helping Fergus into the booster seat in the back. Fergus, normally chatty after a day at school, was noticeably silent as Jamie prompted him again with the question. Refusing to leave until Fergus had spoken to him, Jamie squeezed himself into the floor of the backseat, looking up at Fergus’ sad face.

“I don’t want to leave my mama. I don’t want to be apart from her anymore. It’s not fair!” Fergus sounded frustrated, and Jamie didn’t blame him. To only be eight and have to leave your mother not once, but twice. With no say in the matter, either. He didn’t blame Fergus for thinking it wasn’t fair.

“Och, weel, the both of us ken it’s not quite fair, but ‘tis what must be done until yer mam can keep ye safe and healthy. And in the meantime, ye’re always welcome with me and Claire, whether ye want to be there or not. We love having ye in our home, lad. I hope ye ken that.” Jamie was worried that his attempts at reassurance were a waste of time, but Fergus appeared to be comforted by them as he reached his small hands down to pat Jamie’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered softly, letting his eyes close as he sunk back into his seat. 

Assuming the conversation was over, Jamie moved back into the driver’s seat and began their journey home. He had much to discuss with Claire before bed that night.

_________________________________________

“Claire, ‘twas mebbe the most horrible thing I’ve seen in my life. The lad wouldna stop weeping. ‘Tis a shock my own heart isna torn in two at just the thought of it!”

Claire couldn’t contain a giggle at his dramatics, even if it was a depressing thought.

“Jamie, of course he’s sad! He had to leave his mom after finally getting to see her. I can’t believe you met her. What was she like?” she asked, the question coming out before she even knew it was one she had.

“Kind. And sad. Thin. Tired. Young. Verra young. Mebbe ten years younger than you, Sassenach. Sae thin, sae young. The lass looked like she would fall apart. She’s got a heid of curly hair just like her son. Much like yers, in fact. She was… She was just his mam.” Jamie’s shoulders felt at this last statement, his body settling into the mattress for the night. He hadn’t expected the thought to shake him so much. Jamie hadn’t even planned on meeting her, but something had pushed him to go in that room and coax Fergus out. Rolling onto his side, he thought deeply about what brought them to take in a child in foster care. Their goal had been to provide a safe and healthy home to a child in need. He thought he was protecting Fergus, but in fact, he was worried he may have been doing the complete opposite. Were they keeping the boy from the one person in life who would unconditionally love him?

Claire could sense that Jamie was deep in thought, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around him, climbing on top of him. Her cheek settled against his chest and she let out a little sigh when his hands found their place in the curve of her lower back.

“She’s just his mam,” Jamie repeated, the words causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“It’s not your fault that he’s here, Jamie. We’re just keeping him safe and giving him a good home until they can be together again, that’s all. You’re doing a good thing.” Claire peppered kisses along his skin between her statements. Her left hand rose to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the curve of his upper lip. She felt her fingers start to dampen and realized that Jamie had been so shaken that he was crying. It was only then that she realized Jamie had lost his own mother, Ellen,  at Fergus’ exact age. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she breathed out, her hands going to his shoulders, holding tighter to him. “It’s alright. He’s going to be alright.” 

“I ken, I just hope we are more help than hurt for the lad.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse, his hands stroking at the soft skin on Claire’s back. 

“I love ye, Sassenach.” The words meant many things, more than he knew how to put into words, and he knew that Claire would understand the hidden meaning.

“She would be proud of you,” Claire whispered, the words coming out before she even knew they were there. Jamie stiffened beneath her for a moment before letting his body relax. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before loosening his hold so that his hands could stroke beneath her t-shirt. “You’ve turned into an amazing person, Jamie. Ellen Fraser would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Jamie didn’t say anything else, just let the tears he had been holding in freely flow while his wife wiped them away.

[mandaloriandragontrainer]

Sprinkle Ache

A little drabble requested by my sister! Originally written on the notes section of my phone.

AO3 link

“I told you not to eat those industrial-grade sprinkles anymore. It literally says ‘not for human consumption’ on the back.”

“Twas but a wee bellyache, dear brother!” Mabel Pines replied in a fancy voice like the people used in those black-and-white movies Grunkle Stan liked to watch when he thought everyone was asleep. “I’m feeling much better now!”

“Too bad we can’t say the same for the bathroom,” Dipper shuddered as he settled onto his bed, leafing through the new Sibling Brothers book. “You just had to use the one in the shop, huh?”

“It was so romantic of Soos to clean it up for Melody,” Mabel swooned as she fitted her favorite purple socks onto her feet. “He really is a better boss than Stan.”

“Yeah. Romantic. Anyway, you should probably get some sleep so it doesn’t come back. And no jumping on the bed.”

“Ugh, okay, Mom,” Mabel groaned, flopping back on her pillow. “Waddles and I will just binge watch ‘Real Housewives of Nome, Alaska.’”

As if on cue, Waddles came pounding up the stairs, shaking the entire house on his way up.

“Mabel, that pig is 400 pounds. You need to quit bringing him upstairs before he breaks the floor. The Shack is not exactly structurally sound.”

“Shhhhh...” Mabel chided, covering Waddles’ ears. “We do not body-shame in this attic!”

Dipper rolled his eyes and put on headphones to drown out the drama of Mabel’s reality TV before rolling over with his book. He must have fallen asleep somewhere in chapter 17, because the next thing he knew Waddles’ cold snout was pressed to his back.

“Ah!” He shot upright. “Waddles, what are you—“

In the moonlight filtering in through the window slats, he could see Mabel curled up in a painful ball, teeth grit. He quickly flicked on the lamplight and pulled off his headphones.

“Mabel, are you okay?”

She only moaned in response. Dipper hopped out of bed and rushed to her side. “Mabel, come on, what’s going on?”

“I think the sprinkles are back for revenge,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. Dipper could see beads of sweat rolling down her forehead.

“Okay, um, let me get—“

“Oh no!” Mabel grabbed the empty pillowcase she used as a sleeping bag for her stuffed animals and threw up in it. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Sparklenose, I’ll get you a new one.”

“Okay, uh, does it hurt when I do this?” Dipper gently pressed on her abdomen, evoking a yelp of pain.

“Oh yeah. Definitely hurts. Don’t do that again.”

“I think you need to go to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital,” Mabel hunched over and flopped on her side. “I-I’ll be fine.”

“You feel kinda hot. I think this is more than a stomachache. I’m gonna go wake up Stan and Ford.”

“No, they're so old, they need 15 hours of sleep or they’ll die!”

“They’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.” Dipper padded down the stairs and rapped on the door to Ford’s room, which he now shared with Stan since Soos had taken over the former Mr. Mystery’s bedroom.

“Come in, I’m still up,” Ford replied.

Dipper peered in, spotting Ford reclining on his bed, nose buried in the latest edition of his favorite scientific journal. “Uh, Grunkle Ford? I think Mabel needs to go the hospital. Her stomachache’s back, and I think she’s got a fever.”

“Really?” Ford asked in concern, setting aside his reading. “Does it hurt to the touch?”

“Yeah. She seems worse than before. Do you think it’s serious?”

“I definitely think we should get her checked out.” He stood up and went to his brother’s bed on the other side of the room, where Stan was sprawled out snoring. “Stanley, wake up.”

“Uggggh, for the last time Sixer, I ain’t goin jogging at 4 AM.”

“It’s half past midnight, Stan, and this is about Mabel.”

“What?” Stan lifted his head. “She all right?”

“We need to take her to the emergency room. Dipper says her abdominal pain is back, and it seems to have gotten worse.”

In an instant, Stan was out of bed and pulling a shirt over his ratty tank-top. “Ford, go start the car. I’ll bring her down.”

Dipper followed his grunkle up the stairs. It was amazing how fast the arthritic old man could move when his beloved great-niece needed help.

Mabel was still writhing on the bed, nightgown soaked with sweat. Dipper glanced away from the floor, which was splotched with evidence his sister had gotten sick several more times since he’d ran downstairs.

“Oh, pumpkin,” Stan brushed Mabel’s hair out of her eyes. “Your belly not treating you very well right now, huh?”

“I don’t needta go to the hospital, Grunkle Stan,” she mumbled, clutching her stuffed pink manatee.

“There’s nothing to be scared over, sweetie,” Stan assured. “Dipper and Ford and me’ll be right there with you the whole time, okay?” He carefully gathered her in his arms like a sleeping baby. “Hold down the fort while we’re out, okay, pig?”

Dipper quickly stuffed an extra change of clothes for Mabel and some of her art supplies in his backpack, just in case she had to stay the night. He ram ahead of Stan and hopped in the backseat of the car.

“No ya don’t,” Stan lifted him out by the collar of his shirt and plunked him the passenger seat seat, squeezing himself into the back, refusing to set Mabel down. “I need the extra leg room.”

The hospital was only a 10 minute drive from the Shack. Dipper hoped the doctors here were a bit more competent than the other citizens of Gravity Falls.

There were no other patients in the waiting room, which was lucky, since Stan would’ve broken their knees if they tried to go in front of Mabel. A nurse led them back right away.

“Looks like you do have a little fever, honey,” she patted Mabel’s head sympathetically. “The doctor will be right back.”

“Please tell him to hurry. We’ll pay extra!”

“That’s not necessary, Stan,” Ford elbowed his brother.

“All right then,” the doctor (whom Dipper recognized as apparently the only one in Gravity Falls—which didn’t exactly fill him with confidence) pulled back the curtain. “Let’s have a look at Miss Mabel here.”

“It’s just a little bout of sprinkle tummy, no big deal,” Mabel bit her lip, pink manatee in a death grip. She winced as the doctor pressed on her belly.

“Take it easy there, doc!” Stan exclaimed, Ford once again elbowing him.

“I’m worried it might be appendicitis,” Ford suggested.

“Hmmm, that’s certainly a possibility.” The doctor pulled over the bedside ultrasound machine, applying the cool gel to her abdomen.

“That’s cold,” she whispered, glancing nervously at the monitor.

“I can confirm it is indeed appendicitis. And it appears the appendix has already ruptured.”

“That-that means she needs surgery, doesn’t it?” Dipper asked worriedly.

“I’m afraid so, son. Immediately.”

“No! I-I don’t want surgery,” Mabel turned to look at her family. “Grunkle Stan, don’t let him!”

“There, there, sweetie,” Stan ruffled her hair. “Doc, isn’t there any other way.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Unless we remove the ruptured tissue and start a course of antibiotics right away, there’s a very good chance your niece will become septic.”

“Septic...” Stan looked to Ford, who nodded grimly.

“We’ll phone her parents for permission. A nurse will be in right away to prep her for surgery.” The doctor exited, leaving Mabel on the verge of hysterics.

“Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, I don’t wanna have surgery!” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Mabel, it’s not that big a deal,” Dipper assured, taking her hand. “Remember when I had my tonsils out? I got to stay home and eat ice cream and everyone brought me gifts. You’ll get lots of presents. It won’t be that bad, you’ll see.”

Mabel choked. “But I don’t wanna be cut open! I don’t want them to put me to sleep!”

“There’s nothing to fear, Mabel,” Ford put a hand on her shoulder. Stan could instantly tell he was about to make the situation worse. “To put it in simple terms, the anesthetic will turn off the the portion of you brain responsible for consciousness. You’ll be completely unaware of everything happening, including the passage of time. It will seem as if no time has gone by at all. In fact, anesthesia has been likened to more of a ‘controlled death’ than sleep, because—“

“Death!?” Mabel’s already pale skin whitened even further.

“In a way. They will place a tube down your throat to provide oxygen since you likely cease breathing and—“

“OKAY, I think that’s enough of that, Sixer!” Stan clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Don’t listen to him, sweetie. I had my wisdom teeth taken out when I was 16, so I have first hand experience. None of that dying junk. Why, I dreamed I was sliding down rainbows the entire time!”

“Rainbows?”

“Of course! And uh, there was a magical, uh, stingray-puppy-horse with me. All polka-dotted. Best dream ever..”

Mabel looked doubtful, but she had stopped crying. Stan decided to take that as a win. He knelt down beside the bed and gently ruffled her hair. “Just don’t be scared, okay? You’ve handled a lot more than a little old surgery. It’ll be over before you even know what’s happened, and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart. Now you and Mrs. Manatee be good for the nurse, okay, pumpkin?”

“Okay,” Mabel agreed, keeping her arms locked around the stuffed animal. Dipper crawled up onto the bed and gave his sister a hug.

“When you get home, I’ll let you put makeup on me. But no pictures and I get to wash it off right away. Deal?”

“One picture?”

“Stop pushing your luck,” Dipper gave her a gentle shove.

“Okay. No pictures. The picture in my mind will be plenty.”

“Good thing you curb-stomped the memory gun or else I would totally wipe it from your brain.”

“Honey?” The nurse poked her head through the curtain. “We’re gonna take you back now. But we’ll let you talk to your parents before you go to sleep.”

Mabel glanced over at her uncles. “Will you walk back with me?”

“As far as we can, little one,” Ford smiled.

Another nurse came in and folded down the bed railing. Stan and Ford stood on either side of the bed as the nurses rolled Mabel out of the room, holding her hands. Dipper remained perched at the foot.

“Here’s your stop, little man,” one of the nurses said as they reached a pair of doors marking “PERSONNEL ONLY.” He lifted Dipper off the bed.

“You’re gonna do great, pumpkin,” Stan leaned down and gave Mabel a kiss on the head. “We’ll be right there when you wake up.”

Mabel gave her grunkles and brothers a final hug before a nurse handed her a cell phone so she could talk to her mom and dad. She looked back and gave a final wave as the doors closed, chattering into the phone. Evidently the pain drip was doing its job.

The moment the doors shut, Dipper turned his face into Ford, his little shoulders shuddering.

“Dipper, what’s the matter, boy?” Ford kneeled down.

“I just-what if-I’m afraid...” Dipper’s brown eyes filled with tears as dropped his face into Ford’s shoulder, so the hospital staff wouldn’t see him cry.

“Hey... look at me Dipper.” The kid didn’t respond, keeping himself buried in Ford’s sweater. “Mason... look at me,” he repeated, a little more softly.

Dipper lifted his head and swiped at his eyes. “I’m just scared that-that she won’t be all right.”

“Mabel will just fine. You did the right thing, coming to get us. We got her here just in time. You might’ve saved you sister’s life.”

Dipper smiled weakly and sniffed. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right.”

The family headed to the waiting room to settle in. “We should hear back before too long,” Ford said. “Appendectomies usually don’t take much more than an hour.”

Exhausted by the night, Dipper soon dozed off, slumped against Ford’s arm. Stan paced the room, claiming it was to prevent his legs from cramping. Soos and Melody arrived about half an hour later, having driven to the 24/7 supermarket the next town over to pick up as many fuzzy blankets, stuffed animals, balloons, and get-well-soon cards as their arms could carry.

“I couldn’t decide if she’d like the pink, purple, yellow, or blue teddy bear best, so I got them all,” Soos rationalized.

A little over an hour later, the doctor returned. “How is she?” Stan asked, worried out of his mind despite Ford’s constant reassurances.

“I can confirm the surgery was a success. She’s been moved to recovery, and you can be there when she wakes up.”

Mabel’s eyes were just beginning to flutter open when her family entered the recovery room. Dipper moved Mrs. Manatee so the toy was tucked under his sister’s arm.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” Stan squeezed his niece’s hand. “How you feelin?”

“Sore,” she spoke after a moment. “I-I don’t remember any rainbows.” She gazed off at the corner. “Is that giraffe for me?”

“She should be more lucid in a short while,” the nurse promised.

Dipper laughed. “Naw. That’s just Mabel.”

“We got some feel-better presents for you, girl-dude,” Soos covered her with an assortment of blankets while Melody lined the bed with stuffed animals, a balloon tied to each one.

“Thanks, Soos,” Mabel managed a grin. “Look, new friends, Mrs. Manatee!”

“Mom and Dad are driving up from home,” Dipper told her. “They should be here by tonight. And I texted Candy and Grenda. Once it’s morning they’ll be by with some Post-Preteen magazines.”

Mabel wrapped her arms around as many stuffed animals as she could hold. “Dipper?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for making me come. I know I could’ve gotten super sick if I didn’t.” She handed him one of her new stuffed animals, a seahorse. “Here. The boys have the babies. You love weird stuff like that.”

Dipper chuckled. “Thanks, sprinkle queen.”

“Ugh,” Mabel stuck out her tongue. “I don’t think I’m ever eating sprinkles again.”

“You know that’s not what caused your appendix to explode, right?”

“Doesn’t matter... I’ve never seen such colorful throwu—“

Dipper put out his hand. “TMI.”

“All right, all right,” Stan scooped Dipper off the bed. “Let your sister get some rest.”

“Can’t he stay, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked from underneath her mountain of stuffed animals and blankets. “I won’t be able to get better if he’s not here.”

“Only if you promise to rest and not yammer with each other.”

“We will.”

Stan tucked the sheets around Mabel. “No more gettin sick, okay, pumpkin?”

“Promise.”

Stan settled in next to his brother, keeping watch over their niece and nephew, who soon fell asleep on the hospital bed. “Honestly, Sixer... I don’t know what I’d do without those kids.”

Ford smiled softly. “I don’t either, Stanley.”

[mhdiaries]

Monster Exchange Lorna McNessie Passport

5-30

So this is how ma day started: “Lorna McNessie, please report tae the Dead Master’s office.” Uh, oh. It’s usually nae good when you hear your name vibratin’ oot of a classroom speaker. As I left the room I could hear ma classmates giggling behind me; this nae bein’ the fiercst time I’d made the long walk tae the office. I was pretty sure this time it must be aboot me photo bombing the faculty fearbook picture. I just couldna help ma self; there they all were in their robes and finery, looking all stern and teacher-like, and there was that window behind them. I was drawn tae it like a werewolf tae a full moon, and even then I only stuck ma face in for one snap... or two... so I didna think it would cause a fuss. I stood outside the Dead Master’s door, drew a deep breath and got me, “Yes, I should have known better” apology ready. Then I knocked and stuck ma head in. “You wanted tae see me, sir?” He was on the phone and he waved me in and pointed tae a chair. I sat down while kept talkin’ tae the monster on the other end. “Ay, academically strong.” He just listened for a moment and then laughed himself tae tears. “Nae, nae, ‘twas something ye said struck me funny. I can assure you that self-confidence will nae be an issue with this one, Headmistress Bloodgood. Thank you for yer time, as well, and I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Goodbye.” The Dead Master hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “That was Headless Headmistress Bloodgood from Monster High. She’s accepted you application for the monster exchange program.” I couldna believe it, which seemed tae be an opinion shared by the Dead Master. I asked if that was the reason he called me tae his office. He said, “Nae - ‘twas merely a happy accident. But since you’re here, I suppose I shouldna have tae tell you that you’ll be representing our school, and I’ll expect you tae be on your beast behaviour.” I told him that, of course, I would, and that I would make the school proud. “Very good. Now let’s have a little chat aboot the faculty fearbook photo, shall we?”

6-5

Ma parents are understandably cautious aboot me leaving the loch tae attend Monster High. I don’t blame them, though; it is in their nature tae be so. Sometimes they look at me like I’m an alien when I tell them aboot ma latest photo bomb adventure, and then they just roll their eyes and say, “Just like your Gran.” I take that as a compliment, sine ma Gran is the scaly coolest monster ever! I went tae see her today tae tell the news that I’d be going to Monster High, and I think she was even more excited than me. She has a whole album of ma pictures, at least the ones I could get copies of, and she loves the stories behind them. She’s feisty, funny, and is an amazing storyteller. She can even make the ones I’ve heard a hundred times seem as new and exciting as the first time. Her stories aboot being a young ghoul in the loch are so funny, they make ma fins hurt. But one of her best tales is aboot the time I took her aboot on a photo bomb expedition. There is this bird that lives around the loch called the Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owl. They’re as rare as slug hair, and you mostly hear them rather than see them, but every so often a pair will build a nest some place near tae a road, and then monster bird watchers flock in... hehe... by the busload. Now it just so happened that the nest was at the bottom of a very steep cliff and on a branch that hung aboot over the water. I suggested tae Gran that we swim under water and pop our heads aboot as soon as the first birdwatchers started snapping photos, but Gran said, “Where’s the fun in that?” She didn’t want tae be in ONE picture, she wanted tae photo bomb them ALL. That’s why there is now a framed magazine cover over her mantel from the monster world’s most famous nature magazine. It features a nesting pair of Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owls, and two pieces of driftwood floating in the water behind them. If you look close enough you can almost see the driftwood giggling. 

6-15

I’ve been getting tons of messages from different ghouls at Monster High saying they are looking forward tae meeting me. Then tonight I got tae video chat wit Howleen and Twyla. Howleen was super bouncy, and Twyla seemed shy but funny. It seemed like they had as many questions for me as I had for them. I was especially curious tae know if Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had a sense of humor or nae. Howleen got an odd look on her face, then started tae say something, but didn’t. Twyla actually laughed oot loud. “That depends,” said Twyla, “on whether or not her office gets filled with packing peanuts on a day when she’s giving foreign digniscaries a tour of the school.” I started laughing and asked Howleen if she got into trouble for the prank. “I had to come in on Saturday, and she made me clean them up by hand one peanut at a time. It took all day.” I said it sounded like she was no fun a’tall. “Wait,” said Twyla giggling, “you have to hear what happened next.” Howleen leaned back, and with a smirk on her face said, “When I got to school on Monday and opened my locker, I got buried in a flood of packaging peanuts.” At this point Twyla fell off the chair she was sitting on, and I could hear her cracking up on the floor. “It wasn’t that funny, Twyla,” huffed Howleen. “Yes. It. Was.”   “Okay, Lorna, we’re going to go, now. Twyla has apparently lost her mind, and we’re going to need to try to find it.” I think I’m going to like Monster High, and with friends like these it’s nice to think I won’t have tae be swimming down stream like a lost salmon when I get there.

6-30

Got another surprise call tonight from a ghoul named Marisol Coxi. She’s a bigfoot from Monster Picchu, and she’s going to be at Monster High at the same time I am. She told me that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood gave her my number and said that we should get acquainted. Marisol is a bit larger than unlife, and I had tae turn down the volume when she was speaking tae me. At fiercst I was a bit taken aback, but her energy is so infectious, I couldne help but like her. We checked our schedules, and we’ll be arriving around the same time, so it’ll be nice tae have another new ghoul tae hang aboot with. I’m also hoping she’ll give me some pointers on how she does her nails. They were fabulous.

7-1

Mum and Gran made a monster dinner tonight and invited the whole family for ma going away party. All ma brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins were there tae celebrate. The table was full of ma favorite foods. There was Cullen Skink, Eyemouth pales, Kippers, tatties and herring, rollmops, smoked salmon, rumbledethumps, black puddings, and the grandest haggis you’ve ever set your eyes on. Then Mum brought aboot coffin berry scones, and of course the best shortbread in Rotland. Then the pipes and drums came oot, and we played and danced intae the wee hours. We even took a family photo, and for once it was a picture I didna have tae sneak intae.

7-5

Had ma last swim aboot the loch this morning, and it was pure magic. I love ma home, and even though I’m excited aboot going on the exchange tae Monster High, there’s nae danger that that I’ll ever want tae live any place else. I also saw a boatload of normies casting aboot for a chance tae take a photo of the “mysterious” creature that lives in the loch. All the grown folk were on one side of the boat with their cameras, and there was a bonnie wee lass on the opposite, just starin’ down intae the loch. So I swam up, stuck my head oot of the water and waved tae her. She smiled and waved back, and then I was gone. I imagine she’ll still be tellin’ that story when she’s a gran herself. 

[magnoliasinbloom]

Crash Course Love

Infinite thanks to @lcbeauchampoftarth​ and @anna-swims​ for being awesome betas. 

AO3 :: Previously

3: Surprise [Claire]

Despite the fucked up situation, it was the best I’d felt in a long time. Seeing Frank’s pictures burnt and in the bin was strangely cathartic, even if I didn’t remember setting them on fire. There was probably a lot of Frank’s shit around that I had overlooked that I could also burn.

Jamie and I stood awkwardly in my tiny kitchen for a few minutes, his Viking warrior frame towering over me. I had a hard time meeting his deep blue gaze; it wasn’t uncomfortable, just strangely intimate given our surprise encounter this morning, and possibly last night. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Um, well. It’s Sunday…” I trailed off. I didn’t have anything to do, but didn’t really want to prolong the morning-after-that-wasn’t.

“Och, aye, I’m sorry.” Jamie looked embarrassed. “I should go. Do ye work on Sundays?” He patted his pockets, probably searching for his phone or keys.

“No, but I should go down to Sainsbury’s for groceries. It’s just a short walk. St. Enoch is a couple of blocks away if you need it.” I began washing the bowl in the sink.

“I usually take the tube, but I do have a car. It’s mainly for driving up to see my family, though. I took an Uber to the pub. Since I’d planned on getting pissed—ifrinn!” he exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” I dropped the bowl, startled. It didn’t break, but it clattered noisily.

“I was supposed to meet my sister Jenny for lunch at St. Judes.” Jamie turned his phone to face me and I saw it was already noon. He ran a hand through his hair in desperation, making it even more tousled.

“No problem. I can take you in the van.”

“The van? Ye just said—”

“I’ve a van, for my flower shop. Beauchamp’s Blooms,” I said, not a little proudly.

“Yer last name’s Beauchamp?” He pronounced it the French way, and it sounded beautiful, but I corrected him.

“Bee-cham. I guess we were French at some point in history, but we’re English now.”

“So what’s a bonny sassenach such as yerself doin’ in Scotland?”

Sassenach. I bristled. “An Englishwoman like myself followed her dickhead boyfriend who had a teaching position at the University of Glasgow. I opened my own flower shop, got dumped, and now, I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. Unless it bothers a Scotsman such as yerself.” I imitated his brogue as much as I could, injecting it with a fair amount of venom.

Jamie turned bright red. “Och, Claire, I didna mean any disrespect. Sassenach just means English, or outlander. It’s nice to see ye’ve made a home here, and a business as well, despite yer hardships.” His tone softened. “Have others made ye feel unwelcome here in Glasgow? I apologize on our behalf.”

“A couple.” I sighed. “I Google-translated sassenach the second time it happened. Sorry if I came off touchy about it. When they said it, it didn’t sound very nice, that’s all.”

“I think ye should appropriate the word then. May I call ye sassenach? As a wee nickname?” Jamie smiled impishly.

I laughed. “Alright, why not?” I dried my hands on a tea towel and laid it next to the sink. “Well, let me find my keys and we’ll be off.” I found them in my purse and hoisted it on my shoulder as we left my flat.

We traipsed down the steps of my apartment building slowly, no doubt his head pounding as much as mine. The aspirin had helped some, though.

“Are ye a photographer then, Sassenach?” he asked conversationally.

“Oh, the pictures. No, Frank took those. It is—was—his hobby.  I personally like herbs, flowers, and medicinal plants. I’m a botanist, actually. Hence, the flower shop.”

“Ye kept some on the walls.”

“They were the best ones. And the flowers, those are mine. I think we can spare them a fiery death.”

“I couldna help but notice…” I glanced at Jamie, who was turning all shades of red as he rucked up the hair on the nape of his neck in embarrassment. “Ye have this tattoo on yer back, like…”

“Oh, yes.” It was my turn to go a bit red. “It’s a gladiolus. It means strength.”

“Bonny.” Jamie smiled crookedly at me while he pushed the entrance door to the building and held it open for me. “It’s funny, I dinna even ken where in Glasgow I am. I havena been…” he trailed off as we came down the steps onto the street. The chilly November wind nipped at our exposed faces.

“Is it familiar now?” I laughed, jingling my keys. I sobered up when I saw the look on his face. “Are you alright?”

“Och, aye. I—it’s just that yer apartment building’s right next to my—”

“James?” A high-pitched, accented voice pierced the air.

“—ex’s building,” he finished weakly.

I turned to the source of the voice. A woman about my age walked towards us. She had sleek brown hair—perfectly coiffed—and fashionable matching boots and purse. Her eyes were green, and were trained on Jamie, who stood next to me, pale and silent.

I tried to whisper discreetly, “Jamie, that’s your ex?”

Before he could answer, the woman was upon us. “James! I thought it was you! What are you doing here?” She gave Jamie a kiss on each cheek, hugged him tightly, and pulled back before he could react.

Jamie swallowed visibly. “Hello, Annalise.”

Oh, no. I could sense anxiety rolling off Jamie in waves. He was speechless, while there was something smug about Annalise’s own smile. The cow probably thought he was stalking her; still pining, after all this time. No wonder Jamie looked so panicked.

He was almost shaking, while Annalise waited for him to explain why he was there. And she was pointedly ignoring me completely.

Oh, this wouldn’t do.

“Hello! Did you just move in? I’m Claire, I haven’t seen you around!” I chattered brightly, channeling one of my old friends from university. Keeping it light and bubbly, but still honed like a knife. I practically shoved a hand in her face, forcing her to step away from Jamie.

Finally, Annalise took my proffered hand gingerly with her fingertips, like it was a dead fish. I flashed another insincere smile, even though I wanted to wipe my own hand on my jeans.

“Well, Claire, as it happens, I’ve lived here for quite some time now.” Her tone was condescending and forced. “James and I… we used to go out awhile back.” She glanced at Jamie as she said this, and he stared at his shoes. He looked trapped and desperate.

Admittedly, I had known him less than 24 hours, but he had helped me forget about a hellish night and torch some of Frank’s memories; I was his unconditional ally now.

Fuck her. Let’s do this.

“Oh really? Jamie, darling, you didn’t mention that!” I giggled and pressed myself against Jamie, lacing our fingers together.

Jamie only had time to look at me with wide, stunned eyes before Annalise butted in. “James, you are dating her? Since when?” Her nostrils flared, though she tried not to show her agitation.

I ignored her implied insult. “Hmmm, let’s see… about six months?” I replied. I leaned in and kissed Jamie’s surprised open mouth. “Best six months ever, am I right darling?” He still tasted faintly of booze.

“I, um, I think that…” Jamie stammered.

“So, we have not seen each other in almost a year, have we James?” Annalise crossed her arms over her chest, heel tapping. Where did this bitch come off acting self-righteous? I nuzzled Jamie’s neck lightly and turned to Annalise.

“Well, we’re moving in together. We just clicked, and everything happened so fast and it’s so intense, but just wonderful!” I gushed. I gave Jamie a light pinch on the arm; he shook his head as if to clear it, and I took the opportunity to stand on my tiptoes (damn his Viking height!) to plant another kiss on his cheek this time.

“Moving in?” Annalise’s naturally high-pitched voice went up another octave, sounding strangled.

“Oh, yes, which reminds me, we’re late for the meeting with that realtor, so we should get going.” I nudged Jamie and stepped on his foot.

“Ann—Annalise, it was… good seeing you… again, and I, um…” Jamie gave me a side-long glance, urging me to help us escape.

“James, you never liked for me to call you Jamie,” Annalise said, still ignoring me.

“Actually, I do like it. ‘Twas you who didna care to call me that,” he managed, finding his voice at last.

“So, anyway, nice to meet you, Annalise! Have a good day!” I grasped Jamie’s forearm, locking it with mine and dragging him away.

Annalise stood there for a moment or two, before stomping off on her chunky-heeled boots, coat swinging. I tugged on Jamie, who was still out of it.

“Come on!” I hissed in his ear, and then we rounded the corner. Jamie slumped against the faded brick wall, and I let go of his arm.

“Oh Christ. It’s like I couldna even think, she made me shut down…”

“Breathe, Jamie. She’s gone.” I patted his back gently.

“It’s just… I didna think she still had that effect on me,” he said, wincing.

“The power to make you hurt?” I supplied. A feeling I knew all too well.

“Aye,” Jamie grimaced. He inhaled deeply until some color returned to his face.

“Are you feeling better now?” I asked, stamping my feet in the cold. The wind was still whipping against us.

“I think so. Where are we goin’, by the way? I thought the van was—“

“Well, I wanted to walk away from your ex in the opposite direction, so she wouldn’t know which was my car.”

“Why?” Jamie looked puzzled.

“You know, in case she felt inclined to scratch it with her fingernails or key the paint job, throw eggs or something.”

“Och, exacting revenge on the new girlfriend?” he teased, nudging me with his massive shoulder as we turned back; the coast was clear and blessedly Annalise-free.

It was my turn to stutter and flush red. “By the way, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You know, with the kissing and hand-holding. Annie there was getting to me too.”

“Nah, ‘tis fine. That was some quick thinking. Thank ye for rescuing me like that.”

“My pleasure.” I stopped in front of the delivery van. “Here we are.”

Beauchamp’s Blooms was printed on the side of the van, in curly script, with purple orchids and violets in the background. Jamie traced his finger over the letters.

“I like it. The purple suits ye.”

“Those flowers are some of my favorites. Orchids mean love, luxury, beauty, strength. The violets symbolize that the giver’s thoughts are occupied with love about the recipient.”

“Ye speak the language of flowers,” Jamie said with a smile.

“It’s an easy one to learn,” I replied simply, before we climbed into the van and drove off. As Jamie fiddled with the radio on the van, I let the sounds wash over me.

For the first time in months, it felt like things would be alright.

[maviemesregles]

Twas two days before Christmas

This one-shot fic was written for @thelallybrochlibrary​ Holiday exchange.

A prompt from @maryooch​ :  "How about Jamie meets Claire while she’s trying to skate (badly) at Rockefeller center during the Christmas season. Both are unattached and in the city for different reasons."

Special thanks to Anne  @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​  for always getting my messy ideas and improving them. For once again for making sure it's nice and readable for you guys.

Hope you enjoy and feel a wee bit festive! ❄️

AO3

New York, New York Frank Sinatra sang. The Big Apple stretched out all the way to the horizon in a milky white blanket of snow. The skyline pierced with gleaming structures of steel, glass, and concrete.

Claire stared out of the window where snow became even thicker than an hour ago and turned the buildings into giant ice cream cones.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yes, Mum.” Beauchamp pressed her ear to her iPhone and climbed onto the high hotel bed. “I’m listening.”

“Baby, what did they tell you about the flight? Father has been calling British Airways at least a hundred times today. You know what he’s like.” Julia Beauchamp rattled around in the kitchen cupboards.

Claire dropped her head into the mass of pillows crispy scented of fresh laundry.

Of course, something like this could have happened only to her. After the three-day medical conference in New York, with bags full of gifts, sweets, booze for Dad, and cosmetics for Mum, Claire was ready to go back home for the holidays.

But this year the family tradition wasn’t going to happen because Claire got stuck in this city for God knows how long. The heavy blizzard came upon New York, forcing all the transatlantic flights to be cancelled. Red-faced, hands full of bags, and sweaty in her jumper, the English surgeon hissed “Fucking morons” when she was told she’s not flying today. And most likely not for the next three days. Her cell-phone kindly reminded her today is the 22nd day of December. Only two days left before Christmas. If not for being scared to be without a means of contact, Claire surely would have smashed the device on the white airport tiles.

“They put me into the hotel. It’s all paid.” She glanced at her suitcase, surrounded by shopping bags. “All flights to London cancelled.”

Reaching into one of the bags, Claire grabbed a chocolate bar, not caring about a proper lunch at the moment.

“What about Bristol? Manchester? Anything at all?” Her mother sighed, looking at the shopping list for Christmas dinner. “Dad could pick you up. Lamb just got the car back, all fixed.”

Chewing on the mint chocolate, Claire flicked through the menu on the side table.

“Nothing. I even checked flights to Edinburgh and Dublin. It looks like I’m stuck here.”

There was silence for a while. Claire could hear their dog Pop, an old pug, snoring in the background. All she wants to do is cry. Is it so much to ask? To be home for Christmas time?

“Oh, darling.” Her mother’s voice is soft and reassuring. She knows. “It’ll be fine. I’m certain that you will get home right in time for Christmas.”

After a brief goodbye, Claire checks the flight schedules again. Her frustration mounts and she begins to pace a circular path for at least ten minutes. Her nerves begin to fail her and she decides a cup of chamomile tea would be just the thing.

“Or better yet, a bottle of red," she speaks out loud filling the void for the room. She may as well take advantage of all this suite has to offer.

Her body relaxes into the lavender-scented bath foam, warming her chilly flesh as the fruity Sauvignon Blanc infuses her mouth. Later spurred by the TV forecast (damn the winter) Claire gets into leggings and oversized, knitted horridness of a sweater (decorated with mistletoes and festive ornaments all over it).  She shortly video chats with Geillis who is hugely disappointed Claire won’t get to the annual work party at the hospital.

“I do hope ye willna waste yer time in New York, a thasgaidh,*” hummed her ginger colleague. “Go to Time Square, Central Park or… Oh, weeeel, ye can go skating! Mebbe ye’ll find some attractive American who’d lay an eye on ye.” Geillis smirked.

Checking the explosion of hair on her head in the mirror, Claire sighed.

“If that attractive American is a pilot that takes me home, I would not mind, just tell me where to find him.” She tried to secure the naughty curls into something that could resemble a bun but eventually giving up.  “I feel like bloody Kevin McCallister,” Claire said as she slid into her boots.

“Weel, just dinna get in trouble with burglars.” Edgars barked a laugh and wished Beauchamp to have fun.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄    

Claire surely could say that Christmas time in New York must be wonderful. Even though her mood sunk to the lowest level, she became determined to raise her spirits. God, all those books about positivity and visualization her Mum reads out loud to her should have a hint of truth to them. Right?

The streets were decked with glimmering lights and dazzling displays. The chill in the air burned her cheeks and Claire was swept up into the herd of people like a fluffy sheep in her soft white woolly coat.

Roads were covered in a sparkling powder that made a nostalgic crunchy sound under feet. People were dressed in layers of scarves, cardigans, and warm winter coats. Some held onto hot beverages to warm their hands as well as their bodies. Some brave tourists were sporting red noses just like the one of Rudolph the reindeer Claire had seen in a Macy’s display. Everything was bright and festive. All the Christmas lights twinkled and the colourful signboards reflected off the snow. Christmassy music played from the shops displaying their wares touting them as the perfect gifts. The sounds of Christmas could be heard coming from phones and the passing cars. It was everywhere. Claire softly hummed a tune as her feet followed the crowd leading her to Rockefeller Center. When Claire lifted her head, her heart grew tender with childhood memories. She stood right in front of the huge Christmas tree, adorned with all its lights, the star on top causing Claire to get teary-eyed. She literally felt like a movie character standing here now. Glancing at rosy-cheeked, laughing people on the ice rink, she joined the queue.

“To hell with it.” She could make her own Christmas memories here, alone in NYC.

Claire had to admit she underestimated herself, thinking that skating is like riding a bike. But, she found that it most assuredly wasn't. She tried to keep her legs as steady as possible, trying to get used to gliding on the ice. Holding onto the rail, she wobbled around before she braced herself to finally go into the middle, and actually skate.

She surely thought that she looked like a penguin trying to find its friends, as she awkwardly moved around in the crowd. Occasionally, she squealed and even closed her eyes when particularly fast skaters passed her by. The moment Beauchamp thought she had got it, she pushed harder and began to glide on her skates. Before she knew it, she crashed into someone else. Clenching her fists and closing her eyes before her body hit the ice.

“Jesus. H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Falling down on her bottom, surgeon hissed at the burning feeling of her palms meeting the ice.

“Here, let me help ye.”

After no needed pause, Claire opened her eyes, glancing at the owner of the soft burr. The stranger whose hand was stretched out to help, smiled, a pair of blue eyes studying her intently.

“Thanks.” Giving a faint nod, Claire accepted the man’s hand. A swift pull and she was back on her feet, trapped between the arms of this bloody good looking man.

He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle tilt in his voice. A face with striking features Claire was sure she likely won’t forget. The strong jaw with a shadow of stubble and lips that took the soft shape of a smile. A scent of expensive cologne swirled around him. And the hair of the brightest red she’d ever seen.

“Yer didna hurt yerself, lass?” The man steadied her with both of his hands firmly on her waist.

Claire’s cheeks turned into a lovely shade of pink and she could feel the heat of his touch growing on her skin. Beauchamp dropped her gaze down her feet, mumbling.

“I’m fine. Though it takes some time for the pain to settle in and I can only hope I will be able to walk tomorrow.” She waved her hand in no particular direction but rather in frustration.

The stranger smiled as they awkwardly skated to the rail. Claire glanced at him through her lashes smiling back.

“So yer a Sassenach then.”

“Excuse me?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows, unable to stop looking at him. Damn him, he was attractive.

Her saviour let out a soft laugh.

“Yer English, no?” Besides his remark about her Englishness (Claire figured he was a Scot in mere seconds), his tone was kind. “It means an English person or an outlander.”

“How lovely.” Claire snorted examining her palms.

“I didna mean to offend ye.” He leaned to touch her shoulder gently. It took Claire longer then it should to speak up, the words burning against her dry throat.

“You didn’t.” The surgeon gave him a lopsided smile, stretching out her hand. “I’m Claire. Thanks for saving my arse.”

The Scot barked a laugh and took her hand in his. Claire wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not, but the way his skin felt upon hers gave her the rush of goosebumps all over it. Did he feel it too?

“I’m Jamie. And I’m more than glad to save such a lovely arse.”

What an eejit, he thought to himself. Who says that to a lass ten minutes after meeting her?

He already opened his mouth to give her a stream of apologies but she bit her lip and the bell of laughter warmed his heart. A Dhia, she was lovely.

Jamie had noticed her almost immediately when she entered the rink. That mass of curls that made her look like a fairy that stepped out the Scottish legends. He had to smile at the lass when she tried to skate (and very badly to his own good luck). Jamie watched her for a while when he could catch a glimpse of her absolutely horrid Christmas jumper and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her arse did not escape his attention either, perfectly round in those leggings.

As they made their way toward the lockers to gather their belongings, he learned she was from London. A surgeon visiting here for a medical conference. And no, she has never been to Edinburgh.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the window, Claire mentally admitted there were times when she had looked better when a man approached her. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her back as she did her shoelaces, slowly she brought her head up, eyes locking with his.

The blue oceans met the whisky rivers. Claire wanted to say that she should go, it’s getting dark, and this day had got the better out of her. But instead, she took a step as if an invisible magnet was pulling her towards him. There was a silence that drowned them both into the abyss of unknown but much-needed connection.

“Jamie, I -” Her tongue, feeling like sandpaper, moved ever so slowly.

She felt hypnotized, barely registering that she started to walk the opposite way to the exit. But the next second, she found herself staring at their linked hands and his eyes travelling to her face.

“Wait, Claire.” Jamie wet his lips, the corners curl into an almost apologetic-like smile. “I ken it might be daft as we just met, but would ye do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

She glanced at him, with eyes warm like a fine aged scotch.

“I would not mind a company.”

“I ken a perfect spot.” His hand on the small of her back, leading out of the crowd.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure the air crackled with electricity or chemistry (or whatever they call it) as she and Jamie walked through the snowy streets of New York. The roads have been only partially plowed and cleaned. Beauchamp found her legs drowned up to the ankles in the fluffy mass. Jamie carried her over the asphalt where the snow began to turn into mushy puddles from the trampling of an endless stream of pedestrian traffic. Claire giggled as he carried her across each puddle, and felt the tips of her ears turn scarlet red.

The distance between them grew closer and closer until eventually, their shoulders were brushing against each other. She had learned that Jamie was born in the area of Inverness. He had a huge family, a sister and a brother which included many nieces and nephews as well. Claire smiled when she noticed his proud tone when he spoke about his father and the particular tenderness when he mentioned his older sister Jenny. Jamie had worked for the last three years in the US and at 34 years old he was a successful entrepreneur.

Claire mentioned the nomadic lifestyle she lived when she was a child. Her parents worked a lot and she had spent two years travelling with her uncle Lamb. She had a best friend, a Scottish lass named Geillis. Beauchamp liked to read and spend time in the garden with her mum. She sadly recounted that she had made the mistake of getting married only to find herself divorced after four months of the young marriage. Her ex-husband’s name was Frank. The memories made her uncomfortable and she did not want to remember more. Jamie did not ask further, only stating he never married.

“And yer telling me ye have no boyfriend?” Fraser’s hand curled over her delicate shoulder, encouraging Claire (to her own delight) to nestle closer against him. It was such a casual move that she had thought she knew Jamie for ages already. The warmth that was radiating from him rooted deep in her belly and was rising up and up, making her ache at the very core of her being.

“Seeing no one.” Claire shook her head, peeking at him through her lashes. “And how is that my fellow Brit is not with a lassie? ”

Jamie made a sound deep from his chest, something typically Scottish she’d gathered.

“I am with a lassie, and a verra bonnie one, I must say, am I not?” He smirked, though his voice was painted with seriousness.

“Flatterer.” Claire dropped her head, pretending her boots were much more interesting than anything else she’d seen. In truth, it was to hide a smile.

Later their hands merged together, fingers entwining. The strangeness and absolute familiarity of their palms fitting together was something neither of them could explain. Everything seemed to be suspended around them causing the time to become disjointed. Finally, they arrived at their destination.

“Highlands NYC?” Claire read out loud the name of the place Jamie had brought her. “Really? Out of all places in New York, you brought me to Highlander bar?”

The tips of Jamie's ears burned, the red matching his hair. Letting a shaky breath, his lips leaned over to her ear.

“Sassenach, ye should experience Scotland to its fullest.”

That moment Beauchamp went weak in her knees. The raspiness in his voice and… God damn, all of him almost forced her to drag Jamie to the nearest toilet and indeed enjoy one of Scotland's sons to his fullest. She did not.

They sat at the bar since all the tables were booked. The barstools migrated as close as possible for Jamie’s fingers to run freely at the expense on her back, sending goosebumps all over the skin. Her knees accidentally touched his. She laughed, loud and infectious at his stories. Throwing her head all the way back, exposing the pale skin on her neck, placing the blue of her veins in full view. The sight made his cock twitch. She laughed heartily, smacking her palm on his thigh when she found his joke particularly funny. Jamie's breath hitched becoming shallow and broken. She licked her lips. Claire slid her hand over the cold glass containing her cocktail. Her movements were deliberate, slow, down and up over the patterned glass mimicking... What did Geillis say about the unconscious signs?

Fraser shifted in his seat, more than ready to suggest they go somewhere where they find their way to each other. The hot air inside the pub and between them made both ache for each other.

But the food arrived distracting them from their lustful thought. They dined on Haggis dressed in whisky butter, and warm quinoa with crispy spiced chickpeas. They laughed and joked, speaking of this and that learning about each other. As the evening wore on, Claire found her heart beating its way out of her ribcage. She leaned in planting a soft kiss on Jamie's cheek fearful of having to whisper words of parting lying on the tip of her tongue. But she found she was not yet ready to say goodbye yet.

“Would ye like me to walk ye to yer hotel?” His voice was hoarse, scented with the whisky he had drunk. Claire leaned into him whispering:

“Yes.”

They hadn’t said goodbye in front of the hotel. Not in the foyer, either. Certainly not in the lift. As they stood in front of each other surrounded by glass cubicle she moved first.

Before he knew it Jamie’s mouth was claimed by hers. Chest heaving and gasping for air, both parted and stared at each other until the lift announced their destination with a soft Ding.

Claire’s hands shook, the room card almost slipping out of her sweaty palms. The second her feet entered the room, Jamie had pulled her closer by the waist. The lengths of the bodies pressing, Claire’s cheeks flaming hot. He breathed heavily as he left a trail of burning kisses down the column of her neck.

“Christ, I want ye.”

Cupping her arse Jamie’s lips traveled up, taking her bottom lip between his. She smiled against his mouth, hands pulling at his nape, closer and closer, until the kiss could actually hurt. She could feel the length of him, hard and ready through his jeans and it made her almost blind with animal-like want.

“Take this off,” Claire whispered pulling at the hem of his shirt. Aching for him became powerful to the point where she could not bother unbuttoning his shirt, Claire just yanked the soft material over his head.

She could swear she heard him growl when her sweater followed the same destination as Jamie’s shirt and landed into the fabric puddle on the floor. No bra in the way, Jamie did not hesitate to kiss his way down Claire’s cleavage, stopping for the thorough exploration of each breast. Her mouth dropped open in a silent plea when his lips captured the nipple. Almost burning with the heat that grew between her thighs and made her belly ache, Claire reached down, to unbuckle his jeans. Tongues danced, lips bitten surely to swell come the morning, teeth raking over the soft skin of the neck. Pulling the leggings with underwear to her ankles Jamie definitely left blueish trails where his fingers pressed. But it was a delicious feeling that bordered with painful pleasure. They stumbled upon the bed, falling into it, a suppressed laugh emerging between their mouths. Gently but firmly Jamie had pushed Claire flat on her back, letting his hand trace the invisible paths all the way from the high hills of her neck, down to the valley between her breasts, the plain expanses of her belly, all the way down to the hidden secrets between her thighs.

She moaned into his lips when his fingers had found her apex between her thighs. His bold caresses drew sighs, moans, and keening that he longed to hear. With the right pace and rhythm he drew those sounds out of her. Claire’s curls flew all over the white pillow. Air! She needed air and began to take deep lungfuls. Writhing as the sweet torture continued, Claire took large fistfuls of linens as an anchor. Arching into his hand, she had lost all the train of coherent thoughts.

“Jamie…” Gasping for air burning hot in her throat, she finally broke into the million atoms finding herself thousands of light-years later, breathing heavily, the sweat trickling down her nape.

“Ye’re so beautiful when ye become undone.” Jamie murmured, lips pressing a soft kiss at her brow.

Still shaking Claire reached between them finding a condom and gladly placed it on him. She’d found herself again in Jamie’s embrace. Still, she kissed him hungrily with the remnants of her own satisfaction yet to fade, asking for more. Jamie did not need much encouragement and with the slightest nod of her head, guided himself into her. The sudden, hot sensation of him made Claire throw her head back. Seized lungs could not produce any coherent sound. As Jamie’s hips moved fast into her, reaching that right spot, again and again, she could only cling to him for dear life. When Jamie’s own breathing became slow and shuddering, it wasn't clear where he began and she ended. The world expanded beyond itself. It grew into a million colourful stars shining brightly around them.

Well into the night, as Claire slept, he drew tender paths with his fingers mapping the lines and valleys of her body.

Later she awoke from her sweet slumber by the quiet rustle next to her. Jamie sat upright, hands roaming on the floor in the search of his underwear and jeans. For some reason, it bitterly stung. Claire slowly brought her hand up, gently touching his back.

“Please stay.”

                                                 🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure it’s all had been a dream. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and in ten minutes her mother will call her downstairs to help start making dinner preparations. The brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes are not going to cook themselves. Her still sleepy mind started registering unusual noisy traffic outside, quite the opposite of the calm London neighbourhood where her parents lived. She turned to her side, eyes still tightly shut. Claire wasn’t sure now if she wanted to open her eyes and find herself home (where she so desperately wanted to be just twenty-four hours ago) or to wake up to the reality of finding one particular Scot next to her?

The mattress felt unfamiliar and too comfy. Her old bed in Beauchamps house surely did not feel that way. Moreover, the heat radiating from her left side was more likely from a person than the furnace. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she had to blink several times to get used to the bright sun, bouncing off the snowy scenery outside.

“Weel, hello to ye, sleeping beauty. I was afraid ye’d been cursed and would never wake.” Jamie rolled onto his belly, propping himself on the elbow. “Though it’s rather a nice sight to observe”

He ran his fingers down the line of Claire’s jaw before leaning in to kiss her.

“So you’re not a dream.” She smiled and pulled the blanket up higher than her waist, suddenly feeling shy. “What’s this?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as Jamie fished his phone out, nodding to the screen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Ye’re going home, Sassenach.” He chuckled, feeling quite proud that he’d managed to find them both tickets to Edinburgh this evening. Jamie rather never did say out loud the price he paid but the look on Claire’s face was worth much more than that.

“Bloody hell!” She squealed, not believing her eyes. “How can I ever repay you?”

Jamie smiled when her hands wrapped around his neck.

"Love me some more, Sassenach.”

[renee-writer]

Last Shot's Fired Chapter 15 JHRC!

A fairly normal day. She sees a few training injuries. Sprained wrist and knees, rope burns, heat exhaustion. He is close to the surface of her thoughts, always. It has been a week since their incredible night together. She misses him more then she realized was possible.

She is between patients when the call comes in. A trainee shot in a training exercise. Heading their way. “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” she mutters under her breath. A phrase she had picked up from her dad, who's own dad had served in WW2. “We aren't equiped to handle gun shots!” said louder.

“It is just the lads arm. They want him here.” A wave of terror and understanding goes through her.

“It wasn’t an accident.” Her nurse nods her head as the stretcher is pushed in.

“Twenty-three year old make, through and through gun shot wound to the upper arm. Pulse, 99. Heartrate, 90. BP, 140/80. IV in.” said in a rush by the base medic. She is focused on his upper arm. It has been hastily bandaged but is still bleeding.

“Thank you. What is the patient's blood type?”

“A+ Claire.” Her eyes jerk to his face then. Jamie! JHRC!

“J..err Trainee Fraser, we are going to fix you right up. Maggie, need a quick scan of his arm, hang a unit of A+, ahhh,” Get it together Beauchamp. Christ! “Fraser, what is your pain at?”

“Twas a ten until you touched me. Now is around a six.” The trauma and blood loss aren't allowing him to censor himself. The medics look amused.

“Thank you gentlemen. Has the shooter been captured?”

“Aye ma'am. He is locked tight away.” They nod to Jamie. “We will leave you in the docs good hands.” The stretcher is rolled away. Maggie hangs the requested blood and goes to make arrangements for the MRI. They are alone.

“Jamie what?”

“Urban warfare exercise. Someone slipped in, or was there the entire time, waiting. For an opportunity, you ken. I fired blanks. He dinna.”

“I can see.” She is carefully unwrapping his arm. “He turned it into Swiss cheese.” She describes the injury to him. “Truly how bad is your pain?”

“Truly your touch makes everything better. Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said that in front of the medics.”

“No but, we can blame your injury. Now a real answer please. Your pulse rate and blood pressure tell me you are in significant pain.”

“Aye. It is bad.”

“Okay. I am going to add morphine to your IV. You will feel queer.”

“Aye. I knew, after the initial shock, that if they got me to you, I would be alright.” She gives him a smile, stroking his hair back.

He is given the morphine and sleeps through the MRI, which shows it was clean, no broken or chipped bones, just torn flesh and a bit of muscle. She repairs his wound, doses him with a strong antibiotic, and takes a seat, waiting for him to wake.

He does after a few hours. His hand is suspended above his head so blood flow can help with healing. He feels sore and stiff. She watches him awake.

“Claire?”

“Right here.” He slowly turns.

“Thank you for seeing to my wee scratch.”

“If that was a stratch, I would hate to see a real injury.”

“How bad?”

“No broken bones. A small muscle tear. Mainly flesh wounds. You will be able to complete training.”

“I am sorry. I promised to stay safe.”

“You did. This isn’t it. Had you wished to see me there are easier ways.” He laughs then winces. “Need more morphine?”

“Not just yet. I did wish to see you. I am glad I am. But dinna get shot on purpose.”

“I know I just” he stops her by the taking of her lips. It is a bit awkward but they manage it.

“Now, you may drug me up. I needed that kiss first.” She shakes her head. She knows now he really will be alright. She kisses him again before giving him more pain meds. She then takes his hand and watches as they work.

[bee-kathony]

“Your Nose is Blue” - Jamie and Claire 

This is my ‘One Quote, One Shot’ fic, thank you @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this! nswf at the end 

My quote is: “Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.” He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?” 

Lallybroch December 8th, 1743

Snow had been falling every day since the first of December. Jamie and I had been at Lallybroch for almost two months, and it had been the happiest two months of our entire marriage. Granted, we hadn’t been married very long, but there was a simplicity with Jamie at his childhood home that we hadn’t found anywhere else.

I relished in every story that Jamie told me about growing up here. Even the ones that didn’t favor him in a good light — him and Ian sneaking away, getting into all kinds of mischief which led them to both be disciplined by Jamie’s father. I wondered what it would be like if both of Jamie’s parents were still alive, much in the same way I wondered the same about my own.

His sister, Jenny had been wary of me at first, and I didn’t blame her. I was a stranger who had come into her home, wed to her younger brother — I’d be cautious too. But over the past few weeks, we had grown close and I began to consider her my own sister.

I was still getting used to the idea of settling down and making a life here. There were still mornings when I would wake up and forget what century I was in. When I looked over to see Jamie, his hands folded across his stomach, and a small smile on his lips, I was grateful to be here — with him.

It was another chilly morning, much like it had been the past several days. My toes were ice cold and I turned over in bed to snuggle up to Jamie. I pressed my feet against him, warming them to his hot skin. He started to squirm, his eyes fluttering open and I felt him wrap his arm around me.

“Ah, Sassenach,” he said groggily. “Yer feet are freezin!”

“Sorry,” I started to pull them away, but he pulled me closer.

“Nah, tis alright,” he grinned, placing a kiss to my forehead. “Twas just a shock this early in the mornin’.”

“Would you be able to go and get some fresh wood for the fire later?” I asked him, resting my head on his chest. The heat radiated off of him, and he knew as well as I did that the fire was for my benefit only.

“Aye,” he said. “I’ll go chop some down after breakfast.”

“Get enough for the whole house if you can,” I looked up at him, tracing my finger along his chin. “I think everyone must be out as well. The whole damn place is freezing!”

“Och,” Jamie turned me in his arms, pressing my back to his chest. “They say a quick way to warm up is to take all yer clothes off and lay yer body next to another.”

“We can’t bloody walk around naked all day,” I laughed. “That only works when we’re in bed. What about the rest of the time?”

Jamie sighed, his hand settling over my stomach. “Hmm, well then I reckon I’ll have to keep ye in my bed all day.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I chuckled, turning my head to look at him, noticing his smug expression. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve seen you ever lay in bed all day. You’re constantly doing things around the stables or with Ian.”

“Aye, yer right about that.” His hand moved along my arm, fingers lightly tracing my skin. “There’s much to do, even wi’ the snow. Ah!” He suddenly shouted in my ear. “Ye can help Jenny wi’ the clickit. I saw her start a new scarf just yesterday.”

“Clickit?” I asked, turning back to look at him. His brows rose near his hairline and he rose to his perch himself on his elbow, staring down at me like I’d just cursed his mother’s grave.

“Claire,” he said incredulously. “Are ye tellin’ me ye canna clickit at all?”

I shook my head, twisting to lie flat on my back.

“And what did ye do for your winter stockings in yer time, then?”

“Bought them,” I said simply.

He looked from me and then out the window, “Well, I dinna see any shops about, I suppose ye’d best learn, aye?”

“I suppose so,” I eyed him dubiously.

“Tis no’ that hard, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Once we go downstairs, I’ll show ye how to get ye started.”

“You can clickit?” I asked, surprised.

“Well of course I can,” he laughed. “I’ve known how to clickit wi’ needles since I was seven years old. Do they no’ teach bairns anythin’ in your time, Sassenach?”

I thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. “Sometimes they teach little girls to do needlework, but not the boys.”

“Tis no’ fine needlework, Sassenach,” Jamie sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up to his waist. “Just simple knitting.”

Muttering under his breath about raising children the proper way, he climbed out of bed, stark naked in search for his sark. Once he found it, he shrugged it over his shoulders, now grabbing his kilt.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I asked, admiring him from bed, my arms stretched above my head.

Jamie came over to me, looking down with both hands on his hips, kilt still in one hand. “There’s no time to waste, Sassenach. Ye’ve gone this long w’out learnin’ how to clickit, tis time for yer teachin’ to begin.”

“But breakfast,” I said, rolling over in bed and then I felt something land on top of me — it was my shift. He was bloody serious about me learning how to clickit, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I got dressed, watching the puzzled looks that crossed his face every now and then. There were a handful of times that I wished it were possible for Jamie to travel through the stones — if only to see what my time was really like, how things were different.

Once we were both dressed, Jamie led us downstairs where he proceeded to tell the whole household about my clickit skills — or lack thereof.

“What do ye mean she canna clickit?” Jenny asked, pausing from serving bowls of porridge on the table.

“Claire was never taught it as bairn,” Jamie shook his head, taking his seat at the table. I followed, feeling embarrassed at my lack of knitting knowledge. It just wasn’t a skill I had ever needed. When I wanted to wear something warm, I would buy it — necessity was the mother of invention and in my time, shops were invented so we didn’t have to knit.

“Well, I ken what we’re doin’ today,” Jenny said and shoveled porridge into my bowl.

++++++

It was an hour later, and I was sitting with Jenny in the living room, my fingers cold and feeling strained. Both Jenny and Jamie had explained it to me — draw the thread out of the closed fist, make a loop around your thumb, slip it into the needle and you cast a row. It looked simple enough, but every time I tried, it all came apart.

After watching me fail again and again, Jamie had shrugged, and left me in Jenny’s capable hands while he went to fetch firewood.

“Maybe by next Christmas I’ll have managed a small scarf,” I said helplessly. “I’m quite skilled with a knife or needle, but only when it comes to flesh, not knitting.”

“Och, ye’ll get the hang of it, Claire,” Jenny smiled, her fingers working quickly on her own scarf. She had no trouble at all casting a row, and I tried to watch, but my brain and hands couldn’t work together in that way.

I set aside my mess of a scarf, and picked up a bit of yarn, rolling it into a neat ball. In the winter, there wasn’t so much to do outside of the house besides tending to the animals. My hands were itching to hold a real needle in them or dig up the earth for planting. It was no wonder so many babies were made in the winter months — there wasn’t anything else that could be done!

“I think I’m going to go and lie down for awhile,” I said and stood up. “Will you tell Jamie when he comes back that I’m upstairs?”

“Aye, of course,” she smiled. “I expect he’ll be back soon wi’ the fresh wood. We could use it, looks like it’ll be a cold one again tonight.”

I left Jenny in the living room, and rubbed my hands together for warmth as I walked up the stairs. I wanted Jamie to hurry up and come back, not only for the warmth of the fire, but for the warmth of holding him next to me.

Climbing into bed, I pulled up the layers of sheets and quilts to my neck to try and get warm. My teeth were chattering, and I pulled the quilt above my head, hoping sleep would take me under.

What felt like a minute later, my eyes opened to see the sun’s shadow in a different place. It must have been an hour or more since I’d come up for a nap. The room was quiet, and the fire wasn’t lit which meant Jamie hadn’t come back yet.

Brushing my hand across my face, I rose out of the bed and walked downstairs in search of Jamie. Jenny was gone, her knitting needles stored in the basket near the couch. The fire in the main room wasn’t lit either.

“Jamie?” I called out.

Noise came from the kitchen and I followed it.

“Has Jamie come back yet?” I asked Jenny as she poured herself a cup of hot tea.

“No, I was just startin’ to grow worrit for him myself. The wee numptie should have been back by now,” Jenny shook her head. “He kens this land like the back of his own hand, so I dinna think he would be gettin’ lost.”

“Do you know where he would have gone to cut the wood?” I asked, already looking around for my wool cloak.

“Tis just back behind the house, near the tree line.” Jenny looked up from her cup of tea to find me tying my cloak on, and stepping into my shoes. “Oh, Claire, ye canna be thinkin’ about goin’ to find him. Ye’ll freeze!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about with Jamie,” I said. “If I can’t find him, I’ll come back. And if I’m out there too long, come and find me.”  

I heard Jenny mutter something under her breath about being stubborn and I laughed — she was one to talk, the other half of the Fraser siblings.

It must have still been early afternoon, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t freezing. My breath puffed out in front of me and I began walking in the direction of the tree line behind the house. It was a ways back, and I hoped for Jamie’s sake he had thought to take his coat and gloves.

“Foolish man,” I muttered, stepping through the snow. There were a few possibilities of his lateness running through my head and none of them good. Looking up to the sky, I could tell that it would snow soon — I could practically smell it in the air.

I crossed through the trees, trying to keep an eye out for a mop of red hair. Jenny said he wouldn’t go too deep into the woods, and so I turned to my right, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Jamie?” I called out, placing both my hands to my mouth to make the sound carry.

There was no answer, and I couldn’t help but think of all the horrible things that could have happened to him. A sound came from my left and I looked to see a small grey rabbit hopping through the brush. For some reason, I decided to follow it.

“Are you going to lead me to my husband little rabbit?” I said out loud and immediately rolled my eyes. Talking to rabbits now, Beauchamp.

I continued to follow the rabbit, pausing when it would stop to munch on a leaf of grass or scratch behind its ear. Soon, it stopped and jumped behind a bush. My eyes traveled upwards and that’s when I saw him.

“Jamie!”

He was lying on his side, the ax near his hand and pile of wood at his feet. I ran to him, picking up my skirts so I wouldn’t trip and end up in the same state as him.

“Jamie,” I crouched down to my knees, both hands flying over his body. My fingers were at his neck, checking for a pulse and I sighed whenever I felt that steady beat. His cheeks were pale and his lips blue, much like the rest of him. I glanced down and saw that he’d taken his boots off and the tips of his toes were blue.

“Oh, please wake up,” I knelt over his body, pulling my cloak to cover him. When I pushed back my hand over his forehead, I saw blood congealed on the side of his head. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

I checked him for other injuries, and determined it was only his head that had received the brunt of it. Most likely, he’d knocked himself in the head with the ax, and that thought did make me grin, but only briefly.

Trying to recall all my knowledge about hypothermia, I remembered that body heat was one of the best ways to revive someone. I sat up, pulling off my cloak and started to undress, hastily pulling at the laces of my bodice — I needed to lie with him, to save him in any way I could.

Just as I was about to lift my dress off over my head, I heard a groan from the body underneath me.

“Sassenach,” he said groggily and my hands dropped, covering his cheeks. I pressed my head to his, catching my breath for the first time since I’d found him.

“Oh thank God!”

“Claire,” he said a little louder. “What the devil are ye doin’ wi’ yer laces undone?”

I looked down at myself, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “Well, I was going to warm you up — body heat.”

“Aye,” he smirked and then winced as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t move,” I said and forced him back to lie on the ground. “You’ve hit your head and you might have a concussion - er, a blow to your head.”

As he laid back, his brows knitted in discomfort, I began to tie up my laces again, putting myself in order. Thank goodness he had woken when he did because I was ready to take it all off and cover his body with mine.

“Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.”

He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?” Cold or not, he was plainly in good spirits.

“Perhaps when you aren’t lying in snow and sporting a head with blood,” I smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on the tip of his blue nose. “What we really need to do is get you inside and by a fire.”

“Christ,” he looked over at the pile of firewood. “I dinna think I can manage to make it back like this wi’ the wood.”

“Well, maybe Jenny or Ian could come and collect it,” I said. “I should have thought to bring out a horse, but who would have thought you’d hit yourself with an ax!”

“Is that what I did?” He rubbed at his head, pulling his hand back to look at the blood that covered it now. “I dinna remember it, but I do remember ’twas a bit loose sliding through my hands.”

I slid my hand under his back to help him up into a sitting position. The back of his head was wet with melted snow. Jamie groaned as he moved, placing his head into his hands.

“Are you dizzy?”

“Aye, a wee bit,” he said. “My head feels like it’s been split open.”

“You’ll need to get plenty of water and rest over the next few days,” I told him. “But first things first is getting you out of the snow.”

It took a few tries, but I managed to help him stand up. Swaying a bit on his own, he steadied himself by placing one hand on my shoulder.

“This will be a long journey back inside,” he said and looked down at me.

“It will be with that attitude,” I smirked. “And are you going to tell me what you were doing out here in the snow with your shoes off, hmm?”

As if he had just realized he was barefoot, he looked down. “Och, I guess my feet were gettin’ sweaty and I wanted to feel the cold between my toes.”

“You’re just lucky you didn’t get stuck out here for much longer or you might have caught something called hypothermia and lost both your feet!”

“Tis no’ my feet I’m worrit about losin’,” he touched his crotch, as if checking all the bits were still there.

“Come on,” I laughed, “Let’s go home.”

++++++

It had taken nearly twice as long to get back as it had taken for me to come and find him. Jamie was moving slow, and he was obviously much larger and heavier than me so I found it difficult to support his weight.

When we arrived back to Lallybroch, Jenny and Ian had been waiting.

“Ye hit yerself wi’ an ax?” Jenny asked and I could see a smile forming on her lips.

“Aye,” Jamie scowled. “I dinna want to hear a word about it either.”

“We had to leave the wood he chopped behind,” I told them. “Would someone be able to fetch it and bring it inside?”

“I’ll do it,” Ian said. “I can take Donas out. Ye’ll have left the cart to carry it, I suppose?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “I was just goin’ to pull it back myself, but ye can use a horse since yer no’ as strong as me.”

Ian flashed out his hand, lightly smacking Jamie on the side and laughed, limping away to the stables outside.

“Ye best be glad yer wife was concerned for ye,” Jenny said and came around to slide her arm around Jamie’s waist. “If it were up to me, I might have let ye stay out there all night so ye could learn yer lesson.”

We started to make our way slowly up the stairs, taking them on at a time.

“And what lesson is that?” Jamie asked.

“That ye keep as firm a grip on yer ax as ye would yer cock,” she snorted and I couldn’t help but burst into a laugh. The big heavy scot between us groaned, either in embarrassment or pain — possibly both.

Jamie landed in our bed with a thud, rolling onto his side to avoid the light from the window. Sensing his discomfort, I walked over and shut the blinds until only a sliver of light was left.

“I’ll have Mrs. Crook prepare some soup,” Jenny said. “And I’ll fetch ye another couple of quilts to keep him warm.”

“Could you see if she can make willow bark tea as well?” I asked and Jenny nodded before heading out of the room.

I looked over at Jamie, still shivering under the covers. Sitting down beside him, I ran my fingers over his cheek, which now was much warmer than before.

“You already don’t look so blue,” I commented. “How are those balls of yours?”

Jamie smirked and glanced down between his legs. “They could still do wi’ a bit of warming up.”

“That part of your anatomy is taking a bit longer to to get back to it’s normal body temperature,” I grinned, moving closer to him in bed. He was now rolling over onto his back, and his hair moved aside, showing the blood once again. “But first,” I reached out to touch his head.

Jenny came back with two more quilts and laid them on top of his body, tucking him in as any mother would do. I imagined this wasn’t the first time Jenny had to take care of Jamie after he hurt himself.

I scrounged up a bit of cloth and found my comfrey salve in a small medical chest I had brought from my days at Leoch. Jamie turned his head to the side, allowing me to cleanse his wound and spread the slave over it to help heal it.

“There,” I said and discarded the bloody cloths. “You don’t need any stitches. And I expect you’ll have a bloody good headache for a couple of days, but nothing you can’t handle.”

Jamie was looking up at me, almost innocently and childlike. So often since I’d met him, I had bandaged him and healed his wounds, and every time he had the same expression on his face.

“What?” I asked, moving to sit beside him again.

“I just love havin’ such a fine healer as my wife,” he smiled. “Tis quite useful.”

“You do seem to get into a lot of painful situations,” I laughed and leaned against him, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Sassenach?” He asked a moment later.

“Hmmm?”

“I wasna lyin’ when I said that my balls were still blue,” he said almost sheepishly. “Ever since I woke to find ye half dressed and ready to throw yerself on me, I’ve had half a cock stand.”

“So it’s my fault, hmm?” I glanced over at him, finding blue eyes gazing at me. He was already in such a delicate state — I would have done anything to make him feel better.

“Aye, tis always yer fault,” he admitted and pulled one hand out from under the covers, reaching up to cup my cheek.

Leaning in, I kissed him, tender and slow. He was laying on his back, his head propped up on two pillows. I shifted onto my side, pulling the covers up and over my legs so I could join him in the warmth and hopefully give him some of mine.

My hand settled on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat for a moment before sliding it to rest over his belly. I didn’t have to move my hand much further before I came in contact with his greedy length. Jamie moaned into my mouth, his tongue sliding over my bottom lip as I palmed his cock.

“Sassenach,” he muttered between kisses. He was only wearing a clean sark, having shed his wet clothes before climbing into bed earlier. I pulled the material up and took him fully in my hand. Jamie groaned, his mouth hovering just against mine.

“As your healer, I think it’s only right for me to check on the precise color of those blue balls,” I said against his lips and I felt him twitch in my hand.

“Oh, aye,” he smirked and he was already pushing back the cover to expose himself to me.

I slid down the bed, easily fitting in between his legs and sat on my knees. Gripping his pulsing length in my hand, I ran my fingers up and down twice, watching as his hips flexed. He was trying not to move, his hands gripping the sheets beside him.

“C-christ,” he stuttered as I pressed my thumb over the head, collecting the bit of seed.

“Try not to move,” I said softly. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your head any further.”

“Sassenach, yer tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered between his teeth and then after grazing his blue balls with my hand, I descended on him. I took him eagerly in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. I glanced up to see him watching me, and I felt my own belly light with a fire.

My hand worked in tandem with my mouth and I hollowed my cheeks, sucking deeply. Jamie was moaning, and his hips lifted off the bed, pushing his cock back against my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he was now panting, reaching his hand into my hair and I pulled my lips off of him, briefly licking the tip.

“Don’t apologize,” I smiled before placing a kiss to his head and swiping my tongue along his shaft. My hand slid down easily, pumping him and I twisted my grip, watching as his eyes shut tight. I knew he was close, so I kept my gaze on his face, waiting for that perfect moment.

I wrapped my lips over him, feeling swollen and needy. He tasted salty and whenever I met his gaze, Jamie jerked and came. I had no option but to drink him down, tasting him on my tongue, and lips and I released him with an audible ‘pop’.

Jamie wasted no time in pulling me up to lie on top of his body, his hands coming to grip my sides.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” I said, placing my hands on his chest. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so soon.”

“Who said anything about me exertin’ myself?” He cocked a brow and reached one hand under my dress, finding my center and rubbing slowly. A few seconds later, I sank down on him, shifting until he was buried inside of me. I leaned over, pressing my lips to his and began to move. He felt so good and warm, filling me in a way that I would never tire of.

Jamie held me close to him, his hands roaming over my back, tugging at my dress. It was no use, my laces were still tied in the front and I began to push back harder on him, searching for a release of my own.

“Uhhh,” I moaned, placing a wet kiss to his cheek and jaw. Jamie’s hands found my arse under my dress, pressing me against him as he lifted his hips. And just so, he hit that spot inside of me and I came with a deep cry. I trembled in his arms, feeling his release inside me and I lay on top of him, knowing I should move to not hurt him.

Carefully, I rolled onto my side, sighing as my head hit the pillow and I lay one arm across his stomach.

“Did that take care of any blue balls?” I asked, biting my lip between my teeth.

Jamie looked over at me, running his finger over my cheek. “Aye, ye’ve taken good care of them, as ye always do.”

“It was my pleasure,” I smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Then I sat up in bed, tugging on my dress and climbed out. Jamie started to protest, but I shushed him, pulling the covers up around him. “Now, you really do need to rest. I’m going to go check on that willow bark tea, and when I come back, there will be no more funny business.”

“Aye, captain,” Jamie pressed his hand to his head and tried to wink. Laughing, I left him on his own to get the tea.

When I came back upstairs, his eyes were closed and his mouth was hung slightly open, a bit of drool dribbling down. I don’t know how he managed to possess all the qualities that made me want to claw at his back one minute and the next, tuck him up and sing him a lullaby.

I took a sip of the tea before sitting it on the bedside table and shed my clothes, crawling into bed naked with him. After all, body heat was the best way to warm up.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap

A/N  I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”.  By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head.  I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper.  Modern AU.  Silly fluff.  Claire POV.  First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw.  I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike.  Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit.  Shitshitshit.  Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist.  I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again.  More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes.  Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells.  I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp.  Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze.  I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat.  I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing.  The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services.  Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking.  How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon.  What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really?  Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp.  We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four.  Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen.  Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard.  I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era.  A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering.  Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep.  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies.  I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen.  Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar.  Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine.  He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.  Sorry.  Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake.  A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it.  There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service.  I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans.  I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off.  I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest.  I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs.  Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main.  An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert.  There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look.  “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes?   It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much.  Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken.  Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work.  There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye.  Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties.  I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was.  My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon.  I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank.  He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family.  I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine.  But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin.  “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform.  Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser?  How did you get into the catering business?”  It wasn’t polite conversation.  I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.”  At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam.  She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work.  We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business.  Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love.  I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents.  Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block.  His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side.  What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests?  I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner.  Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.  

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie.  By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set.  I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me.  I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed.  Jamie tipped his head sideways in question.  “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services.  That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...”  I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize.  Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately.   The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe.  With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.  

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling.  We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

[clandonnachaidh]

The Fireballs

Read on AO3

“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”

Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.

It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.

A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.

Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.

Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.

Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.

Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.

Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.

“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”

That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.

There was only one thought in her mind.

What the hell was a ‘scurry’?

The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.

“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”

***

“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”

Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.

With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.

No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.

“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”

Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.

Silence descended over room.

If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door. 

Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.

“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”

Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.

Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.

But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.

The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.

Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.

“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”

She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”

“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”

He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.

Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.

“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”

“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”

Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.

“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”

“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.

There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.

When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.

“Can I help you with something?”

He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”

Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”

“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.

“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”

The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.

“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”

“Excuse me?”

“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”

“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”

“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.

Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.

“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”

Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.

“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”

“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.

Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.

She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.

And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.

While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.

With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.

She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.

“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”

His voice made her spin on her heel.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.

He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”

The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.

“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”

For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?

He noticed her gormless expression.

“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”

“I haven’t been to the High Street.”

It was his turn to balk.

“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”

“For the love of God, tell me what?”

He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”

When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.

“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.

Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.

Viking indeed.

He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”

“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.

The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.

“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”

“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”

He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”

He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.

“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”

“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.

Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.

“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”

“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.

He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.

Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.

“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”

Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.

“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”

The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.

“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”

His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.

“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”

Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.

Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.

Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?

Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?

Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?

Geillis: He’s an arse man!

Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!

Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!

Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.

Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.

Geillis: Affa good hands 😏

Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.

As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.

Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.

Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.

“Doctor Beauchamp?”

She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.

“Please call me Claire,” she implored.

“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”

“What?”

“Och, nothin’.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.

“Sexy.”

The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.

Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.

She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.

A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.

“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.

Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”

Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.

She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.

“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”

“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”

When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.

“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”

Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.

“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”

Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.

Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.

“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.

She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”

Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.

“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”

“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.

She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.

Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.

“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”

Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”

“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”

She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.

Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”

“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”

Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.

Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.

“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.

Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.

They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.

The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.

Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.

“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”

Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.