#he’s spent too long being ten steps ahead of everyone by making them all pawns in his game

[chirpsythismorning]

What’s up with the spores? Like, has anyone got info on what spores do to a person who is exposed to them????

This got me thinking about all the whose getting vecna’d speculation in s5, and it could very well mean ALL of them are in danger in terms of being targeted.

If all it takes is them being exposed to the spores, could they all be at risk?

Maybe they could all experience effects like nightmares/hallucinations??

This also reminds me of El’s line at the start of s4 where she says We’re all time travelers if you think about it!

Is it possible ALL of them could be dealing with having to confront past memories, ie they’re own form of time traveling to figure out how to defeat vecna??

[downfordiluc]

Kaeya x F Reader One Shot. [Modern AU].

Warning // Explicit Language. No Smut, only fluff.

Synopsis: a night filled with alcohol, dancing and feelings. 

If you rubbed your eyes one more time, you feared they may disappear inside of your skull. The display on your laptop was beginning to sear your retinas, as you watched the clock tick over to 11:30 pm. You should have left work hours ago. Having a hardass for a boss had wasn't something really had any benefits to it, other than the sizeable paycheck you took home after a long week's work; often going ten or twenty hours over your actually scheduled nine to five days.

Being able to finally click save and close the torture machine in front of you was something that you spent every working moment impatiently waiting for, and the satisfaction you got from knowing you could finally go and slump into your bedsheets was something that never really lost its novelty. And yet, tonight wasn't going to be one of those nights.

"Wanna go cause some trouble?"

You looked up blearily at the voice, seeing a tall, tan figure leaning against your doorway, one hand on his hip, and the other in his pocket. The smirk on his lips was one that you couldn't get enough of, but you'd never admit it. You'd never give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"It's almost midnight, Kaeya." you remarked, as you shrugged your leather jacket onto your shoulders. Despite the protest in your tone, you had basically already succumbed to his plans before even hearing them, as you collected your belongings that were spread over your desk. "And so the night is only young, [Y/N], whaddya say?". This man knew he was born with a silver tongue, and had the power to persuade even the most stubborn to follow his every command. You knew this, and yet you fell victim every damn time.

"Where are we going?", you practically had a white flag waving above your head, as you walked through the door he held open, and yet you weren't fooled - Kaeya was no gentleman. He was a sweet talker, and he played the field like it was second nature to him. Life was like a game of chess, except he was always 5 moves ahead, taking piece after piece off of the board. Women were the pawns.

"Diluc's club, he pissed me off yesterday, and if my memory serves, you're not best pleased with him either.", he looked as though his plan had fallen into place, and yet it had one fatal flaw. "So your plan for revenge, is to financially provide for him by drinking in his club?". You felt as though you had his king in check - winning the game of chess - and might actually get to go home for the night. Yet that stupid smirk returned, and you instantly dropped the glimmer of hope you had grasped onto. "Money is simply an object to him, you know this. But just imagine the look on his face if he saw us both having the time of our goddamn lives, huh?". You hated to admit it, but to see that exact face you were now picturing was an opportunity you would not pass up, even if you hadn't slept for a week.

The night was bitter, biting at your cheeks as you walked down the cobblestoned alleys. No matter how much you pulled at your thin jacket for warmth, it simply wasn't the right choice of attire for the middle of February. "I know a way to warm you up." the man to your right quipped, and you instinctually glared up at him, seeing a saccharine sweet smile upon his face. You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, refusing to step into the trap that was his syrupy gaze. You knew better.

"Vodka".

You heard him chuckle at your blunt response. A soft, breathy laugh that could melt ice, and the heat that rose to your cheeks was welcoming, considering the harsh winds that felt like icicles piercing your skin. He really did have a way to make women putty in his hands, and you had never been more glad you considered yourself above that, considering you were about to get absolutely shit-faced together.

One shot turned to two, and two turned to three, as you bottomed the foul liquid, and slammed each glass onto the table with a loud clink. You hadn't done this in a while, and it had been even longer since you had done it with another person. Drinking alone was usually your style, which now you realised was actually quite sad.

"Slow down, darlin', they'll run out if you aren't careful.", he had absolutely no right to be using words like that, and even less right to witness the colour that lit your cheeks alight. Suddenly, staring at the marble bar seemed a lot more interesting.

"Mind your own business, Alberich. You said you wanted to have fun, this is how I have fun.". You knew full well the worse was yet to come. They say everyone has a second personality when they're drunk, and yours enjoyed partying like the world was going to end tomorrow. You noticed he was nursing his whiskey, and frowned at him, tilting your head to the side and resting it on your fist.

"Didn't take you to be a lightweight." you smiled devilishly into your words, watching his eyes widen slightly in surprise, you could practically see him recoil as though you had smacked him in the face. "Someone's gotta be able to walk to take you home.". The laugh you let out in response was a hearty, full one. Something you hadn't done in a while. You pushed at his shoulder, mocking him further. "Let go, have fun! Worst case scenario, we sleep on the floor. I never took you to be the boring one, Kaeya."

Enough was enough, he raised his glass and allowed the burning liquid to slip down his throat. He pulled a face before his glass made the same clink that your shots had been making for the past hour. "It's on, darlin."

"Two more shots over here, dear brother." You had almost forgotten why you came tonight, as you saw the redhead's brows almost touch, frowning as he had no choice but to stop ignoring the two of you, which he had been trying to do since you strutted into his club.

"And two for me!" You giggled into your words, as he gave you a look that you had never seen on his face. "I like your style, [Y/N]". His voice was lower than usual, probably from the assault on his throat the whiskey had enacted, but you had to admit, it sounded good that way. Too good, judging by the butterflies kicking up a fuss in your stomach. You decided to simply drown them in alcohol, as Diluc slid the drinks across to you without even muttering a word.

You must have had seven or eight shots of vodka by now, and at this point, Kaeya wasn't far behind, his jacket and tie discarded over the back of his stool, as well as two buttons on his shirt being undone. A deep v of tan skin practically begging you to stare. You had similarly discarded your jacket behind you, the alcohol flooding through your veins being what you attributed your rising body temperature to. You didn't even seem to care that all you had on was a lowcut, white tank top, which definitely left a lot less to the imagination than intended. Hopefully, the lighting was low enough that he didn't notice the lace of your bra creating lines under the thin fabric.

"Ahh, I love this song."

You didn't even seem in control of the words leaving your mouth, as a low, smooth beat filled the air around you. This song was one that you would definitely dance to in private, or if you weren't absolutely wasted. Before you even fully acknowledged what you were doing, you had climbed onto the surface in front of you and were gyrating your hips in a way that you wouldn't be caught dead doing sober. Vodka really lowered your inhibitions, a fact which was clearly evident to Kaeya, who couldn't help but stare as your hands worked their way down your body, slowly moving along to the music. He wasn't the only one staring. Pretty much the whole club was watching you let loose on the bar, ogling your figure and looking you up and down like meat on a stick. Diluc, however, could not have looked less impressed if he tried.

"[Y/N], get down from there. Everyone is staring.", Kaeya seemed almost possessive, as he extended his arm to you, trying to convince you to come down, and yet, you hadn't felt this free in a while. "You come up here! Dance with me, darlin'.". He seemed flushed at you using his words against him, but his stance didn't falter, as he kept insisting you come down from the bar. For a change, him and Diluc actually agreed on something.

"You're going to fall, [Y/N]."

"Then catch me, Prince Charming."

Your words were slurred, and it was clearly evident that you were inebriated beyond any point of logic, so Kaeya decided to take things into his own hands. He grabbed at your wrist and lightly pulled, expecting you to get the message, and finally come down. Definitely not expecting you to topple like a domino.

As your brain stopped feeling like it had just been scrambled, you noticed Kaeya's face only inches away from yours, before acknowledging that your body was pressed against his own. You'd actually fallen, holy shit, you were wasted. And yet, he had caught you. Prince Charming had really saved you - how ironic. His strong, defined muscles against your body were significantly more welcoming than the floor, that was for sure. If you weren't already completely certain that you had had more than enough to drink, you were once you caught yourself speaking.

"How about we take this somewhere more private, handsome?". You would be kicking yourself for those words once your blood stopped being what felt like 99% alcohol, and yet right now, you were biting your lip, looking up at him, barely noticing the flush under his tanned skin.

"How about we take you home?" was his response, as he tried to put you onto the floor, your legs buckling, as you sink to his knees. He sighed in defeat, tucking both of your jackets over his shoulder, and pulling you back up to cradle in his arms, using the warmth of his blazer as a pillow as you rested onto his shoulder. Maybe you were the lightweight, after all.

During the walk home, you hardly noticed the cold, between how hot the alcohol had you, and the warmth of his body heat pressed against yours. You barely acknowledged the journey ending until you felt the familiar softness of your bed under your warm body. Instinctively, you curled up onto your side, hugging a pillow, and kicking your shoes off of the side of the sheets.

"Goodnight, [Y/N]. I had fun with you tonight." Despite your vision being blurry, you could tell he was leaned against the wall the exact same way he had been hours ago at work, and you reached for his arm, tugging on his sleeve.

"Stay with me, Kaeya. Please.", you could feel yourself slowly sobering up, as your thoughts became less cloudy and your feelings becoming more lucid, and all you wanted was for him to stay by your side. Nothing sexual about it, you just wanted to feel his body heat radiating against yours as you slipped into slumber. You felt as though you could see the wanting in his eyes also, but his words begged to differ.

"I'll be on the couch." his reply left you feeling downcast, however, this was short-lived as you felt his lips lightly kiss you on the forehead, leaving the spot they had been tingling and prickling with heat. You were comforted knowing he would be there in any capacity, and that was the thought that nursed you to sleep pretending the pillow in your arms was the man who had caught you not long ago.  You knew that you had caught feelings for him in turn. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all? Maybe he could be your knight in shining armor. The one to keep you company on what would be a lonely night drinking, and the one to hold you tight as your head pounded into the early hours of the morning. Anything would be good, as long as he was there.

[vickyvicarious]

well now I have to headcanon that Killian enjoys cooking

(Regarding this gifset.)

Anon I agree. I very much agree. To a... schmoopy amount, so prepare yourself.

.

Emma spent most of her adult life living alone, and a decent amount of her childhood essentially raising herself. She’s gained a lot of skills from those experiences - the useful but depressing stuff, like clocking liars and abusers from ten paces, how to get a good deal at a pawn shop, how to shoplift, to break into cars, how to fill the silence with music so loud you stop thinking about how lonely you are, how to fire a gun, exactly how far ten dollars can stretch if you need. Sure, she’s learned all that.

But some of the stuff is just plain useful. Emma’s known for a long time how to manage her money, how to do laundry, how to keep a house clean, how to sew up rips in your clothes to make them last longer, how to cook. Some of those skills she hasn’t needed in a long time, and others she doesn’t use much just because she doesn’t like to, and she no longer has to. Still, even if she doesn’t especially love cooking, for example, she isn’t actually forced to live on takeout. Before Storybrooke, that was more of... a choice.

(Eating alone in your own home has never been something she’s liked. At least in a bar or a restaurant, she could hear other people, watch them.)

Living with Mary-Margaret, she wound up cooking a little more often, and during her time in New York she remembers making dinner with Henry most days. He was pretty awful in the kitchen himself, could burn water, so she didn’t let him do anything too important, but it was more about the companionship. Even having him doing his homework in the kitchen while she whipped something up was just as good. Sure, there was still pretty regular order-in days, and they ate out sometimes, but for the most part they actually had real meals together. She remembers making a decision to do that when he was still small, to always set aside this time to cook and eat together and share their days. 

It was a curse memory, fake, but Emma liked that routine. Even after moving back to Storybrooke, at least once everything eventually settled, she tries to keep that going. She still doesn’t especially love cooking - it’s more about the end result for her, having that time to sit down together as a family and enjoy something you made together.

So when she and Killian started living together, she made sure to tell him. Emma wanted him to know everything that mattered to her, wanted him to be involved in it. She... also wanted to know ahead of time, if he was terrible in the kitchen and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere nearby. His other household skills were a bit of a hit-or-miss. He was really good at cleaning, but could never remember when to take the trash out. Maybe she expected him not to have any skill with plumbing or cleaning out the gutters, or using a washing machine, and to be fair he learned those all pretty quickly, but she was surprised when it turned out Killian didn’t know how to fold anything neatly. If a lightbulb went out, he usually just ignored it, lit an actual gas lantern if there wasn’t enough light. He actually had a lot of interest in how to decorate the house, but hated changing the thermostat for some reason, preferring to just wear more layers if it got cold. 

Anyway, the point was - she was pretty sure he’d be fine with the idea of family dinners, knew he’d be willing to help even if it were just via setting and clearing the table and doing the grocery shopping, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be interested in actually making the food. And more than that, she wasn’t sure he’d be any good. He had, after all, lived most of his life on ships that had actual cooks to take care of that kind of thing. It might just be something he couldn’t do.

She definitely didn’t expect the way his face lit up at the idea.

“That sounds brilliant, love,” he told her. “You’ll show me how to use everything?”

Of course she agreed, and Killian had always been a quick learner (which was why she kept finding herself surprised at the chores he never seemed to pick up). So the way she only had to explain each modern cooking implement once was not a surprise. He was good with a knife, so she put him on veggie duty, and they made a simple but tasty chicken dish. Nothing unusual, pretty much the kind of cooking she always did. Quick and easy, healthy enough, didn’t taste amazing but definitely not terrible either.

When they sat down to dinner Killian’s face did... something.

It wasn’t quite a sneer.

It also wasn’t quite not a sneer.

“Well, it’s alright,” he said.

.

Those comments became increasingly common over the next few days. Emma’s pasta sauce was “a tad runny, but not bad,” and her tacos “could use a bit more spice,” and her ribeyes were “perhaps a little too long on the stove, love?” and her Sunday morning pancakes needed “a splash more buttermilk, I suspect.” Killian wasn’t picky, he ate every bite, and he didn’t exactly nag her about her cooking. Just one or two comments, not necessarily even directed at her so much as him musing aloud about the food. But every side dish he made tasted amazing, even if it was just a simple salad, and he very clearly had opinions and it wasn’t like Emma even liked cooking all that much anyway. She’d never claimed to be a genius at it. But she’d never admitted to being bad either, and the little snubs over and over got increasingly irritating until one day she just snapped that he should be in charge of dinner then, if he cared so much.

Killian instantly looked contrite.

“I don’t want to step on your toes, love,” he said. “If you enjoy cooking - just maybe another shake of the pepper next time -”

“I don’t like cooking,” Emma snarled, “I just like eating together. Except I’m liking it a lot less when I’m constantly getting criticized!”

“Oh,” he said, a little taken aback. “Oh. Well, then.”

And then he completely took over.

It started with him making her own staple recipes, just being the one in charge of the actual meals. He told her she didn’t have to help if she didn’t want to, and Emma was pissed enough to agree that she wouldn’t. Except then the simple pan chicken she’d been making for ten years came out tasting like it never had before, and there was this sort of lemon-y sauce with it? And he’d made asparagus and some kind rice pilaf thing as well, and even though he claimed he’d just “tweaked it a little” it was so clearly a completely different meal. A better meal. Definitely.

He went through all her favorites like that, completely elevating them beyond anything Emma had ever dreamed of making herself. They took longer, of course, but unlike her he didn’t care. He’d be in there for an hour or more; she’d hear him singing sea shanties to himself as he kneaded homemade bread. Whenever she (begrudgingly, at first) complimented his cooking he’d get this very sweet smile on his face. He rarely seemed satisfied with his own efforts either, still making little comments about how it was a shame the bread had come out a little too chewy, after all -

It was ridiculous. And that was before he started trying to recreate various meals he’d eaten over the course of his long life, a wide variety of vastly different foods he cobbled together from memory and instinct alone. She started helping him out more often, definitely over her irritation at this point and dipping right into fascination. She liked to watch him think, the way he’d dip his hook into a sauce then suck on the tip with his brows knitted together, before adding a little more of some seasoning or other. Now that he was in charge and no longer holding back out of respect for her feelings - or whatever the hell he’d been doing at the start - he’d talk through his decisions. Whether that was muttering aloud about needing more garlic, or telling a long and convoluted story about the first time he’d had this particular curry in a tiny dockside tavern and then delayed leaving port until he could at least partially figure out the recipe from taste alone - thus setting off a chain of events that led directly to his first near-death experience at the hands of mermaids. When he’d come back five years later, the tavern was gone.

Their spice cabinet grew, and their fridge filled up. The pantries too, and the cooking implements, though that happened more gradually. They’d started off with a coffee machine that automatically brewed a pot every morning; five months into living together, Killian acquired a French press and, always an early riser, ground beans himself every morning as she woke up. By the time she got out of the shower and downstairs, he would hand her a cup with exactly the right temperature, flavor, and timing. This went along with the breakfast he’d made, of course.

Emma bought him a set of cookbooks for Christmas; Henry got him some kind of complicated food processor that led to a sharp increase in soups and smoothies and sauces. His repertoire increased. Instead of going to Grannies for New Year’s Eve, they had a party for their family, and Killian went all-out on making a giant feast with Emma and Henry as his hapless assistants. She tried to tell him New Year’s was really more about partying than dinner, but he insisted he didn’t care and made a roast. It was obviously delicious, everyone who hadn’t had much of Killian’s cooking yet lost their minds a little and he alternated between incredibly smug and that familiar bashful grin. Later, they had some kind of pudding for dessert, and played board games for a while until everyone had digested enough to actually move - only then did more traditional festivities commence. They drank, danced, sang, all watched the ball drop and shouted the countdown together; and Emma kissed Killian at midnight, feeling a sharp burst of joy that finally, she could have something like this. Starting a new year surrounded by those she loved, and who loved her back, laughing giddily and dancing together with her parents and her son and the man she’d fallen so so hard for.

But even that paled, honestly, to the next morning. They hadn’t bothered with attempting to clean up, just waved everyone out the door where they’d stumbled down the street in a loud, happy cluster. Emma’d sent Henry to bed, then grabbed Killian and yanked him to their bed, and they hadn’t gone to sleep right away at all. When she did eventually fall asleep, it was blissful and slow, sated in every possible way - and well into the night.

When she woke up, late, it was to an empty bed, sunlight filling up the room. Going downstairs, she heard that familiar low croon from the kitchen; stepped over the streamers still scattered on the living room floor and rounded the corner to see Henry slumped at the table, yawning over a plate of pancakes. Killian at the stove, timing his song to a flip of the newest pancake. She could see blueberries in it. Coffee and orange juice waiting for her at the table. Bacon. Three different kinds of syrup.

Emma started crying.

Henry jerked up out of his chair, rushing to her in a panic. He held her arms and called her over and over, “Mom, mom, what is it?”. Killian moved the pan off the heat so it wouldn’t burn then came over to her too, gently touching her arm. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“Mom, please,” Henry said, and pulled her into a hug - and he was so tall now, so much bigger than he’d been when he found her all that time ago. “Tell us how we can help.”

She shook her head, unable to speak clearly enough to explain they already had, that absolutely nothing was wrong and it hadn’t been for a while now. She didn’t know how to tell them exactly how monumental it felt, walking in here and seeing them both calmly engaged in such a familiar routine. How she’d woken up alone and had been doing so for months and never once worried Killian was gone. She knew he was downstairs, making breakfast.

Emma didn’t know how to say this was the moment she finally realized she had made a home, found a family, and that neither was ever going to be taken away. She didn’t even know why this was that moment, after all the more significant events they’d been through. It didn’t make sense that her deepest doubts would suddenly be banished by a simple breakfast she’d had countless times before.

“You made my favorite,” she sobbed instead, hugging Henry back tightly. She pressed her cheek into his hair, reached out to catch Killian’s hand and tried to blink past her tears to meet his gaze. “I-it’s my favorite breakfast.”

So stupid. So insignificant, after everything, so small, so - so important somehow, the most important thing in the world. Killian had made her favorite breakfast. Henry was there to eat it. Emma hadn’t cooked herself or asked him to make blueberry pancakes specifically or for either of hem to share this moment with her, hadn’t done anything besides sleep in. And it didn’t matter. Here they were, and Henry was always sleepy in the mornings but affectionate still, and Killian’s cooking was delicious and he always sang during and Emma loved them both so much.

Henry held onto her tightly, swayed on the spot a little. Killian reached out to wipe away her tears. He moved his hand to Henry’s shoulder, squeezed gently until he stilled, and then touched the back of his hook gently to her cheek and leaned over Henry to kiss her. Soft and slow.

“I know, Emma,” he told her after, smiling so soft and his voice rough with emotion. Emma had no doubt that he understood exactly what she meant; that he knew just what she couldn’t say and he felt that wonder too. That same incredible contentment, somehow more stunning than the fiercest joy. “I know.”

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Superstar

Also on AO3

For one quote/ one shot to be posted Oct 21st, my quote below; “Listen,” he said at last, softly. “Do you hear?” At first I heard nothing but the rushing of the wind, and the trickle of rain, dripping through the holes of the roof. Then I heard it, the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat, pulsing against me, and mine against his, each matching each, in the rhythm of life.” My thanks to @notevenjoking and @balfehueghlywed for organizing this one shot, I hope you like it.

Jamie walked through the house in silence. His sneakers touching the marble floor like a caress as he approached the front door with great anticipation. When the knob turned the massive front door opened with a quiet whoosh and closed with a respectful silence he promised to abide when he arrived from Scotland five months ago. The woman who owned the house and agreed to sponsor his junior year had one unbreakable rule, do not wake her in the morning. When the door was closed, Jamie’s smile could be seen in the next county. His forward flip off the top step was fueled by his exceptional muscle density, tender age of seventeen, buckets of testosterone, and pure joy. It was time to go bask to school.

Miss Abby was many things, a best selling author, sixty years a single woman, kind and interested in Jamie’s life and an exceptional cook. She provided a list of chores each week with a monetary value next to each. If Jamie needed money he could finish any or all of the chores and make enough to sustain his teenage life. Jamie would put a checkmark next to two or three of the chores and do the rest of the list without a mention. Miss Abby showed her gratitude with huge sumptuous meals that her athletic border consumed with gusto. At ten o’clock every night Miss Abby locked her study doors and worked all night.

Jamie jumped into his VW bug and shot toward school, his friends, his girlfriend, and the legendary coach John DiBiaso. It was the reason he was here playing for Catholic Memorial. Scouted as a sophomore in Scotland, he was doing his junior and senior year in Boston. He would be offered a full scholarship from any number of schools and then go pro. No one doubted it. He was that good.

Jamie was passing out smiles to all that wanted one today as he made his way into the building to drop his load of books. His friends gathered around him, joking and lying about getting laid over the holiday and telling stories about how drunk they got at this party or that. Jamie joked right back until his attention was pulled away by wild black curls, crazy gorgeous eyes, and a caboose that made his knees feel weak.

“Hey, who’s that girl?”

“Ye mean miss world-class ass or the other one?”

“Yer an idiot Sean, see you guys at practice.”

The day took control of his brain and the curly lass was forgotten. When a slim body dropped into a seat next to him at lunch he felt his body respond like a starving man.

“Where ye been lass? Been lookin for ye all morning. If ye don’t give me yer hot kisses soon I may die right here in this chair.”

Jamie leaned toward Geneva tickling her ear with his breath, making her squirm and run a hand down her hair to smooth anything he disrupted. She looked straight ahead as if he wasn’t there. Come lass, now.” Jamie dragged Geneva to the bleachers where they could kiss unobserved and he could grind into something she would never give. He walked into fifth period holding his jacket in front of him.

Claire was an even mixture of stark terror and excitement over going to a real school. She never anticipated so many students her age crammed into one building. No matter which hall she took it felt like she was fighting a wall of people who didn’t seem to notice her. By third period, she was exhausted. “Damn uncle Lamb, I told you Everest was a better school, certainly less crowded for Christ's sake.”

The only redeeming feature of this school was that giant boy in the hall this morning. He smiled at her and she shot down the hall feeling a bit dizzy. Five minutes later she met the second redeeming feature.

���Hey, luscious!” The boy leaned into Claire like he wanted to eat her, causing her to flinch and try to get away. Out of the crowd came a head of strawberry blond hair and a fist to the young man’s chest that stunned him long enough to get away. The girl grabbed Claire’s sleeve and pulled her out a side door.

Once outside, Claire turned her face to the sun, filled her lungs with fresh air, and opened her eyes to sparkling emeralds and a smiling face.

“I’m Geillis and you are a strange one aren’t ye.”

“What?”

When the bell rang Claire lurched forward apologizing to her new friend that she was late for testing. Claire launched herself back into the throng of students only to crash into an unexpected wall, hitting her head and bouncing backward. Warm hands caught her mid-flight.

“What the bloody hell…!” Her hand flew to her head as she looked up at a face that sucked the air out of her lungs and completely rebuilt her life goals in under a second.

“This collision is entirely yer fault lass, but yer British, so yer forgiven… Sassenach. Tell me yer name and I will pretend it never happened.” He smiled down at her and she saw the humor in his Hollywood handsome face. Claire struggled to regain her composure and remember what launched her into the hall in the first place. Still rubbing her head she looked up at his face again looking confused.

“I need to find the office sir can you point the right direction?”

“Sir? For that slip of the pretty tongue, ye get my company all the way there. Come, I will show ye.”

He grabbed her hand in the crowd of people and let it go when the hallway became passable. “Here is the office lass. Now, when ye see me next I expect a hi Jamie for my troubles.” He turned on his heel and jogged down the hall until he disappeared.

“Miss Beauchamp! We are delighted to have you here this semester. I know Lamb from college and promised to test you into the right school and grade. Shall we begin?” The guidance counselor looked down at the girl hoping this would not drag on all day. He was anxious to pawn her off on a lesser school where academic achievement was not expected or encouraged. He placed a test booklet in front of her with an answer sheet and a number two pencil. He wished her luck and quietly backed out the door. His first few strides felt like a temporary stay of execution by boredom. Too many parents and guardians had exaggerated the superior intellect of their children, and charges, over the years when the truth was an unremarkable, mediocre student who would never aspire to anything above the median. This girl spent the last five years in a remote location in Egypt, without running water or plumbing, and no schooling. That alone made her remarkable, as an oddity, but certainly not an academic superstar, which is the only interest he had in humans under thirty years old.

The heavy door to his office clicked shut and he exhaled his relief at being alone. He sat down and put his feet up wondering what he would order in for dinner tonight. Sometime later a sharp knock brought the counselor jerking awake from his nap. He pulled the door open to receive an answer sheet from his secretary. He looked at the clock and thought, impossible. When he looked down at the scores his face fell off, the jowls went slack, the mouth opened with a hanging lower lip, and he balled the sheet up and threw it in the trash.

“She obviously cheated, although I can’t imagine how. Oh, who cares, assign her to Park West and call them to expect a student tomorrow. What the devil is wrong with you?”

His secretary was anticipating a three-alarm academic emergency grab for this gifted student, instead, he dispatched her to a remedial high school where her brilliant mind would be stomped to death by a staff of teenage baby sitters who wouldn’t know gifted intellect if it slapped them across the face.

“No problem boss. I’ll take care of it.”

The door slammed behind her as the counselor went back to his nap.

June Dawe sat at her desk ruminating over the options of doing what’s right and risking her job or turning off her life force so she can do what she is told and be safe. Fortunately for Claire, June still had a passion for education and every student within these walls. She dialed each of the gifted teachers finding four who could meet with Claire right now.

“Claire, dear, come with me. We have a meeting on the second floor with your new teachers. Don’t be nervous child, the hard part is over. I believe your teachers will be very interested in helping you.

Jamie was on the field stunning his teammates with the deadly accuracy of his arm. He gave it all in practice just like his father taught him and the coach was blown away. Christian Memorial won the state championship this year and coach DiBiaso would bet a year’s salary it was in the bag for next year as well, as long as Jamie Fraser was playing. A whistle toot sent everyone running for the warmth of the locker room.

Jamie’s curls were still wet from the shower when he dropped into his car and zoomed toward home. It was getting dark but he saw an unmistakable silhouette ahead. A crazy mass of curls and an ass the angels only dreamed of. He jerked the VW to the side of the road and called out to the girl waiting in the bus line.

Claire smiled and waved, making Jamie feel weird suddenly. What was this then? He was completely baffled by her response, or lack thereof. That half-hearted wave was meant for a cousin or a neighbor. Jaime got out and gently pulled her from the line.

“Come Sassenach, I’m drivin ye home.”

“I like the bus, but thank you.”

He listened to her voice and heard sincerely. This was no female trick like Geneva was famous for. That little snip of a person was responding with honesty and complete lack of interest in him. Hold up, his mind was screaming. Never happened before, ever! He watched her shivering in the cold of the Boston night. He was intrigued and approached her again.

“May I speak with ye for a moment Sassenach?”

She looked at him like he lost his mind but she stepped out of line and walked over to him. “What?”

“Could I impose on ye lass, for yer company? I like the way ye talk and I’m missin my family tonight. Would ye talk to me while I drive ye home, please?”

Claire watched his eyes sparkle under the street light and felt a tractor beam pulling her toward him. He opened the car door for her and she breathed in his masculine scent and watched him fall into his seat. There was an awkward silence between them as each questioned what they were doing in this car together on this frigid night.

Jamie pulled over and looked down the block of historic brownstones. “Which is yer house Sassenach?”

“I will point to it if you tell me what Sassenach means.”

“It means outsider lass. Because of yer accent. And yer house?”

“Why is it so important to know which is my house?”

“So I know where to pick ye up in the morning for school.”

“Right here is fine, thank you. I really hate that bus.” Claire jumped out of the car and walked swiftly down the block, cutting across someone’s front lawn like she owned it. Hearing the car pull away she returned to the sidewalk and continued to her front door.

Miss Abby sat across from Jamie, enjoying his pleasure over her meal. She noticed a small flare in his eyes indicating conscious thought every few minutes. A bad test grade maybe, a fight at school, bad practice, the possibilities were endless. She had faith that Jamie would figure it out…what ever it was.

Claire could not remember ever being this exhausted. She had tested all afternoon and the questions got more bizarre and complex until she was finally released. Her bloodshot eyes watched the four teachers as they huddled over her answer sheet stealing glances at each other and then her. They seemed very happy when they let her leave asking her to join them again tomorrow morning. Claire ran in the crisp late afternoon air, just needing space and solitude. She fell in line at the bus stop and was lost in her memory of the afternoon. Until she heard the burr of the cutest boy she had ever seen.

The teachers encouraged her to choose a topic she found interesting and design a unique study that could be presented at the international science of the future competition. They promised it would be a boost to her studies, ivy league invitations, scholarships, and notoriety to make friends at school. She laid on her bed with a scrubbed face letting her mind wander. She saw an arm and a torso in movement as a ball was lifted and thrown. She saw the angles rush in and equations for mass and energy and distance. Her heartbeat jumped 30 beats per minute and she smiled in the dark. She had her hypothesis, experiment, measurement, testing and eventual modification of her hypothesis. She needed a test subject that was good enough to study.

Claire sat up and turned her desk light on so she could write her ideas down before she forgot them. She needed to study something other people wanted to know, whatever that was. She was still working on her study outline the next day when Geillis invaded her space and mind during lunch. Claire was fascinated by the backstories on all the popular kids, mostly from rich families or athletes.

“The transplants do pretty well too.” She noticed Claire’s eyebrows go up. “Transplants are kids in the exchange program that come from other countries. Catholic Memorial recruits gifted students from all over the world. Guess there’s a shortage of home-grown jocks and scholars. Like them,” Geillis nodded to the side where Jamie and Geneva were flirting with each other. “Those two are transplants from Scotland and on the top of the food chain at this school. Geneva is academics and Jamie is, well you know.”

“No! I don’t know. What is he?”

Geillis smiled indulgently at Claire, “Jamie Fraser is our star quarterback. I thought you knew him the way you face-planted his chest yesterday in the hall and then walked away with him.”

Claire was staring at the couple with their heads close together, giggling and kissing. “No, I don’t know anything about him. But he did drive me home and pick me up for school today.”

“Well, I’m anxious to hear all about it,” Geillis’s eyes twinkled wickedly and she scooted closer to Claire.

Claire was given her schedule of classes and struggled to find the new rooms hidden by the throngs of bodies crushed into the halls between classes. She was happy they were a grade higher than her original schedule. At least she wouldn’t be bored.

She found her homeroom, full of long desks with clumps students scattered around. She sat alone and pulled out her study outline. She didn’t like this room and felt like people were watching her. She tried to ignore it and get some work done. When the bell rang Claire’s head jerked up at the clock. Throwing books into her backpack she ran around the corner to the door and there he was. Jamie was talking with a group of guys and he opened the door so she could zoom past.

A fly on the wall could tell the world that Jamie was being raked over the coals and severely punished by his girlfriend Geneva who wanted the rides to school with “the little twit” to stop, permanently. The show of affection in the lunchroom was Geneva’s perfectionism, not showing weakness to the world. Jamie was just happy the fighting was over and realized his mistake when he pulled her outside for serious kissing.

“Get your filthy hands off of me, ye whore.”

“So it’s a whore I am now.”

“Stop giving that idiot rides to school where ye park and people can see ye both get out. If you insist on being a bleeding heart ye can give her a ride home if she gets picked up at least three blocks from the school.”

“Will there be anythin else, Geneva?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “no, that’s all.” Geneva turned around and left Jamie standing outside. He watched her smile and wave at someone and realized she was hellbent on looking perfect 24/7 no matter the cost.

Jamie sat in the bleachers and the cool afternoon made him feel more like himself. He thought about Geneva, the prettiest girl in the world he decided when he first got to this school. The fact she came from Scotland and would return home for the summer was a bonus. He decided she was perfect but she wouldn’t give him the time of day at first. After his first game, she was all flirty smiles and agreed to a date, they hit it off. She was here because of her academic achievement and Jamie had a snapshot in his head of the two of them, he in a Greenbay uniform next to Geneva in a white lab coat. He knew she was fading in the picture and he forced himself to look at it. He didn’t like the girl she was today but decided to cool it a bit before breaking it off with her. Maybe she’ll come around.

Claire pushed the door open and saw Jamie’s VW waiting against the curb. He leaned over and popped the door for her.

“Here.”

“What’s that for?”

“I am paying my share of gas and happy to do it because I hate that bus.” He said no three times and finally pointed at the glove box. Claire was happy he let her do her part and her effervescence came bubbling up as she talked about her study outline.

“My friend said you play football, is that true?”

Jamie’s head looked sideways at an innocent face asking a serious question.

“Yea.”

“I got approval for my study outline so it’s time to find my subject. I know it’s a lot to ask but I hoped you could introduce me to some of the top players. I only need one person but I anticipate a lot of no’s. So, could you, please?”

Jamie stared at her through the red traffic light and left turn arrows waiting for the joke that didn’t come.

“What sport does this test subject have to play?”

“Football.”

Jamie’s head was starting to hurt, “I’ll see what I can do.”

His little friend Claire was a walking contradiction, at least to his limited exposure to girls. Did she even realize who he was, what he meant to the team and school? He was out of sorts from the weird day with Geneva, and no football until next year. He needed some aspirin and a list of chores.

Claire was doing homework in the kitchen and ran for her ringing phone.

“Hello, a…Claire. My name is Geneva Dunsany. I am calling about my boyfriend Jamie Fraser and the fight you caused between us today. It isn’t right to accept a ride to school with someone else’s boyfriend. Ye may look like a twelve-year-old boy but it doesn’t look good coming to school with my boyfriend. Hello! That bitch hung up on me��click.”

Claire stared at the phone and wondered if her crush on Jamie was noticeable. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment and she threw her phone in her purse. The next morning she taped a piece of cardboard to the streetlight with a note to Jamie.

I can’t ride with you anymore so I’m on the hateful bus. You are very nice, Geneva is a bitch. See ya superstar.

Jamie was livid at Geneva’s audacity. This was not going to fly. Thanks for making this easy for me, Geneva. Wait…did the Sassenach call me superstar? He swung a U-turn and went back to grab the sign before heading to school.

Geillis was bent at the waist, laughing uncontrollably at what Claire had done. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. Shit, that’s the bell, we’re going to be late.” The two of them ran to their classes where Claire could grieve the second-biggest loss of her life. At least that is what it felt like today.

The rumor that Jamie broke up with Geneva went around the school like wildfire. Jamie tried to talk to Claire several times but she would smile politely and move along.

The life seemed to go out of Claire. She requested a postponement of her project until next year and applied to test out of junior year so she could get this stupid school behind her. Uncle Lam had prepared her academically but did squat about teaching her to guard her heart.

She had gained a position in a social group at school and many of her friends were leaving for the summer. Somewhere during the hug-fest she looked up at the bluest eyes on the planet and felt her heart slip into her throat. They stared at each other and Claire waved and smiled at him. Jamie held his phone up and snapped her picture. Looking back at her he saw the tear roll down her cheek.

“My God lass, what’s happened to ye,” he said quietly. “Claire!” Jamie sprinted toward her but her bestie Geillis saw her pain and pulled her out a side door and straight to her car.

Jamie had one last stop to make before parking his car in storage for the summer and flying home. He pulled Claire’s cardboard note out of the trunk and penned a note, taping it to the streetlight.

“See ye in three months Sassenach. I told the bus driver yer a terrorist so it looks like ye will be comin with me next year.”

Geillis handed Claire the note and watched the emotion play out in her eyes. It was time to find the beautiful swan in her friend and let the doting boys at the clubs and beach do the rest.

Miss Abby’s new book was published over the summer and number one on the bestseller list. She was scheduled for book signings and interviews for the next six months but that did not stop her from waving to Jamie when she spotted him at the airport.

Jesus Christ Jamie, you got better looking over the summer, didn’t think that was possible.

“How was football camp?”

“It was great.”

“Have you still got your arm?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear there’s a new man in my life?”

“Really?”

“No.”

When Jamie got up the next morning Miss Abby was off on an eight-week signing tour and he still walked down the marble floor silently.

He was so excited to see Claire and hear about her summer. He pulled the VW to the side of the road and gorged on a pretty girl with long silky black hair talking with a robed man holding a newspaper. Jamie admired her hair and curves while watching for Claire. A breeze slipped under her hair letting it dance around her face as she turned around with familiar golden eyes. His mouth dropped open, eyes big as saucers, then she smiled at him. Jamie jumped out of the car and hugged her. All he could do is stare at her and shake his head.

“Ye grew up over the summer, did ye nae.” He could not help himself so he blatantly studied her from head to toe making her giggle. She was stunning, centered, and comfortable in her gorgeous skin. Before he could stop himself he touched her cheek. Yer skin is like a pearl Sassenach, it glows. She smiled at him with warmth in her eyes.

“I’m glad my friend is back. I really hate that bus.”

They walked toward the school and Jamie stole glances whenever her head was turned. “Sassenach, can we go to dinner or coffee tonight. I really want to catch up and hear about yer summer.”

“I would love to! Soon. I have a prelaunch meeting tonight.”

“It’s the only night I don’t have practice,” he sounded disappointed.

“Maybe we can do it next Monday.” Her smile dazzled him, her curves made him weak and he was astounded by the size of her breasts. He wanted to run his finger…

“See ya superstar”

Jamie wanted her to stay so he could finish his examination of her body changes. When she walked away he got an eyeful of her round ass. That works too, he thought.

Football made Jamie’s world circular. His star was on the rise, pretty girls were always around him hoping to be noticed, handshakes from teachers, and reporters flocked to him after every game. Claire watched him from a distance, cut out every article about him, and felt every heartbeat was for him alone. He was her kryptonite and the only time of day that mattered was the fifteen-minute ride to school.

Claire was putting the finishing touches on the equipment she would use in the kinesiology lab. The video guys that signed on to work with her were testing their camera angles and making changes she requested.

Claire opened the door to let the first subject in and saw Jamie leaning against the wall. She smiled,“what are you doing here?”

Ye asked me for an introduction to the best football players that might be test subjects. I searched high and low but there’s no one better than me. I have proof…see?” He held a torn out article from the paper “Best High School Quarterback In The Country.” The other blokes willna be comin. Just me. I changed my homeroom to work with ye. Are ye ready lass.”

Claire was smiling for several reasons. He was hands-down, the best possible test subject, he would honor his commitment to the study, and she gained an hour each day with him. She was thrilled.

A month later Geillis leaned her back against the lockers and read the article about Claire winning entrance to the science competition. There was a picture of Jamie mock throwing the football and about one hundred wires attached to his arm, the video guys behind two cameras and Claire recording data on her clipboard.

“Wow, you guys are really crammed in there and it looks uncomfortable. How did you get Jamie to agree to this?”

“He volunteered after he told the other guys not to come.”

Geillis didn’t pay attention to much unless it hit her on the head. She had a minute and a half to think about it before the next cute boy pinched her, or pulled on her hair. Claire ran a comb through her hair and slammed her locker.

“Why don’t I get attention like that?”

Geillis folded the paper back on the picture and watched Claire’s face look confused. She continued folding until only Jamie’s face was seen. Claire’s gaze went from the picture to Geillis’s eyes. “Why are you always so cryptic Geillis?”

Claire shook her head and walked to her next class. Geillis stood staring after her wondering what could make the big-man-on-campus volunteer so much time?

Jamie’s tension was mounting as playoffs grew near. He was aware of the scouts and recruiters in the stands for every game, multiple videos capturing every single move, good or bad. He wanted more than anything to win the championship again for the coach, his father, Miss Abby, and every single person who had cleared the way for him.

Jamie looked for Claire who was never hard to find due to all her equipment and team buzzing around her. She was behind a camera with a huge protruding lens. He looked directly into it and for a full minute, he let his face tell her how much he needed her now.

Claire saw Jamie’s eyes like he was right in front of her. She felt him reach across the field and touch her cheek. Hot tears pressed into her eyes and she blinked hard to clear them. Then he moved out of frame and she stood up as he ran back to the line. She wiped her face quickly and took some deep breaths before getting back to her work.

After spending so much time together this past semester he had become her dearest friend as well as her secret love interest. On warm days, she would meet him on the field after practice and they would talk about their families. Claire could picture Scotland so clearly in her mind when Jamie talked about his home. Most times he made her laugh but sometimes she felt his deep yearning for his family, his isolation from the seat of his heart. When she told him about her parent's death and being raised by Lam in Egypt, he was silent until she finished. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a hug that shot fireworks off in her brain and she clung to him.

It was a slow, steady climb to a trusting friendship, unencumbered by passion that often precludes a deep understanding of the other. They were the oddball couple/not a couple at school, protected from teasing and gossip by the unwavering respect that Jamie commanded. It was Claire’s pink bubble.

The game was close to a mercy-rule point difference where the coaches would end the torture. Coach DiBiaso called Jamie in to run a play that was complicated, and so far, only done in practice. If it worked, it would be a miracle. Jamie called the play in the huddle and then altered the position of two players knowing he would catch hell from the coach but seeing no alternative. Many worried eyes flicked at Jamie’s as they ran to formation. The play went perfectly and the game was called for their 48 point lead.

Jamie found Claire in the lab looking at the new video. “Are ye ready soon lass, should I wait?”

“Two things, I am done for the night. Second, I have one more test to run and then we’re finished with testing.” She smiled at him sincerely. I would be grateful for a lift home tonight. She packed up and shut the computers down, and flicked the lights off.

Jamie picked up her camera case and led the way to his car. “How do you manage to carry this heavy case to yer house Sassenach? Why won’t you let me know where ye live? I know every other detail about ye and it’s makin me feel hurt, right here.” He was joking but the truth was thinly veiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous Jamie, there are two feet of muscle in front of your heart so it can’t be hurt.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck, one of his favorite friendly touches that made Claire feel warm inside.

“This last test I have is an hour and a half so we have to do it after school. Just let me know the best day with your busy schedule.” She looked up at him, “it will be weird not seeing you every day after that. It has been fun and the data is better than I could ever have imagined. Thank you, Jamie.”

“Yer welcome lass. I know it will help football in some way, and you, so it was an honor. Which driveway might I pull in?”

Claire looked up nonchalantly like this was an everyday occurrence, “three houses on the left.”

Claire said her usual see ya tomorrow and piled out of the car, lugging her case up the steps of her brownstone. He felt so close to her sometimes but…he didn’t know what he was feeling lately. If she would just give him a sign she wanted more it would be so easy, he thought. But she never did.

Jamie had hundreds of colored wires stuck to his shoulder and arm as he completed the last test.

“I only need ten more minutes of your time superstar. Shirt off please.” Claire was clinical and no-nonsense as she grabbed a container of white goo. When she turned around her face was just six inches from his naked chest. She gasped and her eyes roamed his muscled chest, nipples, then up to his thick shoulders and finally his face and those beautiful eyes.

Jaime agreed to help Claire and possibly the sport of football but he rarely felt like anything more than a test subject to her. He was very confused about the Sassenach but in his honest moments, he realized she wasn’t into him as a boyfriend and while every other girl in school wanted to drop their panties for him, Claire seemed impervious to his stardom.

Claire looked at his face and worried he was feeling exploited. She touched his hand and felt a jolt of lightning not expected. After clearing her throat she asked quietly if he was alright to continue. Jamie was forming the word no in his mouth as his eyes swept across Claire’s face. In that second he saw it. The blush, dilated pupils, open lips, pleading eyes. He couldn’t identify each of the signs but he was a keen observer of what happens to a girl when she wants to kiss.

“I’m fine to go on Sassenach.”

“First position please,” said just above a whisper. Jamie drew his arm back in a mock throwing position. Claire dipped the tip of her finger into the white goo and placed a dot of the liquid every three inches. She weaved in and out of Jamie’s space with her goo and ruler and then stood between his raised arms and bent legs to add drops up his torso, neck, and chin. Jaime stared straight ahead struggling to gain control over his desire to drop his arms and finally touch her. He felt cold goo drip onto his cheek.

“Goddammit,” she whispered. “It’s almost over, I promise, please don’t move.”

One of the graphic techs ran over with a stool and wet cloth and helped Claire stand on it to remove the drip. Jamie watched her intently. Her mouth barely inches from his, arms raised to his face, she moved around him so carefully and so close he could feel her breath on his face.

“Lights gentlemen.” Jamie heard the whir of the cameras coming to life, he saw the light pulse that Claire directed at his throwing side. “Go ahead Jamie, give me all you got.” He was ready to lose it when she said that but he attempted to complete his throwing motion while she encouraged him.

Jamie was breathing hard from the proximity to Claire when one of the techs called out to stop.

“Claire, his sweat is distorting the picture.”

Claire climbed back on the stool and held his face as she dried his sweat. Her eyes lowered to his and he saw the jolt go through her. I’m sorry lass, he thought, but I’m comin for ye and I canna stop. He lowered his arms which encircled Claire and he watched her eyes close as if she wanted nothing to interrupt the feeling. He pulled her closer to him, lips an inch from each other.

“Release your team Sassenach so I can kiss ye.”

“Um, um, that’s a wrap for tonight. Thank you, gentlemen, out, everybody out!”

When the door closed behind them Claire was ready to get down from the stool.

“Stay,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them and then pressed his lips to hers, quickly losing his battle for a slow chaste kiss and forcing her lips open to allow his tongue. He knew she had experience with kissing by the way she angled her head and breathed. Whoever he was, Jamie thought, I’m gonna kiss away every memory of him.

Claire pressed her lips to Jamie’s and got lost in the sensation she had dreamed about for the past year. She knew she should be worried but could not think of a single reason why.

Jamie watched her face. The arousal was obvious making him want to dance a jig around the lab. Her slight smile and sparkling eyes were magnetic and he wanted to lose himself in them. Claire reached for the wet towel and started to wipe the dots off his arms and torso. They said nothing and Jamie watched her hands and the towel touch his skin. She held him to her with one hand while she wiped the dots from his torso and neck. She pulled his face down to wipe the dots on his face and he crushed her to him. He broke the kiss but kept his face an inch from hers and when she looked at him he whispered, “Surrender Claire.”

Claire’s heart took off like a rocket and she had not seen it yet after an hour of kissing. She vaguely considered saying something but that would prevent more kissing so she just smiled and lifted her face to his.

“We should go Sassenach.” She fell against him and whimpered. He put his arm around her and walked her to the door. Looking down at her, “Ye dinna turn anythin off yet.”

“Hmmm?”

He chuckled at her expression, “come, lass, ye need to turn all this off before we go.”

When they were walking to the car, Claire leaned into Jamie and felt his arm around her. He walked her to the door of her house and kissed the breath out of her. He decided she may have kissed before but that was all. He pulled her hands to the back of his neck and felt the length of her press into him. That was too much for Claire who backed up and said goodnight rather quickly.

Jamie’s joyous exuberance was not to be denied and he launched his body into a front flip off the fifth step, landing and laughing at the honking and hooting motorists.

Claire had a permanent smile as she got ready for bed. She wondered if Jamie was thinking about her and if he wanted to kiss again. She shot a text off to Geillis C: U up? G: Bed, cramps, no C: get better, Jamie kissed me like a million times tonight The phone rang.

********************************* I filled my lungs with a deep breath of fresh mountain air and exhaled smiling. I was lost in my daydream, memories actually, of my first year at Catholic Memorial. I have not thought about those people in years. I felt a chilling wind blow across me and climbed out of my hammock picking up my books. It smelled like rain. I watched the trail for my wonderful husband to return. When the cloud above ripped open I took refuge in the tent.

I fell back on the foam rolls and sleeping bags carefully laid out for a reunion of souls and giggled to myself. I offered him two choices, an extravagant weekend at a resort, or camping high in the mountains. Knowing his choice already, I had the camping gear stacked in the corner of the utility room, ready to go.

“Where might the love shack be?” He ran his hand up my back making me shiver.

I tried to whisper my answer because his face was millimeters from mine but he couldn’t wait and kissed me dizzy. He ran his hands all over my body making me shake for him. My reflective state of mind brought back every gasp and gaze on the way to paradise before we left.

I smiled and stretched in the warmth of the tent until the first drop of water hit my forehead. The eyes flew open and I saw a line of water drops lined up on the roof of the tent waiting for their turn to fall. “Shit.” I put my biggest bowl under the drips and considered driving back down the mountain to purchase a new love shack. It would have to wait for this rain to stop and the return of my heart with his stringer full of fish no doubt.

I heard banging outside and unzipped the tent flap barely seeing his outline in the downpour. A cooler flipped open, a clunk from a stringer of fish, and footsteps in the mud. My God, I thought, this impromptu camping trip was supposed to be beautiful weather, a calm lake, and two days to forget the world.

I called out to leave his sopping clothes outside and scrambled out of my halter top and shorts. Jamie poked his head in smiling with pure joy and took the towel I offered. “Ye ordered the weather from Scotland did ye? Ah, I know ye did, it’s why yer my favorite wife Sassenach.” His eyes raked over me from end to end as he prowled closer and whispered, “it’s one of the reasons.”

He had been away at football camp for six weeks and we were hungry for each other.

“Do I smell like fish Sassenach?”

“I don’t care. Come here, love.”

Sometime later I laid in Jamie’s arms with my head on his chest.

“Listen,” he said at last, softly. “Do you hear?” At first I heard nothing but the rushing of the wind, and the trickle of rain, dripping through the holes of the roof. Then I heard it, the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat, pulsing against me, and mine against his, each matching each, in the rhythm of life.

The palm of his hand slid down my body from my shoulder to my knee. I was drifting in my euphoria, eyes closed, remembering how Jamie claimed my body in the last hour, rather roughly I might add. It’s about possession, and dominance, I think, and it calls to a place deep in my soul making me submissive, a slave to his pleasure and my arousal climbs to the stroke range. When that part of Jamie comes out it is he who wakes up with bloody scratches and bruises. It’s like date night for the neanderthal in each of us. I giggled at that thought and forced my eyes open.

The look in Jamie’s eyes made me want to weep for him. “What’s wrong love?”

“Yer comin with me to camp next year Sassenach, I insist. Some of the guys brought their wives, and some had a kid with them! I felt jealousy for what they had and then I got…grumpy.”

“What? You are the best quarterback in the entire country,” I kissed his cheeks, eyes, and throat as I talked, “you do not get grumpy.”

“Well, accordin to the team, if ye dinna come with me next year, they arna comin.”

He rolled me on top of him, “tell me yer comin next year, Sassenach.”

“I’m coming next year to spring training, and every year after that, so help me God. You are the only star in my sky James Fraser.” I let the tears fall because I was overwhelmed at the moment.

“There should be ample room for one tiny star then? When you are ready?”

“Of course Jamie, but two tiny stars or even three might be better. Do you agree my love?”

Jamie blinded me with his smile and wrapped me in his warmth.

“That will be just fine Sassenach.”

[atinytokki]

My Way

iii. The Tidal Stranger 

Somewhere between the wind and the waves, the sound of a voice reached Hongjoong in his distress.

“Yes, you. What are you doing out here?”

Finally, he spotted him. The man addressing him stood atop a rock twice his size that jutted out from the beach. His hair was dark and long, nearly concealing a pair of eyes that were already too clouded to understand them. He only looked ten or so years older than Hongjoong but his manner and bearings made him seem experienced in the world.

Hongjoong wondered how long he’d been sitting there.

He spoke again while Hongjoong was distracted. “Tide’s coming in. And you should be home, not wandering the beach on your own.”

“I know when the tides are,” Hongjoong snapped, getting to his feet and hoping his confidence would mask the shaking of his voice. Leftovers from his breakdown. “I grew up here.”

The man suddenly tilted his head and shifted in his position. It was like he had suddenly recognised Hongjoong, though he could be sure they had never met.

“Very well,” a smile grew on the stranger’s face and Hongjoong felt like he was being teased. “I’m just a newcomer here. I came with the tide and I’ll be gone with the next one, so don’t let me boss you around.”

Hongjoong crossed his arms and plopped back down in the sand. It still felt like he was being bossed around, and this stranger knew it.

“I’ll leave you to your...” the man paused in his climb as he descended the rock and raised his eyebrows in question at the boy. “What was it you were doing? Running away? You didn’t even bring a boat. That’s poor planning, I’d say.”

“I wasn’t running away,” Hongjoong spluttered. “At least, I wasn’t planning to.”

“So you aren’t running away, and you aren’t going home,” the man hummed, his voice softening into something Hongjoong couldn’t place. “Where are you going, then? You know, everyone is going somewhere.”

Hongjoong wrapped his arms around himself and looked at the tossing breakers just past the rocks ahead of him. It was his parents’ graveyard, there was no way he would return there. “I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t think I’m headed anywhere.”

The stranger had reached the bottom of the rock, and he waded through knee-high water until he was standing by Hongjoong’s side. A quick survey of the sky, and he was murmuring in warning.

“Another storm is on its way.”

“Another?” Hongjoong repeated, looking at the man suspiciously. That didn’t quite add up. “You came with the tide, didn’t you? How could you have known there was a storm the other day to begin with?”

“You are good,” the man smiled. “It’s true, you caught me. I’ve been here since the typhoon.”

“Where are you going, then?” Hongjoong didn’t even know why he was asking. What did he care? 

“That’s none of your business,” the stranger laughed. He looked for a moment like he wanted to tell him, but shook his head and gazed back out at the ocean. “I’m sure your parents warned you about strangers.”

They did.

Hongjoong lowered his head sadly. He had actually gone a full five minutes without thinking about them, and look where that had gotten him. 

“They’re dead, aren’t they,” the stranger was saying. But Hongjoong barely registered the remark because his eyes were on the man’s boots. He recognised those boots. 

The man paused awkwardly and then said something about bidding farewell and getting back to work but the words went completely over Hongjoong’s head. 

Where have I seen those boots before? 

He racked his brain even as he watched them walk away, and it was only once they had long marched out of sight down the curve of the shoreline that Hongjoong remembered.

The morning after the storm. The person who dragged him out of the waves. Who saved his life.

But it was too late to run after the stranger, who had already disappeared around the bend. 

Hongjoong turned the other way to face the lighthouse and headed towards it. All along he had thought the lighthouse keeper had saved him from the shallows and taken him straight to his home, where he had woken up. But it was that stranger... that stranger saved him.

He knocked on the door and asked the man, Dongmin, where exactly he had found him unconscious.

“Just there,” the man answered, indicating the stretch of sand that banked up towards the lighthouse itself. “You were deathly still and the wound on your head... well, we weren’t sure you would make it but here you are!”

The stranger had dragged him up there and left him for Dongmin to find. 

So here he was. 

Hongjoong thanked the man and made his way back down to the beach. 

He had about six hours before the tide went back out, which meant six hours to find the stranger again.

Why he wanted to find him, Hongjoong had no idea. 

To thank him for saving his life? To curse him for making it a torment?

Hongjoong didn’t know. And he only got a mile down the beach before the skies opened and dumped rain on him.

Yujung would be worried. She had been silent during the meeting, but Hongjoong knew she meant well. She was just too timid to actually do anything about it.

Now that there was no hope of finding the stranger, Hongjoong faced a dilemma. Head home for shelter from the storm, or stay here for shelter from his family. Neither option appealed very strongly, and so Hongjoong took another path.

The path to his old cottage. The one his uncles and aunts were so desperate to pawn off for riches. If he had heard correctly, it would be on the market tomorrow. This was his last chance to sleep there.

Hongjoong expected the rush of emotions when he cracked open the door and stepped inside, but he didn’t expect it to be strong enough to bring him to his knees.

Every sentimental trinket he found was a new wave of grief crashing down. Years, an entire childhood, had accumulated here in the form of objects, furnishings, and papers and Hongjoong didn’t know how he was supposed to let it go.

The family would be in an uproar if he took Mother’s jewellery or Father’s clothes, so he was stuck crying over doilies and dolls and eating the food that was left in kitchen cabinets, waiting for his parents’ return like everything else in the house.

No other window plants would be as fresh and lovely as these. No other rug as full of memories. No other bed as warm and familiar as his parents’.

That was where he lay while rain beat down on the weathered roof tiles and imagined them on either side of him, soothing him to sleep with their calm and loving voices. 

Hongjoong could lay there for the rest of his life and be satisfied. 

When he woke there would be consequences, but his dreams were spent in greener pastures, and for that much he could be thankful.

...

A/N: A little heavy handed there, huh? I have nothing to say for myself but if somehow you enjoyed, leave the likes and the comments and all that and have a nice day (recovering from this)!

← Previous | Masterlist | Next  →