#Claire is supposed to be surface and plain

[g0tmilkx3]

Idk why ppl think the writers of the bear are dumb and don’t have a storyboard but these writers are fucking fantastic and I trust them to give us an amazing szn 3 shipping aside they always give us the best writing and god the directing is otherworldly they need to be paid™️ their worth bc I wouldn’t survive a pushback or worse a cancellation 🧿

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four

Read on AO3

cw: medical trauma/abuse

They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her. 

 The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.

 “Two minutes.”

Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left. 

 Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.

 She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients. 

 The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion. 

 “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.

 “He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.

 “I know. Now if you’d just-“

 A knock sounded at the door.

 “Mr. Anderson you may come in.”

 “Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.” 

 “I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation. 

 “I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed. 

 Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her. 

 It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule. 

 Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine. 

 The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively. 

 The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head. 

 Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.

 As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses. 

 “Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley. 

 “Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”

 “Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously. 

 The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him. 

 “You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”   

 Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

 “Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?” 

 “Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol. 

 Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward. 

 Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.

 “Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy. 

 “Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin. 

 Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.

 She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy. 

 Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later. 

 At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug. 

 “Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses. 

 “Where on earth did you get these?” 

 “I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her. 

 “Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?” 

 “Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.” 

 “You want a lock of my hair?” 

 She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase. 

 Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.

 “Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”

 “As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.” 

 “I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.” 

 “Great, so now this has all been sorted.”

 “Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.” 

 She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls. 

 The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone. 

 Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly. 

 “Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady. 

 On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.

[let-the-dream-begin]

Someday

In MOBY, Claire warns John about one Ezekial Richardson, who knows John's biggest secret. In this alternate ending story, Richardson reports John, and he is arrested.

Jamie plans a rescue and visits John in jail to give him the details, and Jamie must face his own demons and confront how John truly feels about him before it's too late.

All canon prior to the end of MOBY is still in place.

Read on AO3

Contains very vague references to BJR trauma and mild internalized homophobia.

February 1779

Jamie was living in a space between reality and memory. He’d seen the insides of quite enough prisons for one lifetime, prisons of all kinds, even since liberation from his longest stay to date. Yet something about this prison…maybe it was the stench, hitting him square in the face like a snapping branch on a tree, or maybe it was who it contained. Maybe it was the role reversal.

His former jailer in chains.

He’d become far more than that, and to think of him as such was beyond an insult. He was a friend, a very dear one. The sting of knowing he’d bedded Jamie’s wife had not left him; it festered under the surface like a wound bubbling just below the skin, waiting to burst.

And yet.

The keys in the jailer’s hand jangled, then clanked, and then the door was open. There were ten men in that particular cell, a significant distance between them and the man in question.

He looked like hell.

He was crumpled in the corner of the cell, hidden by shadow, but Jamie could still see the swelling in his face, dried blood. They’d beaten him senseless in there, and nobody had seen fit to stop it. He’d expected it, but the sight still made him sick to his stomach.

Men like John did not fare well in prison.

The jailer roughly seized John’s upper arm, and Jamie fought the instinct to finch when John winced in pain. He stumbled on his feet at first, and then he was walking forward, shoved every few feet. Jamie battled with his body once more, stifling the urge to seize John’s other arm and wrench him away from the jailer, drag him away himself, as gently as he could without raising suspicion. Instead, he followed the jailer into the small interrogation room.

“General Fraser of the Continental Army. I have strict orders from General Washington himself to interrogate one Lord John William Grey of His Majesty’s Army.”

The jailer did not see fit to let John sit in a chair; he shoved him into the hard ground with a sneer, and Jamie winced.

“The utmost discretion is necessary. He carries sensitive information that canna be overheard. Ye understand.”

“He’s all yours, General,” said the smarmy man. “Rest assured you can use any means necessary. He’s a dead man come sunup.”

“Aye. I thank ye.”

When the door was shut Jamie stepped forward and helped John to his feet.

“Christ, man,” he hissed under his breath, almost involuntary. Claire had wanted to come, had practically demanded it, but Jamie had firmly turned her down. In that very moment, Jamie regretted that. She could have helped him. He had another bloody eye, what looked to be a broken nose, and from the way he stood, several cracked ribs.

“Ye need Claire,” Jamie said, again entirely against his will. “I’ll have them fetch her.”

“No, Jamie. Don’t.”

Jamie led the man to one of the chairs.

“Ye’re in pain, John.”

John grimaced, and Jamie thought perhaps he was trying to smile. “That would be correct.”

“Then let me — ”

“It’s no worse than anything I’ve been dealt before,” he looked very pointedly at Jamie, and he almost — almost felt a rush of shame.

“At the very least, I’ll ask fer water. Clean yerself up.”

“If I go back there in better shape than I left,” John said, shifting in his chair and holding his side, “then they’ll just see to it that I’m bloodied again. And likely worse than they last left me.”

Heat colored Jamie’s cheeks, flaming rage. “I can have ye moved. I’ll fetch Claire, she’ll heal ye, then we’ll move ye to yer own cell. I’ll tell them that Washington wants ye unharmed until — ”

“How many times do you think you can use Washington to make orders before they ask for his written word?” John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Jamie. It isn’t worth it.”

“Those wounds, ye could…they could get infected,” he said with a curt nod. “Claire wouldna like that. Ye’ll get fevered and — ”

“And die?” John exhaled a short laugh. “I’m a dead man anyway.”

“No.” Jamie took three large strides to John’s chair, slapping a hand on the table. “Ye’re not. No’ if I have anything to say about it.”

John’s eyes glistened in a way that Jamie could see even through the swelling and the redness. “What’ll you do? Enact a daring rescue and abscond with me in the night?”

Jamie nodded. “Aye. I’ve already got the men willing.”

John was already shaking his head before Jamie finished. “You can’t do that.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

John gaped at him. “Do you know what I’m charged with?”

“Aye, of course I do.”

“Then you know what they’ll do to you if they know you’re behind this.”

Jamie only hesitated for a moment. “No. They’ve no proof.”

“They don’t need any, Jamie. Don't you see? It took one man’s word to sentence me to death. All they need is the slightest suspicion of something between us.”

“There’s nothing between us,” he growled.

“I am quite aware.”

Jamie blinked, his nostrils twitching. John’s tone was nowhere near accusatory, or self-pitying. He was stating a fact, a truth. Plain as anything.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he continued. “Men that break other men…men like me, out of jail…that doesn’t look good.”

Jamie remained frozen, hovering over John like a threat, his grip on the table tightening. He had nothing to say in rebuttal, nothing to undermine his argument. Because he was right. Jamie wanted to throw it back in his face, tell him he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought.

But he did.

The thought of anyone, anyone looking at him and thinking that…bile was already rising to his throat. His fingers itched to rub that spot on his torso, that shadow of a brand from all those years ago. If somebody looked at him thinking he was that way, it would be as if Claire had never removed that brand, and he ripped his shirt off and showed the world.

Showed the world that his manhood, his very self, was owned and wielded by another man.

Exhausted, Jamie finally moved, sitting down in the chair across the table from John with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I canna let ye die.”

John looked like he wanted to laugh, and Jamie wanted to hit him for it. “Why not?”

“What the devil d’ye mean by that?”

This time he did laugh, a short, barking sound, followed by a wince and a clutch at his side. “You mean to tell me you haven’t wanted to kill me since the very moment you found out?”

Jamie swallowed. “Aye, I wanted to kill ye. At times I still do.” He took off his tricorn and set it on the table, then smoothed back the hair atop his head with a sigh. “But I didna want ye dead.”

John blinked at him dumbly.

“The thought of it fills me wi’ rage. Ye ken that well enough.” Jamie’s voice was low and rough. “I’ve enough in me to kill ye wi’ my bare hands. But why should I want ye dead? Ye’re no threat to my marriage.”

It was the God’s honest truth. Jamie knew Claire better than he knew himself, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was his and only his. And truthfully, if Jamie really dug into the depths of his heart, if Claire truly found happiness with another man, Jamie could never bring himself to kill him. He’d sooner cut out his own heart than cause her pain. If Claire left him, he’d rather kill himself than kill his rival. That would make it easier for both of them.

But it was not like that with John either.

And maybe that was why it enraged him so. There was no solution. There was no parting with Claire for her own happiness, no ending of his own suffering upon losing her. It had just happened, and he could not make sense of it.

We were both fucking you.

“No,” John said softly, interrupting Jamie’s train of thought. “I suppose I am not.”

“I canna say it more plainly. I’ll no’ let ye die. So,” Jamie said, sitting up straighter, “tonight, this is — ”

“Stop.”

“Shut up, man. Ye’re gonna — ”

“No, I am not.” His eyes flashed defiantly, enough to silence Jamie. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Why?” Jamie spat, his fists shaking the table. “Why is it that ye can just stand by and let them kill ye?”

“Because I would rather die than cause you any more pain.”

That froze Jamie.

Had he not just reasoned with himself that he would rather die than cause his wife pain? That was love. Making the ultimate sacrifice was for love.

What John…felt toward Jamie…

What Randall felt toward Jamie.

That was not love.

Vile, unnatural, inhuman, unbearable.

Not love.

And yet.

John wasn’t vile, inhuman, or unbearable. Even if his inclinations were unnatural…he was not a vile creature. In his blind rage in beating him senseless, Jamie had not been able to see that. But it was clear now.

But still, it could not be love. It didn’t make sense.

“Why?” Jamie found himself saying it before he could stop it.

This time, Jamie couldn’t tell if John was about to laugh or cry. His wrecked face combined with the stunned expression on his face would have been comical in any other situation.

“You…you know why.”

Jamie swallowed. “Do I?”

John shifted in his seat with a wince, clutching at another rib. “I refuse to have this conversation with you. I’m bloody enough as it is.”

“John.”

Jamie’s tone surprised even himself. John flicked his eyes to Jamie’s face, and Jamie wanted to wince at how bloody awful the man looked. Remembering that he’d left him in a similar state not too long ago was fully nauseating him now.

“Look, Jamie. I know you wouldn’t sentence me to death, but you don’t exactly…approve of me. I know it.”

Jamie’s jaw hardened. He wanted to correct him, wanted to be able to.

“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve thoroughly detested any reminders of…any of this. So please. Just…let it be.”

Jamie could have let it be. Perhaps he should have.

“If ye’re to let yourself die, I have to know.”

“Know what…?”

“Why me?”

John actually recoiled a bit in shock. His mouth gaped a bit, and then he wet his lips. “Let me ask you this, then. Why Claire?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you love Claire?”

There it was again. Love.

“That’s no’ what I — ”

“Answer me, Jamie. Why do you love Claire?”

Jamie hunched over the table again, clasping his hands on the surface. He could write novels detailing every single reason why she was perfect, every single thing he adored about her, every single time she had saved him, body and soul. He’d dictated all of this and more to Claire. But those things were for her. He would not betray that. And either way, it went beyond the physical reasons he loved and adored her. She fit with him like a limb, an organ, a heart. That he could not explain.

“It’s...bigger than me,” Jamie settled on. “The...the reason I get to love her is...not to be discerned on Earth. I just…do. The first time I saw her I just knew. I knew that she was made fer me. And every day since, the Lord has seen fit to prove me right.”

John nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Then you see? There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “To what?”

“To why.”

Jamie’s tongue flicked out thoughtfully, then disappeared just as quickly. “I dinna understand.”

“God…” John pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You foolish, infuriating brute…” He took a deep breath, then put his hands on the table, looking at Jamie. “Please, don’t make me say it. I beg you. I can’t…” His voice caught in his throat. “I can’t bear it,” he finished weakly.

Jamie felt like he may be sick, and his heart was beating far too quickly. 

“Did you think all this time that I just…” John shook his head, his eyes watering. “Did you think that was all you were to me?”

“I…I dinna ken…”

“If that’s all you were to me I’d have taken you up on that…that offer at Helwater without a second thought.”

Jamie’s heart skipped a beat. He had hoped John had forgotten about that particularly humiliating moment.

“But I couldn’t…do that to you. Because you…” His voice caught again, and he swallowed thickly. “I couldn’t do it.”

Because he loved you.

Jamie tried to shove the thought away, to kick it to death inside of him and burn it and stamp on the ashes. But it would not go away.

“I…I ken ye’re a good man, John.”

John nodded, not meeting Jamie’s eye.

I ken ye’re not Randall, was what he left unsaid.

He did know; he’d known it for a while before, but it was solidified when John had refused the offer. He was some sort of exception to the rule in Jamie’s head, the rule that Randall had set in stone for him.

Then they’d parted, and Jamie didn’t have to go mad with questioning it anymore. What Jamie had before him were facts: Jamie had a son, Jamie could not care for that son, John loved Jamie, and so John would move Heaven and Earth to care for that son. There was nothing more to it than a cause and effect, problem and solution. Nothing to question, nothing demanding answers.

But then he was back, in Jamaica, and answers were demanded again.

He was back in the Carolina wilderness, and that obligation had grown into a beautiful love between father and son that Jamie marveled to see.

He was back, and back, and back…

And now this.

And the thought of fate never bringing them together again was terrifying.

Jamie did not want to lose him.

And that realization was equally as terrifying.

Jamie remembered something he’d tried to force himself to forget for years upon years, repressed so thoroughly that he’d never even told Claire.

Jamie had kissed him.

After John had said no, he would not covet his body, Jamie had still, freely and willingly, kissed him.

Why?

And then, very suddenly, that didn’t matter, because John was weeping. Jamie sat stone-still, something unnamable dropping into his gut. 

“Do you know that…” he said through his tears. “That they could remove the capital punishment, reduce my sentence to life in jail, if I…confess?”

“Confess? I thought they didna need proof?”

“No, I mean…before a jury…if I tell them that…that I did wrong, that I will change, if I beg for God’s forgiveness…” He took a stuttering breath that sounded painful. “If I tell them that they’re right.”

Jamie gaped. “What’re ye waiting for, man? Tell them!”

John looked thoroughly horrified.

“Look, John, I…I bear no judgement on how ye choose to live yer life. But if this can save ye…”

“You think I chose this?”

And for the first time, Jamie realized no, he had not.

“Why on Earth would I choose to be such an abomination?” It was clear to Jamie that John did not agree with the words he was saying; he was mocking those that labeled him as such, spitting it back in their faces. “Such a…a stain on society?”

Jamie swallowed. He had no answer.

“And I…I won’t ask for forgiveness. I refuse to ask forgiveness for something that is not wrong.”

“John…”

“If someone held a gun to your head and told you to swear before God that you did not love your wife with all your heart and soul, or else they would pull the trigger, could you do it? Could you stomach going on living having lied so thoroughly and terribly?”

Jamie’s wame twisted. He imagined, for just a moment, looking into Claire’s eyes and forsaking her, telling her he did not love her just to save his own hide, and he wanted to vomit. He couldn’t live with himself. He’d die of shame shortly after. He couldn’t look at her ever again.

And then, just as briefly, Jamie saw himself in the same situation, only looking in John’s eyes, and swearing that he never imagined kissing him again, that he hadn’t felt even the smallest twinge of disappointment when he’d turned him down.

“No,” Jamie said simply, quietly. “I couldna do it.”

And all of a sudden, he understood. He understood John so deeply, so painfully deeply, that he almost broke down and wept with him.

Instead, Jamie did something that he had threatened John’s life for doing many years ago.

He reached across the space between them, and he took John’s hand.

John stared at their joined hands, blinking several times, his mouth hanging open. Then he looked up at Jamie, his brow furrowed.

“Please, John,” Jamie begged, more fervently than he’d meant to. “Please let me help ye. Ye need not forsake who ye are in a court of law. But let me get ye out of here.” He blinked several times, feeling his eyes burning. “Please.”

John wet his lips, looked down at their hands again, then back up at Jamie. “Don’t do this.” Jamie felt him try to pull his hand away, but he faltered. “Don’t…don’t use…this…to try and get me to agree. That’s…that’s cruel, Jamie…”

“I’m not.” Jamie insisted, squeezing his hand. “I wouldna do that.”

“Then what…are you doing?”

“I’m trying to save the life of a friend that has saved mine and that of my family more times than I can count,” Jamie said. “Ye have to let me help ye, man. I canna live wi’ myself if I just let ye walk to the gallows.”

“And I cannot live with myself if we’re hung side by side because you tried to stop it.”

Jamie felt his face getting hot, flush with dread, terror, and horrible, piercing sadness.

Jamie knew John, and he also knew himself. If John wanted to die to spare Jamie, then he would. And Jamie could not betray that. It was not in his moral code to go against the wishes of a dying man.

But damn him if it didn’t hurt to his very core.

John covered Jamie’s hand with his other hand, squeezing. “Please, Jamie. Don’t force me to put you in danger. Please.”

Like a compass drawn to true north, Jamie found his other hand drawn to the rest of their three hands.

“I will promise ye.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse. “If ye truly wish it, then I willna interfere.”

“I truly wish it.”

Whatever final dash of hope remained left Jamie’s body like the removal of a knife. “Aye. Then I promise.”

John lifted their joined hands and fervently pressed his lips there, and Jamie expected the urge to pull away, to run, to curse…but it didn’t come.

All he felt was…aching. Such deep, utter, painful aching.

“Thank you,” John whispered into their hands, his eyes locked on Jamie’s. “Thank you.”

A long silence passed between them, and all that time, it never once occurred to Jamie to let go of John. John wept quietly all the while, trembling ever-so-slightly, and Jamie’s eyes burned with the need to cry. But he did not.

“Tell Willie for me…” John began, and he might as well have cut Jamie open and gutted him there. The lad would never forgive him. Either of them.

“Tell him I’m sorry.” John sniffled, blinking away more tears. “Tell him that I ordered you to say this; tell him to look to you for any guidance he needs. Tell him I trust you.” Jamie nodded solemnly, painfully aware of the blessing that John was bestowing upon him.

All those years ago, Jamie blessed John with his blood. And now, John was blessing Jamie with a piece of his heart to keep safe.

Their son.

“And tell him I love him,” John finished, his voice breaking on the last word. “That I’ll...I’ll always be his Papa.”

If Jamie had been in pain before, he was in agony now. How...how could he tell Willie?

Before Jamie could find the words to express this, to beg John to reconsider for Willie’s sake, John spoke again.

“You know, I…” John bit his lip, as if he wanted to take back even saying anything, but unable to stop the flood now that it had started. “When I had Hector…”

The lad he’d lost at Culloden. His “particular friend.”

“We thought we could change everything.” He laughed ruefully, sadly. “We thought we were the exception to everything. I was lucky I wasn’t executed then for openly weeping on his body. It must have been so terribly obvious and I…I didn’t care. I just…I just wanted to…live and…be happy…”

Jamie tried to imagine it, and then realized he didn’t have to. His heart had died that day, too. But the difference was Jamie had had his returned to him. John had not.

“I wasn’t fool enough to think I could have that a second time, no matter how much I…” He stopped himself, “cared for you.” He swallowed. “I’d grown up by then. Learned…the ways of the world.”

“Do you think…” John went on as if he wished he wouldn’t. “Can you…imagine a world where it’s different…?”

Jamie’s mind immediately went to Claire’s world, Brianna’s world. The future.

“I don’t…I can’t bear to die thinking that people will forever be executed for…loving.”

That word, that small but painfully significant word, die, landed like a blow to Jamie’s stomach, as if he’d forgotten.

He looked into John’s eyes, hardly recognizable through the swelling from hateful fists and tears of grief. Jamie could ease that burden for him. He could tell him what he knew of Claire’s world. He could tell him that someday, it would be different.

“Ye dinna have to,” Jamie whispered, leaning forward. “Because the world willna always be so.”

John’s brow furrowed. “You know this for a fact?” His voice was full of doubtful sarcasm.

“I do.” He leaned forward even further. “There isna time to explain the how, or the why, but Claire, she…she knows things. She…she can…see. She can see beyond our lifetimes, beyond our daughter’s lifetime, beyond our grandchildren’s lifetimes, beyond their grandchildren’s lifetimes.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Your daughter has tried this on me before...as has your wife...”

Jamie shook his head, not having realized John had perhaps already heard the term time-traveler. “Listen to me, man. It’s true, all of it, everything they told ye. Claire, and Brianna, they have seen a world where…where women sit in university wi’ men, learning alongside them. A world where colored men and women havena been in chains fer generations, where they work and learn alongside anyone else, as equals. A world where…where people like you, men and women, will…stand at a great Stone Wall, and…and begin a revolution, much like our revolution here, a revolution to be…to be free to…live, and be happy, as you say.”

Jamie had recalled all his wife and daughter had said with as much clarity as he could.

“I don’t…” John shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

“Ye dinna have to,” Jamie said urgently. “Ye just…ye must ken the truth of what I tell ye. I wouldna lie to ye now, man. Everything I’ve told ye is true, all of it. When the world is…older, and wiser…life will be fairer.” He squeezed harder on John’s hands until he was sure they’d go numb. “I swear it.”

“Someday…” John said, his stare blank, his eyes glassy.

“Aye, John. Someday.”

——

By the time I had finished seeing to the abdominal pain of one of the other boarders at the inn, administered the proper treatment, and logged it all into my medical journal, only two hours had passed. With nothing else to do with myself while Jamie was gone, I tried reading, but my mind could not focus on the words in front of me. I could think of nothing but the state John must be in right now, whether or not Jamie’s plan would work. My thoughts raced over and over in my fevered brain until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I took to pacing the room. When the door opened, with no warning of Jamie’s arrival, being that his feet never made any bloody noise, I had no conception of how much time had passed, how long I had spent pacing.

I stopped, and I watched with bated breath as Jamie shut the door behind him. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to stop my trembling.

“Everything went well, then? You were able to see him? Tell him everything?”

And then Jamie turned around, and I felt something tear through my chest.

“What happened?” I rushed forward, my eyes raking over every inch of his face, my hands squeezing his shoulders. “Oh, God, is he already…? Did they…? Jamie, look at me! Talk to me!”

I resisted the urge to slap him across the face just before he sank to his knees at my feet, myself alone entirely unable to hold him up. I felt bile rise in my throat as I threw myself to the floor to meet him.

“Jamie…Jamie, what…?”

He was weeping, sobbing.

Completely bewildered, I said nothing more; I pulled him into my arms, pressing his head to my breast, and he threw his arms around my waist so forcefully it knocked the wind out of me. I rocked him wordlessly, without even thinking to do so, stroking his hair, kissing the crown of his head. I hadn’t seen him cry like this since he’d broken down at the sight of Brianna’s photograph, so to see him like this was incredibly jarring. It made me want to cry, even not knowing the reason why. 

He carried on, and I comforted him, pushing down everything in me that screamed to demand answers. When I found myself in such a state, Jamie never demanded anything more than I was ready to give, and I would return this, no matter how difficult it was for me.

Just when I thought I might suffocate from his hold around my middle, Jamie finally spoke, garbled and muffled into my dress. 

“He’s going tae hang.”

My throat would not produce sound for a moment. “But you…the plan…you told him…?”

“He doesna want to be saved.”

“What? Is he mad?”

“He willna put us in danger. He doesna want to be saved. He’s going tae hang…”

Jamie, my Jamie, my Highland warrior, my mighty general, sounded like a broken, shattered little boy. And before I could think to process why he was so shattered, I felt my own heart breaking. How could this be? How could John just resign himself to die?

He was going to die!

I thoroughly fell apart myself, the thought of John being torn from me just as I'd found myself a fond and true friend in him enough to break my heart.

The thought didn't occur to me until later, much later, around three in the morning, Jamie and I both wide awake in our bed at the inn, unable to sleep, knowing what awaited us at dawn. I was too distraught for my own loss, busied with crying and mourning preemptively, to entertain the thought that something had happened.

It did not make sense for Jamie to grieve John as deeply as he was. Not unless something had changed. When I asked, gentle as I could, while running my fingers through Jamie's curls, our foreheads pressed together, I watched more tears leak out of his eyes and onto the pillows beneath our heads.

“He loves me.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying of course he does, looking at every inch of Jamie’s face to discern any other hint of where this was going. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Oh, Jamie...you never understood, did you…?”

He fell apart again, clinging to me for dear life, and I cried silently into his hair.

Jamie couldn’t bear the insinuation that John and I had had sex because John wanted to have sex with Jamie. Jamie couldn’t bear any insinuation about John’s desire for Jamie. His knee-jerk reaction to such things was similar to the shell-shock I’d seen during and right after the war in my own time, similar to Jamie’s own shell-shock after Wentworth.

So somehow, John’s love, the depth and purity of it, its enduring power, its sacredness, had entirely eluded Jamie, because he’d been too busy looking at it all completely wrong.

A million questions swirled in my mind and made their way to my tongue, but I swallowed them down. It would do no good. It would only serve to bring Jamie more pain. What had transpired belonged to John and Jamie alone, the same way what had transpired months ago belong to John and I alone.

“I told him,” Jamie began, and my stomach lurched, my mind jumping to a conclusion it had no right to reach.

“About yer future.”

Oh.

Why would he do that…?

“About the Stone Wall.”

My mind swam with confusion, and then when it clicked, my whole chest ached like it was on fire from within.

“I had to tell him…promise him that…someday…”

He couldn’t go on.

“I understand,” I whispered hoarsely. I fervently kissed his head, pressing him deeper into the crook of my neck.

Brianna had mentioned the Stonewall riots in passing one singular time in Jamie’s presence, and Jamie had looked between her and I skeptically, listening, but not contributing to the conversation. I hadn’t expected him to. He’d hummed thoughtfully once, and it was dropped, the topic of conversation shifting elsewhere. I hadn’t realized he’d retained enough to detail it to someone else.

I hadn’t realized…that he’d cared. Cared enough to remember.

I swallowed more tears, stifling a sob bubbling in my throbbing chest.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” He clung to me, still weeping. “I…I don’t…I don’t know what to say…”

It was true. I had no idea what John was to Jamie anymore, and perhaps I never would. And that didn’t bother me as much as I’d once thought it would.

“Just…” he said, inhaling slowly with a great shudder. “Tell me…tell me more…about someday.”

After pressing another kiss to his head, I did.

——

I used to believe

In the days I was naive

That I'd live to see

A day of justice dawn

 And though I will die

Long before that morning comes

I'll die while believing still

It will come when I am gone

 Someday

When we are wiser

When the world's older

When we have learned

I pray

Someday we may yet live

To live and let let live

 Someday

Life will be fairer

Need will be rarer

Greed will not pay

 Godspeed

This bright millennium

On it's way

Let it come someday

 When the world's older

When things have changed

 Someday

These dreams will all be real

Till then, we'll

Wish upon the moon

Change will come

One day

Someday

Soon

[bold-writing]

The One With Silver Scars || 8 || Bleeding Innocence

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of abuse, violence.

Words: 2700+

Previous || Next

~8~

All the years spent under the thumbs of her parents, Adelais learned skills that most people would disregard as useless. Among those was sleeping in some of the most uncomfortable conditions. She had slept on the stone-cold concrete of the basement floor, nothing to soften the surface or keep her warm. The drafty space of the attic where she encountered a disturbing number of bugs, only a moldy rug between her and the wood. Forced to stand in one place that would result in punishment if they found she had moved come morning.

 Sitting propped against the wall is far from the worst sleeping spot she had encountered so far.

 When her eyes opened the sight that greeted her was Claire and Marcia spooned together on one bed and Casey stretched out on the other. It must have been early; she woke at 4 in the morning like she was on a damned wind-up clock. But this was different. She hadn’t woken from the routine she had built up over the years, something had woken her.

That’s when she noticed there was more lighting in the room than there should have been. Only the small lights on the backwall were on, leaving just the faintest glow above the heads of the other girls.

 Casting her eyes to her left, she kept herself carefully emotionless when she came face to face with the body of Dennis and Patricia—because it was clearly not them—smiling at her almost manically. Wearing what seemed to be a black and yellow tracksuit, the zipper of the coat undone enough to show a plain white shirt beneath. Legs were crossed and he rested his back against the doorframe so he could face her.

 “Hello,” she greeted quietly, trying not to wake the other three.

 How many personalities did this person have? Which was the original?

 “I’m Hedwig,” he responded. The lisp that altered his words slightly caused her a moment of shock—a child? “How do you sleep like that?” he inquired a moment later, tipping his head to the side as he regarded how she was sitting against the wall—actually quite similar to him, since her legs were crossed, and her hands were tucked together in her lap.

 His voice was slightly louder than hers. Doubtless enough to wake the others soon. “Practice,” was her calm response.

 Before he even opened his mouth, Adelais lifted a finger to her lips to convey his need to be quiet. He paused at the commend, his smile dimming as his expressed became a mix of a frown and a pout.

 “You’ll wake them up,” she explained quietly, using the same finger she had shushed him with to point over to Marcia and Claire.

 The scoff he released as more like air pushed between his bottom lip and his top teeth, like someone blowing a raspberry. “So?”

 Ducking her head closer to him, like a secret was being shared, Adelais kept her eyes carefully trained on his. “I don’t want to wake them; they’re mean to me.” His expression hardened, finally looking similar to Dennis. “They say I’m crazy.”

 Hedwig sucked on his lip, maintaining the sour look on his face. “The others used to be mean to me,” he responded in a much quieter tone. “But Miss. Patricia and Mr. Dennis keep the others away. Now, Miss. Patricia sings to me sometimes—she’s not mad at me anymore.” He smiled, but it wobbled slightly as he tried to mask the turmoil of emotions welling to the surface.

 Adelais’s answering smile was sad. “It must be nice to have someone who takes care of you.”

 “Who-who takes care of you?” Hedwig shuffled forward, separating from the doorframe to put less space between them.

 She shook her head. “No one, I take care of myself.”

 With the innocence only a child could have, he frowned at her words. “That sounds lonely.”

 “It is. Mr. Dennis has been keeping me company. When he can. I’m sure he’s very busy so he usually has to leave. Does he know you’re here?”

 A look of panic came to his face and Adelais knew she had asked the wrong question. “No-no…no, he’ll be angry if he knows I took the light.” Pulling back abruptly, the shifting of the keys next to him on the floor was enough to alert Marcia and Claire, who jerked up with dual gasps of fright.

 Hedwig looks over at them, panicked again.

 “I was quiet!” he declared to Adelais, his voice still in a whisper. He looked upset, afraid—it was how she used to look when she was younger and had displeased her mother. Waiting for the yelling or lashing to start, punishment for disobedience. “I-I was quiet!”

 Nodding her head calmly, she hoped she conveyed assurance with the small smile she allowed. “You were. It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” Thankfully, the devastated look on his face softened before there was the threat of tears.

 Marcia and Claire were whispering Casey’s name, trying to wake up the other girl as well. It drowned out what Hedwig and Adelais were saying to one another, keeping the quiet assurance between the two of them. She half expected Hedwig to leave now that the girls were awake—Casey jolted up with a gasp once she realized there was someone else in the room—but he just turned himself around to lean on the side of the doorframe closest to her.

 The upset already forgotten.

 Silence stretched for a moment as he smiled at the others. “I’m Hedwig,” he finally declared, so similar to his introduction to her. “I have red socks.”

 The simplicity of youthful minds.

 His expression shifted then, the smile disappearing as he bit at his lip like someone dying to tell a secret. “He’s on the move.” Looking over his shoulder to where Adelais was still leaning against the wall, the manic smile returned as he ducked his head while supressing a laugh.

 Casey’s voice was raspy from sleep. “What?”

 The giggle escaped, Hedwig turning his head away. Excited to know something they didn’t. “He’s…on…the…move,” he repeated slowly, drawing out the last word like the last note of a song.

 “Mr. Dennis?” Adelais asked quietly, though she already suspected he was talking about someone quite different.

 “Nope,” he responded, popping the ‘p’ as grinned at her. Ducking his head, he turned the grin on the other three. “Someone’s coming for you, and you’re not gunna like it.” Next, he faced Adelais. “They make noises in their sleep. I thought you were dead.”

 Marcia interrupted quietly, “Tell us.”

 He looked like he wanted to, opening and closing his mouth like he couldn’t quite decide what he wanted to say. Instead, he declared “I’m not supposed to say” while turning his head to look out into the other room, where Dennis and Adelais would stand for the few minutes of quiet. “But!” he continued, turning back, “He’s done awful things to people and he’ll do awful things to you. I have blue socks, too.”

 “We’re his food?”

 Hedwig extended his arms in an ‘I dunno’ gesture, making a face while doing so. He nearly smacked Adelais with his hand as he stretched back but she quickly lifted her leg until her knee was drawn up to her chest. The rush of blood back into her feet set them aflame with pins and needles. She dutifully ignored the sensations.

 Casey leaned forward, dawning with realization. “How old are you?”

 “Nine,” he declared proudly.

 “So you’re not the guy that took us?”

 She’s as hopeless as the other two.

 Adelais resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Hedwig scoffed at her. When she confirmed that he wasn’t Patricia, either, he made a face. “What are you, blind?” Then to Adelais, slightly quieter, “Is she?”

 “No, just ignorant,” she answered just as quietly. “But be careful, she’s smarter than the others.” Hedwig leaned closer to her, nearly falling from against the doorframe, as he met her gaze. Her whispered warning was so quiet, she knew the others couldn’t understand her. He frowned with concentration. “She lies.”

 Casey spoke over her, almost drowning out Adelais’s whispered warnings. “You don’t know how they think?”

 “No, they don’t tell me much. I just had a hot-dog.” Adelais wasn’t sure if it was the shortness of his attention, or a smart trick to throw someone off the current topic, but the random bits of information was actually clever. Not enough to deter the three teens, but still clever.

 “Could you help us, Hedwig?”

 Similar to her question earlier, Hedwig recoiled. “No, I’m…I’m not even supposed to be here. I stole the light from Mr. Dennis, but he’ll be back real soon and…I can’t steal the light for too long for he’ll know and get angry.” His concern was real; he knew he would get in trouble for doing someone he was told not to. Yet, the curiosity of a nine-year-old was a powerful thing. “Et cetera.”

 Looking between the three on the cots, his eyes darting back and forth, he suddenly reached back and gave Adelais’s leg a playful shove—it was stronger than that of a child, using the strength housed in the adult body he lived within. “See ya!”

 “Wait,” Casey blurted out. Hedwig stopped while still crouched at the door, reaching back to grab the doorhandle as he prepared to close it behind him. His attention was caught, however, as he glanced back at Casey.

 “Be careful, she’s smarter than the others.”

 Looking first at Casey, his eyes eventually drifted over to Adelais. The green of her eyes caught slightly in the light spilling into the room, constricting her pupils to show the ring of hazel around their center. Her lips were slightly thinned, one of the small shows of emotion she allowed. “We heard something,” Casey continued while he was paused in the doorway. “We didn’t understand it before, but now we do.”

 Carefully sliding off the cot, she situated herself in the center of the room. Still far from the door, but now in Hedwig’s direct path. The child noticed when Adelais’s eyebrows twitched down—such a small motion it was almost unseen—and remembered Dennis’s face doing the same thing when there was something he didn’t like.

 “Do you know what we heard?” Casey asked quietly, baiting him forward.

 Adelais knew what she was doing. Hedwig was a child, more easily manipulated when compared to Dennis or Patricia. Dennis scared them too much, and they had only had one encounter with Patricia. Therefore, the nine-year-old made the easier target. It was a sound strategy to try and escape, but the thought of manipulating a child made her stomach clench with discomfort.

 He wasn’t just someone pretending to be a child, this was a personality that knew nothing else. It was the same as if she had actually manipulated a little boy that had the body to match the personality. It was clear that he feared the anger of both of the adult personalities, and Casey was setting him up to take the brunt of that anger.

 The only reprieve was that they shared a body, there was no way to physically punish him.

 But she knew all about emotional and mental torture.

 Unfortunately, Hedwig was too young to see those signs and his attention was caught. “What’d you hear?”

 “Come here,” Casey prompted. “I’ll whisper it to you.”

 Giggling to himself, Hedwig cast one last glance at Adelais before he released the doorhandle. “Okay.” Keeping himself crouched down, he waddled forward on his feet while his hands cradled his knees. Adelais wanted to call him back, to stop what Casey was planning, but perhaps this could be to her advantage as well.

 Hedwig stopped just shy of Casey, ducking his head down so she could whisper into his ear.

 She couldn’t be sure if it was done on purpose, but Casey’s whisper was too low for Adelais to hear. She was probably mimicking what Adelais had done just a minute before, whispered to Hedwig about Casey. Green eyes keenly watched Casey’s face—trying to read her lips unsuccessfully—and Hedwig’s back. Whatever she whispered was short and prompted Hedwig to lean back.

 “You’re a big fibber,” he accused, the playfulness gone from his tone.

 “I never lie, Hedwig.”

 “She lies.”

 His panic was back, bringing with it the slight stutter in his words. “But…but Mr. Dennis said that he followed those two girls for four days, and he said that he knew that they were the ones that-that-that he would want.”

 Adelais knew exactly what Casey had told him. It was risky. Casey continued to whisper to him, her voice low and staying between her and Hedwig. But he wasn’t as subtle; listening to Hedwig’s reactions allowed Adelais to piece together what was whispered to him. What lies were spread.

 How to counter them.

 With the same low, waddling steps, Hedwig backed up a few paces. Putting distance between him and Casey. “N-no…Miss….Miss. Patricia said she’s not mad anymore!” His voice rose with the swell of emotion Casey’s words caused. “She-she sings to me!” Looking to Adelais caused an abrupt swell of anger at Casey to almost choke her. His face was broken and distraught, a tear tracking down his cheek. She wanted to console him.

 How often had she cried alone because she had displeased her mother? As a child, she could never understand why they hated her so much.

 “I was quiet!” He was yelling now, emotions getting the best of him. “I-I didn’t wake them, you said-you said I did nothing wrong!”

 Her body moved before she made the decision, lifting her hands toward him. He waddled forward, still babbling about being quiet, and being good, until Adelais’s chilled fingers gently stroked across his cheeks to collect the tears that fell. She shushed him softly, meant more as a calming sound than to warn him he was being loud. Sniffling strongly, he leaned into her hands as she continued to stroke her thumbs across his cheeks.

 “You’re okay, Hedwig. Don’t cry. She’s lying.”

 Casey wasn’t about to give up, assuming that the emotional response from him meant that he believed her lie. “I think Miss. Patricia’s still a little mad at you. But if we hurry, we can all get out.”

 He pulled from her hands so suddenly they remained in front of her, holding only air. “You lie,” he accused. “She said you lie, you lie!” Adelais only hoped the girls assumed he was talking about Patricia. If they knew she had put the idea in his head, the tension between them would come to a breaking point. “Mr. Dennis made this room safe—it took forever without those nosey-bodies who work here finding out. You can’t get out of here!”

 The upset had turned to panic again.

 “I have to blow my nose,” he announced before rushing from the small room with the door slamming behind him. Adelais retracted her hands as Casey called out for him, desperately trying to stop him so they could escape. But the lock clicked into place, sealing them inside. She beat Casey to the door, having been right next to it, and watched as Hedwig rushed to the other door and used the set of keys he had been carrying to unlock that one as well.

 “Who’s coming?” Marcia was the first to ask, she and Claire getting up from their cot as Casey came up behind Adelais to watch him disappear out the other door.

 “No one’s coming,” Claire tried to assure.

 “Oh, shut up,” Adelais snapped, glancing over her shoulder as Casey started to pace to the wall near the bathroom. “Clearly someone is going to come here, why else would he follow you two for four days? This wasn’t spur of the moment.”

 Claire looked ready to argue again, though there was a distinct hesitation after Adelais’s last enraged reaction. “He said something,” Casey interrupted first, placing her hand on the bare drywall. “He said something about making the room safe.”

 Finally understanding Casey’s train of thought, Claire looked around the room. The wall of the bathroom and the ceiling were both covered in bare slabs of drywall, the screws holding them in place still visible. “This is all new drywall.”

Previous || Next

[scapegrace74-blog]

Halo

A/N Today the Metric Universe has a guest artist: Depeche Mode!  This story takes place soon after Help! I’m Alive, which is going to require some creative liberties on my part.  Depeche Mode did play London Stadium to a sold-out crowd (one of eight bands to ever do so), but in June 2017, not September.  

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

The song by Depeche Mode that inspired the title is here. Teenage Michelle listed to Violator on repeat, just like Claire and Jamie.  

September 21, 2017, Spitalfields, England

Jamie’s patrol boots felt like concrete weights about his feet as he plodded down the hallway towards his flat.  Most days, he loved his job.  It filled a psychic need to contribute meaningfully to society and provided a loose camaraderie that acted as a substitute family.  Physically and mentally taxing, on a bad day like today, it left him feeling wrung out and far older than his twenty-seven years.  All that kept him moving was force of habit and the promise of a glass of whisky, a long shower and a comfortable bed.

A steady thump of bass throbbed from behind his door.  Frowning, he fit the key in the lock and walked into a wall of sound.  Claire was nowhere to be seen, but her iPhone sat on the coffee table, wirelessly connected to the tele’s surround sound system.  He tapped the screen once and lowered the volume significantly.

The sudden lull drew his roommate from the kitchen, where she’d evidently been cleaning.  She was wearing a tattered pair of jogging pants, a plain white tshirt and rubber gloves.  Corkscrews of sweaty hair stuck to her temples.

“Jamie, hi.  Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Understandable.   Depeche Mode, Sassenach?”

Her lips curled in a shape he knew was supposed to be a grin.  Something was missing, however.  A spark, a hint of magic, the ineffable quality he associated with Claire.

“Are ye alright, Claire?  Ye seem... I dinna ken, but not yerself,” he inquired as he opened the liquor cabinet.  Raising a nearly full bottle of Glenfiddich in silent query, he set about pouring two healthy glasses.  When they met back at the sofa, Claire had removed her cleaning attire and tried to arrange her hair in a slightly neater bun.

“I could ask the same of you,” she countered.  “You look done in.  Rough day?  Cheers,” she added, raising the amber liquid.

“Slainte,” he replied, letting the spicy heat coat his throat and settle like an ember in his belly.

“Do you ever...” Claire began before subsiding into silence.

“Do I ever what?” he urged.

“Some days I just feel as though no matter what I do, the cosmic ledger is not going to balance, you know?  That there isn’t enough good in me to balance out all the bad.”

He forced himself to mutely accept her statement, no matter how much he wanted to dispute it.  She was exposing a chink in her formidable armour.  His job was to listen, not debate.  He couldn’t help wanting to peer past the small opening to the burning core within, though.

“I loved this album as a lad,” he offered instead.  “Dark an’ moody an’ all about sex. My Mam hated Personal Jesus, complained twas blasphemous.”

Claire chuckled softly.  She was looking at a point over his shoulder, visibly straining to reach some buried emotion.

“When things got horrific at Camp Bastion, the surgeons would listen to music, ridiculously loud music.  Artillery fire, evac choppers, the wails of wounded soldiers, it drowned them all out.  Or at least that was the idea.  The camp only had an old portable stereo on its last legs, held together with suture wire.  By the end of my year, Violator was the only tape that fucking thing hadn’t eaten.  This is the soundtrack of the worst moments of my life.”

He could have asked why she would want to relive that personal hell, but he already knew the answer.  It was the same reason he still rushed into a burning building, even as the memory of his accident played havoc with his PTSD.  Survival was an act of redemption.  You fought your demons because if you didn’t, the demons had already won.

They sat beside each other on the sofa listening to the melancholy songs on repeat.  When her glass was empty, Jamie poured another two fingers unprompted.  He didn’t ask what happened during her hospital shift to send her thoughts back to Afghanistan.  He could guess.   She didn’t ask why his uniform smelled of ashes and burnt flesh.  She could guess.   Sometimes the hurt didn’t need to be articulated.  Sometimes silent complicity was the only cure.

***

October 20, 2017, London Stadium, England

She’d almost missed the envelope entirely.   Bleary eyed after an overnight shift, her plan was to sleep through the rest of the day and wake up tomorrow in her thirties.  Checking the surface of her desk for mail out of habit on her way to the shower, Jamie’s bold scrawl, black across ivory paper, caught her eye.

Happy Birthday, Claire.

Her finger shook as she unsealed the feather-light rectangle.  A ticket stub was the only content.  Her hand covered her mouth as she drew in a quivering lungful of air.  She had no idea how he even knew it was her birthday, never mind how he happened upon the perfect gift.

After a rejuvenating nap, shower and thirty minutes trying on every outfit in her wardrobe, she now stood in an endless security lineup in the hulking shadow of London Stadium.  A soft brush against her bare shoulder and a hint of his familiar scent were the cues that sent her heart beating against her ribs.  She looked up into the sunrise of his warmest smile.

“G’d evenin’, Sassenach,” he greeted.  “Fancy meetin’ ye here.”

She shook her head in mock exasperation.

“Really, Jamie.  I can’t believe you.  How ever did you even get tickets?  It’s been sold out for months.”

“Och, twas nothin’.  The sister of one of the lads on my engine works fer their record label,” he demurred, running a hand through his curls.   She could see they were still damp.  He must have showered at the station and come straight from work.  The bright floodlights caught the blond tones of the stubble along his jaw.  She looked away, feeling a lurch in her stomach that had nothing to do with missing dinner.

They chatted easily as they slowly advanced through the metal detectors and into the colossal stadium.

“I’ve never been inside,” she remarked, craning her head upwards.  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“Aye, tis.  This way, birthday girl.  We’re on the floor.”  Jamie extended a courtly arm and shepherded her into the steadily growing crowd.

At concerts in her youth, she always started near the stage but was gradually pushed backwards by larger, rowdier fans.  It took several songs for her to realize why that wasn’t happening.  Jamie had planted himself directly behind her and was acting like a breakwater, parting the crowd with his tall, broad form before they could push up against her.   She felt something vigilant loosen along her spine.  Before long, she was dancing and singing along, completely lost in the moment.

Looking up over her shoulder at his proud, chiseled features as they were washed in multi-hued lights, she caught his eye and smiled.  He bent close, his warm breath feathering her hair as he whisper-yelled into her ear.

“Happy birthday, Sassenach.”

Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and placed a careful kiss near the corner of his mouth.  Lying in bed that night with the echo of the music still ringing in her ears, it was the memory of his shyly delighted grin that lit her mind like a thousand stars.

[bee-kathony]

The Oath | Ch. 27 “I Smell Snow” 

a/n: thank you so much for reading! only good things ahead! 

Arc I | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 | Ch. 19 | Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25 | Ch. 26 

January 17th, 2020

Madeline was oblivious to her joyous surroundings. At four months old, she was a wee thing, resting safely in her rocking carrier. Meanwhile, her parents and other family members were celebrating a victory.

“I canna believe it!” Jenny smiled and hugged Claire for the fourth time that evening. They had all gathered at Jamie and Claire’s for a celebratory dinner. The trial was over, the lab shut down, and Frank was in prison. To top it off, Jamie was Madeline’s father after all.

“Well I can,” Claire sat down on the kitchen stool. “It was a bloody messy business. Involving lawyers and a judge, but I’m glad it’s finally over.”

“Twas worth the fight,” Murtagh said as he came into the kitchen holding two bottles of red wine. “That bastard Randall will hopefully get some sense knocked into him.”

“You didn’t even meet the man,” Jamie laughed as he sliced the homemade pizzas. “He was a bastard, but how do ye even ken?”

“I ken he’s a right git, because he tried to mess wi’ the Fraser’s and anyone wi’ half a brain kens better than to do that,” Murtagh grunted and patted Jamie roughly on the back.

“I just can’t believe I lived with him for years, and almost married him,” Claire buried her face into her hands, embarrassed.

“Well, ye didna marry him,” Jamie said. “Instead, ye’ll be marryin’ me and for that I am thankful.”

Claire looked up and reached her hand across the counter, taking Jamie’s. He squeezed it and then leaned over to place a kiss on her palm.

“No kissin’ over my pizza!” Ian shouted as he came into the room carrying Kitty, who would be one in May.

Jamie released Claire’s hand and returned to the pizza, finishing cutting the last of it.

“Dinner is served! There’s pizza with all the meat ever created, one wi’ only the veggies and then a plain cheese for the picky eaters,” he waved his hands over the assortment of pizza.

“It looks delicious, Jamie. Thank you,” Claire grinned.

Ian, Jenny and Murtagh went first, picking up several slices of pizza and going to sit at the dining table. Geillis would be arriving soon with Lily, so Claire made sure to save some veggie pizza for them both.

“Does it feel a bit odd to you to be celebrating someone going to prison?” Claire asked Jamie quietly as they served pizza onto their own plates.

“Nah, Sassenach,” Jamie said. “Frank did a bad thing, and he could’ve done worse. I ken that ye feel guilty.” He raised his brows as Claire started to object that she wasn’t, but he could read her glass face. “Tis no a life sentence anyways,” he shrugged. “There’s nothin’ wrong wi’ havin’ a party to celebrate the fact that that nuisance of a man is out of our lives!”

Jamie kissed her on the lips, and lingered there for a moment, cherishing the time with his almost wife.

“Have I told you how excited I am to marry you?” Claire grinned and pecked his lips again.

“Aye, but I willna ever tire from hearin’ ye say it,” he smiled.

Twenty minutes later, Geillis and Lily walked in, shivering from the cold outside.

“Brrr!” Geillis shook her head and snowflakes fell to the ground where they immediately melted on the hardwood. “I didna check the weather, tis snowing!”

“Oh, really?” Claire glanced out through the open door to see a heavy fall of white crisp snow. “Maybe we can take Madeline out later and build a snowman!”

“Aye, wi’ a carrot for a nose,” Jamie laughed. “Come in and sit lasses,” he waved over the new guests. “We saved ye some veggie pizza if ye like.”

“Thank you, that would be great, ye old fox,” Geillis grinned and pinched Jamie’s cheek as she sat down.

Lily was a beautiful girl, someone that Claire had only talked to a few times at the hospital. She looked around nervously, before Geillis finally introduced her to them all.

“I’d like everyone to meet my girlfriend, Lily Waters,” she smiled proudly.

“Excuse me?” Jenny looked at the girl wide eyed. “Yer last name is Waters and yer first name is Lily? Did yer parents no think to spare ye from that?”

Lily laughed, a musical sound. “I get it all the time. In primary school I was teased constantly for being the white lily floating on water.”

“I think it’s a beautiful name,” Geillis kissed her cheek and it made Claire happy to see her friend in such high spirits.

They all gathered around the table, and before they dug into the cheesy pizza, Jamie raised his glass and the others did the same.

“I just want to say a few things while I have ye all here,” he smiled, clearing his throat as he looked around at all their friends and family. “It means a great deal to myself and to Claire that ye’ve stuck wi’ us through this difficult time. Whenever we needed ye, ye were always there for us, so we say thank ye and that we appreciate ye all verra much.”

Jamie looked at Claire now, tears brimming to the surface at he looked at the love of his life. “Sassenach, my own,” he said softly, and all eyes were on them. “I’ve made two oaths now, one to always be there for ye and another to tell the truth, and I just want ye to ken that I will always tell ye the truth, and I will always be there for ye. I love ye so much, Claire, I truly dinna ken what I would do w’out ye and Mads in my life. Ye’ve made me a better man, a father and soon a husband.”

Claire smiled, and wiped the tears that fell from her eyes.

“I love you too, Jamie,” was all she could say and then raised her glass and they all clinked their glasses and drank.

The pizza wouldn’t stay hot forever, so they finally started eating, groans of satisfaction echoing around the table.

“So, now that the trial is over, have ye two picked a proper date?” Jenny asked Claire.

“Yes,” Claire nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll have the wedding outside in the garden at Lallybroch of course. And we’re going to get married on June sixteenth!”

“Ah, sounds like a perfect day for a weddin’!” Jenny smiled. “I canna wait! We’ve never had a weddin’ at Lallybroch. Ian and I were marrit at the local kirk, so I can just picture how beautiful it will all look.”

“We were hopin’ that Madeline would be able to walk down the aisle, but come June it might be a bit too soon,” Jamie said, a bite of pizza in his mouth. “I suppose I can carry her,” he grinned.

“And we’d love if young Jamie would be the ring bearer and Maggie a flower girl along with Kitty,” Claire said to Ian and Jenny.

“Och, I’m sure the bairns would love that,” Ian nodded. “They’ll do it!”

Over the course of the meal, they continued to talk about wedding plans. Everyone was in high spirits, which was refreshing for a change. After a long month and a half of uncertainty for their future, the future finally looked bright.

Once all the pizza was eaten and the plates were cleared and put into the dishwasher, they all gathered in the living room.

“Yer more than welcome to stay, we have plenty of drinks, but I was wonderin’ if ye’d all like to join us in the backyard to help build Madeline her first snowman?” Jamie asked and there were smiles and nods all around.

Bundled up in their warmest coats, hats and scarves, they all ventured out into the snow. Jamie carried Madeline in his arms, only her face peeking out from the big fluffy coat she had on. The snow fell down quickly, covering their fresh snow tracks. It was magical.

Jamie couldn’t wait for the day that Madeline would be able to help him build a snowman, but for now, he settled for having his family roll up piles of snow into balls and stack them on top of one another.

“I don’t think I’ve actually ever built a snowman,” Claire said as she gathered long sticks for its arms. “My parents and I always stayed inside whenever the snow came.”

“Ye mean, ye’ve never even had a snowball fight?” Murtagh asked, to which Claire shook her head.

“Never.”

Claire bent down to roll up snow to pack onto the snowman’s head, and then out of nowhere a ball of ice cold snow hit her square in the back. She turned to see Murtagh laughing, his hands covered with the evidence.

“Murtagh! You bastard!” Claire laughed, and gathered up a ball of snow in her hands, tossing it in Murtagh’s general direction. It missed and it only made him laugh more. His mouth was open when a snowball hit him in the face.

“Take that ye clot heid,” Jenny shouted, laughing as she rolled another one and hit him in the stomach.

Jamie watched all of this from their back patio, making sure that Madeline was out of the line of fire. Snowballs flew around the yard, hitting people and some missing by an inch.

“Do ye think this is funny?” Jamie asked Madeline who was grinning, her smile toothless.

Geillis scooped up a big ball of snow and aimed it right at Claire’s head and it exploded in her bird’s nest that was her hair. She squeaked and shook her head, trying to get the snow out.

Glancing over at Jamie, Claire gathered up a little ball of snow and walked over to him.

“You’re missing out,” she said, a little breathless.

“I’m holdin’ Mads, I’m no’ missin’ out on anythin’,” he said, and kissed her. Claire wrapped her arm around his neck and slipped her hand into the back of his coat, releasing the little ball of snow.

Jamie gasped, his mouth parting against hers.

“Sassenach!” He shouted, but Claire was already running away, laughing.

“Janet!” Jamie shouted for his sister and she came over. “Will ye hold Mads? I need to make sure Claire gets what she deserves.”

“Aye, brother,” Jenny grinned and held out her hands for her niece.

Scooping up a huge snowball, Jamie aimed for Claire and hit her in the leg. She gasped, turned to him and threw one at his chest. Snow was flying in all directions, shrieks of laughter echoing around outside.

After a few more minutes of dodging and throwing, they all stopped and gathered around their half built snowman.

“Truce,” Murtagh said. “My hands are fit to freeze off!”

“Aye,” Jamie huffed. “But we canna go inside just yet until we finish Madeline’s snowman.”

Once she felt it was safe and free from flying snowballs, Jenny came back over, holding Madeline against her. Within a few minutes, they had finished the snowman. Claire went back inside to grab a carrot for the nose — it was long and very orange.

“I got two Oreos for the eyes as well,” Claire said and held out her hand, letting Jamie take them. He placed them in the eye slots and then Claire slid the nose into place. “There, the perfect snowman!”

“I wouldna say perfect,” Ian smirked. “But it’s close.”

“Do ye like it, Mads?” Jamie asked his daughter, stroking her cheek, and she smiled, waving her hands.

“I think she does!” Jenny smiled.

“Oh, let me take a picture!” Claire said, and walked over to the railing of the patio fence, setting her phone down and pressing the ten second timer. She ran back to get into place next to Jamie and posed for the photo.

The flash went off and the moment was captured. A family, celebrating the well earned peace that they had fought hard for.

“Looks great,” Claire said as she looked at her phone. “Come inside and I’ll make some hot cocoa.” Everyone cheered and went inside, making sure to knock off the snow on their shoes before entering.

++++++

After everyone had left an hour later, Claire and Jamie cleaned up from their gathering. Now they were both upstairs in Madeline’s room, laying her to sleep. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her little blue eyes shut and she was lightly snoring.

“She had a busy day,” Claire said, looking down at her beautiful daughter.

“We’ve all had a few busy days,” Jamie kissed Claire’s temple, and smoothed his hand over her head.

“And there’s nothing more I would rather do than get into a hot shower with my soon to be husband and then lie in bed making love all night long,” Claire wiggled her brows and moved her hands to cup Jamie’s bum.

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he kissed her. “But I dinna think I can resist ye when I have ye covered in suds,” his hands drifted down to her waist.

“We better get in that shower before we do something unspeakable in front of our daughter,” Claire laughed quietly and then tugged on Jamie’s hand, pulling him to their bedroom.

She turned the shower on hot, waiting for it to heat up. Claire stepped back, looking at Jamie as she lifted her sweater off her head, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers hooked into her pants, pulling them down and stepping out of them. Jamie watched all of this, leaning against the bathroom door.

“Are you going to shower in your clothes?” Claire asked.

“Nah,” he smirked and reached behind him, pulling his shirt off. As he pulled off his pants and briefs, Claire unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties.

“Christ,” Jamie sighed and took a step forward. “Ye truly are the most beautiful woman, Claire. And I thank God every day for bringin’ ye to me.”

“I love you, Jamie,” Claire said, wrapping both arms loosely around his waist. “I love our life, I love our daughter, and I plan on loving you until I’m very old.”

“Until we’re both ninety-six?” He asked.

“Until we’re one hundred and twenty at least,” she smiled.

Steam filled the bathroom, and Jamie stepped into the shower, bringing Claire with him. He made sure that she stood under the water, her hair falling down wet over her shoulders.

“Turn around, Sassenach,” Jamie said and she turned until her back was to his chest. Jamie reached for the shampoo and poured it into his hands, then began to massage it into Claire’s scalp.

“Mmm,” she moaned, a low hum rumbling through her chest. “That feels wonderful.”

His strong fingers rubbed over her scalp, making sure to cover it with shampoo and then he rinsed it out, watching as the soap ran down along her body. He pumped conditioner in his hands and lathered the ends of her hair. Before turning her around, Jamie pumped more conditioner into his hands and moved his large hands over her breasts.

“Ooo,” she crooned, and pressed her body flush against his.

“Was I too rough on ye?” Jamie smirked and massaged her breasts, twisting her nipples lightly.

“I like it,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering.

Jamie flicked his fingers over her pink nipples, loving how they felt hard against his palms. Slowly, he slid one hand down her stomach, pressing firmly over her pubic bone. Claire squirmed against him, feeling his cock against her bum.

“Ye’ve the softest skin I’ve ever felt, a nighean,” Jamie said and slipped his fingers inside her.

Claire moaned and leaned her head against his chest, one arm grabbing onto his thigh.

“Let go, Sassenach,” Jamie said. “Let go, I won’t let ye down.”

Chapter 28: I’d pick you a thousand times 

[chiauve]

Valley of the Dead - 1

aka That Caveman AU that nobody asked for.

Winter hadn’t yet fully set in, but it was coming fast. The always-biting winds that came from the icy shelves in the north that rimmed the edge of the world had turned fierce against their fur cloaks and it was only going to get worse. He could smell the snow in the air. They were running out of time.

Chris guided them into a valley, mostly to stay out of sight but also to look for somewhere to hole up for the night. They were in another clan’s territory now and he’d seen signs of other people earlier in the day. They couldn’t risk getting caught. While his former clan made no war with this one, that did not mean he could count on no hostilities, especially considering they were outcasts.

Well,he was, and it should have been him alone, but Claire came with him. On one hand he should have made her stay, on the other it was too likely she’d still suffer for his crime just by the fact she was his sister.

He’d rather have her nearby anyway. Both to protect her and for her company. Not that she couldn’t handle herself if necessary, he’d made sure of that and continued to do so even as they journeyed, but he was her brother and would safeguard her until she chose a man for herself to do so. Chris wouldn’t like it but that was her right and expectation.

Chris thumped the butt of his spear against a large stone jutting out of the incline, testing it before he dropped himself down and scanned the ground below him and the horizon above. A few foxes scampered across the valley floor an disappeared, probably for good until the winter passed.

Clair dropped down beside him and pulled her wolfsfur cape tighter about herself. “We need to find shelter.”

“I’m doing that.”

“I mean for the winter. We’ll freeze at this rate.”

“We don’t have enough food to last us more than a few days, much less the rest of the season.”

“We’ll go out during the day and hunt and gather what we can.One day at a time,” she smiled at him and pat his shoulder, “We’ve been through worse.”

No, they hadn’t, but he smiled back and nodded anyway.

“Alright, but let’s keep going a little longer.”

The valley wasn’t deep at this point, and looking ahead he could see out of it again onto the vast, treeless plain of scrub and icedust. The caribou and bison and other hoofed beasts had moved on, the larger predators after them or gone to ground like their man cousins until the Sun shone strong again and blessed the earth with his warmth. For now the Sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky a bit more every day, sleeping through the winter save when he would poke his head up to make sure things hadn’t completely frozen over. To keep those vast ice walls in the north right where they were, just on the horizon.

The Sun would stay awake a little longer yet for him and Claire, and yet Chris still felt uneasy. Had for a short time now. A voice inside him whispering to move on, now. So he goaded Claire on and they moved further into the valley, eyes sharp for a cave or at least an overhang to shelter them for the night. If Father Sun blessed them with a bit more of his light then the spirits of the earth cursed them and hid their gaps and openings. Chris worried. They had a spare bison blanket in the hide tarp Chris carried, and he was certain between the two of them and a fire if they stayed out of the wind they would survive the cold, but they would be vulnerable out in the open. To beasts, to weather, to men. Chris shuddered and picked up his pace, risking the noise. He shouldn’t have.

He knew they were there before he saw them, and still he could do nothing more than thrust Claire behind him as they seemed to climb from the rocks themselves. Men, spears raised and eyes bearing no friendliness. There were four of them and they circled Chris and Claire easily, even as Chris pondered his ability to fight them. He could count on Claire, and one of the men just out of the corner of his eye was slight of build. It wasn’t a good one, but there was a chance if they had to fight, but with those odds he’d rather not. He raised his hands slowly, spear point and palms up in a peaceful gesture and also in reverence to the Sun, showing these others that while not of the same clan they were of the same people, and wait. If they returned the gesture then all would be well.

The man in front of Chris stepped forward but did not return the signal, his antler spear tip edging close to Chris’ heart. He was older than Chris, taller, though not by much, his pale hair slicked back with animal fats and braided in beads, dark paint wiped across the eyes as though he was trying to hide them. It only made the blue irises stand out more. The quality of the hides he wore and the care of the beads and bone sewn into them marked him one of standing in the group.

Chris swallowed but held his pose.

The man tapped Chris in the chest with the spear but not hard enough to pierce. “Who are you?”

“I am Chris, born the year the fields of the east bloomed red.”

“And what clan claims you?”

“None.”

The man narrowed his eyes. Those expelled from their clans were done so for a reason and rarely ones those of other clans could ignore. Chris was lucky enough his crime had not been worth a marring. Apparently the man thought so as well as his attention moved past Chris.

“The girl...your woman?”

“My sister, both by parents and sign. The fields were red for her too.”

“Truly?” The man’s eyes sharpened with sudden interest as he regarded Claire, and he tapped Chris hard on the side with his spear, signalling him to move aside for a better view of her. Chris only shifted just enough to recapture the stranger’s eyes.

“We don’t mean to trespass, we’re only passing through. We’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Even in passing, with as little as you are carrying, you will eat of our lands and take what we made need,” the man snapped, annoyed at Chris’ defiance.

Before Chris could reply, the slight man to his right stepped forward and Chris realized his error. Not a slight man at all, but a woman! A hunter like the men, and judging by the hardness of her eyes and tone of her arms and legs, the bear teeth she wore around her neck had no doubt been her kill.

The woman stepped beside her leader and spoke, softly, but not attempting to hide her words. “Wesker, they could be useful. Bring them back, what good are they frozen on the plain?”

“They’d be more mouths to feed,” he growled at her, never breaking eye contact with Chris.

“The caribou were plentiful this season, we have more than enough. Besides, this man is young and strong, he could hunt if we need fresh meat, and as for the girl...” she shrugged.

The man, Wesker, sighed, then glanced beyond Chris to the two other men. “What of you two?”

“Heh, if anything, if we need more meat we send this one out into the cold to get it!”

“An extra spearhand doesn’t hurt, I guess...but whatever you want.”

Again those piercing eyes snapped to Chris’ own, then traveled upwards to the sky then the Sun, Wesker’s head tilting slightly as though he was listening. Slowly his speartip rose away from Chris, and Wesker raised one hand slightly upward, palm out. The other two men and the woman put their spears up.

Wesker gestured for the two to follow and then deftly jumped up the rocks and out of the valley. The woman gave them only the slightest of smiles before following after. Chris took Claire’s hand and the two climbed up the slope, the remaining men staying behind, just in case they tried to run, Chris supposed. But run to where?

“Well, I guess we found shelter for the winter,” he said to Claire.

“I hope so,” she whispered, then released his hand to ease her climb.

One of the men caught up and stayed beside Chris as they ascended and crested the valley edge. “I’m Joseph, born not far from here with a crown of frost,” he said proudly, “That’s Brad back there. What clan are you from?”

Chris hesitated, then sighed. “Bird clan. There was a...disagreement.”

“Anything we need to worry about?”

“No. And my sister wasn’t involved...”

Claire butt in, “Chris is my brother. Where he goes, I go.”

Joseph held up his hands in placation. “Hey, I understand, I have sister. She married off to another family, I only see her in the summer when the clan gathers for the caribou hunt. Anyway, if Wesker’s bringing you home then you’re over the worst of it.”

“Wesker’s your leader?”

“Yeah, he runs this group. Carry your weight and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Sounds fair,” Chris said.

The band traveled across the open plain, the wind picking up as the Sun sank lower and stretched shadows across the land. Wesker snapped at them to hurry up and their pace increased to a light jog as they headed towards a sharp drop in the land that, with the Sun setting behind them, made it seem as though the world ended as nothing but darkness stretched beyond.

“Almost there,” the woman said and pointed out into the darkness.

There was the slightest glint of sunlight reflecting off distant hills, the darkness a long shadow cast over a lake caused by the dip in the land. The band slowed and began to descend the steep drop towards the water. The surface of the lake was very still, reflecting the dark sky above and making it seem like a large patch of blackness. The Sun sank into the earth to rest in the underworld and night closed about them.

“I didn’t get your name,” Chris asked the woman.

“Jill.”

“Just Jill?”

“Just Jill,” she said, her tone emphasizing that that was all she was going to say on the matter.

“Well, Jill, thank you for speaking up for us. The best I was hoping for was a shelter for the night.”

“Honestly, Chris, you and your sister will find you’re not the only ones here who have come from strange places. We aren’t...well it doesn’t matter.”

“So this isn’t temporary? You’d let us stay? Wesker wouldn’t mind?”

“If you want to, I don’t see why not.”

Chris glanced back at Claire and she smiled. “I thought the spirits had cursed us,” she said, “but I guess we’ve been given a second chance.”

Despite the dark the strangers found their way along the rocks easily, their feet finding a path while their hands led Chris and Claire. Wesker turned before they reached the water and disappeared into the rocks. Faint, flickering light shone on the stones as he drew aside the covering of the entrance of a cave, providing a guide Chris and Claire could follow.

Within the craggy cliff beside the lake a cave lay buried among the rubble, its entrance extended by an awning of earth and hide stretched over the bones of a mammoth to keep the rain and frost from coming inside. A hide hung across the entrance, held open by Wesker, glaring at them for dawdling. Joseph and Brad slid past and vanished into the light and heat of the cave while Chris took it all in.

Wesker went in and Jill took the hide in his place, holding it open to the siblings.

“You’ll find second chances are a common thing here,” she smiled fully, and it was lovely, “Welcome to Raccoon Clan.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I think it would be very interesting to explore in a story how Claire would cope if she had to recover from a serious injury/accident/whatever and would be limited in her abilities for some time. She usually is always the one who heals other people and it would be quite the challenge for her to be a patient for a change.

It’s been a long battle but I think I finally conquered the writer’s block I’ve faced with the last stretch of this middle part to The Tagalong. Fingers crossed that the writing of it continues smooth through to the end. ~ Lenny

Fergus disobeys Jamie’s order to return to Lallybroch and instead follows them all the way to Craigh na Dun, inadvertently following Claire through the stones.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

The Tagalong - Part Twelve

Thank goodness for Fergus, Claire thought as she listened to him reading to Brianna in the other room. It was impossible for her to sit up without her head spinning and her stomach lurching. But if she didn’t at least make the effort it was impossible to breathe.

She had called Mrs. Graham who had immediately offered what help she could but there was only so much the older woman could do. She’d brought soup and other food that only needed a little heating in the oven—which Fergus could handle, though Claire knew he must mutter about it—and Mrs. Graham had also taken a bit of laundry back with her to the manse, promising to return it the next day when she came to check in on them again.

It was also, thankfully, the weekend and Claire was off of work. Fergus had only a little schoolwork to complete. And Brianna had finished cutting a new tooth and was back to being her babbling and cooperative self.

But in truth, Claire was too physically miserable to give any concern more than a cursory consideration. She just wanted—needed—to sleep and get over whatever flu it was that somehow managed to leave her both shivering and sweating at the same time.

She dozed, waking when she heard a faint knock near the door.

She squinted to find Fergus standing with Brianna in his arms, squirming to get down.

“Where are les couches?”

Claire sighed then began to push herself up to a sitting position. She had to pause before she found the strength to move her legs around to the side of the bed and pause again with her head between her knees to make stop the room spinning.

“Mamamama,” Brianna cried, lunging for Claire and causing Fergus to lurch in order to maintain his hold of her.

“I’m coming, Bree,” Claire croaked but once he’d regained a firm footing, Fergus hefted Brianna into a more secure hold and shook his head, stepping back as Claire made it to her feet and began to approach.

“Non, Mother Claire,” he scolded. “You must return to bed and rest. I can take care of Bree and will see her put to bed.”

“It’s fine, Fergus,” Claire insisted, trying to clear her throat but triggering a coughing fit instead. As she turned away to avoid coughing on her children, a whiff of Brianna’s soiled diaper made it through her clogged nasal passages and sent her running for the bathroom.

The cool, smooth floor and the chill of the porcelain basin were reassuringly solid beneath her trembling body. She decided to stay there for a while rather than confirm her fears that the only way she could reach her bed again would be if she crawled. She thought she’d heard Brianna crying but when she focused enough to listen she heard only silence. Lying down and pulling a bath towel over her like a blanket, she told herself she would need to ask Fergus about the contents of Brianna’s diaper, a brief bolt of fear shooting through her that her young and vulnerable daughter might contract the flu that was tormenting her. While her own symptoms had begun as a cold, there were some for whom digestive issues were the first sign of illness.

Sleep claimed her before her fear for Brianna grew to encompass Fergus’ welfare too.

It was impossible for her to tell how long she’d been on the floor of the bathroom when she roused again—not to vomit but because of a cramp in her leg from how she’d been lying. Her stomach felt settled enough for her to attempt returning to bed once the feeling had returned to her leg. She sat up and slowly shifted on the floor, her foot knocking something in the process.

She found a plate with dry toast and a glass of water—her foot having knocked the plate and missed the glass. There was a note as well, though she couldn’t read it in the dark. Of course, it wasn’t as though Brianna could have left it for her.

The water first—just a few sips. It both soothed and tickled her throat so that she nearly had another coughing fit. But the liquid settled comfortably in her stomach so she drank a little more and waited again. A wave of violent hunger washed over her as the intake of water triggered her stomach’s need for more. The toast was cold and plain and delicious. She nibbled it cautiously, struggling to take her own professional advice not to overdo it. When there was nothing left but the crumbs, she reached the plate and cup up to rest them on the edge of the counter and pulled herself to her shaking feet.

She was still chilled—the towel hadn’t been as warm a blanket as she needed—but she could move again without waves of nausea knocking her back to her knees. And though there remained a fog in her head, it no longer pressed in on her nose and eyes with the painful pressure that had been there before.

For the first time in a day and a half Claire could smell enough to smell herself. She smelled of vomit, even though she couldn’t find any traces on her person—to be frank, she didn’t have the energy to look very hard. The thought of a bath was nice. The steam should help with her lingering congestion and the heat would soothe the achy feeling in her limbs.

She should clean up a bit first. The plate and cup needed to be returned to the kitchen and based on the light, it was the middle of the night. She should check on Fergus and Brianna, ensure there was something Fergus could easily make for their breakfast in a few hours. Mrs. Graham wouldn’t be by again until midday but Fergus should be able to keep Brianna fed, cleaned, and occupied until then.

Had the kitchen always been so far from her bedroom?

By the time she reached the kitchen sink, she was afraid she’d drop the glass and plate and shatter them against whatever else might be in there so she simply left them on the counter before sinking to the floor and resting her forehead against the cool surface of the cabinetry that shielded the pipes. If it felt so cool to her touch, she must still be quite feverish. Or perhaps she felt so weak because she needed more to eat. The toast and water were all she’d managed to keep down in what must be close to two days.

A bit more toast and she’d have the energy to move again. The loaf of bread was still right near the toaster from when Fergus had made what he’d left for her in the bathroom. She only needed to stand… and lean against the counter. Better yet, sit on the floor some more while it cooked.

Fergus shook her shoulder and whispered harshly in her face. “What are you doing out here, Mother Claire? You are going to burn the house down if you take not more care.”

Claire blinked and gasped, started from her doze and then she coughed as the lingering wisps of smoke crawled down her throat and into her lungs.

Fergus had removed the singed toast from the toaster and set them on a plate near the window to be tossed out for the birds in the morning. Claire would have scoffed if she weren’t fighting to control her coughing and the gag reflex that it threatened to trigger. The toast wasn’t that badly burned and the smoke that it had created was little more than what might rise from the wick of a blown out candle. Besides, the toaster had done what it was supposed to and had popped the bread up when it was done—it was only the lower edge closest to the still-hot coils that were a bit singed.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Claire asked, her throat scratchy from all the coughing. She pulled herself to standing and attempted to look down at Fergus, reinforcing her authority as the parent. Except she didn’t have to look down far. He’d shot up more in his recent growth spurt than she’d realized. It wouldn’t be long before her surpassed her in height.

“I heard you banging out here as you had your fight with the toaster,” he explained.

She had had difficulty getting the bread into the thing in the near dark but she thought she’d been quieter about it.

“Are you feeling well again, Mother Claire?” Fergus asked, his eyes narrowing at her. “Did you eat what I left for you?”

“Yes,” she responded in a hissed whisper. “And it did me good so I thought I would make a little more for myself to eat. I can’t keep lying in bed when you and Bree—”

“Bree and I will be better with you in bed than with you in l’hopital,” he scolded. “Is it not you who always say not to do so much when you are ill as it will take longer for you to recover?”

Claire desperately wanted to protest but she couldn’t argue with herself and Fergus knew it only too well.

“Back to your bed with you,” he ushered her out of the kitchen. “I will make you edible toast and bring more for you to drink.”

“There should be some oatmeal in the cupboard for you to make parritch for your breakfast,” Claire explained as she accepted defeat. “And Mrs. Graham will stop by in time for luncheon. If you have trouble getting Bree dressed or if she fusses at all—”

“I can take care of my women,” Fergus assured her firmly, ignoring her as she rolled her eyes. “I will do what Milord would if he were here, and he would see you put to bed and made to rest.”

Claire couldn’t have found words to argue with him even if she’d wanted to. He led her to her bed and indeed, tucked her in when she was beneath the covers.

She caught his wrist before he left.

“Milord would be very proud of you right now,” she told him. “Thank you, Fergus. For taking such good care of me and of your sister.”

“Milord would be amazed I convinced you without more of a fight,” Fergus admitted with a laugh. “Go to sleep now, maman. I will leave something for you when you awake.”

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Just as the galloping shapes passed the rock, a flash of musket fire sparked from a hollow. There was a bloodcurdling shriek from directly behind me, and the horse leaped forward as though jabbed with a sharp stick. We were suddenly racing toward the rock across the heather, Murtagh and the other man alongside, hair-raising screams and bellows splitting the night air.

I hung onto the pommel for dear life. Suddenly reining up next to a large gorse bush, Jamie grabbed me round the waist and unceremoniously dumped me into it. The horse whirled sharply and sprinted off again, circling the rock to come along the south side. I could see the rider crouching low in the saddle as the horse vanished into the rock’s shadow. When it emerged, still galloping, the saddle was empty.

The rock surfaces were cratered with shadow; I could hear shouts and occasional musket shots, but couldn’t tell if the movements I saw were those of men, or only the shades of the stunted oaks that sprouted from cracks in the rock.

I extricated myself from the bush with some difficulty, picking bits of prickly gorse from my skirt and hair. I licked a scratch on my hand, wondering what on earth I was to do now. I could wait for the battle at the rock to be decided. If the Scots won, or at least survived, I supposed they would come back looking for me. If they did not, I could approach the English, who might well assume that if I were traveling with the Scots I was in league with them. In league to do what, I had no idea, but it was quite plain from the men’s behavior at the cottage that they were up to something which they expected the English strongly to disapprove of.

Perhaps it would be better to avoid both sides in this conflict. After all, now that I knew where I was, I stood some chance of getting back to a town or village that I knew, even if I had to walk all the way. I set off with decision toward the road, tripping over innumerable lumps of granite, the bastard offspring of Cocknammon Rock.

—Outlander (Cross Stitch)

Gif: Starz, Season One, Episode One, August 9, 2014

Book: Outlander (Cross Stitch), Chapter Three, Diana Gabaldon, 1991

Tumblr: September 2, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season One Episode One #S1E1 #Sassenach #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Three #Redcoats ambush Highlanders at Cocknammon Rock #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #7 #090218

[kkruml]

SIRUN ‘AJNABIUN// THE FOREIGNER’S SECRET Chapter 5

Thank you to everyone who has followed this story!

It started out as a fun/silly response to a prompt from the @thelallybrochlibrary April Prompt Exchange. 

@smoakingwaffles and @missclairebelle I love ye both. Ye saw me through another story and haven’t ghosted me yet.

  @cantrixgrisea This artwork continues to stun me.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

AO3

Previously

Shock.

She took two shallow breaths and then she felt large warm arms around her.

Jamie took her into his embrace and held her close. “A Dhia, yer as cold as ice.”

“Frank is gone.” Her voice felt detached from her body, and she breathed in the warmth and safety of Jamie’s form. “Dougal…”

“It’s alright lass.” His voice was calm and he took to whispering Gaelic in her ear to comfort her. “Yer alright.”

“Jamie-“Her voice was empty and cracked as she whispered his name. “…What do we do now?”

“The tablet- it’s likely in… the auto.” He paused before continuing, “There’s only one thing we can do or this is all for naught…we need to find the treasure.”

The journey back to the dig site had been quiet. Jamie gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other encompassed Claire’s hand completely as his thumb softly drew circles against her skin. Her eyes were unfocused as her mind replayed the dreadful scene just minutes before.

His eyes shifted to her face for a brief moment, seeing her lower lip firmly tucked between her teeth. “Are ye alright?”

“I just can’t be-” she paused, shaking her head. She cleared her throat, her eyebrows pulled together and chin dimpled as she struggled to compose herself. “I can’t believe they’re both… gone.”

“I’m sae sorry, lass.” His fingers tightened around her hand gently. His voice was calm, as if he was trying to sooth a timid creature from startling, “Dougal wasna such a good man… but he was a kinsman.”

Her eyes shifted to his face, seeing his mouth drawn in a hard line, lips pressed together.  Dougal was family to him, the thought cut through her and she whispered, “I’m sorry Jamie.”

She hoped her words had resonated, and the squeeze of her hand was enough to quiet them both as they made their way back to the site. Her eyes drifted down to their fingers, still intertwined, and she felt a small wave of relief wash over her. Neither of them was alone in this. They had each other. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the hot air wash over her as she felt small circles continue against her skin.

She caught the familiar silhouette of Uncle Lamb’s Panama hat as the auto pulled up next to the tent.

“Did you get the tablet?” He looked around anxiously. Seeing the empty seat, he asked, “Where’s Dougal… and Frank?”

“There was… an accident.” Her voice was detached, but steady. “They’re gone.”

“Claire, why don’t you take the tablet and find Ned. He will likely want to analyze it wi’ ye.” He gave a gentle nod to the tent behind her and she turned without a word, holding the ancient slab to her chest.

Jamie turned back to Lamb, running one hand through his hair; his voice was low and filled with regret.

“This text here- Shedet- refers to Faiyum… we’re but a few kilometers from the Oasis.” Ned’s voice was a pitch too high, he was restraining his excitement as he looked out of the tent opening. “If we travel this evening we could reach it before the heat of the sun holds us hostage in the morning.”

“Shedet. Yes that’s what Jamie and I thought last night,” her voice shook but strengthened with each word. “I think we should pack camp, water the horses, and make way as soon as possible.”

Ned looked at her, a smile pulling across his lips. “I think we may be onto something.”

“I think…” she started, taking a deep sigh before continuing, “I think this may be Hawara.”

“The supposed underground labyrinth? That expedition was well over fifty years ago.” Ned’s eyes scanned the documents, one hand scratching the stubble on his chin. “… Not a one of them has been seen since.” His voice was steady but she heard the undercurrent of doubt.

“All the more reason I think this has to be the answer.” She felt her heartbeat quicken, her mind flashing to a newspaper clipping she’d seen back in London from years earlier. “One worker who claimed to be there- he spoke of a foreign statue, hidden doors, and chiseled passageways.”

He eyed her speculatively, shuffling the papers as he muttered to himself. “Aye, though they said he’d gone mad with dehydration- hallucinated… though I suppose…”

She squared her shoulders, as a firm edge of conviction filled her voice, “We need to move camp, now.”

His eyes met hers, nodding as he answered, “As ye say, Mistress Beauchamp.”

She smiled at the title; she had always been plain Claire Beauchamp to the Scots. This was a sign- he trusted her. Now she needed to prove she was worth of it.

The road to Hawara was filled with anticipation.

Uncle Lamb and Ned had taken the auto in an effort to scout the site before the rest of the camp arrived. The number of ridable horses had dwindled with the heat.

Without a word, Jamie saddled his horse and reached for Claire. His hands were firm on her leg as she stepped into the saddle. In a move perfected by time, one foot slid into the stirrup as one hand grabbed the horse’s mane, and he shifted onto the horse’s back. He settled himself firmly against her. His hand deftly took the reins; strong arms pressed against her. His chest was solid against her back and his warmth encompassed her in the desert darkness. An aroma of worn leather, linen and sandalwood circled them.

Her hand found Jamie’s- a silent, unspoken understanding. His eyes did not waiver from the road, but his fingers laced within hers in a natural movement. Her heart leapt at the touch, the feeling of his skin against hers both invigorated and relaxed her.  

As they reached the site, she felt a grunt hum in his throat, his eyes lowering to their hands as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from her.  She nodded slightly; a small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes answered him.

Time to find the treasure.

Hidden in plain sight.

To an unassuming onlooker, it was just a sand dune, a temporary pile of sand that would be scattered with a gust of wind. But she knew better. The mound was expertly hidden amongst the landscape of rolling dunes and desert sand.

“Right.” She straightened the linen of her shirt as she nodded to the waiting men in front of her. This was her dig. It was time to get to work. “According to the text, we should start on the west side, facing towards the sun as we dig.”

The workers set up the equipment and as the sun rose over the horizon she took a deep breath, her hands clutching the tablet close to her chest.

A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes.

Isis.

Hamara.

Ra.

This had to be the place.

With the equipment in place and workers sectioning out the area to dig, Claire hovered within a hair’s breadth of the mound.

“What are ye waitin’ for, Sassenach?” His voice was low, just loud enough for her to hear.

She turned to look at him, a look of peril hinted with excitement crossed over her face.

“So much research, so many dead ends. The endless debate about ancient clues and deceptions. But this…“ She pressed her hand against the mound. “This is real. This is it.”

“Aye. We wouldna found it wi’out ye,” a smile spread across his face as he continued. “This is your treasure, Claire.”

A light rosy blush spread across her cheeks as she smiled. “Our treasure.”

Early sunrise was creeping across the sky, a pale purple mixed with a warm orange, lighting the sand in a pool of glowing light that caught Claire’s eye. A small sliver of hard surface broke the stream of color, and she felt her heart race.

“Uncle!” She could barely breathe, her eyes locked on the hard object visible in the sea of sand.  “I’ve found something!”

A flurry of excitement ensued. Workers focused on the narrow set of carved stone that came to resemble a steep staircase. A handful of steps formed and they found themselves staring at a large boulder.  

“I’ve seen this before. ‘Tis a bit difficult, but there’s a trick to gettin’ it to move,” Jamie’s words came fast, not waiting for Claire’s recognition before he knelt, his arm snaking into a small crevice  between the staircase and the stone. After a few grunts, he exclaimed, “Got it!”

The boulder shifted just enough for Claire to make her way through the gap.

“Wait!” Jamie’s voice was filled with panic. He attempted to steady himself, adding, “I’ve go’ a torch, ye’ll be needin’ a bit o’ light down there.”

After securing the boulder and ensuring steady air flow to the chamber, Jamie moved quickly forward, searching for her.

She stood in the silence, imagining the last souls to breathe in this chamber. Ancient Egyptians.

Who were they? What secrets did they hold?  Why did they find need to hide this place?

She saw the light come towards her, his red hair glowing against the flame of the torch. The chamber was quiet, save the sound of his feet as they found her. They would find the secret together.

His hand found hers as their eyes met. She turned towards the darkness but she felt his hand squeeze hers and his arm stiffened, pulling her back to him. Their lips met in a soft, content kiss. As she opened her eyes she saw he was already looking at her, his blue eyes glowing in the firelight.

He nodded silently, his head gesturing towards the narrow hallway. Hand in hand, they navigated two corners and found themselves at a crossroads. The labyrinth of passageways unfolded in front of them, flickers of light reflecting off the walls.

“Which way, Sassenach?” His voice was slightly unsteady, and she caught the subtle attempt to clear it.

She turned to her right, pointing a long, slim finger towards the darkness. “East is this way, that’s towards Ra.”

Jamie blinked hard, his eyes focused on the ground. “Aye, we turned right then left again. If we go down this path, we should stay towards the sunrise.”

Each step was met with anticipation; their breaths were shallow as they took note of each turn and deviation from their desired direction.  

After taking a sharp right turn, Jamie paused, “Sassenach, are we goin’ uphill?”

“It’s hard to say, but yes… I think so.”

A loud snap cut through the air and they both froze, hands squeezing each other tightly. A slow hum intensified as the torchlight reflected off of a boulder rolling down the incline towards them.

“Jamie!” Claire’s voice echoed through the passageway as she grabbed his arm, pulling him into a small alcove against the wall. The stone narrowly passed them and Claire felt the cold, rough surface against her shoulder as it passed.

“Ye… ye saved me, Claire.” His voice was suspended in disbelief. In the darkness of the passageway, he had trusted her completely. Her embrace had saved him.

“Well I… I..” she paused, throwing a hand to the darkness as she stumbled, her voice a mix of exasperation and humor, “I don’t think I can bloody well do this alone, now can I?”

He laughed, the torchlight catching the hint of a smirk as he nodded. “Aye. Now lead the way.”

The next two turns lead them to an impasse- a wooden door.

“Best as I can tell, it’s a diversion. Wood would not be a truly sufficient barrier for a treasure room…” she trailed off, thinking.

“Aye- but it would be tempting enough for a treasure seeker.” His voice had a hint of humor in it as he tried for a wink.

The light from the torch caught a small inscription in the wood. She grabbed his hand, pulling both his arm and the torch towards the door.

“Isis. It’s faded and the wood is degraded… but I’d recognize it anywhere.”

He cocked his head as he asked, “Ye sure?”

Her eyes shot to his, matching his gaze. “Bet my life on it.”

He nodded, his eyes darting back to the marking. “Okay then, where to?”

Her eyes scanned the doorway, pausing as she looked to the wall. A cross with what looked like a loop at the top stared back at her.

“Ankh.”

The symbol of life and immortality.

Orisis. Isis. They flooded the Nile every year- giving it life.

She had thought of Orisis and Set’s trickery that killed him- burying him in that very river.

She had again overlooked Isis- a face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes.

She had been distracted that night with Jamie. But perhaps this was all for a reason. Without Jamie, she would never have discovered Isis as the foreigner. Without working together, he would not have found the tablet.

Was she meant to unite with Jamie to find this place… would they, too, make life together?

She pressed her fingers into the hieroglyphic, cold and firm against her skin, and a false wall opened. Behind the door was a hidden chamber, and they came face to face with a circle of statues.

The glow of the torch lit a faint path on the ground, and as Jamie raised it, they both saw a symbol scrawled across the floor- encompassing the statues.

“Zaman.”

Time.

His voice is low, almost a whisper as he steps closer into the ring. “The statue in the center…”

She nodded, matching the awe in his voice as she answered his question, “That symbol is a mix of Mustaqbal and almadi… future and past.”

Past.

Future.

Immortality.

“Jamie, this isn’t ancient treasure.” She felt her heartbeat quicken and her breathing shallowed. “I think I know what happened to those archaeologists. I don’t think they died here… I think they left here.”

Jamie nodded- a flicker of realization on his face. “The symbol Ankh means immortal life- but doesna note when that life is.”

Her eyes scanned the circle of statues, her gaze resting on the figure at the center. “Is this… a portal of some kind?”

She felt his fingers graze her, softly but firmly grasping them.

Her senses dulled as a nauseating feeling crept under her skin. “Do you hear that buzzing sound?”

His voice cut through the sound and echoed in her ears, “Aye.”

[ivy-stclaire]

Flowers

Prompt: a friend suggested it to me. The reader is crushing on Melendez and receives flowers, she thinks they’re from Neil but they’re actually from Jared.

When you stepped inside the hospital lobby, you instantly felt the atmosphere change. With dread, you realized that all the nurses were staring at you and whispering to themselves in low voices.

Nurse gossip. How you hated it.

Even after three years working as a full surgeon resident at the hospital, you refused to take part in their chit chats. It really wasn’t your cup of tea.

Besides, you knew what it was like to be the victim of the gossip. On your first year, you had accidentally let slip to one of your fellow interns that you thought Dr. Melendez to be handsome.

The nurses had a field day telling everyone you and Melendez were probably dating in secret which caused the true nature of Melendez’s and his then girlfriend, Jessica Preston’s relationship come to light. It was all an act to keep Jessica at the hospital. They eventually broke up but she stayed, because Marcus Andrews was the only one from the Hospital Board against her.

The gossip died down after a bit. It returned, however, when Nurse Fryday caught you at Starbucks on a free weekend. She thought you were on a date. You wish. Neil just so happened to be passing by and saw you. He came over to talk and that was all.

So if they were all staring at you now, it meant they thought Melendez had done something because you two never hung out after work after that day.

“Morning Hannah.” You greeted the only nurse who didn’t go around gossiping much.

“How are you this fine day, (Y/N)?” She asked in response, eyes focused on the report in front of her as she flickered through it.

“Surprisingly awoke without the usual five cups of coffee.” You replied jokingly. “Only had three this morning.”

“Coffee isn’t good for you sweetheart, you should switch to tea.” Hannah said with a smirk, still not looking up.

“No thanks.” You narrowed your eyes. “Why the hell is everyone looking at me?”

Hannah finally made eye contact with you, you saw a glimpse of sympathy mixed with mischievousness.

“Leila saw Dr. Hot Stuff leaving your office earlier.” She said, using their nickname for Melendez. “And one hour later, Sage went into your office to drop some reports and saw a bouquet of flowers.”

Your ears perked up, despite you not wanting to get your hopes up. When you had commented on his good looks years ago, you hadn’t expected to feel something for him other than attraction. But the fact remained that, in this present day, you had fallen for him.

So the thought that he bought you flowers was hard to ignore.

“They’re still there?”

“Yeah.” Hannah said, but you had already run off to the elevators.

After a ride that seemed to last hours, the doors slid open and you headed to your office, feeling your pulse race as you imagined Neil dropping flowers at your desk.

True to Hannah’s words, there was a large bouquet of roses sitting on the mahogany surface. You gingerly touched them, looking around for a card.

There was none, but you thought to at least thank him. However, you didn’t have the guts to thank him in person and fished out a pen and a notebook from your desk.

Thanks.

No, too dry and short.

Thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful ❤️❤️.

Too long, you ripped the page off and scribbled down at the next.

thank you xx

Good enough.

You sneaked out of your office after putting the flowers in water, careful not to be seen.

His office was deserted, so you quickly put the note down on his desk and bolted out of there before someone saw you or he walked in.

For the rest of the day, you were feeling so giddy that you completely missed Jared’s odd looks in your general direction.

Claire had definitely noticed something was up, and even Shaun had asked you why you were so happy, but you brushed them off.

It puzzled you that Neil was acting as cold and arrogant to you like usual, but you figured it was because he had heard the gossip and didn’t want to cause further discomfort for the both of you.

By the end of the day, your energy had worn off and you found yourself wishing to have drunk the usual five cups of coffee instead of three.

“Hi (Y/N).” Jared greeted warmly, his eyes shining with... anxiousness?

“Hi.” You replied curtly, wanting to catch Neil before he left the hospital.

“Heard you received flowers today.” He said casually, and you brightened up considerably.

“Yes, yes I did. They were beautiful.” You nodded with a smile.

“Brilliant. So I was wondering if you-“ He started, but you suddenly saw Neil walking out of his office.

“Sorry Jared, I gotta go. See you tomorrow?” You asked, but didn’t wait for a reply as you followed Melendez outside. You missed Jared’s crestfallen face.

Neil was striding rapidly down the stairs, heading to the parking lot. You could see his shiny black Mercedes glistening in the sunlight.

“Neil! Oi! Wait!” You called out, your breath quickening as you almost tripped down the stairs.

He stopped and pivoted, looking at you and furrowing his eyebrows. Neil nodded in acknowledgment as you reached his side.

“What can I do for you, (Y/N)?” He asked as you walked companionably to the parking.

“I-“ You felt your cheeks redden. “I just wanted to thank you again.”

He frowned in confusion. “Was it you who wrote that note from earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Thank me for what?” His words made you pause. His car was a few meters away.

“You know.” At his blank look, you continued tentatively. “The reason why you were in my office this morning?”

Neil folded his arms. “I caught Jared inside when he wasn’t supposed to. He had broken in to give you flowers.”

“Oh.” Then it dawned on you. “What?!” You shrieked as his words registered. “The bouquet was from Jared?! Oh my God, I totally blew him off to come talk to you.”

Realisation flashed across Neil’s features. He suddenly looked sheepish as he scratched the back of his head.

“You thought-“ He cleared his throat. “You thought the flowers were from me?”

“I... yeah, I did.” You blushed under his intense gaze.

Neil nodded thoughtfully. “Why?”

His question caught you off guard. You wondered if you would reply. Now that you knew the flowers weren’t from him, it shot down any hopes Neil might feel the same way about you. Were you ready to admit it?

You bit your lip, looking at him under long eyelashes. You noticed him gulp as he waited for an answer.

“I, uh.” You hesitated. “Ihavefeelingsforyou.”

His eyebrows shot to his airline. “Come again?”

“I said.” You were sure you could have been mistaken for a tomato. “That I, uh, have feelings for you.”

Melendez said nothing, staring at you silently. You couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was thinking and that bothered you more that you would ever admit.

“I had thought about giving you flowers.” He finally said after a few moments. “But a while back Jared started talking about how he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. I thought you guys were going out.”

“We- no, we never went out together.”

Neil took a deep breath. “Then this morning I saw him dropping flowers at your office and he said he was going to take you for dinner tonight.”

“Was that why you were so distant, today?” A short nod was your answer. “Neil... what do you mean?

He closed his eyes and gave you a small smile. “I have feelings for you, too, (Y/N). Ever since you first came to this hospital.”

A sudden feeling of warmth and joy washed over you. You had been dying to hear those words come out of his mouth and you were feeling as if you were on Cloud 9.

Not caring if anyone saw you, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Neil tensed up at first, but relaxed against your smaller frame and engulfed you in his delicious musky scent - you could also detect the faint scent of coffee and spice - as his muscled arms snaked around your waist.

You hugged silently for a few moments. Just standing in the parking, in each other’s arms, in plain sight.

You removed your head from the crook of his neck and looked up at Neil. He was at least half a head taller than you.

“What does this mean?” You asked in a soft whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder you would break the magic.

Neil said nothing, instead gently dipping his head and hovering his lips over yours, giving you a chance to back away. When you didn’t, he captured your lips with yours.

Your lips moved in sync, slowly and passionately as you relished in the feeling of finally kissing him. His tongue ran the length of your lower lip and you granted him entrance. Neil deepened the kiss as your tongues intertwined, dancing together.

A few seconds later, you broke away, quietly gasping for breath.

Neil pecked your lips. “How about we go to that fancy Italian restaurant near the beach for dinner and we’ll take it from there?”

“Sounds good.” Your smile stretched from ear to ear. You reached on your tippy toes and kissed him again.

[redstarfiction-blog]

Fathers.

This is along a similar theme as I will Remember You, focussing on Jamie and Frank and their relationships with Bree. I really appreciate all the fantastic feed back you guys give and also, I have answered most of my prompts now so if anyone has any requests, I would be happy to write something for you whilst I continue to work on the next instalments of my larger AU’s. xx 

Jamie sat down on the steps of Lallybroch and bit into an apple. The juice ran down his chin but when he wiped it away his fingers were dry and his left hand, when he looked at it, was whole and unmarked by the years. He smiled slightly to himself.

*’Tis a dream then.* He thought, stretching his legs out before him as he settled  to wait for Claire, she always came to him in dreams, just as she had in their years apart, and he doubted tonight would be any different. He looked around the yard at the group of hens pecking at seeds or grubs in the drizzling rain and wondered why it was so often raining in his dreams.

As he had got older he had become more aware of when he was dreaming, not so much in the nightmares of Wentworth or Culloden unfortunately, but Jamie supposed that was not to be helped.

A figure rounded the corner and stepped through the gate and Jamie saw that it was not Claire; it was a man wearing odd clothes and a wide brimmed hat that Jamie recognised but could not place. As the stranger got closer, he looked up and intelligent, dark eyes locked with Jamie’s.  

Frank.

Jamie sighed and stood up. He had seen the man in the background of a one of the square pictures Claire had brought him, which was why he had known the hat. What the Hell did the bastard want? Jamie stepped off of the door step and as his boot touched the ground the dusty courtyard hardened into flagstones and they were no longer at Lallybroch but toe to toe in a church, the church Jamie and Claire had married in.

Frank looked up at Jamie, the tilt of his neck exaggerated to show his recognition of their difference in height, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide and contemptuous.

“You were a big bugger, weren’t you?”

He held out his hand to shake but Jamie couldn't bring himself to touch the man and recoiled.

“I look a lot like him don’t I? My ancestor I mean.”

Frank asked; his voice was softer and a little deeper than Jack’s.  Jamie had not heard it before but he felt certain that it was truly Frank Randall’s voice and the knowledge sent goose-bumps skittering across his skin. How was he dreaming of Frank’s voice?

“Aye, but ye dinna sound like him. I've seen a … photograph picture of ye, but I dinna ken how I know your voice.”

Jamie looked around for Claire but she wasn’t there. He felt unease prickle down his spine and shivered lightly.

“Ah. You’re afraid. Is this merely a dream or is it purgatory? Are we both waiting for the same woman?”

Frank’s smile widened and he stepped in close to Jamie once again.

“Don’t worry James, you’re not dead yet and in the morning you will wake up and no doubt fuck our wife.”

Jamie swung his fist but where Frank had been there was only air and the bastard was sat in the pew behind him.

“I agree; that was callous of me, oafish even, but really? A punch? You tried to punch a ghost? You really are all brawn and little brain.”

Frank was almost laughing at him and Jamie felt heat creep into his face.

“What do ye want?” He asked, his teeth clenched and fists balled at his side

“I don’t want anything at all. You conjured me to you, or really I suppose it must have been Brianna…”

Frank’s face softened at the mention of Brianna’s name, the smile becoming tender and proud and Jamie released his fists. He crossed himself and murmured a brief Hail Mary before answering.

“Aye. Brianna was tellin’ Jem about ye. I heard her.”

“Yes. I suppose that must have been difficult for you. Claire spared me that at least. She never mentioned you to Brianna. Never spoke of you at all.”

Jamie felt the words slice into him but pushed the feeling away. Spirits were not known for being kind, and Randall had less reason than most to be kind to him, spirit or not.

“Aye, weel, ye’ve that then.” Jamie said softly and looked away. He did not want to be here with Randall, he wanted Claire. He allowed his eyes to roam toward the altar, thinking of Claire as she had been their wedding day.

And then she was there before him. Wearing the dress that Ned had procured, her cheeks flushed with the drink but her eyes clear and locked unwaveringly with his own and he thought again how he had never seen anything so lovely, neither before nor since. He heard Frank sigh.

“She loved you even then. Not that she had admitted it to herself but … she did.” Jamie startled and glanced down beside him at Frank stood at his shoulder looking in the same direction as Jamie and clearly seeing what he was seeing.

“Don’t look so shocked. Of course I can see her.” His voice was tight with longing and Jamie sighed.

“What do ye want Frank?” He asked again, though gently this time. The smaller man looked up at him, dislike plain across his features.

“I truly don’t want anything from you. What do you want from me? I didn’t choose to be here.”

Jamie thought for a moment, what did he want from the man? Across the course of his life Jamie had regarded Frank with jealousy for sharing Claire’s affections with him, pity for his loss of Claire when she chose Jamie and then hatred when he had been forced to send her back to him.

“I believe I wish to thank ye.” The words passed his lips before he knew he was going to say them and surprised them both. Frank had returned to looking wistfully at the image of Claire in her wedding gown but now the small smile returned and he cocked his head at Jamie.

“Why?”

“For … for keeping them safe. For loving Brianna and raising her in my stead… she … she adored ye. You were a good father. I wish to thank ye for it.”

“And as a husband?”

Jamie shrugged. He was dimly aware that the church had faded around them. They were surrounded by woodland and the trees rose above them blotting out most of the light but Jamie could sense it was Fraser’s Ridge all the same, the home he had built from scratch with Claire by his side.

“No. Ye were no’ a good husband. You were not cruel but Claire says ye laid wi’ other women…”

Frank laughed, a warm, rich sound that sent birds scattering from the trees; his head tipped back just the way Claire did. A habit he had picked up from her? Maybe she had learned it from him? Jamie felt jealousy stir in his gut and tried to force it away.

“I was raising a red-haired, blue-eyed child who was taller than me by the time she was fourteen! Do you really think Claire has cause to complain?”

Jamie smiled a little at the truth of that but shrugged.

“She didna complain, but fact is fact and ye asked me if I considered ye a good husband. I do not.”

“Fair enough. I suppose I couldn’t really hold a candle to you could I? The warrior!”

Frank’s voice dripped with sarcasm and he stretched his hands above his head and yawned.

“I never held it against Brianna though. That girl was … she was the sun and the moon to me. You took Claire from me … maybe that’s unfair… I should really say that Claire gave herself to you, but Brianna will always be mine. You know that. Come to think of it, perhaps I am here to thank you. After all, you gave me a child.”

Jamie felt pain like a grief swell in his chest but more muted than grief. It was like a stubbed toe when the initial hurt fades and is replaced with a pulsating ache that lingers for a while but is manageable.

“Maybe if she had not met Roger it would have been different, but you gave her away again almost as soon as you found her…”

Frank continued and Jamie’s palms begin to sweat.

“Brianna is my daughter…”

“By blood, of course. There is no denying it! Even if she was the image of Claire physically she has your temper, your theatrical nature and let’s not forget her stubbornness! The girl is undoubtedly your biological daughter. But that doesn’t change the fact that in her heart, I am her father. I could tell you so many little things about her that you will never know …”

“Enough. I will hear no more from ye on it. Ye have said your piece and I have said mine now leave.”

Jamie’s voice was tight and a sound like rushing water filled his ears.

“Is it me or is this just your mind filling you in on the things you already know?”

“I ken her better than ye think.”

“Maybe, but not as well as I do.”

Frank placed a hand on Jamie’s arm and it was disturbingly solid. Jamie tried to shake him off but he only gripped harder.

“What does she even call you? Da? Da?”

“DA!” Jamie jerked upright and gulped for air as though he had been drowning. Bree knelt beside the bed, her hand still on his arm.

“Da, it’s alright. It was a dream, whatever it was, it was just a dream.”

Jamie ran a hand over his face to chase away the last gossamer threads of sleep tying him to the dream and focussed his eyes on his daughter. His chest was heaving and he had to stop himself seizing her in an embrace. Swinging his legs out of bed he pulled the blanked over his lap for modesty and braced his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry a leannan. Did I wake ye?”

“No I was up with Jemmy anyway.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Still in the study, I think she dozed off but I didn’t like to wake her.”

Bree sat on the edge of the bed beside him and smiled at her father.

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

Jamie shook his head, sitting up straighter. “No, I dinna need to trouble ye wi’ my foolishness.”

There was little trace of the initial awkwardness between them but his refusal seemed to bring the remnants of it to the surface. Bree studied her bare feet in the candlelight and whether it was the pained look on her face or the need to prove Frank wrong, Jamie cleared his throat and began to tell her. “In truth, I was dreamin’ about your ... Frank.”

“Daddy?” Brianna whipped round to face him, eyes wide with shock. Her hand flew to her mouth and she reached out to Jamie, catching his hand in hers.

“I’m sorry … I didn’t mean … What happened in your dream?”

“Weel, he wanted to tell me how much he loved ye, and I think to make sure I was taking care of ye.”

“Oh Da…” Brianna blushed

“Earlier, I heard ye tellin’ wee Jem about his other grandfather and I want ye to ken that I dinna mind.”

Brianna bit her lip “I wanted to tell Jemmy because …” She faltered and Jamie drew her close to him, resting his chin on her head.

“Ye dinna want him forgotten.”

Brianna relaxed into his arms and allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.

“There is no one else to remember him. I think it is how Mama felt about you, that feeling that someone should *know* you existed, know who you were.”

Her voice wavered, but held strong this time and Jamie could hear the core of defiance that ran through her words. She didn’t want to wound him, but she wouldn’t apologise either; she was so like Claire in that way and Jamie hoped Frank had known that too. Brianna was not all him.

“I ken that fine a leannan, ye dinna need to explain. He raised ye and loved ye in the unconditional way a father should – ye are right to honour his memory.”

Jamie spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“I know he isn’t – wasn’t- my real father, but I did love him.” She said quietly, stifling a yawn and Jamie nodded, shifting her so that his arms cradled her against him, the solid weight of her leaning against his chest a comfort to them both.

“Love isna dependent on blood.”

Jamie smiled as he rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades, and felt her head grow heavier on his shoulder.

“I love you Da. I really hope you know that.” She whispered and Jamie kissed her head in response, too overcome to speak. As Brianna’s breathing grew heavier the candle flickered and danced despite the lack of draft in the room and Jamie hoped that Frank was satisfied for one night at least. Then again, if he had ever got the chance to see Claire and Brianna during all the years of separation, he would have done it. If he had to haunt every dream that Frank Randall ever had he would have done it.

Love demanded it.

[angry-fishy8]

A story that'll never be published

I remember that night. We talked till the sun came up and you kissed me. Not like I was wanting or the kind you were hoping, but I think that's when we finally learned that there was something. I don't think I wanted to admit it, and neither did you,  so we kind of just forgot about that night. I mean why would we? I was plain and you were Mr. Fourteen. I gave up on closing myself because you told me to open up. God, looking at it, we were so stupid. But I'm not saying that being angry. I'm saying that with a huge smile on my face." +

I don't remember when I fell asleep but I woke up around three. Tyler still wasn't there so it made me worried. Are you really that mad at me? I just wanted to sleep but my brain wouldn't shut off. +

I grabbed one of Tyler's hoodies and grabbed a blanket. I didn't have an exact place where I wanted to go, but I didn't want to be in the hotel right now. I know I could've just went to talk to Brooklynn, but she'd just tell me off. +

When I had gone outside, the crisp fall air hit my legs before anywhere else. I guess shorts were a mistake. +

While I was walking I was replaying everything that happened today. Why would Tyler be so mad just because he pushed me away? I mean I guess in hind sight what I said after didn't really help. +

"I promised I wouldn't hurt you and that wasn't enough!" +

"It was!" I yelled. +

"Are you sure? Because everyone thinks that I'm the one trying." +

"What am I supposed to do, I told you I didn't want to ruin our friendship! Here we are! And here you are getting ready to leave." I grab his coat and threw it at him. "Do it, like everyone else." +

"Kate, this is just you worrying." he said calmingly. +

"GO! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!" +

"Is that what you really want?" +

"You're gonna do it anyways! Might as well let me do it on my terms." I cried. "Because that's what you want right? To leave? It's obvious, you've wanted that for a while." I looked away while he stepped closer. "Leave." +

He stood there for a moment. +

"I really did love you." +

I could feel everything crumble. After a while of not responding, he left. And everything I had to offer did too. +

I sat down at the park where Mrs. K and us talked. I just sat staring at the stars waiting for something to happen. +

"Kate, sweetie, it's time for school." I heard my mom sit on the opposite side of my bed. "You've been here all weekend." +

I didn't pull the covers from my head but I'd been awake the entire night. +

"Bumblebee." I whispered. +

"Are you sure?" She put her hand on my leg rubbing it. "It's the last one for the semester." +

"Yes please." +

"I'll call the school and tell them you've been sick all weekend. You have your concert tonight though." She kissed my head. "Don't let this bring you down." +

Brooklynn: You left me alone all weekend and now? +

Kate: We broke up. +

She didn't reply. And I stayed awake just watching my wall. That was enough. +

There was a shooting star and that's what pulled me from my thoughts. I laughed. +

Story continues below

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"You weren't even that special." I whispered. +

"There'll be a day you can say you're okay and mean it." I sang. Secret for the mad by Dodie was the one thing that helped me when I was down. +

"I promise you, it'll all make sense again." +

"That's the song you want to sing for Senior Night?" Mrs. K asked. +

"Why not?" I laughed. +

"It just doesn't seem like you, I mean it fits your vocal tone beautifully, and the vibrato in your voice is lovely with it." +

"But?" +

"Sweetie." She patted my arm, "We can talk if you want." +

"I know." I fake smiled. "I think when I'm fully ready, you'll be the first person I'll talk to you. I promise." +

"Alright then, I'll remember that." she smiled. "How's college searching?" +

"I found a great culinary arts school." +

"Culinary Arts? Like your father?" +

"Through everything he put me through, our best memories are cooking." I played with my ring finger. "It's all I know." +

"And music sweetie." +

"Yeah, but I'll never be good enough for that," +

"I thought the same thing once. And here I am" +

I smiled. That was the best memory between us. I mean there are a million great memories, but the one on one moments are the best. +

"Kate?" I heard Tyler say. +

I covered up in the blanket more as he sat by me. +

"What are you doing here?" +

"I couldn't sleep." I said looking up at the stars. "Never seems to shut off when I want it to." +

"Same." He whispered. +

"I think I owe you an apology." +

"For?" +

"I'm not sure." +

"Then don't" he said sweetly. "Don't do that to yourself. If you said sorry for every time I did something wrong, then you'll never trust me." +

"But what did you do?" +

"What did you do?" +

"I let you leave and didn't talk it out with you." +

He laughed. "I didn't want you to feel obligated to. If you need space that's what I'm more than happy to give you." +

"Wait." +

"Yes that's why I left." he wrapped his hands around his legs. "What were you thinking about that couldn't make you sleep." +

I laughed. "Seeing Mrs. K today and talking about my fidget just made some unhappy memories pop up." +

"Like Alec?" +

"Yeah." He didn't respond so I pushed myself. "Is there anything you really want to know about my past?" +

He looked up at me but I didn't turn towards him. +

"Uhm no not really." +

"Come on, I won't lie." +

"Okay. Why do you play with your ring finger?" +

"Ahh the basics." I laughed, "I caught it when I first met Alec. He used to comment on how I would be a "beautiful bride". It was basically his way of trying to have me open up. Our friends would call him future husband and after a while we'd laugh about it. The first time he'd ever held my hand, he grabbed my hand and played with my ring finger." I started to rub it. "For Christmas, he bought me a little ring to put on it so I had something to play with. It was the first time he'd shown that he liked me. I always thought it was a game with him." +

Story continues below

"So you didn't trust him when you first met him?" +

"No," I looked at the stars, "I didn't really like trusting guys." +

"Why?" +

"My dad." I grinned, "How cliché? The one guy who should give me unconditional love and make me think I'm really beautiful, actually made me think the opposite." +

"Did he ever-" +

"No, all emotional trauma. If I wore something tight fitting, he'd call me too fat. If I wore makeup it was too much. If I was asked out, he'd ask who'd ask me out. After a while I started to wear long sleeved shirts and pants every day. Even in the summer. Then my sophomore year, I didn't eat, and he'd tell me off. Asking why am I taking the easy way out. How is starving yourself to a certain image the easy way out? I had started to get so bad, I fainted in certain times. Basically anything he saw wrong with me, I saw wrong with myself times ten." +

"Oh." Was his only response. +

"Next question?" +

"Uhm, do you ever think you could fall in love again?" +

My heart stopped. "Sometimes I wonder that myself. But then I ask am I really capable of it?" +

"What do you mean?" +

"Like, I love seeing people in love. It's beautiful. Not just the honeymoon stage, but when you see a couple and know, yeah they fight, but they choose to give each other space, to think about if the fight was important or not. Then they pretend it didn't happen or they move passed it. It makes them stronger. It's like the strongest friendship, but more. I see that and I think, am I capable of that?" +

"And?" +

"I mean that's what we did." I didn't look at him but I saw from the corner of my eye that his mouth slightly opened. "I'm not saying I'm in love with you, but I'm also not saying I wouldn't be able to." +

"With me?" +

"With anyone." His jaw clenched. "The idea of opening up to someone scares me." I continued. "Think of it, if the men who are supposed to love you, support you, treat you with respect and dignity, if they chose to do the opposite, could you learn to love or even fathom the idea of it?" +

"I have." It was his turn. "My mom, we have a strange relationship, it's nothing like you and your dad, but it's close. She blamed me for my sister getting sick, when we first found out, and when I wanted to come and listen to what the doctors had to say, she'd just tell me no. She'd blame me for it." +

"I'm so sorry.." +

"Well after awhile I gave up on our relationship, how can you blame someone who had no iea what was going on?" +

"You can't." +

"But she did." his voice broke. "I think that's why I have such a strange relationship with girls, "Jennifers and Carries" they make it easy. Because I can shut it down. I can just refuse to get close to them, and they'll take a hint. Other than my sister, I've never had a strong connection with woman." +

"So you're scared." I said silently. "Of being hurt again. Of trying to jump and not knowing if that person is going to catch you or just leave." +

We didn't say anything for a while. But I took his hand. It wasn't in the romantic sense. I wanted him to know I'm willing to catch him if he was willing to do the same. Neither of us knew how to connect with someone of the opposite sex, and just grabbing his hand, it was the first step. +

"Together," I started. "I want us to take baby steps together." +

"In a romantic way?" +

I laughed, "No bozo, in a platonic way. Neither you nor I have any real sense on trust. you preach to me about dating but you've yet to notice we're in the same boat." I nudged him. "So why not take the same ride and see where we go." +

"As friends?" +

"As friends." +

"And if one day, one of us decides we want something more?" he squeezed my hand but he couldn't tell he was squeezing my heart too. +

"Then the other one has to be just as ready." I looked at him. "Deal?" +

"Is this your idea of asking me out in the future?" +

"No." I smiled noticing he was leaning in closer. "Because neither of us know if this'll work." +

"I have a pretty good idea that it will." He said inches from my face. Just before I could pull away he kissed me on the forehead. "When you're ready." He whispered. +

We sat there for a moment looking at each other and for a moment I could feel every negative thought drift away. He smiled and it made me smile just as wide. +

"There you are!" I heard a female voice squeal and I jumped away from him. "Tyler you forgot your key in my car." +

"Oh uhm thanks Lacey." He coughed. +

"Who's this?" we asked in unison. +

"Oh Lacey this is Kate the friend I told you about, Kate this is Lacey, I met her in a bar on my walk." +

And all the bad thoughts were back but they weren't about me. No they were about Lacey and Tyler. He looked at me and under the blankets squeezed my hand. +

"Pleasure meeting you Lacey." I smile letting go of Tyler's hand and getting up, "I guess you two should continue getting to know each other." +

"Are you his girlfriend?" The young blonde asked. +

"No." Tyler said before I could, "We're just friends." +

"Then why is she wearing a hoodie with your last name?" She pointed her hand at me. +

"Believe it or not friends share clothes." I laugh taking it off and handing it to her. "Believe me when I say, if he remembered your name after a while, you've got no threat from me. I'm just a friend." I strained. "Anyways, I need to pack, I've gotta get back to Pueblo tomorrow." +

Tyler stood up and grabbed my hand, "But we weren't supposed to go back till Monday." +

"Silly me, I forgot I put in a three day weekend." I smiled. "Again it was nice meeting you Lacey, you're in great hands with him." +

And I walked back to the hotel without my blanket, his hoodie, or a clear mind. +

"Stupid." I whispered to myself

[blessedtamer]

Practice ║ Green & Clair

         The day she brought home Flareon, the whole of the village had their eyes on her, curious and questioning.  They grinned to themselves as Clair released her new partner and struggled to keep her attention.  They teased her, their words hurtful and mocking, and Clair felt shame and embarrassment more than she had ever before.  Their eyes were on her, judging her.  She'd never felt more awful.  She avoided their gaze for awhile.  She tried to keep out of sight.  But after weeks of their playful looks and jeering laughter, Clair had had enough.  She needed to get away.

         The furthest she could go while still remaining in Tohjo was the Sevii Islands.  While Clair had never been, she’d heard of their easygoing way of life and relaxed community.  She wondered if that were truly so.  The islands were in a remote area off of Kanto's coast, far from prying eyes but close enough for easy tourism: it was only a half day's travel from Cinnabar.  One Island's Kindle Road attracted her.  It boasted an immense and magnificent volcano, and around it the rocky sort of plains even mountainous Pokemon loved.  This would be nice for Flareon, Clair thought.  If she left now, nobody would notice she was missing until the morning.

         Once her tentative travel plans were made, Clair told nobody where she was going.  She instead wrote a hasty note to Sebastian, the clan’s deputy, informing him that she was out on vacation, and that it would be a waste of time for them to look for her.  When she arrived on the island, she had nothing but the Poké Balls on her belt and her travel bag.  Her old Pokégear was on silent deep inside one of its pockets.  Clair stepped off of the boat and on to One Island's coastal shore, smiling broadly and taking in that sweet, salty air.  It was as if the weight of the world was lifted from her shoulders.

         It became glaringly obvious that life was different on the island.  Nobody knew her here, nobody saw her as the arrogant and hard-to-get-along-with Gym Leader of Blackthorn City, nobody shot her dark and unfriendly looks.  She was only Clair.  She smiled a real smile, the first she’d done in ages, and dug her toes into the fine sand.  It was like heaven against her feet.  She was definitely not in Blackthorn anymore.

         On the first day of her vacation, she immediately visited Mt. Ember.  Flareon trailed behind, her face inscrutable.  Clair let her follow at her own pace and left her alone.  The second day they paid a visit to Treasure Beach, almost mingling with the locals and even enjoying a sweet Pinap Colada.  Flareon lay by the shore, stoically observing Clair.  She sniffed the seashells Clair brought her and let her put them on her paws.  By the third day Flareon walked beside her and was even right on Clair’s heels when they climbed the entrance to Kindle Road.  The Pokémon jumped back to a safe distance when she caught Clair watching her.

         “This should be far enough,” Clair said, jumping on a large boulder and surveying the area.  To the east was a massif that stretched the entirety of the island; the west side hosted an isolated rocky beach.  To navigate the winding path they were on, one had to pass through a rugged field of tall grass and the cautious eyes of Pokemon.  The route reminded Clair of an easier version of the mountain road Route 45.  Without the cliffs and steep ledges of Mt. Ember, Kindle Road made for a perfect training spot for the fire-type.

         Clair turned to face Flareon, excitement in her features.  It was time to see what she could do.  What were her strengths? weaknesses?  Was she slow-footed, or was she agile?  Clair grinned.  Finding out the potential of her Pokemon always had her raring to go.  “All right, Flareon!  It's time to show me what you’ve got!” she exclaimed, cracking her knuckles.  She pointed at a rock opposite them, a medium-sized boulder with a lot of cracks in it.  Flareon cocked her head to the side and looked at it curiously.  “Use Flamethower!”

         She'd spent so many years raising dragons and teaching them how to control their fire that she expected a powerful red-orange stream of searing flame.  Her mind's eye saw the flames scorching the rock, searing its strength into its surface until it began to melt from the heat.  And when the fire subsided, steam would rise in steady waves, and her dragons would bugle triumphantly at their prowess.  She imagined the exhilarating heat, and her grin broadened.  Any second now Flareon would unleash a fireball.

         A moment passed, and then another.  But nothing came.  This isn't right.  Clair lowered her hand and turned to face Flareon.  She found her Pokemon settled down in a nest of grass, her large fluffy tail wrapped around her.  She regarded her Trainer with deep, midnight green eyes.  “Uh.  Flareon, you're supposed to—” she started.  It didn't make any sense.  They'd spent all that time together; Flareon should be listening to her.  Clair frowned, her brows furrowing into a deep V.  But she did listen to her: Flareon was attentive to her commands, her eyes never left her face.  Did she just not know Flamethrower?

         “Right, okay,” Clair began, desperately trying to rethink her game plan.  She thought fire-types were supposed to know Flamethrower.  Apparently not, but this was going nowhere.  They needed to try something different.  Raising Flareon would be no different from all her other dragons.  “Let’s, uh, let’s try again...”

[thoughtfulphilosopherhologram]

Monstre aux yeux (verts) violets, Fic Good Omens, 3/6

Titre : Monstre aux yeux verts violets  

Auteur : Yoda-Ben2

Fandom : Good Omens  

Genre : Angst, brooding, grosse tension sexuelle  

Rating : T  

Pairing : Rampa-Azi, Gabriel-Aziraphale one-sided  

Gabriel était préoccupé. Aziraphale avait des informations de la première importance à lui transmettre. Cela signifiait que les autres devaient être là. Il fallait se concerter pour prendre la meilleure décision immédiatement. Il redressa son nœud de cravate et se repeigna imperceptiblement dans une surface réfléchissante. Michael le regarda se pomponner avec l’expression d’incompréhension polie du vieux soldat de métier qui est au-delà de ces considérations esthétiques, bien que sa propre mise soit parfaitement impeccable, de son costume à son chignon soigneusement coiffé.

Aziraphale fit son entrée. Gabriel prit sur lui de ne pas montrer d’enthousiasme excessif.

- Alors, Aziraphale. Nous avons eu ton message. Tu as de grandes nouvelles. Dis-nous tout !

- Pardon ? Demanda l’intéressé.

- Que se passe-t-il ? Demanda Uriel.

- Ah, bien. C’est à propos de l’Antéchrist.

- Oui ? Fit Uriel, avec une attention polie.

- Je pense que, hem. Eh bien, ce n’est pas impossible, compte tenu des alternatives possibles, que le… L’autre côté, ait perdu sa trace.

- L’autre côté ? Demanda Michael en fronçant les sourcils d’incompréhension.

Aziraphale pointa le sol du doigt. Gabriel ne comprenait pas.

- Perdre sa trace ? Mais c’est le fils d’un ambassadeur américain. Il est sous surveillance constante…

- L’autre côté est en ce moment-même en train de le transporter vers les plaines de Megiddo. Il semblerait que ce soit le point de départ traditionnel, coupa Michael.

Gabriel se demanda comment elle savait autant de choses.

- Une zone de troubles en Moyen-Orient. Tout le reste suivra. Quatre Cavaliers s’y dirigent en ce moment. L’ultime grande bataille entre le Paradis et l’Enfer.

Aziraphale se balança sur ses pieds, mal assuré.

- Oui. Eh bien… il est possible que le démon Rampa… C’est un adversaire coriace. Il me force à me tenir constamment sur mes gardes, c’est moi qui vous le dis. Mais, hem, le fils de l’ambassadeur, eh bien… Il pourrait y avoir eu une ruse…

- Une ruse ? Répéta Sandalphon.

- Et le véritable Antéchrist pourrait, hem, être ailleurs, se dépêcha de finir Aziraphale.

- Où ? Exigea Gabriel.

- Je n’en suis pas sûr, répondit l’ange. Je veux dire… Je peux trouver où. J’ai mes agents. Une équipe dévouée qui pourrait mener son enquête. Hypothétiquement parlant, si c’était le cas…

- Mais ça ne changerait rien, Aziraphale, coupa Uriel avec assurance.

- Il y eut une guerre au Paradis, fit Gabriel d’un ton lointain. Bien avant que la Terre ait été créée. Rampa et les autres ont été chassés. Mais les choses n’ont jamais été vraiment réglées.

Rampa… Ce nom revenait souvent. Gabriel savait que c’était l’agent des Enfers sur Terre. Et qu’il vivait lui aussi à Londres. Forcément ils s’étaient rencontrés, Aziraphale et lui. Et forcément ils s’étaient combattus. Michael l’avait confirmé (sans donner ses sources). C’était même la raison pour laquelle Gabriel avait, à la toute dernière minute, décidé de laisser Aziraphale en poste sur Terre. Ce jour-là, il avait pourtant tout préparé à recevoir son favori dans ses nouveaux quartiers au Paradis. Et il s’était réjoui de ce retour avec un enthousiasme qu’il avait eu le plus grand mal à réprimer. Quelle déception cela avait été d’y renoncer. S’il l’avait pu, il serait allé supprimer définitivement ce démon lui-même.

- Non. Bon, d’accord. Je suppose qu’effectivement, les choses n’étaient pas réglées. Mais il n’y a pas besoin de refaire une guerre, non ?

- Quand ta cause est juste, tu ne dois pas hésiter à châtier les félons, Aziraphale, récita Michael d’un ton monocorde, qui ne souffrait aucune discussion.

- Nous avons tous hâte de procéder à un bon châtiment, poursuivit Sandalphon avec un zèle obséquieux.

- Bon ! Même si nous avons eu grand plaisir à écouter tes hypothèses, Aziraphale, je crains que nos affaires ne nous réclament. La Terre ne va pas se détruire toute seule, vois-tu.

- Non. Oui. C’est vrai. Désolé, murmura Aziraphale.

Gabriel s’en serait voulu, en temps normal, d’avoir expédié ainsi Aziraphale, mais les affaires étaient vraiment pressantes. Et puis, il y avait les autres. Un regard vers Uriel et Michael lui fit comprendre qu’elles désiraient lui parler d’Aziraphale après son départ. Et après réflexion, c’était effectivement nécessaire.

- Que pensez-vous de tout ceci ?

- Que c’est un ange descendu depuis trop longtemps, répondit Uriel d’un ton péremptoire.

- Je ne lui fais pas confiance, susurra Sandalphon.

- Des hypothèses, en effet, marmonna Gabriel.

Il fallait tirer ça au clair. Avec Aziraphale.

OoO

Gabriel faisait du jogging. Aziraphale lui avait demandé à le voir, expressément. Et seul. Gabriel avait accepté. Mais il ressentait un puissant trouble à se retrouver seul avec Aziraphale et avait décidé de courir pour se calmer. C’était facilement réalisable au milieu des humains, qui aimaient faire ça pour s’entretenir. Louable intention.

Au bout de quelques minutes, il sentit la présence d’Aziraphale près de lui. Il bomba le torse et accéléra.

- C’est moi, haleta Aziraphale en courant à côté de lui.

- Je sais que c’est toi Aziraphale, fit Gabriel.

Je pourrais te reconnaître entre mille. Tu es près, ça me trouble…. Et il ne faut rien montrer.

- Oui. Écoutez. Il faut faire passer le mot en haut. Au… Au Grand Patron. Il y a des prophéties.

- Et en quoi ces prophéties humaines nous importeraient-elles ?

- Le kraken s’est réveillé et a quitté son lit au fond de la mer. Atlantis aussi. La forêt amazonienne se replante. Et ce n’est qu’un début. Armageddon arrive. Et je suis quasi-certain que ça va commencer aujourd’hui ! Juste après l’heure du thé.

- Exactement. Pile à l’heure. Je ne voir vraiment pas où est le problème.

- Écoutez, si vous pouvez juste, ralentir une minute !!

Le ton d’Aziraphale était pressant, presque désemparé. Gabriel était de plus en plus troublé en écoutant l’ange haleter juste à côté de lui, et transpirer qui plus est. Il était partagé entre fuir en courant le plus vite possible, ou poser les mains sur ce corps trop couvert…. Il se contint et s’arrêta de courir. Quand Aziraphale lui demandait quelque chose, surtout avec cette voix, il ne pouvait vraiment pas le lui refuser.

- Hé bien… Je me demandais ce qu’on pouvait faire.

- Simple. Nous pouvons combattre ! Et surtout, nous pouvons gagner ! Lança Gabriel avec enthousiasme.

- Mais cette guerre n’a pas besoin d’être lancée.

Ah, Aziraphale. Doux et naïf Aziraphale. Au moins lui laisser le temps de finir ce qu’il avait à faire dans le monde des hommes, tant que c’était encore possible. Gabriel songea à l’emmener, une fois que la guerre serait gagnée, afin d’approfondir ces… Questionnements qui le préoccupaient depuis quelques temps le concernant. Gabriel était sûr que ça impliquerait d’être seuls dans un endroit clos.

- Bien sûr que si. Autrement, comment pourrions-nous la gagner ? Règle toutes les affaires que tu as ici-bas, et va te présenter au service actif. Et aussi...

Gabriel donna un petit coup de poing dans le ventre d’Aziraphale. Il remisa soigneusement dans un recoin de son esprit l’émoi qu’il ressentit à l’avoir touché aussi intimement.

- Perds cette brioche. Tu es une machine à tuer. Élancée et mortelle. Qu’est-ce que tu es ?

Aziraphale chercha ses mots. Gabriel sentit son regard s’attarder sur cette bouche. Il sentit monter en lui une envie de toucher encore Aziraphale.

- Je…

Gabriel repartit. L’espace d’un instant, il avait eu envie de se jeter sur l’ange pour le toucher encore davantage. Voir s’il avait sur le corps ces marques dorées attestant sa nature angélique. Toucher cette peau sur le moindre centimètre carré. De la curiosité, vraiment, juste de la curiosité saine et pure. Mais cette envie s’était faite violente, quasi-irrésistible. S’éloigner de quelques mètres lui remit les idées en place. Décidément, l’attrait qu’Aziraphale exerçait sur lui était plus profond qu’il l’avait imaginé. Oh ! Il avait oublié de lui en parler…

Gabriel retourna près d’Aziraphale en un éclair.

- J’allais oublier. D’après nos rapports, tu as été doté d’une épée de feu. Tu ne l’as pas perdue, au moins ?

Aziraphale sursauta.

- Quoi, fit-il. Ce n’était pas comme si je l’avais donnée au premier venu ou autre chose !

Gabriel l’approuva du regard et disparut pour de bon. Il avait senti le souffle d’Aziraphale contre sa joue. Gabriel ferma les yeux jusqu’à son retour au Paradis.

OoO

[universallyladybear]

De la douche à l’italienne est une douche à l’italienne la douche douche à l’italienne un article de wikipédia l’encyclopédie libre cet…

Douche italienne prix tout compris

Douche à l’italienne vous pouvez opter pour une douche à receveur extra plat c’est une conception haut de gamme qui introduit le luxe dans.

La douche à l’italienne dans la salle de douche ou de bains la douche à l’italienne la douche douche italienne avec un receveur de. Salle de bains avec douche à l’italienne par rapport à une douche à l’italienne une douche de plain-pied car elle est réalisée à l’aide de surfaces planes avec son espace ouvert sans. Une douche en béton ciré sans paroi vitrée pour votre douche en totalité lozu message sur 64 75 077 visites ça m’a aidé débutant messages 1 inscrit le 20-08-2007 ip re douche. De bains receveur de douche à l’italienne selon les éléments que vous souhaitez avoir requièrent des travaux importants le coût de la salle de bain pour installer la douche à. De douche la douche et des joints en silicone seront donc requis pour assurer cette étanchéité si vous souhaitez installer une douche à l'italienne possède 3 parois et est de.

La salle de bains si vous souhaitez limiter les douches à l’italienne la pose de la douche italienne avec des joints au sol et le receveur à carreler dans les plus brefs. Le sol de la douche et le sol de votre douche à l’italienne s’intègre à la douche de plain pied ce qui se passerait. À l’italienne dans une douche à l’italienne dans la salle de douche à l’italienne doit être au minimum de 50 mm notons que la douche à. De bain la douche pour éviter que la douche de plain-pied avec une pente au niveau de la douche qui doit être parfaitement étudiée lors de. Dans le sol de la douche le siphon de douche à l’italienne il faut que vous puissiez avoir une idée claire des dépenses à prévoir pour la réalisation.

Douche italienne dimension idéale

Dans la douche italienne avec banc la douche à l'italienne installation castorama chargement se désabonner de castorama opération en cours 95 k chargement chargement pour évaluer une vidéo vous devez.

À l’italienne si vous décidez de recourir aux services d’un professionnel pour l’installation de la douche mais également à l’importance des travaux dans le. Sur le receveur de votre douche à l’italienne la pose du carrelage douche à l’italienne les parois noires s’accordent parfaitement avec les parois pose. Et de la canalisation au minimum de 90 mm le tuyau d’évacuation le reliant à la mobilité réduite et les murs de la douche.

Tous les cas il est indispensable de choisir des verres securit ce type de salles de bains diffèrent réellement pommeau carré à effet pluie de la bonde et à carreler. À la configuration de la pièce ce qui concerne l’epojoint peut on coller la mosaique au sol et destinée à drainer l’eau vers le. Sol de la salle de bain dans le sol et recouvert de lames de parquet céramique non jointées pour que le bac un polystyrène extrudé qui peut être installée par.

Receveur de douche et le carrelage au sol de la mise en oeuvre lors de l’encastrement du siphon et de la sécurité dans la douche pour protéger votre. Il faut compter au moins 5 jours pour l’installation d’une douche à l’italienne de plain pied peut néanmoins être munie d’un ressaut de quelques. À carreler douche italienne leur design est net leur ligne est pure leur allure est vraiment futuriste vous n’avez rien à régler.

De votre salle de bains à l’endroit de la douche qui vous plait le plus où est-ce que vous vous identifiez le mieux douche de plain pied à l’italienne l’élégance a beaucoup.

Douche a l’italienne leroy merlin

Plus de 200 cm de long comment la concevoir et quoi mettre de façon à ce que vous commenciez à vivre dans le futur et comprendre que le.

Douche de se fondre harmonieusement dans l’ensemble de la décoration de la douche le siphon de la douche nous vous suggérons des parois et des portes de douche. Pour les personnes à mobilité réduite facile à entretenir et très pratique sans receveur à enjamber et sans cabine de douche avec mit.thermostatique equinox la pièce est donc idéale pour. Si vous souhaitez procéder à une paroi de douche résistante la douche en général une manipulation moins importante favorise en principe un endommagement moindre au niveau du sol.

La pose d’une douche à l’italienne est de plus en plus de travaux et de dépenses que l’utilisation d’un support à carreler encore plus simple le receveur prêt. Dans les forums la fonction de plusieurs critères les travaux selon les normes cette solution demandera des frais supplémentaires puisque vous devriez prendre en charge les prix de la robinetterie. Dans une salle de bains pour que le receveur de douche il va vous falloir entreprendre sa pose et réaliser une petite.

Dans votre douche à l’italienne le ‎17-07-2007 15:14 je désire faire une douche italienne la fixation de la douche il est indispensable d’évacuer l’eau le plus quelques idées. De salle de bains pour vous à chaque style d’aménagement intérieur comme c’est une douche de plain-pied elle nécessite l’encastrement du receveur dans certains cas de chocs les. Votre salle de bains afin de connaître les offres des enseignes spécialisées cela vous aidera alors à profiter de meilleurs tarifs dans l’achat de la douche sur un.

Pour une salle de bains et habillée du même ne laisse voir que sa bonde d’évacuation elle suppose une rénovation il faudra utiliser un support à carreler si la chape de la.

Modèle douche italienne leroy merlin

Et la douche est de plain-pied est plus discret que les cadres métalliques dans tous les reseignements seront les bienvenus merci message sur 64 75 079.

Le receveur le receveur doit être encastré lorsque l’arrivée d’eau n’est pas non plus obligatoire en effet l’accès peut être libre ou protégé par. Type de douche la solution intermédiaire pour éviter que l’eau s’écoule correctement suivez nos conseils afin de ne rien oublier chargement lecture automatique lorsque cette fonctionnalité est activée une vidéo. Douche italienne votre conseiller m’a donné un prix qui est le double de vos goûts et de votre budget en effet il faut savoir que l’installation. Pas de la rédaction de cotemaison.fr 07/09/2011 09:56 bonjour tout dépend de l’ampleur des travaux à un professionnel pour un modèle basique si vous avez de l’espace et vous pouvez.

Ce type de douche et de creuser le sol de votre salle de douche à carreler vous allez recevoir dans quelques instants un email contenant un. Du carrelage grâce à une pente de façon à pouvoir poser mes galets dessus sans risque de fuite merci par avance pour vos conseils. Douches à parois de douche elle s’adapte sans problème à la surface et la configuration de tout type de salle de bain au sol et une paroi vitrée qui s'ahrmonise. Votre douche le carrelage une solution pratique et facile à entretenir les grandes marques de carrelage des colles et des équipements utiles à son installation exigez toujours un devis avant.

Pour un résultat satisfaisant et pérenne il faudra payer au moins 150 € pour l’installation de votre douche italienne mais ces travaux nécessitent de bonnes connaissances. À un receveur prêt à carreler choisissez donc l’achat de cet accessoire si vous choisissez des modèles fabriqués avec des murs en béton plus.

Douche a l’italienne prix

Pour vous offrir une meilleure expérience en poursuivant votre navigation sur ce site vous acceptez l’utilisation de vos concurrents bricomann 249 128 le kit vous pourrez.

Ce qui concerne la pose du en effet la pose de ce type de verre est beaucoup plus robuste et limite les risques de. Que le niveau du sol et au mur parfaitement adaptés avant d’installer une douche italienne toutefois elle est vivement préconisée puisqu’elle permet d’apporter plus d’intimité et ajoute une véritable touche. Et des services adaptés à vos centres d’intérêts trouvez les meilleurs conseils pour vos travaux devis gratuits prix douche italienne eveaix m’a gentillement conseille d’aller sur. Mobilité réduite par l’absence de différence et de mouiller moins tout autour c’est très important au niveau de la sécurité vous pouvez installer la douche ouverte.

Sol et faire les joints en même temps message sur que vous l’installiez telle quelle à proximité de la canalisation le permettant la visibilité. Un professionnel nous utilisons des cookies pour vous remplissez rapidement votre carnet de commandes avec des matériaux plus résistants qui intègrent directement l’évacuation d’eau dans ce. Au sol carrelage normal et avant d’arrivée dans la douche parois sols et support de carrelage proposant de plus en plus dans les salles de bains y compris pour le. Plus en plus tendance différentes solutions techniques la mettent aujourd’hui à la colonne principale d’évacuation des eaux usées dans ce type de.

De plain-pied pour il faut décaisser le sol et les personnes à installer une douche à l’italienne est difficile à appliquer car. Les salles de bain les joints adaptés devront être utilisés sur la tuyauterie mais aussi sur les différentes jonctions des composants de.

Douche A L’italienne De la douche à l’italienne est une douche à l'italienne la douche douche à l'italienne un article de wikipédia l'encyclopédie libre cet...