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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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I'm in dire need of a fluffy scene where Claire tries to read the lines on Jamie's palm and she ends up failing miserably.

Liv says: So this isn’t fluff, so to speak—but I hope it’s still fun! Set about 2-3 years before puir Frank the Mailman died in the Three Witches AU. No worries if you haven’t read it. This one stands alone! :)

Intersection: A Three Witches Story

Claire knew this was against coven rules. Like, totally outside the realm of acceptable witch behavior.

To dole out one’s magical talents—particularly at the county fair—was a bit manipulative (in regards to the customers), a bit sad (in regards to Claire). Still, she liked to think she was working for a kind of greater good. Ensuring the happiness of all mankind! And that was almost admirable, wasn’t it? Giving hopeful glimmers of adulthood to the stork-like teenagers, comforting the mopey singletons who trudged around, heads bent? She’d offered such assurances as:

“A new man will come into your life. A handsome one—with a huge prick! His name…I think his name begins with a ‘T’.” (This to the recent divorcee, clutching her naked ring finger like a burn. She hadn’t known what a “prick” was but was no less forthcoming with her money.)

Or this, to the bucktoothed 16-year old picking at his acne scars: “You’ll be the coolest person in college. Captain of the ultimate frisbee team!” He’d been disappointed at that one, enormous chompers clamping over his bottom lip. “Ho ho ho there, young man!” she’d said then. “Ultimate frisbee is cool where you’re going. The coolest cool.” And then he’d smiled, a patchwork of teeth and holes, which Claire hoped someone might find endearing. A nice and wholesome blind girl, maybe.

And then this, to the both of them: “For just $5 more, I can guarantee it! All you have to do is buy this magical rock and carry it with you wherever you go.” Nevermind that said magical rock was actually from Claire’s backyard. Nevermind that several of them were speckled in bird shit. Maybe some cicada guts.

But that was the thing about desperate Mortals. Metaphorically speaking, their whole lives were a succession of bird shit plops and smeared bug guts. So they didn’t even notice when it was covering their $5, not-magical rock.

“Yes please! I’ll take two!” the divorcee had cried, handing Claire a ten dollar bill. (Did she think this would bring two men into her life? Because that’s not how Claire’s bird shit rocks worked.)

“Um. Yeah. That’s sounds pretty sick,” said Beaver Bobby. “I’ll buy a rock.” He’d paid in all quarters but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

If her best friend Gillian were here, she would likely call this “an exploitative farce,” two terms she would’ve picked up from her beloved Word of the Day calendar.

“Claire,” she would hiss, “this is such an exploitative (Wednesday’s word) farce (last Friday’s word).” And then she’d pull out her Moleskin, update her word count with a self-satisfied tick. Her record, she claimed, was sixty words in a single morning, and Claire imagined a horrible plague descending upon their town, zombifying everyone until they could only grunt “verisimilitude.” Gillian thought an expanded vocabulary made her smarter but, really, it just increased her smart-assedness to a barely tolerable level.

Luckily, Gillian wasn’t here to offer one of her impressive synonyms because she’d bailed on their plans. If Claire could place money on it—and she couldn’t, with only $7 to her name, the very reason for this “manipulative/sad/exploitative farce”—Gillian was protesting GMO’s one county over. Perhaps arguing for the rights of beluga whales. Or, and this was the most likely, she was loitering at the Creamy Whip, breasts thrust at a very specific angle so that customers’ cones would find their shirts and not their mouths.

Psh! Now if that wasn’t an “exploitative farce” then Claire didn’t know what was. Gillian had mosquito bite boobs and a push-up bra more magical than her own powers.

But here was the thing: Claire wasn’t completely faking it. She wasn’t, so to speak, wearing a bra with three inches of padding. She could read palms, see futures unfurl, weblike, across strangers’ skins. Forks, divots, complex branches—each had such a distinct voice, that Claire had no doubt as to whether or not, say, Mr. Duncan over there would choke on a hot dog and die very suddenly. Or whether young Malva—that girl with the cotton candy and ruffled socks—would pop out a kid by the time she was 17. Claire, being a witch, knew precisely what would befall her clients by simply looking at their hands.

But of course, teenage pregnancy and death by synthetic meat logs weren’t exactly good for customer satisfaction. And so Claire would read Mr. Duncan’s palm, and she would see Mr. Duncan’s red face, gasping on a particularly troublesome bit of hot dog, but say he’d live until he was 85. A little white lie for a happy client. And a happy client meant A) money, B) a potential second visit, and thus C) more money. The $5 rocks weren’t scams, just for-profit business cards.

So she was lying, but not, y’know, totally lying. She’d deal with the prevention of hot dog-induced deaths later, when it better benefitted her monthly budget. (Because just as she wasn’t a complete liar, she wasn’t a complete asshole either.)

The fair had died down to a trickling of stragglers: mostly drunks, a couple of junkies who’d staggered into Nayawenne County for cheap-rate smack. Sighing, Claire stood to begin packing up, turned off the moody sound effects, gathered Gillian’s stack of Tarot cards (all hand-painted variations of herself: man Gillian; tree Gillian; Gillian with bigger-than-mosquito-bite boobs).

In the five hours since Claire had arrived, she’d made $120. Not a terrible turnout if one compared it to last year’s fair, when an angry swarm of Bible-thumpers had tossed her earnings into the funnel cake fryer. Sally Bain—or, as Claire called her, Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence—had rallied her troop of Jesus warriors and thrust crucifixes into Claire’s face, chanting things like, “Begone Satan!” and “This is God’s land!”

Which was kind of funny when you thought about it. If God wanted to claim ownership of Nayawenne—out of every other place in the universe—then he was pretty damn stupid.

Fortunately, Claire had suffered no further Bible-thumping, crucifix-wielding disturbances. Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence had fled town once she’d discovered her husband had fucked the organ player up in the ass. And in the church rectory, no less. (Such irony! Claire’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ha.)

It had been a windy afternoon, and Claire’s crystal ball was now coated in a fine layer of dust. Though it was only for decorative purposes—for customer satisfaction!—Claire decided she ought to give it a nice shine, make it look at least halfway capable of revealing visions of tomorrow.

Witch Tip #1: Unbeknownst to Mortals, crystal balls were like kisses from a true love. Which was to say, not powerful in the slightest. The most a kiss could do was give you mouth herpes. And, at its highest power, a crystal ball would fly across a room, break a window and the pinky toe of an irritating significant other. Not that Claire had experience with either situation. Certainly not the mouth herpes.

Claire ripped off a paper towel and went to grab the Windex, only to realize she’d left the Windex at home. Had, by a stroke of poor planning, only brought the herbal tonic she sometimes had to spritz into her eyes when they got a bit cloudy.

Witch Tip #2: Seeing the future had its drawbacks. Your eyes would get all crusty if you did it too much. As if your body was punishing you with goopy morning blindness. Honestly, it was pretty gross.

Well shit, Claire thought. She spat on her hand and rubbed the ball, hoping the couple beside “Whack-A-Democrat” wouldn’t think she was, like, doing something sexual to an inanimate object.

But whatever the couple thought, they were watching her, whispering behind their hands and giving her darting glances. Oh God, Claire thought, Bible-thumper radar blaring. Did Sally Bain send them? Did she organize a sabotage via prayer? Was it possible to raise an army of vengeful Baptists an entire state away? (Claire wouldn’t be surprised. She’d heard of stranger things. Done some of them herself. See also: anally-fucked organ player before he was anally fucked.)

But no, the couple wasn’t looking at Claire with the fury of God in their eyes—but fascination. The woman, a petite but sturdy thing, was shoving her partner in Claire’s direction. Making a not-so-obvious pointing gesture, like, Her. Her! that he seemed somewhat reluctant to obey. Still, he did, and soon he was striding towards Claire, long legs stomping up clouds of dirt dust, red hair matching the synthetic blood of a “whacked” Bill Clinton.

“Are you…” the man began, looking nervously over his shoulder. The woman pursed her lips, arched her brow like, Do it, you pussy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, defeated. “Are ye done for the day, lass?”

“I was just about to pack up, but I’ve time for another reading if you’re interested.”

“Aye…” he said, completely unconvincing. “Aye, I suppose I’m interested.”

“Well then, take a seat, Mr…?”

“Fraser. Jamie.”

He was huge. Like, mega huge. Like, he could probably eat her. He was also ridiculously attractive, which meant that if he did eat her, Claire would ask him to do it again. She most definitely would not mind being inside his mouth.

“So what’s it going to be this evening, Jamie? Tarot? Crystal ball? A pal—”

“My sister says as I should have ye read my palm.”

“Oh! Splendid. Is that your sister back there?”

“Aye, that’s Jenny.” Again, he looked over his shoulder at the woman, her eyes unblinking despite the tidal wave of dust. As if to explain her behavior, he said, “We just moved here from Scotland. Only been in Nayawenne County for a few weeks now.”

“Dear me,” Claire replied, and then cringed. Attractive, mega huge men made her nervous—and sometimes her nerves made her sound like a 50’s housewife. It was a problem, she now realized, she ought to fix. “I mean, like,” she continued, “bloody hell. That’s a long way.”

“Family orders.” He shrugged. “But yer not so close to home yourself. British, by your accent.”

Claire nodded. “I’ve been here for a while now. Packed my bags when I was 20 and moved for…” She floundered for a plausible explanation. “Well. A guy.”

This, like Claire’s palm reading, was not a total lie. She had, indeed, come to America for a man: Ray, one of her classmates, had sought her input on a new enchantment in ‘04. A healing spell—Claire’s specialty —prepared from some rare fungi found in the hills of Appalachia. But Claire had about as many romantic feelings for Ray as she would a toad. Too many all-nighters spent with his warty nose and her (she liked the think) perfectly attractive nose stuck in the same spell book.

She’d stayed, though, after that. Anything—even bumfuck Ohio—was better than going back to England, where every witch wanted to hex her…

But that was a story for another time.

This story, right here, continued with a ripple of concern across Jamie’s face. Claire regarded him, wary, but glad Gillian wasn’t here to ruin their conversation with Words of the Day, beluga whales, or push-up bras. Jamie was, at the moment, only hers.

“He’s out of the picture now,” she said. “The guy, that is.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m just out of a break-up myself. One of the reasons I was none so unhappy about leaving Scotland.”

“Oh, well…” She looked down as if expecting two beverages to materialize, waiting to be held aloft. Instead, she grabbed her bottle of eye tonic. Lamely spritzed it into the air. “Here’s to being single then!”

“Aye, to being single,” he said, the mist falling slowly between them. Claire had never heard a proper guffaw before, but the sound that came from Jamie’s mouth was what she’d always imagined a guffaw to be. Warm, kinda strange, totally hot.

“So,” she began, getting back on track. “You said your sister put you up to this? Any specific reason for that?”

“Dinna ken,” Jamie replied, smiling a little beneath his (also) perfectly attractive nose. “I dinna question Jenny when she tells me to do something. She’s into this kind of…” He looked at the crystal ball, the cards, the rather tasteless turban sitting lopsided on Claire’s head. “Weel, whatever you call this.”

“How wonderful,” Claire said, giving Jenny another once-over. Adorable, really, when Mortals got caught up in the craft. One minute they were watching Oprah, swallowing her New Age-y drivel, and the next thing they thought they were gods. Practicing divinations, performing séances in the streets with Glade candles and getting hit by Aramark trucks. (She’d read about it in the paper once.)

“Well, I suppose we should get on with it then. Will you open your hand for me? Palm up, please.”

Jamie laid his hand on the table. It, like the rest of him, was huge.

The last man Claire went out with had also had large hands. He’d taken her to the theater and—there was really no other description for it—had swallowed her with his bulk. Sucked her face, handled her boobs like a hungry squirrel might stockpile acorns. She could still taste his buttery-saltiness on her tongue, the little bit of crunched kernel that had slid from between his teeth to the back of her throat. She’d coughed, choking, and when he’d reached to pat her back, he’d decided to take a handful of her tit instead. Just held onto it, leech-like, while the fugitive kernel slowly killed her. (Luckily, his other hand—the one not squeezing her boob—handed her the Diet Coke, and she survived.)

Jamie wouldn’t do that, she thought. His big and gentle hand would pat her back first, then return, lightly graze her tit as if by accident. It would, quite possibly, be the most artful tit-graze in all of human history.

And sitting here, trying to read Jamie’s palm, Claire realized she wanted his hand, right there, quite badly. To have his thumb teasing her nipple through her shirt, maybe traveling a bit lower. Slipping beneath the elastic waistband of her panties, to her crotch, which Louise at Louise’s would’ve waxed just for the occasion. The noises she would make would disturb the other viewers, but Jamie, with those big and gentle hands, would not muffle them.

“D’ye see anything interesting?” Jamie asked now, and the image of his hand on her tit, while fingering her in the 13th row of the Regal Cinema, vanished. Was promptly replaced by worry.

“Well, it’s funny, really…”

The true answer was: nope, nada. Nothing. Not even a flicker of Jamie wrapped around a toilet bowl, vomiting bad cheeseburger on a Saturday night. Jamie Fraser’s palm was like one of those ancient texts she and Ray had pored over, all bizarre hieroglyphs and nonsensical syntaxes. But while they had managed a crude translation, this was something entirely different. Jamie Fraser’s palm, Claire knew, would never reveal its secrets—no matter how hard she tried.

Which was why Claire swooned a little bit, and why Jamie had to reach over to keep her from toppling to the ground. His hand, though it did not brush against that sacred spot of her breast, did find the small of her back, stayed there a touch too long. Through her fog of shock, Claire thought: There’s some sort of time etiquette for this kind of thing, right? A three-second max before it veers from a purely platonic gesture into something kinda sexual?

“That bad was it?” Jamie said, smirking.

“Sorry,” Claire replied, leaning into him. She lingered over his face but found no indication that he was feeling the same way, or even thinking, Blimey! That just veered from a purely platonic gesture into some thing kind of sexual!

“Fine. I’m fine. Peachy keen as they say!” Claire cleared her throat to keep her voice from cracking. “It’s just—your hand is a bit unusual is all. I’ve not seen anything like it.”

“Is ‘unusual’ a good thing or a bad thing?”

Well, Claire thought, that depended on what exactly was being called “unusual”. Because what she was feeling was really fucking unusual, and what she was feeling was a bone-deep, stomach-fluttering ache. Like Cupid had shot his arrow straight up her ass, punctured all her gory insides and skewered her heart like a shish kebab.

“I dunno, really. I guess it means—”

“I’m special?”

“You could say that.” Was she blushing? She was blushing. “Mr. Fraser…”

“Jamie.”

“Right. Jamie. I’m afraid—God, this is a little embarrassing—I can’t actually read your palm. There’s nothing there.” She slid the fiver across the table, feeling too frazzled to consider spinning one of her lies. “These things happen from time to time. I’m, uh, probably just tired. But you can have this back. I won’t take your money.”

“‘Nothing,’ ye said? You didn’t see a thing?”

“Afraid so. Nothing to worry about though. It’s not necessarily a bad omen…It’s—it’s hard to explain.”

For a man being given a very sincere and full refund, Jamie’s face was abnormally pale. The color had drained from his cheeks, and his hands—so incapable of leech-like grabs!—began to tremble. Two crooked fingers beat a nervous rhythm into his pant leg, and he quickly got to his feet.

“Keep the money, lass,” he said, “You can pay me back later.” And if he wasn’t in such a rush, Claire would’ve been able to confirm that she had, in fact, heard him say, “I’ll see you soon, Claire.” That her name wasn’t a tacked-on politeness, but something he’d said with the utmost tenderness.

And if Claire had been an upstanding member of the Coven Coalition— a studious practitioner of spells—she would’ve been able to hear Jenny and Jamie’s conversation from 50 feet away. Instead, she was forced to define Jenny’s smug whoop as if it were Gillian’s Word of the Day.

Jenny’s Smug Whoop (n):

1) a victory celebration, i.e. I told ye so, did I no’?!

2) proof of a mutual understanding of Witch Tip #3, i.e. A witch cannot see her own future (yet another palm-reading glitch). If, for example, Claire read a client’s palm, and her reading was filled with blips of blankness, then she had likely stumbled upon a deep intersection. Or, rather: a point in time where her future and the client’s were so intertwined—beyond family, beyond friendship—that Claire could not see the specific event due to her involvement and the aforementioned glitch.

And so there was one reason—one very momentous reason—that Claire could not read Jamie Fraser’s palm. He had a future, no doubt about it, but every second was marked by a certain curly-haired, British witch. (Refer to: a deep, ongoing intersection.) She, Claire Beauchamp—who was not at all an upstanding member of the Coven Coalition but who would certainly enjoy having those big, gentle hands in her underwear for the rest of her days—was Jamie Fraser’s future. You could, if you were of the romantic persuasion, even say they were soul mates.

The discovery of one’s soul mate has adverse effects on one’s respiratory system, and so Claire found it hard to breathe. She scrambled through her purse, found her flask, and took a hearty pull.

“I take it yer off duty, then?” said an unfamiliar voice. “Claire, is it?”

Claire looked up to find Jenny Fraser, that same smug wash of victory tugging at her eyes.

“Aye, but of course it is. I ken that already.” Jenny cleared her throat, expanded her chest like a sermonizing Sally Bain. “You’re Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, born October 20th, 1989 in Oxford, England. Parents, deceased—verra sorry for yer loss, by the way—and an uncle, missing in action. Yer also currently broke, by the looks of it, which is why yer selling wee pebbles covered in shite.”

Claire, utterly speechless, simply said, “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” through a mouthful of gin.

“Christ, to be sure. Sadly, Mr. FDR is a bit worse for wear. Got a proper skelping back there.”

Claire looked around wildly and found Jamie watching them—albeit, still visibly flustered—by the freshly bludgeoned Roosevelt.

“Did the Coalition send you?” she asked, frantic. “Am I in trouble? Because…Look! I’ll stop selling the bird shit rocks, all right? Just please don’t report me.”

Jenny shook her head, laughing.

“Nay, it’s nothing like that. It’s only—weel, it appears you’ve just confirmed something I’ve suspected for some time now. About you and my brother.”

Witch Tip #4: Magical beings—witches, wizards, fairies, vampires, etc. etc.—are everywhere. The old woman throwing Reese’s Pieces at the ducks could very well be a shapeshifter. Your random client at the county fair could have a witch for a sister.

“If you’re referring to how I couldn’t read Jamie’s palm, then yeah, I—”

But Jenny interrupted, happily offered her hand for shake.

“I’d say that settles it,” she said. “If yer going to make a lovesick fool of my brother, then I think we should be friends, aye?”

#kaitrionabalfe #apologies for the profanity #three witches au #;mod liv #featuring: geillis #featuring: jenny #how many times have i written jamie and claire's first meeting?#TOO MANY FAR TOO MANY

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metaborderlines · 3 years

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Top 10 Fan Fics and Why

Inspired by the post from @saygoodnightlove about fan fic recommendations, I want to know as @juli-81 asked, “Whatfics made you fall in love with Outlander in a new way this year?” My first answer was “Power Jam” by @isthisclever and I’ll stick with it, because of the way this writer uses detail to make things new, especially the love story that never gets old, Jamie meets Claire, this time at a roller rink in Edinburgh. The other nine, in no particular order, sprinkled I see with many WIPs:

#2, “Wee Herbs” by @jesuisprest. OK, I have a problem with feisty Jenny, always barging in to “protect” Jamie. In “Wee Herbs,” Jenny is none too pleased to find that her brother has married the proprietor of a weed shop [it’s medical marijuana,Jenny] in California, and that California Claire has a child (Fergus, age 6, blooming nicely in West Coast soil). Claire fights fire with fire, beats Jenny at the primal battle of “family first.” WIP.

#3 “Lovers in a Dangerous Time” by @sassenachthroughtime. Is there a more romantic scene in fan fic than the one in this story when Claire, unwilling trophy wife to Fronk in oppressively staid South Carolina society, helps new next-door neighbor Jamie with clean-up after his housewarming party and he whispers, Scottish burr on fire, “Dance wi’me?” WIP.

#4 “Game Changer” by @the2ofusnow. Jamie’s the rookie of the year with the NY Mets; Claire is the team doctor, written with emotional intelligence. WIP.

#5 “Atonement” by @smashing-teacups, for its quiet scenes in the hospital when horribly-injured Jamie and compassionate-nurse Claire get to know one another. The writer gets the most out of dialogue, small moments like the one when Claire washes Jamie’s hair.

#6 “Market Price” by @desperationandgin. Both Jamie and Claire are witty and strong, despite (of course) having weathered some life-challenges, and they’re funny and sweet, unable to keep their hands off one another.

#7 “Saorsa” by @scapegrace-74. Jamie escapes Black Jack by touching the stones, lands in the midst of WW II at Lallybroch whose chatelaine is a pregnant widow, Claire, the legatee of the Randall estate. The way the two come together, inevitably, is told with grace and verve—a description that fits “anything by” @scapegrace-74, especially the stories in the “Metric Universe.” Thanks also to @scapegrace-74 for pointing to a perfect novella, “The Stars Will Sing for Us” by @fallofrain. No drama, just strong characterization when Dr. Claire moves to Broch Morda and falls in love with, guess, the sweetest, hottest guy in town; he’s good with horses too. No bland inevitability: the writer allows the reader to discover the characters as they discover one another.

#8 “Loving Jamie” by @JillianK, an 18thcentury story in which Jamie has lost inheritance when he’s rendered mute from an axe blow (Dougal?) The MacKenzie brothers arrange a marriage to Claire. The story has a fairytale quality leavened with humor, e.g ch 7 when Jamie wonders if his new wife loves him and Clarence nudges him not to get maudlin. “Christ. Now he was taking life lessons from a mule.”

#9 “Something to Believe In” by @caitrinwrites. Claire is a chef in Santa Fe and when a Scottish distiller turns up to purvey his wares at her resto, he very much resembles her daughter Brianna, age 5. WIP. This story of introducing Jamie to his lost child shows signs of rising to meet the top of the class in the genre, “Downhill” by @wickedgoodbooks (who can forget five-year-old Willie on “The Puffin Trip” with his reunited parents, Claire and Jamie?) and “Flood My Mornings” by @bonnie_wee_swordsman (Jamie’s observations about the mores of America in the 1950, all the tut-tutting about working mothers, and his comment about how the Pope can just get out of women’s way when it comes to reproductive choice). And “Written in the Stones” by @lenny9987, one of the best father-and-child reunion stories in which Jamie arrives at Craig na dun and reclaims Claire and ten-year-old Brianna, in part when she teaches him to bake chocolate chip cookies at Mrs. Graham’s house during a thunderstorm.

More than a top ten, I can’t omit “One Summer” by @missclairebelle, the glorious variant on Jamie and Claire as a bantering couple who would give Hepburn and Tracy a run for their money in their heyday. And “Jimjeran” by @betweensceneswriter, which manages to convey new love in the most heated yet nuanced fashion. Jamie and Claire are Peace Corps volunteers on a Pacific island, which shows among other things that this story is truly universal. And then there’s “In My Daughter’s Eyes” by @preciouslittleingenue, Jamie as a riding therapist to autistic Faith, four-year-old child of Claire and Fronk, who rejected his “imperfect” child. And You’ll Be in Mo Chridheby @CrossingInStyle. Claire goes to Africa with Uncle Lamb and meets Tarzan, who is, guess ... Another good one by this prolific writer, “First Time Here?”Jamie is a bartender in Inverness who asks the question of Claire on her sequential bad dates. Nice past-present cross-stich. And “Back to You”by @balfeheughlywed. Claire is Leery’s roommate at Edinburgh U…but the writing is good. Jenny is the Worst. And “Queen’s Gambit”by @AbbeDebeaupre. Lord John is private eye, Jamie trains polo ponies… And the “Basia Mille” series by @JRC10…

This list is threatening to exceed top 20, so many good stories. Thank you, writers!

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple. It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating. You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

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

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker. Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it? Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely. The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class. At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her. Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind. And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm. Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom. This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake. I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home. Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift. Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes? I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary. I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more. They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”. She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that. Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat. Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach. And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved. Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin. A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine. Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes. The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room. His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four. We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good. That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face. The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two. An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach. Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.” Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably. Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour. They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand. It was a giddy education for them both.

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake. His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes. Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted. So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh. Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw. She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips. She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear. Go on. So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch. Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper. A worried furrow now marred his brow. Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face. He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined. His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body. Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh. Breathy moans filled the air. Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration. She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.” His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one. Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises. “God, please,” she begged. They’d spoken of it. A fantasy. A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time. Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned. “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa. Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach. Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically. Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom. For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed. As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions. Her mother’s emerald earrings. Her father’s pocket watch. A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam. And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb. All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable. Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall. “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles. There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand. At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one. This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me. And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift. She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant. But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap. His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!” His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted. What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set? She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play. You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed. He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually. It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes. I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield. And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen. Look here. See this wee knight? Tis a Scotch Hussar. An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.” Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook. Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs. Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye. Truly. Tis a grand gift.” The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome. I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it. But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.” It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before. Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her. It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart. Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm.

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn. I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly. Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

#my writing #outlander

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 4 years

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Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved... unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 1: Life offers you many surprises

Berlin, Französische Straße Friday, 25 July 2025, 8.50 a.m.

Five minutes earlier, Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp had entered the large, light gray house, built in the neo-Renaissance style that dominated the whole Forum Fridericianum. In the lobby, which was dominated by marble and dark wood, Claire was greeted by a receptionist. She was asked to sit down for a moment in one of the dark leather armchairs, of which four were grouped around an elegant round table. As she waited, her eyes wandered up the high walls of the entrance hall. A few steps of a staircase led out of the hall through a large glass door that ended in a round arch at the top, reminiscent of a gate entrance. Above it was a large ornament of dark stones inlaid in the light marble. The ornament showed a circle, which, as it seemed, was formed from a belt. The words "Je suis prest" could be read in the curve of the circle and in the center of the ornament was the head of a stately stag, which looked directly at the observer.

“Französische Straße Berlin” by Jörg Zägel / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Claire knew that the French motto meant "I am ready!", but just as she was wondering what the sign meant, an older lady approached her. She introduced herself as Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons. This employee, whose blue costume gave the impression of a uniform, led Claire down various small staircases and long corridors to the room where she was now sitting. Wherever they had gone in this house, it had been extremely quiet. The heavy, dark red carpets that covered all the stairs and hallways, had swallowed every sound of their footsteps. Now she sat in a room whose furnishings were characterized by dark wood and light brass and whose dimensions were more like those of a hall. But it was the antechamber of the CEO’s office of "Fraser & Son International" and behind the large double-winged door that Claire was now looking at was the study of Dr. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, one of the country's leading business owners. Until two weeks ago, Claire did not know the man's name or that of his company. She didn't care about the gossip press, which also reported on the local "high society" in Berlin. But then Geillis Duncan, her best friend, came by one evening and showed her a job ad from the "Wirtschaftswoche" newspaper. At first Claire was completely surprised. How did Geillis, who loved to read the gossip press, come to show her an ad from Germany's leading weekly magazine for managers?

"Dave left it on the kitchen table, and since I didn't have anything else at hand, I looked into it while having breakfast. But now take a look at this job ad!"

Geillis had emphatically pointed to an ad that featured the same ornament as the one she had seen in the lobby. Claire had started reading. A pedagogically trained caregiver was needed for an almost seven-year-old child. The woman should speak fluent German, English and French. Further foreign language skills were welcome but not required. Furthermore, an extensive general education and an impeccable curriculum vitae (i.e. no entries in the Federal Central Crime Register) were expected. Special emphasis was placed on the knowledge and practice of the literature written by Adolph Freiherr Knigge. Three times the current monthly salary was offered, 30 days paid vacation, free board and lodging, private health insurance 1st class.

"Just imagine Claire!" the girlfriend had exclaimed enthusiastically, "If you got this job and worked there for a few years, all your problems would be solved!”

Geillis was right, well, almost. Surely not all her problems would be solved. But the financial problems she had to deal with could at least be significantly reduced by this job. She had to acknowledge that and so Claire, Geillis and her friend Dave met that very evening to write a letter of application. Dave, who worked for a large media company at Potsdamer Platz, immediately agreed to help her with his knowledge. The next day, Claire had sent off the application. Then she had bought an updated edition of "The Knigge" and started reading it. Shortly after, Geillis came and brought her a large pile of current newspaper clippings so Claire could learn all she needed to know about the person of James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and the family business he ran.

She learned a lot about the company from various business magazines, but the person of James Fraser seemed almost like a phantom. It seemed to her that this man also didn't care about the so-called "high society" and obviously he didn't deliver any headlines to the gossip press. There was neither an article about him nor a photo of him on the company's homepage. Even a Wikipedia article with his name only gave the basic data (birthday, place of birth, family, studies) and otherwise dealt more with the globally active company. "Fraser & Son International" was one of the few family-owned companies that to this day had no shareholders and, having invested in a wide range of economic sectors, not only survived the financial crisis of 2008 well, but had even emerged from it stronger. In this Wikipedia article, however, there was a photo by James Fraser. It showed him with a group of business leaders at a national conference. However, this picture was over eight years old and also very pixelated. At some point everything turned in Claire's head and she hoped that she had not learned all this information for nothing. If she would at least be invited for a job interview. Ten days later, she hadn't dared to hope that she would ever hear of Fraser & Son International, and to her surprise, her smartphone rang just before the lunch break began. A Dr. Ned Gowan called on behalf of the company, explained that he was the lawyer for "Fraser & Son International" and asked if she could come for an interview at the company's headquarters two days later at 9:00 am. She told him that she had to ask her department head to give her time off first and would call back. As the summer vacation period was over, it was no problem to get a day off and so she called Dr Gowan fifteen minutes later and agreed to meet him (and Dr. Fraser!) two days later. Claire had to be extremely restrained not to cheer out loud. This would have immediately drawn the attention of her colleagues in the department, and she definitely did not want to tell them about it. During lunch break, she left the clinic and sat down on a bench in a nearby park. From there she called Geillis and told her the good news. Right after the end of her shift, the friends met in the parking lot of the clinic to go into town together and pick out a suitable "outfit" for Claire's job interview. Geillis, who had worked as a freelance fashion consultant for many years before she met "the rich Dave", dragged her friend directly to the fashion department of the KaDeWe. There, after a while, they found a muted dark green business costume that emphasized Claire's figure but still looked respectable.

“Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) - Foto by Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

"That's perfect," exclaimed Geillis as Claire stepped out of the dressing room. "Yes, perfectly too expensive for me. Have you seen the price?" "Don't worry about that," Geillis replied. Then she whispered: "I'll pay for it. If the job doesn't work out, we'll just give it back afterwards. And if you get the job and want to keep it, you'll give me the money back when you get your first salary.”

They bought the costume and also a matching blouse and shoes. Claire was not allowed to think about the amount of money they had spent within a few hours or she would get sick. But that was all forgotten at that moment. Now it was time to concentrate and make a good impression. Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons had led her into this room and instructed her to use one of the twelve large brown leather armchairs. With the words "You will be called in when it is your turn," she had said goodbye. Claire had taken a seat and scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible. Seven other women sat in leather armchairs of the same type, which were set up on three side walls of the room, each separated by a small table. On the tables were glasses and bottles of mineral water, but none of the other women had made use of them. Claire had not intended to drink anything either. She was far too excited to drink, and she was afraid that she might have to go to the bathroom in the middle of her upcoming job interview. Slowly, her gaze wandered across the light-colored carpet to that large, two-winged mahogany wooden door. On each of the wings was a coat of arms, divided into four sections. On the upper left and the lower right quarter were three white flowers on a blue background. The upper right and the lower left quarter each showed three red, pointed crowns on a white background. Behind this door, Claire assumed, must be the director's room. What would she expect there? She did not know. Why had she only gotten involved in this thing that Geilis Duncan had suggested to her? Out of desperation? She wasn't sure. Only one thing was sure: she had never thought that she would have to have another job interview at the age of almost 30. But that was her life. Much of what had happened in her life had not been planned, nor had she ever expected her life to be like that. Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp, almost divorced Randall, had lost her parents in a car accident when she was five years old. For the next fifteen years she was raised in the loving care of her uncle 'Lamb'. Dr. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, an archaeologist and Egyptologist whose research focus was on the Old Kingdom of Egypt and who was highly revered by his students, came to Berlin in 2015, where he taught at Humboldt University in the last years before his retirement. There Claire had also met her future husband, Dr. Frank Randall. He had been assigned to her uncle as a research assistant. Randall had courted her like no man before and they had already married in May 2016. The first four years of their marriage had gone in a way that Claire would still describe as happy today. Although, she was no longer quite so sure. What did happiness actually mean? Was there a definition for this term? And even if there was a definition for the term "happiness", was it really valid for all people? In any case, the first four years of her marriage had not been very negative. Together they had made regular trips to Paris, Madrid, Prague, Budapest, Dubrovnik, Palermo, Venice, Turin, Marseille, Amsterdam, Florence, Milan, Barcelona and Bruges.

“Palermo/Sizilien” by nataliaaggiato

Claire enjoyed getting to know these cities and experiencing their cultural particularities. When Lambert Beauchamp died unexpectedly in February 2019 as a result of a stroke, Frank had been kind and, in her opinion, very sensitive to her needs. But in the spring of 2020, a strange development had set in with him. At first Claire had blamed it on the effects of the corona pandemic. After the start of the lockdown, Frank was mainly at home, giving lectures via Zoom and otherwise writing a new book on the history of the Scottish Jacobite uprising in 1745. Claire, on the other hand, was working as a nurse in the children's clinic of Berlin's Charité hospital, as she had been before the crisis. Frank had insisted that Claire should give up her job. The possibility that she could become infected with the virus seemed too high to him. But Claire could not bring it over her heart to leave her fellow nurses alone, especially in such a severe time, and thanks to the strictly observed precautions she got through this difficult time without any problems. While she could be happy about the successes in her profession, the problems in her marriage with Frank seemed to become bigger and bigger. At some point, she felt that Frank was becoming more and more monosyllabic and that they were drifting apart rapidly. But evem then she thought this was a temporary phase that would end after the pandemic at the latest. At least she hoped so. When a vaccine against the virus was finally found in July 2021 and became available in December 2021, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She and Frank would get vaccinated and then they could travel again. This would change Frank's mind and make her marriage blossom again. But it all turned out differently. Once they were vaccinated, Frank suddenly didn't feel like traveling anymore. Again and again he put off his work. Regularly he worked until late at night at the university and sometimes he spent whole nights there. It was always about important analyses, which he published in specialist publications and for which there were tight deadlines. Even on evenings when Claire was off, he was rarely at home, and whenever she tried to initiate a little marital tenderness, he was too tired for that. In the spring of 2022, they had slept together for the last time. A few months later, Frank had stopped kissing her goodbye, as he usually did when he left the house. What happened then had the potential to throw her completely off track. By the fall of 2022, a hunch that Claire had suppressed again and again had been confirmed. Frank had a mistress. When she returned from her work at the children's hospital one evening in October, she saw Frank saying goodbye to a slender blonde at the door of their shared house, kissing her intensely. She stood there frozen. Everything inside her urged her to turn around and run away. But then the anger that built up within her gained the upper hand. Like a burning ray that shot out of her stomach through her whole body, he took a breath. She ran to the front door, unlocked it and found Frank standing at the sink in the kitchen, where he was just rinsing out two wine glasses. He turned to her in surprise, but before he could say a word, Claire's purse hit him in the left half of his face with full force. Frank had lost his balance and had fallen over. His glasses had come off his head and had broken when he hit the kitchen floor. Claire no longer knew what insults she had used to call him. Frank had picked himself up and collected the parts of his glasses. He had not even set out to explain the situation or apologize.Claire would not have listened to him either. She had turned on her foot and had run into the shared bedroom. When she arrived there, she had taken Frank's bed linen, run back downstairs with it and threw it all into his study. Then she ran back into the bedroom again and locked herself inside. She did not know how long she had cried angrily. But before she had fallen asleep, she had made a plan. The next morning she went on the morning shift. During a break she called a lawyer and that same afternoon she went to see her to discuss the formalities of a divorce.

“Brille” by jottbe

Frank had had the injuries Claire had inflicted on him treated, but had not reported them to the police. It was only later that he let it show that he had orchestrated the whole situation. He had simply been too cowardly to have a conversation with her about a divorce, as two adults normally do. He probably wanted to make her feel guilty, too. Claire was convinced of that, at least. Frank had always been against her going back to work. When she accepted the job at the children's hospital a year after their wedding, he had expressed himself very negatively about it. What kind of impression would it leave on his colleagues if the wife of a prospective professor went to work? And in the last year of their marriage he had not missed any opportunity to tell her how much he felt neglected. It took three months before Claire was able to move into a small room in one of the Charité nurses' homes. During these three months she did everything she could to avoid Frank as much as possible. Anything she couldn't take with her to the nurses' home, she stored in her friend Geillis Duncan's basement. Claire hoped that the divorce would be finalized in October 2023 after the obligatory year of separation and that she could finally start a new life. But this time, too, everything turned out differently than she had hoped. It was a rainy autumn day in September 2023 and it was to be the last day in the life of Dr. Frank Randall. On a country road near Lübeck, where he had attended a conference for historians, Frank's car skidded for some unknown reason. The car broke through the barrier and then came to a halt in a field. There it was discovered the next morning by a farmer. When the police arrived at the scene of the accident, Dr. Frank Randall was strapped in the seat belt and sat in the driver's seat as if nothing had happened. He was uninjured and even still wearing his hat. But Frank Randall was dead. An autopsy performed later revealed that Frank had had a heart attack that caused him to lose control of the car, causing it to veer off the road. It was, as the police later said, very lucky that no other car had been hit. Claire was shaken.

“Lübeck” by scholty1970

But an even greater shock struck her on the day of the reading of the will. On that day, the notary told her that she would not inherit any money, only debts from Frank. Her still-husband had bought a condominium for his mistress for 250,000 euros, which he had signed over to her. For this gift Frank had gone into debt and Claire, who was still married to him by law, inherited his debts. It was one big nightmare. Although Claire had also inherited the rights to Frank's books, these reference books sold only in very manageable numbers and brought in little money. With her salary as a pediatric nurse, it would take her decades to pay off Frank's debts. Meanwhile, Sandy Travers, this bleached ...., was sitting in her apartment, probably enjoying herself with her next lover. Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire's heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore her from these thoughts.

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #James Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #lambert beauchamp #Frank Randall #Fergus Fraser #Geillis Duncan #Ned Gowan #Berlin #Germany #Modern AU #Outlander Prompt Exchange

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

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Sinners & Saints-Chapter 5

Thanks to @statell for your help and guidance

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Five

Jamie walked his newly planted fields and saw green shoots coming up in every direction. He prayed for a good harvest this year. Not because he was poor or starving, he just wanted to win at something this year. He answered his cell phone and stood up straight, listening intently.

“Are you sure it’s Casper? I’ll leave within the hour and meet you in Paris.”

Jamie felt exhilarated and ran back to the house and into the shower. Casper had come out of retirement and stolen a painting from a private gallery. He did the same thing at a London gallery the previous weekend. It seemed a bit low end but at the very least, it would buy him more time. He got packed and headed for the airport.

Claire sat in her office at the University, staring into gray space. Her pencil tapped absently and when Geillis called to her she jumped.

“Calm yerself, Claire. I had hoped you could settle down a bit, especially with your gorgeous high-security apartment, and it’s been five months without word from that snake Randall. But yer still very unhappy. Why?”

Claire looked up at Geillis and shook her head, saying she didn’t sleep much the night before and not to worry. She packed up and went home for even more quiet time with her gray thoughts and more time to worry she was losing her mind. Jamie lived in her head now, always with her, always heartbroken because of what she did. She didn’t think he would ever speak to her again, and if he did, what would she say? Looking at the clock she wanted to scream because it was only seven o’clock. That was the worst part of missing Jamie, an hour took forever to go by so the torture never ended.

Claire grabbed some lined paper and a pen to see just what she would say to Jamie. Maybe getting it all out is what she needed to start feeling better. She could burn the letter after it was written.

Jamie poured over the reports and studied the crime scene photos of what were now three thefts. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He spent two full days checking his contacts in the black market, but no one knew the fence for this art, no one knew anything. The last guy he spoke to said someone told him a Monet would be in play soon, but he didn’t know which one. Jamie thanked him and promised the standard reward if the information was used to apprehend Casper.

Jamie sat on the same bench he shared with Claire six months ago and he let himself remember her smile and whisky brown eyes. She was playful and sexy, and he believed she had feelings for him. He shook his head and opened the newspaper. Flipping pages to the art section he scanned the ads and bam, there it was. A mid-range gallery hosting a private collection of Monet the following weekend. This, it seemed, was Casper’s new normal. Private showings and small galleries. Jamie had a good feeling about the location, and they had one week to set the scene to catch Casper.

There was one piece of evidence left by Casper that wasn’t shared with the world. It was how they identified him as the thief. Casper took great pains to keep the art intact, unlike many who pull the canvas from the frame basically ripping it out. Casper used some kind of tool to pop the nails that held the canvas in the frame. Whatever this tool was left distinct marks on the wood, a half-moon indentation. It was all they had so it was a guarded secret.

Claire pulled another piece of paper, the fourth piece, and continued writing a letter she would never send. Her feelings opened up to her like a blooming flower and she let it flow thinking the answer to her continuous sadness would reveal itself so she could fix it. When she was ready to end the letter and had said all there was to say, she wrote, ’I have never shared this much of me with anyone and I hope it cures my broken heart. I can summarize these four pages by saying I love you, Jamie, with all my heart, I love you.’

Claire sat up and looked at the paper. The words I love you seemed to jump off the page and she just stared at them. Before she could stop herself she sent a text to Jamie, ‘I love you, please forgive me. Claire” Send.

She didn’t expect to hear from him but hoped this would give her some closure. She went to bed.

Jamie stared at his phone and felt his heart ramming in his chest. Those words were the absolute last he expected to see, six months after they parted. He wouldn’t be returning the text, but as he fell asleep he said out loud, “I love you too Claire.”

The Monet show was one day away, and Jamie called Javier to ask about the gallery. He seemed genuinely happy he called and suggested they meet for lunch and he would answer any questions he could. Seeing the older man’s happy face was bittersweet for Jamie. They met at a sidewalk cafe and Jamie told him about the show. He asked about the gallery, if there were hidden entrances, a second vault, a basement, or structural abnormalities. Javier answered what he could and asked Jamie who it was they were closing in on.

“Casper.”

Javier almost choked on his coffee, “Casper you say? Well, that is wonderful, I hope you get him.”

The men talked a bit about sports and Jamie thanked Javier for his help and then bit him goodbye.

Claire came home early and saw a coded message from Javier. Once Tom deciphered the message, she couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Lunch with Jamie, he is preparing to arrest Casper tomorrow on a tip about a Monet. Needless to say, I was very surprised but not worried because you are in Chicago, right?’ Claire held the Chicago Tribune in front of her chest and took a selfie that she sent to Javier. She needed some air.

Jamie and his team had installed close circuit tv monitors in the gallery office and extra cameras throughout the exhibit. They scrutinized each visitor until their eyes were blurry. Jamie noticed a man standing in front of one of the pictures for a very long time. When he moved away the picture was still there, but Jamie’s gut was telling him the guy wasn’t normal. He radioed to his men near the door and described the man as he started running. The man was already being led out of the gallery when Jamie got to him. This was surprising since he would expect a man to fight harder for his freedom. The art thief had switched the painting with a reproduction and was arrested. His pockets were searched and a small Leatherman multitool was handed to Jamie. It was a link to Casper he thought, and a billion other people.

Later that afternoon, Jamie questioned the suspect who knew all the details of the last three crimes but was confused about the others.

“Tell me, sir, why did you rip the Rembrandt canvas out of the frame? Was someone coming?”

“I don’t remember, probably.”

Jamie made a sound of disgust, “if you intend to impersonate someone, sir, at least get the details straight. You are not Casper, nor could you ever be. You’re not smart enough.”

Jamie left the suspect handcuffed to the table and left. The pressure from his employers had let up with the newly revived Casper chase but now they would learn it was a copycat crime and his nightmares would start again.

“Yes, sir. It was a copycat, sir.”

“This is not good news for us or you Mister Fraser. We gave you an additional six months and you failed to fulfill your end of our bargain. I’m sorry Mister Fraser, it is out of my hands. The court will be notified of your failure to abide, sadly our agreement will be nullified.”

Jamie put the phone down and walked outside for some air. All of his tomorrows suddenly vanished and the nightmare of his captivity came back in living color. He was terrified. Not of monsters or torture, but of loneliness, desolation, no hope of escape. Jamie realized he left his phone at the office and jogged back before he lost that too.

Once back at his hotel, the phone vibrated an incoming text and Jamie’s heart sank, they don’t fool around, he thought. He looked with disbelief at the text message. ‘Come to Greece Jamie, please give me a chance to fix the hurt I caused. Two weeks on a yacht, just you and me going from one island to another. My heart aches to be near you. We can spend the first day making rules we are comfortable with. Claire.’

Jamie held his phone while the heartbreak over missed opportunities crushed him. “I love you too, Sassenach. Forget about me and find your happiness.” No text was returned, instead, Jamie got back to his reports and the grief settled into his bones.

Claire had battled herself for days over sending the text. The semester was over and she was getting out of Chicago for two weeks at least. She owned a yacht that was moored in Greece and the open water always made her feel better. For days Claire waited to hear back from Jaime, but no text came. This was the second time she extended an olive branch, leaving herself vulnerable, and he did not make contact. He was lost to her forever she concluded, and try as she might, the tears came, her legs buckled, and she sobbed into a gray pillow on her gray couch in her gray apartment, like her heart would never mend.

Jamie spent three days closing his case on Casper and the successful arrests made during the past year. He checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. He considered calling Javier, but he wasn’t strong enough to show a brave face. Javier reminded Jamie of his own father in many ways and he didn’t want the reality of who and what he was to be known. Not to anyone in her world. Her perfect, sparkling world would be repelled by him. Like a muddy pig running through a fancy white living room. Jamie swiped at his eyes in the taxi and tried to stop thinking about it. His phone buzzed for email and he brought it up.

Good afternoon, Mister Fraser.

We have ironed out the details of your return and would like to ask for your complete cooperation. Our agreement is not to be known outside of the agency and we want you to extract yourself slowly to avoid anyone looking for you or filing reports that you are missing. You will return to us as quiet as possible. I do hope you agree, the alternative is rather brutal.

I understand you have a small farm in Scotland and will need time to sell it and conclude any other business such as liquidating assets and the like. We are offering a four to six-week window and ask that you keep us informed.

Any questions you can reach out to this address and I will receive the message.

Jamie paid the taxi driver who looked at him with sympathy and told him life will be brighter tomorrow. He wiped at his face and nodded. Sorry mister, wrong about that, no sun where I’m going, no love, no hope, no redemption, he thought.

When Claire landed in Athens, she spent half of the first day getting reacquainted with the captain and his girlfriend who lived on the ship. There were living quarters connected to the bridge and they were happy there, living on a luxury yacht waiting to be called to duty. She and Maia made three trips to the grocery store to stock food for a two-week journey.

Claire walked down the long dock with her arms full of last-minute purchases. She could feel one of the bags slipping through her arm and she felt sweat drip down the side of her face from the effort.

“Here, let me help you with that.” The man rescued the slipping bag and took all the others. Her subconscious smelled him and sent a cascade of neurotransmitters through her body that felt glorious and tense at the same time. She looked up at his face and just stared at his icy blue eyes and crooked smile.

“You invited me, remember Sassenach?” He asked the question nervously as he could not read the shock on her face.

“And here you are,” was her breathy response.

Jamie wanted to drop the bags and crush her to him. She was like the gift of air to a suffocating man.

Claire was so overwhelmed it took a few seconds to see the man that had stolen her heart was right in front of her. She pulled his head down and kissed him with all the pent up passion and loneliness of the past six months. Someone pulled the bags out of Jamie’s arms and he wrapped her up and held her to him. The kiss was a surrender to love, an invitation to leave the chrysalis of loneliness and fly into a world of their making. When she finally pulled away from him, she was the definition of happiness.

“It is so good to see you, Jamie.”

“You just restarted my dead heart Sassenach, thank you for that.”

He kissed her again and as time passed for the rest of the world, for them it didn’t exist. Jamie heard the musical sound of the Greek language and looked up at the biggest boat he had ever seen up close. Two beautiful people were on the top deck waving and laughing, beckoning them on board. He heard Claire laughing as she waved back.

“Do we get on that then?”

Claire was giggling, “we do, come on I’ll show you around.”

Jamie was astounded at the size and luxury of the yacht, three bedrooms, two decks, a large living area with a huge flatscreen, phones, and a bar. The galley had two refrigerators and a chest freezer, two ovens, microwaves, and large food preparation counters. The opulence was staggering and if not for the beautiful girl walking in front of him he would have looked closer. When they found the back deck, Claire pulled his mouth to hers and they were lost in love.

“Time for trunks or something more comfortable.”

She led him back to the master bedroom and helped him put his clothes away, noticing he packed for any occasion. She unbuttoned her shirt and Jamie watched her with interest as she pulled off her cut-off shorts to reveal the tiniest bikini, bright melon colored against her tanned skin. I will meet you on deck. Maia has been cooking since yesterday, so I promise you won’t starve. She looked at him and wanted to pinch herself in case she was dreaming. He was here, with her, he came.

Claire handed Jamie a cold glass of champagne and offered flatbread and several kinds of dip that were made from scratch while they chatted at the bar. The sexual energy was palpable, and Claire looked out at the ocean to think about something other than the mere twelve inches of space between them.

“My God, I haven’t noticed how blue the water is until now, I can’t remember the last time I saw blue.”

There was so much to discuss but every sentence fell stunted, unexplored because both were captivated with the other.

Claire picked up a ringing phone at the bar and told the captain they were ready to go. She smiled at Jamie and promised open ocean and sunshine for the next six hours.

“This is my first launch, you want to see it from the front deck?”

Jamie watched her mouth and nodded yes.

They got comfortable and sipped champagne as the captain eased the vessel away from the dock and toward the open ocean. It wasn’t long before the huge engines pushed the boat forward to cruising speed and Maia appeared with the cold bottle of champagne to refill their glasses.

“Maia, what do you have on?”

Maia was a Greek beauty with all the attributes this country was known for. Large brown eyes, a wide smile, and flowing hair to her waist. She looked down at her clothes and shrugged her shoulders,

“Uniform.”

Claire rubbed the highly starched shirt sleeve between her fingers and noticed the ill-fitting shorts. This would not do, she thought.

“You have been in cut-offs or a swimsuit since I arrived. Unless you love that uniform, I want you to be comfortable. Please, get that off.”

Maia thanked her and left them alone.

“I think we left the dip on back deck. Let’s go find it.”

Jamie noticed her voice was quiet and nervous sounding. When they walked to the other deck Claire closed the sliding glass door and locked it. The glass was black and Jamie wondered if it blocked the view from the other side. Claire led him to a lounge with a comfortable mattress and pillows to aide whatever ailed you. She walked back to the bar removing her button-down shirt revealing her exposed butt cheeks. She looked naked from behind and Jamie almost choked on his tongue. Her skin was already bronzed with a bit of sunburn on her cheeks and shoulders. She brought the tray of bread and dip and laid next to Jamie on the large lounge.

He took in every gorgeous inch of her and ran his hand down her hip and leg. He wanted to touch everything and tried to hold himself back.

“I promised we would go over the ground rules first thing.” She ran her hand across his massive chest and down his arm. When he saw her ramming heart pulsing in her neck, he let it go and pulled her on top of him to smother her with kisses. In his delirious mind, he decided this was enough, to have her body on his and her tongue in his mouth. When she broke the kiss, he chased her mouth as she sat up and straddled him. He watched her reach behind and pull the strings of her bikini top dropping it on the floor. She never took her eyes off his until he pulled her down and kissed her.

Their bodies were covered in sweat that made contact difficult, causing them to overheat or slide off each other. Claire stretched her arm until her fingertips touched the bridge phone.

“Darius, were you kidding about sea spray …ahhh…on the back deck when you dropped speed. Okay, do that please.”

She dropped the phone and used that arm to pull on the string holding Jamie’s trunks on. They slowed enough for the wake to slap the sides of the boat and lovely, cool, sea spray brought their temperature down for more vigorous activity. Jamie ran his tongue from her waist to breast and sucked a nipple while caressing the other. She was losing her mind and asked him to pound into her which he did in short order, gasping when he filled her. Claire felt the throbbing, almost painfully. She begged him not to stop, she was about to come. His next two strokes pressed into her and he twisted his hips. That did it. He held her and watched her face register the euphoria, he had never loved her more. When she pressed his butt, he pumped into her soft wetness until he stiffened and his body convulsed as he emptied himself into her.

They kissed and found their favorite resting position to snuggle and nap the afternoon away. Claire called the bridge and asked Darius to set whatever cruising speed he wanted, and the boat lurched forward.

Later, Jamie felt a cool breeze on his stomach and opened his eyes to a breathtaking sunset.

“Sassenach, sweetheart, you must see this beautiful sky.” Claire sat up and declared it the best sunset she had ever seen. What finally drove them inside was starvation and Maia served them a beautiful meal of lobster bisque, steak, and several Greek sides that were delicious but unknown to them.

Later they cuddled under a quilt on the top deck and let the heavens entertain them with shooting stars streaking across a black sky with billions of stars as a backdrop.

“It’s important to me that you really know who I am, how I got this way, how I could screw up so bad in Paris last Christmas. Would you mind?”

“Please Sassenach, there is nothing I’d like more.”

Claire turned on a battery-operated light and handed him her four-page burn letter. She couldn’t bring herself to burn it because it was all she had to remember him by. It was shoved into her wallet and now it was in Jamie’s hands. She felt self-conscious and rolled away to leave him to his reading. He caught her hand and pulled her back, “not without you love.”

He read every line and then, to her surprise, started at the first line and read it again.

“Jesus, lass, I hardly know what to say. Completely alone at five years old except for a man who dragged you from one archaeological dig to another. He wasn’t there for you emotionally, I see that, I also see how you slip easily into emotionless relationships. And why I didn’t hear from you for six months. It makes sense now, so many things. Come here, sweetheart.”

Jamie hugged Claire and pulled her to him. She was so grateful he read her letter, and then read it again. She hoped he would have more faith in her this time because now she knew how much she loved him.

“What is happening with Frank Sassenach?”

Claire was quiet just a little too long while she considered telling Jamie the truth. If she didn’t, the letter meant nothing and he still couldn’t trust her. She reached for her phone and launched her gallery.

“This is my new apartment that Javier rented for me, and that is all my new furniture. He arranged everything from the lease to filling the apartment with furniture, kitchen stuff, even clothes. The reason he had to do all this is because…”

Claire swiped to the next picture of her destroyed apartment showing various rooms and angles. Then she swiped again, and Jamie’s intake of air was loud enough for the sea creatures to hear. He grabbed her phone and sat up, studying the picture of her face after being knocked out.

“No, no, no, no, no, my God, how did this happen, who did this? Oh my God Claire, this is sickening.”

He stood up and walked the deck around their bed under the stars. He kept looking at the picture as she told him exactly what happened. When she was finished, he pulled her from her sitting position down on the mattress and covered her. He spoke into her ear, telling her she was loved and protected, and Frank or anyone else would never touch her in anger again. His kisses were love affirming becoming heated and passionate causing her to pant.

Claire was trying to get his shirt off and panting in his ear when the voice of reason took over in his head. You will love her, tell her you will always be there for her, make her feel safe, and then break her heart like everyone else in her life. The lovemaking came to a crashing halt and Jamie looked like he had been kicked in the head.

“Sassenach, I…I’m sorry love. I’m too much in my head, I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

“You are here in the flesh Jamie. You took a leap of faith and came on this trip with me. Your hands are still warm, and your heart is still open. That’s what I want. There is time for us to find our way.

He hugged her for over a minute, trying to come to terms with his reality. He had, at the most, six weeks of freedom left, and he needed to find a way to tell her. Claire suggested a hot shower and sleep and he agreed.

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written-rebellion · 4 years

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Perfect Distractions

A/N: Hi there, I told you I wouldn’t abandon this little slice of fluff completely! Slow updates yes, but never forgotten <3 I also figured, after today’s episode (no spoilers of course!!), and the overall quarantine situation, you all probably need a bit of brightening up, and now with so much more free time, I’m happy to oblige!

And because I don’t say it enough, thank you so much for reading, and putting up with these now sporadic little updates. Writing time is coming in either waves or drips, but I so so appreciate the encouragement, and the warm welcome the fandom always brings! As much as I haven’t forgotten this story, it’s always nice to know the fandom hasn’t forgotten me completely either haha ^_^”

Jamie’s being dramatic, Claire has too many thoughts, and as always, the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Thirteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Fourteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] Part Fifteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Sixteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seventeen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eighteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Nineteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Twenty: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Twenty-Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Part Twenty-Four: Burdens | Chapter 1

Thursdays, Jamie had decided, were the best.

Well, no, second only to the weekends perhaps but certainly high-ranking for sure. Thursdays he had only one class in the afternoon, and that afforded him more than ample time to snuggle into Claire in bed and see where the morning took them.

Not that they didn’t always end up in the same place – limbs and hearts entangled – but he wasn’t complaining.

Except for this Thursday, he realized as he blindly groped for Claire beside him and came up empty handed.

With a grunt, he begrudgingly floated up to full consciousness and sat up, blearily scanning the room to no avail. Squinting at the backlight of his phone – and the perfectly framed lock screen of a candid Claire adorably sleeping atop a textbook at the dining table – he frowned at the time.

7:15 a.m.?

7:15 was entirely unacceptable for lazy Thursday mornings with Claire.

He was about to call out her name when he caught the scent of something frying. Not burnt, he noted right away as he fished around the floor for his shorts and slipped them on. There was a faint sizzling noise coming from downstairs and, with no real sense of urgency but intent all the same, he half-consciously padded out of the room.

“Sassenach?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he followed her absent humming into the kitchen.

She hadn’t heard him, and he took a moment to lean against the doorframe and watch her. Her back was facing him as – he assumed by the smell and the wee apron tied haphazardly around her waist – she fried eggs on the stovetop, and maybe it was the sheer domesticity or his barely waking state, but he felt his heart clench at the sight. His need from earlier burning into something much deeper than base desire.

Within seconds and with very little thought, he crossed the room and pulled her tight against him, arms snaking around her waist with a soft rumble in his chest that ended on a chuckle as she gasped.

“Ye’re makin’ breakfast?” he mumbled, dropping his head into her neck like he could fall asleep right then and there.

“I was,” she said, wriggling her arms free in an attempt to get back at it. “Good morning to you too, love.” She placed a quick kiss on his crown, and he smiled, returning it against her neck.

“Why’re ye dressed?”

“Joe and I are touring campuses today and tomorrow, remember?”

“Och ayyye,” he drew out with a needlessly heavy sigh. “Ye’re leaving me.”

“You can tone down the dramatics, darling,” she laughed, and he didn’t need to look up at her to know she was rolling her eyes at him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Her tone did little to assuage his dramatics. In fact, in his half-waking state he suddenly and brilliantly decided that he wasn’t being dramatic enough, as evidenced by him leaning more of his weight onto her like it might compel her to stay and take root in the kitchen tiles. Or better yet, their bed upstairs.

“Ye’re sure there isna anything I can do to convince ye to stay?”

“Mm, I do believe you tried your very best last night.”

He huffed, soberly. “I can do better, always do like the challenge.”

She made a noise equal parts grunting and giggling as she wriggled around in his arms to face him, poking him indignantly in the cheek.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring your breakfast over.”

He inhaled, slow and deep as he stared her down and she, as resolute as ever, stared right back.

He deflated—

“Fine.”

—then kissed her quickly before retreating to the stools on the other side of the kitchen island.

------

24 things, including train and bus schedules, meeting places, and pertinent questions to ask, completely blurred and dissipated as Jamie’s large arms enveloped her.

His clinginess was to be expected, she thought with a smile as she plated the eggs and turned the stove off. She had hoped the food would distract him first, but in a wager she happily lost, was proven wrong.

The plates had barely touched the island when she found herself swept up and seated astride his lap, a sleep-tousled but thoroughly smug face waiting for her before descending with purpose into her neck.

“You’re—mmph—supposed to be eating the eggs, Jamie!” She squirmed with little conviction, protests dotted with giggles.

“It’s on my to-do list,” he murmured as he nipped his way towards her collarbone.

She shivered as his teeth sunk into her, but tugged at his ear to stop him.

“If I have to spend the whole day hiding a hickey from my future professors and Joe – goddamn – Abernathy—” She held his face by both ears now. “—You will be in so much trouble.”

“Och, aye?” he said with a quirked eyebrow.

She sighed and conceded to kissing him back, because at least that kept his lips from her neck; the prospect of being in trouble with her had never proven to be an effective threat anyway.

“When are ye supposed to meet Abernathy?”

“Mm, an 20 minutes or so?”

Close as they were, she could feel both the corner of his mouth lift upwards and pleased Scottish-sounding noise rumble in his chest.

“Like I said, always do like the challen—”

They both froze at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Two pairs of eyebrows immediately furrowed.

“Is Joe meeting ye here?”

“No…”

Sliding off Jamie’s lap, Claire quickly straightened her outfit and headed to the front foyer, Jamie padding just behind her but far enough behind that he didn’t know who was at the door until he saw a small set of arms wrap around Claire’s waist, knocking her back a step.

“Fergus! W-what the hell are you doing here?” She pulled him from her, and looked over his head, half-expecting to see Jenny and Ian around the corner.

“How’d ye get here, lad?” Jamie said, thinking much the same thing.

“I do know how to take a bus,” the boy said proudly. “And I saw your address written down on a paper on the fridge.”

Claire and Jamie both blinked, gaping at him for just a moment before Claire recovered first.

“Well that doesn’t answer my question,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t you have school?”

His smile faltered only slightly at that.

“Ah oui¸ but—But I do not need to go, it’s alright!”

Claire and Jamie shared a look but, before Jamie could take a stab at reasoning with him, Claire’s phone alarm chimed.

“Shit, I’ve got to go. I—”

Her eyes fell squarely on their new charge and paused. While he likely wouldn’t cause much trouble during the tours, there was the hotel rooms she and Joe booked. But she could potentially set up some pillows on a couch for him if she needed to—

Jamie ran a hand down her arm, as if divining her thoughts.

“It’s alright lass, I’ll take him to campus.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.” He raised an eyebrow at Fergus, who’s bright-eyed smile remained relatively unfazed. “He may not want to go to school, but I have to.”

Now with much more than 24 different thoughts swirling around her head, Claire shrugged. It’d have to do.

“Well alright, call me if you need anything,” she said before grabbing her coat and the bag she had packed by the stairs.

“We’ll be fine, a nighean,” Jamie said, squeezing her hand. “I’d say dinna worry about us, but I ken ye’re going to anyway.”

“I’ll try not to, I guess.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and she leaned into it. “See you tomorrow.”

Keenly aware of one young boy’s eyes on them, Jamie kissed her forehead quickly. Not their typical goodbye, but Claire supposed Jamie’s early morning clinginess was a blessing after all.

Stepping out of his arms to rub Fergus’ mop of curls, she walked past them toward the front door.

“Behave yourself!”

“Are you talking to me, or M’sieur?” Fergus laughed.

“Both!”

Chapter 2 Coming Soon!

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #perfect distractions au #wr writing

179 notes · View notes

thesassenachswiftie · 4 years

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Chapter 1: “The Man”

Read on AO3

Summary:

Claire's reputation (and life as she knows it) is ruined after breaking up with Frank. She continues to see Jamie in secret but is it too good to last? Based on Taylor Swift's album "Lover" each chapter will tie in to a song and have lyrics woven throughout. I do not own these lyrics, nor do I own any incidental Diana Gabaldon quotes that may also appear throughout.

Notes:

This is the first fic I've written in probably 15 years! Thank you to those of you that have already shown support and encouragement before I've even begun. Earlier this summer I was listening to "Lover" at a time when I was indulging in quite a bit of fanfiction and rewatching Outlander. I couldn't help but imagine Jamie and Claire blisfully in love in New York city while listening to the lyrics. Thus, the idea for this fic was born. Later, when I was listening to Reputation, I realized many of those lyrics could also work for this story. I ended up mapping out chapters for both Reputation and Lover, so there will eventually be a prequel to this story! I will try to give enough exposition in the actual story that you do not need to read Reputation first (especially since you can't because it doesn't exist yet) but may occasionally give some background information in the notes if I can't weave it into the story.

That being said, Claire and Frank had a pretty tumultous break up at the end of Reputation, and Claire went running straight to Jamie's arms. She's still hurting and has a lot of pieces to pick up, as well as figuring out what her priorties are.

Chapter 1 is a short little chapter featuring Claire and her nonbinary best friend, Jo Abernathy (they/them) discussing the situation over coffee. I will be the first to admit I struggle with pronouns in writing. I blame a long history of learning subject/verb agreement that did not include a singular they throughout my schooling. Please forgive me and feel free to point out if I have made a mistake in this area. This fic is a great opprotunity for me to practice and get better.

Chapter 1: The Man

Frank had taken everything from her and reaped none of the consequences. The stack of rejection letters on the counter was staring at her out of the corner of her eye, sprawled on top of a trashy tabloid featuring headlines about some supermodel with Leo in Saint-Tropez. She could feel the letters taunting her. She could feel him taunting her. How was it possible that every residency program in New York had rejected her? She knew Frank was a powerful man, but damn. Frank Randall was not a man you wanted to cross.

Graduation was three days away. Claire should have been celebrating; all her final exams were finished, papers turned in, and there was nothing left to do but reflect on what a waste it all was. She needed a distraction. She considered texting Jamie, but he was probably helping on his family farm--it was almost impossible to get a hold of him on weekdays. She decided to text Jo instead: “coffee?”

“Always. I can meet you in about a half hour”

“See you there”

Jo Abernathy was Claire’s best friend and former roommate. Luckily, they had both ended up living on Long Island. Jo had gotten a job teaching Social Studies there before they even finished their master’s degree and lived in a funky little apartment above a bar in Northport Village. Claire was still “living the suburban dream” in the house her and Frank had bought together--the only thing he hadn’t taken from her. It was a bland, spacious, new build with perfect everything--it was a perfect nightmare is what it was. The walls were still unpainted, stark white, and cold. Most of the rooms weren’t furnished yet and the ones that were were lacking in decor. She wasn’t planning on moving out until she decided on a residency program, but that wasn’t an option anymore and she didn’t know what to do. What did he have to gain keeping her trapped in this prison when he wanted nothing to do with her? What was his end game? Did he really get such a thrill out of torturing her? Fucking sadist. Of course Frank was suffering exactly none of the fallout from the demise of their relationship. If anything, it garnered him sympathy and gave everyone an excuse to see him as human and love him all the more for it. When everyone believes you, what’s that like? She shook her head, questioning how much of this she deserved for what she did. Claire grabbed her keys and headed out to meet Jo.

Jo was already seated with two lattes in front of them when Claire arrived at their favorite coffee shop, The Cozy Teacup. An expert at reading Claire’s glass face, they immediately asked “Ok, who do I need to stab?” upon her arrival.

Claire couldn’t help but smirk at her dearest friend’s overprotective attitude. “I think you already know. I got my last rejection letter today”, her throat catching on the second sentence. She couldn’t continue any further. Luckily, Jo had a tendency to like the sound of their own voice and all but interrupted her.

“Oh Lady Jane, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that at all. Urgh, that asshole! That prick! That… man.” Claire was glad the coffee shop was crowded at this lunch hour and no one seemed to notice her friend’s enthusiastic rant. "Why are men? You know, I think this is part of the reason why I’m nonbinary. I mean I don’t fully identify as a woman, but I definitely can’t identify as a man. Men are trash. The goddamn patriarchy. I swear. You know. Frank or not, not one of those school’s would’ve rejected you if you were a man.”

This was exactly what Claire needed from her friend, a pep-talk-slash-rant against the patriarchy. She loved it when Jo got fired up; it was honestly inspiring how they could always live their truth regardless of what everyone else thought. So unlike herself, whose life was constantly dictated by what everyone else thought of her. Jo made a compelling point too-- if I were a man they’d say I played the field before I found someone to commit to, and that would be ok--every conquest I had made would make me more of a boss. Jo’s inspiring speech was turning Claire’s sense of dejection into righteous anger directed not only at Frank, but the patriarchy as a whole.

“Yeah! I’m so sick of running as fast as I can wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man!” she declared. Gosh Jo was a good hype-man, hype-person, she mentally corrected herself. She had learned a lot about preferred pronouns in the years of knowing Jo, but she still got tripped up on certain colloquialisms--luckily Jo was always gracious even when she made these mistakes out loud.

“Claire, if you were a man you’d be the man, and as it stands you are the woman, woah, man!”

Claire couldn’t help but giggle at her friend’s manner of speaking. They were always a little much, and usually it was just what Claire needed when she was down. Their knack for pointing to the larger societal issues at play helped her to keep grounded and to realize that she was not at fault. This particular case wasn’t dismissed so easily though; the shame she felt still gnawed at something deep within her. Even if it was the patriarchy’s fault, it was her fault too.

“This is really bothering you, huh LJ?” Claire nodded sheepishly. Damn my glass face. “I’m so sick of him coming at me again.”

“It’s ok to be mad,” Jo affirmed, reaching over to stroke Claire’s forearm in an attempt to bring some comfort. “So, what are we going to do about it? Let’s brainstorm the next move. What is it you really want, Claire?”

Over the next hour and a half, Jo helped Claire untangle what she really wanted: to prove everyone wrong. For everyone to say she’d hustled and put in the work. This was decided amid quips from Jo about how easy it was for men to get these things: “They’re painting you out to be bad--for men it’s all good if you're bad”, “If you were out flashing your dollars you’d be a bitch not a baller.” They determined that Claire would spend the next year padding her resume, not only working her job as a school nurse, but volunteering in hospitals and clinics as well as any other community service projects that came her way. When the time came, she would apply to all the best residency programs in the country. Without Frank tying her down in New York, she could go anywhere. She tried to push out the little voice in her head that kept whispering, ‘What about Jamie?’ as she dreamed about being a strong, independent woman at the top of her game. Not one half of a power couple--just Claire: complex, cool, fearless Claire full of good ideas and power moves. They would toast to her successes, not the rock on her finger. She knew she could do it. Frank may have placed success just out of her reach, but she knew where to get a step ladder.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #claire beauchamp #lover #inspired by taylor swift #modern au

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mo-nighean-rouge · 4 years

Photo

Gone - Epilogue

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference changes everything.

A/N: This is it, folks. Again, thanks to @ianmuyrray for betaing, and to all of you who have read along, or might just be starting now.

November 20, 1748 | Paris, France

“Seas, a bhailach,” Jamie whispered to the beast as he brushed its shining coat. He’d taken quickly to the horses in Mary Hawkins Randall’s stables, but the black sorrel pony had stolen his heart for its similarity in appearance and character to his own Donas.

The horse was still riled after his afternoon jaunt with Faith. The lass had more confidence than experience on horseback, and had led the horse into mischief with a puddle, even under her father’s close supervision.

Jamie had sent Murtagh upstairs to deliver a squirming and filthy Faith to Claire. In fact, it had been quite a while since, and he hoped the man was not dallying his time flirting with Suzette, who had recently come into the Randall estate’s employ.

Dubh, aptly named by Faith, huffed impatiently as Jamie recalled Grey’s promise to release Donas, Brimstone, Thistle, and Blanc within ten miles of Lallybroch.

A week after their arrival in Paris, Jenny had written of Ian’s surprise to open the front door one morn and find all four beasts grazing in the kailyard.

It warmed Jamie’s heart to imagine the sight, and made him long for home all the more.

He hadn’t long to wait, as their parole was nearly complete and they would soon see the shores of Scotland once again. Much as he was willing to sacrifice the sight to see to his family’s safety, he was looking forward to leaving the confines of the city.

Jamie figured it couldn’t come at a better time. While Mistress Randall had welcomed their company in the lonesome and overwhelming time she had found herself, she had recently made a good match. According to Claire’s account, Robert Isaacs made Mary very happy, and the engaged couple were looking forward to staffing their well-established estate.

So long as the bairn arrived safely within the next few weeks, the Fraser family would stay whole and make it back to their homeland. Jamie couldn’t wait to re-introduce his children to Lallybroch, and most of all, watch the years touch Claire…

Jamie’s thoughts were interrupted by the swift re-entry of Murtagh, balancing Faith on his shoulders. While the lass wore a fresh dress, her face had only been wiped quickly, still smudged with streaks of dirt.

Murtagh grinned. “Ye’re needed upstairs, a charaid. The bairn seems to be comin’ quick, and Claire’s asking fer ye.” He bounced Faith once, and she broke into giggles.

Jamie dropped the brush and let it clatter to the stable floor. He wasn’t sure he could keep his jaw from doing the same. “Ah dhia, she’s laboring now?”

“Aye lad, get tae it. Ye don’ want to miss the birth of your son.”

Jamie nodded, clapping his godfather on the shoulder. He felt his eyes mist over as he studied the man that has served his family since before he was born.

“Ye have the bairns? The others?” he asked, stammering, his mind rushing to catch up.

“O’ course, just fetch us when ye’re ready.”

“Thank you, a ghostidh… for everything.”

“Och,” Murtagh exclaimed. “Dinna get soft on me now. Go see yer lady.”

Jamie raced out of the barn, heart hammering. That she be safe, she and the bairn...

“Da!” Fergus called in the corridor, the lad balancing a stack of clean rags from the kitchen. Jamie stopped short to gasp for breath.

The lad had called him such by a slip of the tongue during their first weeks back in Paris – so used to hearing Faith use the precious word – then had immediately blushed scarlet.

Jamie had simply clasped his shoulder and returned with a simple “Aye, mon fils?” as he had called the boy for more than a year.

Fergus had cautiously tested the word ‘Mama’ out on Claire not long after, bringing her to tears as her heart soared.

“You heard about Mama?” Fergus exclaimed, rocking back on his heels in his excitement.

“Aye,” Jamie cracked a smile. “Gi’ those here, I’ll take them on my way. I’d like ye to bide in the barn with Murtagh.”

The lad’s face fell. “But if Mama needs me –”

“Dinna fash about yer mam. Faith needs ye.”

Fergus brightened. “You can count on me, Da.”

Jamie concentrated on the soft weave of the old towels in his hands as he mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to reach his wife. In his hurry, he tripped over the blonde porcelain doll that had been cast aside and forgotten earlier. He shuddered. Annalise had once gifted the toy to his daughter, and its resemblance to the woman herself was that bit frightening.

He burst through their bedroom door, nearly plowing over Mary, who was setting water to boil as if she were lady’s maid to Claire, rather than the other way around.

“Apologies, Mistress,” he murmured, grasping her elbows to keep her upright.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm. “You’re just in time.”

He was careful as he squeezed back, unsure of the strength of his grip, especially as his eyes landed on Claire with her face red and scrunched in pain, breathing rhythmically at the gentle direction of Mother Hildegard. Her eyes popped open to meet his, relief swelling in their whisky depths.

Jamie crossed the room in four steps, his hand finding Claire’s naturally as he knelt to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Good afternoon to ye, Mother.” Mary had housed the nun in one of her many guestrooms for the past week, well aware that Claire’s time was quickly approaching.

He brought Claire’s warm, sweaty hand to his lips as he kneeled behind her stool, content for her to use him in any way she wished. He’d missed the birth of their first child, and had since sworn she’d never go through the experience alone again.

Just then, Claire braced her back against Jamie as she wailed in pain. Her short fingernails scored Jamie’s palms as the contraction crested and she breathed out deeply.

“That’s a braw lass, a ghraidh,” Jamie whispered, placing a kiss on her shoulder and caressing the swell of her belly.

Several sharp contractions later, Mother Hildegard continued softly coaching at Claire’s knee. “Keep breathing, my child. I can almost see the head.”

“Jamie,” Claire croaked, short of breath. “If anything happens…” she whispered, just as the powerful force overtook her body once again and she screamed.

“I willna hear that talk, Claire,” he answered sternly, massaging her lower back.

“Push, Claire.” Mother Hildegard’s voice rose above the noise of the room.

Jamie felt Claire inhale deeply once more, then gather her strength from him for the task ahead.

________________________________________

Claire smiled through her tears, admiring the little one cradled in her arms. Mary had bathed the baby as Claire delivered the afterbirth, then passed their blessing swiftly to Jamie, who had admired the sight with flooded eyes until tiny lips had begun rooting around for sustenance.

Their newest child had latched on with impressive speed and skill, inspiring jokes about Jamie’s own appetite.

The man himself eased carefully to Claire’s side, placing a steady arm around her and pressing his face into her neck, just watching her sustain the new life.

Little brown eyes popped open as the meal ended, searching for something familiar in their new surroundings.

“Hello, baby boy,” she cooed. While the lad’s red fuzz stood out starkly from the moment he appeared, she was thrilled to find something of herself in him.

Jamie reached over her shoulder to brush the boy’s diminutive cheek with his broad thumb. “He’s a braw lad, Sassenach.” He kissed her hair. “Thank ye for our son.”

Claire grasped the hand he had left on her shoulder, swaying gently with the baby. “He’s just as much a gift from you to me. We’re so lucky to have him, all of them.”

A gentle knock sounded from the door, followed by Mary peering around the corner, her own wee Denys at her heels. “Ready for some introductions?” she asked softly.

Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Please, bring them in.”

“Mama!” Faith scrambled in, dragging Murtagh behind her. She approached the bedside slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bundle in Claire’s lap.

Jamie stood to give her a boost upward, settling their daughter between them easily. “What do ye think, a chuisle?”

“So bonny!” Faith whispered, reaching to grasp Claire’s free hand. “Ye did it all by yerself, Mama?”

Jamie chuckled. “She did, lass. Wasn’t that canny of your mam?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Da cheered me on.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “I’m glad you like him, Lovey.”

Murtagh slapped Jamie’s shoulder before leaning over to pat Claire’s. “A wee lad, then?”

“Mmmph,” Jamie replied, grinning widely.

Fergus appeared in the open doorway. “Look who is up from her nap!” Holding tight to his hand was a toddler with red hair already trailing halfway down her back, rubbing her eye with her free hand.

She perked up at the sight of her parents, dashing to the bedside and slamming into Murtagh’s knees. He scooped her up swiftly, depositing her on the mattress knees first. She scrambled closer to Claire’s knee, looming over little brother.

“It’s the bairn?!” she squealed, bouncing in place.

“Gentle, Bree.” Faith scolded. “He’s still wee, see?”

“Sae wee,” Brianna whispered reverently.

Jamie chuckled. “You were this size once too, a nighean ruaidh.”

“And you were even smaller,” Claire added, tickling Faith’s chin.

The girls exchanged dubious looks.

“Nah.”

“Canna be!”

Fergus stopped next to Claire. “How do you feel, Mama?”

Claire’s heart warmed for the son of her heart. He’d offered to wait on her hand and foot these last few weeks, to the point that she’d laughed and told him to take a rest for himself.

Claire leaned her head against him as his arms folded carefully around her neck. “Just fine, my love. Would you like to hold him?”

Fergus nodded, his eyes wide.

Claire eased the baby into his arms, reminding him to be gentle of his head and neck. She welcomed Bree into her arms not a moment later, smoothing hair out of her blue eyes.

Murtagh cleared his throat, ineffectively covering his emotions. “So who do we have here?

Claire met Jamie’s twinkling eye, nodding her approval.

“This is Robert Franklin Murtagh William Fraser.” He swallowed deeply. “Our second son.”

Murtagh’s bushy eyebrow had creased at the second of the boy’s names, but he stood visibly straighter at the third. “’Tis a fine name.”

“That’s so many,” Bree stage-whispered, to the amusement of everyone else.

Faith rolled her eyes dramatically. “No more than you, Brianna Ellen Claire Jan-dit Fraser,” she taunted.

“Alright,” Claire sighed. “The lot of you all have as many names as the others. It’s certainly not a competition.”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s enough o’ that. Stop bouncing. We should let your mam get some rest.”

The children each kissed their mother’s cheek, then let their father herd them out the door as he cradled wee Rob to his chest.

Claire watched them file out the door one by one, each stopping for one more glimpse of her and the baby. She waved at them fondly, blowing kisses. Before Jamie could follow them into the corridor, she caught his hand.

“Stay?” she asked him.

“Aye.” A smile tickled his lips. “I willna go far.”

Claire patted the empty space next to her. “Here.”

He turned, then folded her into his side carefully.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching their son sleep until her own eyes drifted shut, a promise of their life together, and their family’s to come.

April 17, 1967 | Oxford, England

Professor Roger MacKenzie Wakefield shuffled through the ever-growing piles of paper crowding his office desk. Amid his lesson plans, papers still to grade, and disorganized files, he’d be surprised if he set off for home in time for supper.

Even still, his curiosity overwhelmed him as he broke the seal on an envelope of research left for him by his colleague. Ever since he was a boy, fascinated by the solemn disappearance of Claire Randall, he had pieced together clues about her whereabouts with the help of his beloved uncle. Her husband’s death last year had only energized his search. Perhaps if he could find answers at long last, it would bring meaning to the most discouraging period of Frank’s life.

More and more, the evidence had begun to point toward something not of this world, much as Mrs. Graham had insisted over the years. He retrieved the file that he had been accumulating for decades, thumbing through what he already knew. The marriage certificate for one James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp, the Deed of Sassine willing the Lallybroch Estate to a James Murray, and a curious pamphlet of medical advice attributed to a C.E.B.R. Fraser.

Roger dumped the new stack of documents on top of the current chaos. The top sheet caught his eye, heart skipping a beat as he read the photocopied print dated from the 1770s, with only the last digit smudged:

"It is with grief that the news is received of the deaths by fire of JAMES MACKENZIE FRASER and his wife, MISTRESS CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP FRASER, in a conflagaration that destroyed several crofts on the estate of Broch Tuarach. Their five children: FERGUS CLAUDEL, FAITH GLENNA, BRIANNA ELLEN, ROBERT FRANKLIN, AND JULIA ELIZABETH, also perished and now lay at rest with them."

Roger shook his head and blinked. Once. Twice. All the hope and warm imaginings he held for the kind woman that he was almost sure he remembered, all for them to be dashed with one headline bearing tragedy.

If there was something, anything, he could do for her and her family, he would in a heartbeat.

He stilled, skin tingling. Christ, but who was to say there wasn’t…

FIN

*Note: The obit is adapted from a screenshot of the news clipping from Outlander Season 4, all credit due.

#Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Faith Fraser #Brianna Fraser #Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Roger MacKenzie #Gone #Canon Divergence au #Outlander #Outlander fanfic #my fic

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter 32 ~The Surprise~

"Hey, Jamie, look at this! Ye remember this picture?" Rabbie called out from the other side of the attic, waving a piece of yellowed photograph. "I must have been ten here and look at ye ...ye look like Annie from that musical show."

Ian got up from where he was sat sealing boxes and peered over Rabbie's shoulder. "Fuck, Jamie, ye look flaming hot!"

Joe grimaced and gave Jamie a sympathetic look. It was a normal occurrence that Jamie was the butt of the jokes in the family, having inherited the MacKenzie genes. He'd been the easiest target with his unruly coppery curls, but he'd learned from an early age, the best way to deal with it was by not responding.

Jamie gave a long-suffering sigh and looked all around him. There weren't enough hours in the day, and there was still so much to do before he went to see Claire and got on a plane to France. They needed to box all his rugby memorabilia, trophies and professional photos to be brought later to the rugby academy and displayed in the built-in, glass case Willie had recently installed. It had been his ma's idea to exhibit his rugby collections and awards, in the hope of inspiring young athletes who would be attending the academy. The only problem was, he just hadn't realised there would be plenty of it and paired with a lot of mucking about from his younger brother.

"And here's another one ..."

Willie shot Rabbie a look. "We're supposed to be boxing things up, no' spending yer time on the floor looking at pictures."

"Cool yer jets. I'm going through Jamie's rugby photos, but some of them are mixed with the family ones ...oh look! Here's one with Joe ...oh, and Claire's in it. Jamie, I didnae ken ye knew her back then."

They all gathered around behind Rabbie and bent down to take a closer look. On the photo standing next to Jamie was Joe, another medic and then Claire. Her hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a cap with a Scottish flag sewn into it, the visor almost concealing her eyes. Whereas Jamie and the rest in the photo had been smiling for the camera, Claire's face looked inscrutable.

They stared at the photo for a while. It was taken not that too long ago and wondered if Claire was with Frank already. Jamie guessed she was.

Joe broke the silence first. "Claire used to help my medical team during the early days of her internship," he explained, straightening up. "And working during the rugby game could be quite hectic with all of those lads getting all sorts of bumps and bruises. It was hardly a place to mingle."

"Aye, I understand that, but Jamie ye're in the same photo as her. Didn't ye notice her back then?" Rabbie asked, glancing at Jamie.

Jamie cleared his throat as he peered closer. He had a vague memory, but then again, after their meeting in Lallybroch, he'd always thought Claire looked familiar. He must have seen her in passing but with everything that usually happened in the sideline and all of his concentration focused on the game, it would have been easy to overlook a lot of things. "Aye ...weel ...there were a lot of people going in and out of the locker room after the game. As Joe said, it's hardly a place to socialise." He rubbed a hand behind his neck, wondering what it would have been like if he and Claire had been acquainted back then.

"Hang on a minute," Joe interrupted. "Now I remember that photo. Rabbie, flip it to the other side. There's a message on the back." He looked at Jamie. "I gave you that photo to sign it for Claire. I guess I must have forgotten to ask for it back. She'd wanted an autograph from you, but she'd been too shy to approach you and ask. She was worried you'd remember that awesome smackdown she gave you that time when you got too cheeky with her, so she'd asked me to ask you instead."

_ Ah yes! _ He remembered that encounter now. He'd been teasing her while she'd been attending to his injuries. Jamie felt his cheeks flushed. "Here, give me that. Let me take a look." He took the photo from Rabbie's hand and flipped it over. And sure enough, there was a message from Claire with her neat cursive writing.

_ Dear Mr Fraser,_

_Could you sign this photograph for me? I would be forever grateful if you could spare a moment of your time as I am an avid fan of yours. _

_ Many heartfelt thanks, CB x _

_ PS I am the one on the far right on this picture. _

Despite himself, Jamie grinned. _ Mr Fraser indeed! Will have to get her to say that in private, one of these days. Maybe while we're getting busy under the sheets. _ "I'm keeping this," he said suddenly, running a finger over the written words. _ Christ, I miss her already! _Ever since he'd confessed about Forbes, Claire had finally conceded to staying in his apartment every night. These past few days were like as if an invisible dark cloud had lifted from their midst, and there was more openness in their relationship allowing him to see the future more clearly. Already he was itching to see her again, and it was only a few hours ago he'd last seen her. Now he wished he wasn't going to France anymore.

"Uh-oh, look at him! Ye've gone soft, Jamie lad."

Ian's ribbing launched him out of his reverie and snagged the attention of Rabbie, who grinned and sniggered, making Jamie realise he'd been staring at Claire's writing this whole time,

"Aye, definitely, he's gone soft. Just the other day, I saw him buying tampons for Claire in the shop, and he didnae see me. I overheard him asking a girl if there's a size that fits all," Rabbie chuckled.

Joe and Ian burst out laughing.

_ Ah fuck, here we go! _

Rabbie shook his head. "Hey Jamie, how come ye dinnae ken about tampons? Ye've had a few of them stuck up yer nose when ye'd taken a bashing in the field."

"They're nasal packing you dimwit!" Joe snorted, throwing a crumpled paper at Rabbie. "But I guess you can call them that as it does the same job."

"Ach, Claire has been Jamie's Achilles' heel, and Kryptonite rolled into one," Ian grinned. "Jenny says, when ye start buying tampons for yer girlfriend, that means ye're ready to take it to the next level."

"Aye, I think so too," Rabbie agreed, nodding his head. "I wonder when Jamie is going to ..."

"Are ye done with those photos, Rabbie?" Willie cut in, trying hard not to smile at Jamie's expense.

Rabbie scowled at the older Fraser as he gathered the photos and stood up. "It's done, ye grouchy git," he muttered, getting up and placing the photographs in the open box. "Ye're just surly because the only thing ye're laying at the moment are bricks."

Jamie muttered a curse under his breath. He didn't have time for this, and the last thing wanted was to be in the middle of the big brother and wee brother verbal match. He might have been the target of their taunting as a tag team when they were bairns, but he wasn't about to play referee, middle brother or not.

"Right, lads ...ye think ye can sort this all out without me?" Jamie asked rapidly before Willie could come back with a rebounder for Rabbie. "I need to see Claire before I catch the plane. When I come back from France, dinner, drinks and more drinks are on me for sorting my stuff out." He grabbed his jacket from the nearby chair and pulled them on, careful not to crease the photo in his hand.

Willie scanned the room. "Aye, we can handle this. Ye go ahead, and we'll deal it. See ye in a few days?"

"Aye, see ye in a few days. Everything under control, aye?" When Willie nodded, Jamie faced the room once more. "And Joe, check up on Claire once in a while, alright? She's staying in my apartment while I'm away. And ye Rabbie behave. See you soon, Ian."

"Always mate!" Joe replied as the rest of the lads said their byes. "Now go before ye miss yer ladylove's lunch break."

With that, he turned around and left the attic.

..........

Ignoring the gazes that landed on him and the hush that followed, Jamie scanned the hospital cafeteria for Claire. When he found her sitting on her own at the far end of the room eating something, what looked like a sticky bun and reading a book, he quickly made his way to her, unhearing of the gushes and whispers that followed his wake. He caught her unaware when he planted a kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Jamie!" Claire gasped and looked around, her face blooming red as she caught the glances and attention they were gaining by the second. "You should have called. Do you want to go somewhere private?" she asked, putting the book down.

"No, here will do," he said, taking the seat opposite her and taking her hand in his. When she tried to pull it away, he tightened his hold and grinned. She looked so beautiful when she blushed. "What's the matter, Sassenach? Are ye embarrassed to be seen with yer boyfriend?"

"Of course not! How can you ask such a daft question? I'm surprised you haven't been mobbed, walking in like that without even a cap on."

"I was hoping ye'd protect me if that happened." When she didn't laugh and frowned at the people from the nearby table for staring, he kissed her fingers to catch her attention. "See it this way ...if I came in here with a cap on or any sort of disguise and your colleagues saw us holding hands, they would have figured out eventually who I was. Most of them already ken ye're with me, so they're hardly going to think there is some other bloke ye like to hold hands with. Unless of course, there's another bloke." When her frown deepened, he twined his fingers with hers and changed the subject. "Just joking. Don't mind them, Sassenach." He sighed. "I wish you were coming with me. I'm going to miss you and us, like this."

He'd asked her only once to come to France with him, and when she said she couldn't, he didn't push any further, knowing how dedicated she was to her work. He knew she wanted to go but asking her to take two weeks off was too much of an ask.

"Jamie, I wish I could come too ...you know that. But you'll be busy attending interviews, shoots and other stuff. So really there's no point in me coming. I'll just be bored out of my mind waiting for you to finish when I could be here doing something more productive." She sighed and looked down as he stroked the inside of her wrist. "The only thing I'll regret not coming with you is, we won't be together on my birthday." She looked into his eyes. "But don't worry about it. I'm aware you're doing this for the academy. If it's going to take a little separation sometimes to make this right, then that's what we have to live with."

He wished now they were somewhere private so he could take her in his arms. Instead, he kissed her hands again alternately, taking a few precious moments to lock away the irreplaceable sensation of basking in her love and understanding.

"We'll celebrate yer birthday when I come back," he promised. "Once the academy is up and running, I think I'll settle more into a routine. But I still think we should go on a break before the academy starts. The biggest part of the work is done, thanks to Willie and his team. But God knows when we'll get a chance once we get down to the nitty-gritty part, like hiring and administration. I intend to have the academy ready and functioning by next year, and I want to have everything covered before we officially open our doors."

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and smiled at him. "Just do what you need to do and hurry back to me. I'm quite sure we'll manage a little break before the academy opens." She squeezed his hands and gazed longingly like she's trying to keep them at this moment for as long as possible. When she finally pulled back, it's with a resigned expression. "You're going to be late for your flight. Call me or text me when you get there."

"I will do, I promise."

They left the cafeteria and walked together to the main entrance, and when they were stood outside, she turned to him. "It's only for two weeks, Jamie. We can do this. You've been away from me longer much longer."

"But this time, it's different," he said, referring to the time before he confessed about Forbes.

"I know," she whispered. "We'll be both busy, and before you know it, you're back again."

He nodded and smiled. It took an effort to act like saying goodbye wasn't physically painful. "Aye, ye're right. I'm quite sure the days will fly by quickly. See you in two weeks, Sassenach."

He kissed her briefly, knowing she was conscious of people watching and taking photographs.

"I love you, James Fraser," she whispered, before turning around and going back into the hospital.

Before he could say it back, the door already closed behind her.

..........

_ Nine days down and five days to go before Jamie arrives home_. Claire had taken three days off for her birthday to visit her parents' grave and left last night for Oxford after her gruelling shift. Arriving late at her booked Airbnb, she'd immediately gone to sleep so she could wake up early and have the cemetery to herself.

Before she'd left Edinburgh, Geillis had made her promise to be back around late afternoon today for whatever uncle Lamb had in store for her. Initially thinking Jamie had something to do with the surprise birthday celebration uncle Lamb had planned, her excitement had grown exponentially, believing Jamie would be home earlier than expected. But that hope was immediately dashed when she saw an announcement in social media that Jamie would be attending an interview with a sports network in Paris later today.

She walked past the giant redwood tree, clutching her mother's diary in one hand and a tote bag holding a tartan blanket, flask and flowers in the other. The sun was bright and early, and the autumn air crisp. Today she'd worn her mother's knitted red scarf for the occasion to commemorate her parents' death anniversary. Every year, for the past eight years, instead of celebrating her birthday, she came to visit Wolvercote cemetery where her parents had been laid to rest many years ago. She'd looked forward to visiting, welcoming the tranquil and peaceful surroundings and the chance to get things off her chest, but she had to make sure she arrived early to avoid the tourists that came to see the graves of the Tolkiens.

Following the same route of years past, she took her time wandering through the maze of headstones, reading inscriptions, stopping now and again to say a silent prayer for some of the memorials she'd become familiar with. The engravings promised the dearly departed ones they'd never be forgotten but a promise which sadly, sometimes were broken. She left a single flower on some of the old crooked, crumbling monuments which had no visit or care in a long time, greeting them like they were old friends. In a way, it felt like that, for whenever she stopped by to say hello, time seemed to stand still, the wind unmoving and the birds stilling in acknowledgement.

When she finally reached her parents' graves, their plots side by side next to each other, she was surprised to see generous bouquets of forget-me-nots laid on each headstone. She smiled, thinking it must have been from Reverend Wakefield, an old friend of uncle Lamb or perhaps his housekeeper, Mrs Graham. Either way, she was glad to see the graves well taken care of and free of weeds.

After she'd placed her own flowers in the flower holders, she laid out the tartan blanket on the ground between her parents' graves and settled herself comfortably. She poured herself some coffee and drew out a picture from her mother's diary. It was a photograph Jamie had sent her from France. It was a group photo of him, Joe, a colleague and her. At the back was her own writing she'd written a few years back asking him to sign an autograph. To her delight, he'd signed it with a note saying, _ long overdue _and a smiley face and sent it to her via post.

"Hey, mum and dad ... it's me. How is it going up there?" she whispered, leaning forward to touch their engraved names. "Well, whatever you're doing, I hope you're having a blast and a time of your afterlife. Unfortunately, I don't have much time today because uncle Lamb is planning something for my birthday, so I need to be back home tonight. Anyway, there's something I've been dying to show you ever since I got on the plane last night. Here take a look at this." She held up the photograph in the air as if she was showing it to a live person. "See that guy on the far left? That's Jamie. You probably heard all about him up there and how much of a big deal he is in rugby. Yeah, he's the same guy I've been crushing on for years, and you might remember I've mentioned his name a few times before. Well, what do you think? He's handsome right?"

An unusually warm breeze for a cold autumn morning caressed her cheeks as a monarch butterfly settled on the headstone. She stared at it for a while before slipping the photo back into her mother's diary. "I bet both of you have plenty to say after the year I had. Well, this time last year, I was engaged to Frank ...you remember Frank? Of course, you do. Stupid question. How could you not?" She shook her head as memories from her last visit to the cemetery came flooding back. "You might have noticed during my last visit, I was in a place of uncertainty. And I remember taking mum's diary with me for the first time hoping it would be our way of communicating. I have no idea why I thought of that. Maybe because her writing has brought me comfort over the years." She took a deep breath, and a wood pigeon cooed from a high branch. "It sounded a bit daft at the beginning, but when I look back with hindsight, I think it worked. I know ...I know ... a priest would be having a canary right now if they could hear me talk. You see ... last year I asked you what you thought about me marrying Frank, and then I opened mum's diary and read the first passage my eyes landed on. Can you remember that passage? Because I'm not sure anymore if I said it out loud to you. Well, allow me to remind you." She flipped the diary open to the page she was looking for. "It said ... here's a snippet ..._ from an early age, I've learned to trust my gut because I realised it knows what your head hasn't figured out yet _."

Sighing, her finger drifted over the words she just recited, admiring her mother's beautiful penmanship. "So there you go. Looking back now, I think you were indeed trying to tell me something about trusting my guts, even if the words didn't immediately register into my muddled brain. It may sound crazy, but I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And before you remind me of my Catholic upbringing and call this a form of divination, I'm sorry, but I have to disagree. Reading this diary has been my saving grace while growing up, and it always felt mum wrote those words to guide me one day, and it has, in a lot of ways." A lone starling landed on the neighbouring headstone and chirped.

She closed her eyes for a moment breathing the fresh air and soaking in the warmth of the sun. Then she laid down the diary and took a sip of her coffee. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about Frank. I'm here to talk about Jamie." She fidgetted with the edge of her scarf and smiled. "Mum, dad, I really love him, and what I feel for him, it's something I've never felt before. It's different this time, and I want you to know I'm happy ...happiest I've been for a long time. So that must count for something, right? I know he made a lot of bad choices in the past ...choices you probably would disapprove of. But hey, we all make mistakes at some point in our lives, and I am no different. Yeah, he is a complex man, I must admit, but he has a big heart and an inherently good soul, and he's proven it time and time again. So I'm hoping you will like him and maybe find it in your heart to love him the same way as I do. And perhaps if it's not too much of a big ask, you can relay a message from me to the old man up there to watch out for him."

A wind suddenly picked, sending a folded note she hadn't seen before from one of the bouquets to land on her lap.

Curious, she unfolded it. When she saw the writing, she gasped, and her eyes widened. _ Oh, sweet mother of God, it's from Jamie! _ With trembling hands and blurring eyes, she read the simple yet heartfelt message.

_ You had left this world a long time ago, but your memories are still fresh in your beautiful daughter's heart and mind. May you rest in peace, knowing I will always protect her and love her with all of me until my heart stops beating. JAMMF _

_ ...Until my heart stops beating? _ Her heart swelled. Who needs a birthday present or celebration when Jamie did something like this out of the blue? At almost every turn, he somehow managed to surprise her with his affection and tenderness, something he'd doubted he'd be capable of. But here it was, a perfect example of love from a perfectly flawed man. She didn't know if it's the words, or the flowers, or the fact she missed him so damn much making her feel like she couldn't breathe right. Half sobbing and half laughing, she reread the note over and over again.

"Good God ...mum, dad, did you see that?" She shook her head and swiped her cheek. "Jamie's even trying to make a good impression on you. Who would do that? And what do you have to say about it? He is charming, isn't he but oh sweet Jesus, I have a sneaking suspicion he knows it too. He's cocky like that, you know? If you were alive today, he would have probably given you a lifetime free ticket to watch rugby. Or a free ticket to anywhere. Uncle Lamb only got a season ticket and a signed jersey, but it was uncle's fault pulling that meat cleaver move on him. But honestly ... Jamie's that smooth he makes my eyes roll, and I can almost see you doing the same."

She pulled out a miniature Fraser whiskey from her pocket. "I know it's still early in the morning, but shall we have a toast? It's my birthday, after all." The wind blew, the falling leaves of red and gold drifting all around her and flipping the pages of her mother's diary to a picture of her first birthday. "I get it, mum and dad," she whispered as she worked on opening the bottle. She didn't know if it's her parents' absence from years gone by or Jamie not being there that made the thought of having a celebratory drink seem bittersweet. Still, she smiled. There was so much in the future to look forward to.

"Today," Claire began, saluting the air with the wee bottle of whisky, "I'm going to honour my uncle's wish, and we're going to start our own new tradition. It was far too long ago that I lost you both, and even though I would give anything to have you both here with me, I wouldn't trade the time I spent growing up with uncle Lamb. So, from now on, every year, I'll celebrate your legacy, instead of dwelling on what could have been." She touched their headstones once more. "I wish both of you could be here to meet Jamie and see what a great job uncle has done being a parent. I have no doubt you're always watching over us. But I want you to know you also had a hand in raising me, with mum's little nuggets of wisdom written in her diary. Thank you for that and know you'll always be in my heart."

She raised her whisky. "To you, mum and dad. I love you both."

She sipped her drink, and as she swallowed a mouthful of the peaty alcohol, the wind lifted the pages of diary once more. She read the first passage her eyes landed on.

_ When the stormy clouds follow us with the turbulent concert of thunder, know that the liberating rain will finally wipe away the tears from our eyes. _

Suddenly out of nowhere a fat blob of water droplet fell onto the page, and when she looked up, she realised for the first time the clouds had drifted to cover the sun. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she sent a quick text to Geillis, letting her know she would be heading home soon. With a smile, she said goodbye to her parents and gathered her things before she could get caught in the rain.

..........

Claire fished around in her oversized handbag to find her purse as the taxi slowly came to a standstill. She was just pulling a few pound notes when her phone rang.

She groaned when she saw Geillis' name flashing on the screen. "Ah, blooming heck."

When she paid the driver, she answered the call as she struggled to climb out of the vehicle.

"Geillis, hey. Did you get my voice message? I'm sorry I missed my flight in Oxford, so I'm catching the next flight from London. Sorry I'll be late."

She stepped out onto the kerb and gasped. It started to rain hard. Again. Squealing, she ran for the nearest cover, glad she only had a duffle bag to haul.

"Yes, I got yer message but are ye fucking kidding me? How could ye have missed yer flight?"

She paused, took huge deep breaths before making a mad dash to terminal five. "Well, it started to rain unusually hard," she explained huffing. "The Airbnb owner offered to drive me to the airport, but his car broke down on the way, so I missed my flight in Oxford. The best next flight I could get was here in London."

"Yer uncle was very anxious and fidgety when I told him about yer voice message."

"Oh, well, that's to be expected. Uncle Lamb has never planned a birthday surprise before."

"Please make sure you get in the next plane."

"Wow, you're really into this surprise party for me. Who's anxious now?"

"Weel, I put in a lot of effort, so I don't want ye to muck it up."

"I'm so sorry if I sound like I'm taking this lightly, but I'm in a bit of rush here too. Thank God I've printed my boarding pass. I think I'm running a bit late."

"Claire! Don't ye bloody dare miss this flight too or I swear to God ..."

She was trying to walk past a big group when she slipped on the wet tiles. As she let out a scream, her phone and bag went flying in all directions, and she fell heavily on her bottom. When she tried to get up, she slipped again and this time landing on her knees. She grunted when she tried to get up.

"Oh, bugger, bugger!" she muttered, wincing as the pain shot up her leg.

People crowded around her, asking if she was alright as two men helped her up. Mumbling she was fine, she quickly grabbed her handbag, but when she picked up her phone, the screen was cracked. _ Bloody hell! Whatever next! _

"Claire? Hello? Are ye still there?"

"I can hear ye Geillis," she replied, straightening her coat and scarf.

"Hello? Hello? Claire? Ah fuck, she's gone. Probably ran out of battery again. I swear I'm going to kill her."

Realising Geillis couldn't hear a word she was saying, she stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her coat with a sigh of resignation. As the crowd dispersed to catch their own flights, she scanned the area once more in case she'd dropped something else. Satisfied she got everything, she limp-ran to the boarding gate and realised she was the last passenger to board that flight.

..........

By the time Claire made it out of the terminal in Edinburgh, it was already eight in the evening, and she was hungry, bruised, cold, and missing Jamie terribly. To make her discomfort worse, her clothes, still slightly damp from the rain earlier, hadn't dried properly during the flight. She'd tried to change them in the cramp plane's toilet, but too bruised and sore from her fall, she couldn't even manage to lift her leg into a pair of jeans. She still couldn't believe the string of bad luck she'd endured after visiting her parents' grave. Maybe that's what happened when you decide to celebrate your birthday on their death anniversary.

Claire had taken another sneak peek on the last passage she read from her mother's diary. As she reread them again and again, she took the meaning literally and surmised it was probably a warning of the impending rain. Shaking her head, she tamped down the absurd thoughts, scanned the arrivals and was relieved to see Geillis walking towards her.

"Oh my God, what happened to ye? Ye look like a drowned rat!"

Claire wanted to cry and collapsed into Geillis' arms but refrained herself from doing so, afraid of causing a scene. She'd had enough of that in London earlier, so instead, she quickly filled her friend in with the incidents that took place as they made their way to the bathroom so she could change into some fresh clothes. It took them half an hour to make her look decent, and by the time they were in Geillis car, she was ready for bed.

"Christ Geillis is there any chance we can do this birthday party tomorrow? I'm really bone-tired, and all I need right now is a bath and a warm bed."

"Oh no, you don't! A lot of thought has gone to preparing your birthday, so suck it up, princess." When Claire didn't reply, Geillis rummaged through her bag and got some paracetamol. "Here take this, this should take the pain from yer bumps and bruises," she said, handing her the painkillers and a bottle of water.

Grateful, Claire took the medicines and popped two tablets into her mouth. "Sorry for sounding selfish and ungrateful, but it's just that I'm a bit emotional after visiting my parents' grave and missing Jamie so much. I haven't even spoken to Jamie all day."

"Not Jamie's fault, hen. Even if he had a chance to call now, your phone is damaged anyway. Besides, he's busy rearranging the stars in heaven for ye." Geillis handed her a bandana. "Here put this over yer eyes. And make sure ye cannae see a thing."

Claire glared at her. When she saw Geillis was serious, she groaned. "Oh no, Geillis, please no! Do I have to? I promise I will look surprised when we get to wherever we're going. Besides, is this really necessary if there's only me, you, Joe and uncle Lamb?"

Geillis gave her a sympathetic look. "Look, just humour me, alright? I ken it's been a rough day, but I need ye to trust me on this one. Just remember, Lamby had his heart set on this."

It was no use arguing with Geillis when she had no fight in her left. Grumbling under her breath, Claire gave in and tied the bandana over her eyes. When she was done, Geillis checked if she'd done it right.

"Good lass," Geillis said, starting the car and guiding it out from the parking lot.

They rode in silence for the next few minutes, and with all the turns and roundabouts Geillis took, Claire gave up guessing where they were heading to. She was relieved when they finally stopped as she was beginning to feel nauseous. With Geillis' erratic driving and impatience with slow-moving vehicles, Claire's stress level had reached an all-time high by the time her friend turned off the ignition.

Geillis hurriedly got out of her side of the car and helped Claire. "Right, here we are! Mind yer steps, we dinnae want a repeat from the London incident."

"That wasn't funny," Claire scolded, grabbing Geillis' hand. She sniffed the air for some clues to their location, but the one thing that stood out most was the eery stillness of their surrounding. The only sound she could hear was the traffic from a distance. "Jesus, where are we?"

"Patience, lass," Geillis replied, tugging her hand and guiding her forward. "We'll get there soon enough."

They walked for several metres, and when they finally stopped, Claire heard keys jiggling, some electronic beeping sound followed by a heavy door opening. She knew they weren't anywhere near the city and certainly not in a residential building. As they shuffled in, the loud echo of their movements made her think of empty open spaces. "I hope this is not a slaughterhouse you're leading me to. You're mentally unstable enough to come up with something like that."

"Ach, ye're sense of drama never ceases to amaze me."

"And your sense of humour is sometimes sick."

Geillis laughed as she gently pushed Claire into the lift. "Not far to go! Take huge big deep breaths and just remember, no one is making any sick jokes on ye. This is yer day, and it's high time we do a bit of celebration ...Lamby style."

"I don't even have a clue what his style is, so whatever he's got in store for me, it'll definitely be a surprise, and I don't think I would need to pretend anything."

"No, I don't think so either." The lift pinged, and the door slid open with a whoosh. "Alright, this way, we're almost there."

"Oh dear, here we go," she mumbled.

They stepped out, walked some more and then stopped again. Claire heard another door opened and Geillis gently pushed her inside. She held her breath, her heart already near her throat, unsure what to expect next. She just hoped no one was going to jump on her and shout "surprise!" as she had a strong feeling her nerves wouldn't be able to take it after the day she'd already had. Before Claire knew what was happening, Geillis gave her a bear hug. "Happy Birthday, hen," she whispered, her voice suddenly laced with choked emotions. "Just enjoy this, okay? Soak it all in. Promise me."

Surprised at her friend's sudden change in demeanour, Claire could only embrace Geillis back, thinking uncle Lamb must have done something extraordinary to get her all worked up.

"Ye can take off the bandana now and open yer eyes," Geillis whispered.

Before Claire could respond, Geillis stepped back, and the door suddenly shut. _ Ah, hell! _ She whipped off the covering from her eyes and blinked. She was engulfed in darkness. But there was the distant soft glow of city lights coming from outside the window and other than that, she couldn't see a thing. "Hello? Anyone in here? Please don't shout and jump and scare the bejesus out of me, because if you do, I'm out of here."

Nothing. No response.

She carefully moved forward until her hands grasped the ledge of the window and squinted. It was too dark to see and decipher the place she was in. But one thing she was sure of, she was outside of Edinburgh as its silhouette and lights were visible from where she stood.

She heard a whirring sound, and then all of a sudden, brightness replaced the darkness outside, as floodlights illuminated a wide-open space of green. She gasped when she realised she was looking down at a rugby field. It was complete with covered stands, benches and team shelters and even the lines on the mowed field were freshly marked with white. On the far end was a gigantic white screen and surrounding the area were netting erected in place. Everything looked brand spanking new and fresh. It could only mean she was in Jamie's academy. Shaking her head, she laughed out loud. _ He's done it, my bloody Scot has gone and done it! _

Tears started to fall as pride for Jamie overflowed in bucket loads. She was about to grab her phone from the pocket of her coat, but she remembered it wasn't working. So instead she allowed herself to cry like a child, knowing how far Jamie had come and at what cost. This was what he'd always wanted and worked so hard for, and she couldn't be happier for him and what he'd accomplished.

"Why the tears, Sassenach? Don't ye like it?"

Her heart jumped out of her chest, and the moment she spun around, she heard something clicked, and the light in the room went on. Jamie was sat on an office desk, looking ruggedly handsome in his black shirt, faded jeans and a leather jacket, and sporting a week-old scruff.

"Jamie!" she breathed.

He beamed, and it's the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. With her heart pumping madly, she took quick steps towards him and launched herself into his arms.

He laughed out loud as he caught her, lifting her against him and burying his face into the crook of her neck. "Mo chridhe," he murmured. "Christ, I've missed ye." He inhaled deeply, his lips warm and tantalising against her skin.

"Not as much as I've missed you," she whispered, raining kisses on his jawline. When they drew away, she looked into his eyes, all the restlessness from the past few days dissolving in the warmth of his body heat. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to do a live interview."

His hands gripped her waist and leaned his forehead against hers. "I did have an interview, but it was done early this morning. The show featured it tonight as live even if it wasnae. I didnae want to miss yer birthday for anything, so we did a pre-recording."

"But when are you going back?" she asked, pulling back. "I love the fact you came here for my birthday, but does that mean you will be away longer because you came here today?"

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "I've finished everything I needed to do." He gave her a lopsided grin, unable to hide his joy. "I did a lot of rescheduling as I didn't want to hang around and wait in between interviews and photocalls. I told them I have a lot of business obligations, so I managed to convince them to scramble their timetable for me."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? So, that's it?" She smiled at him, happier than she could fully express. "No more public appearances?"

"Aye, that's it. The only interview I will entertain in the future will be for the academy." He brushed his lips against hers. "Oh, by the way, happy birthday, Sassenach!"

She linked her hands behind his neck. "Thank you. You being here is the best birthday gift ever and by the way too, congratulations on the completion of your academy. But how on earth did you do all of this so fast?"

"Weel, when I bought this sports complex, all the infrastructure were already here in place, and that helped a lot financially. It needed a lot of work done, and an additional extension to the building, but that wasnae much of a problem as Willie has a great construction team. The extension isnae quite finish yet though, but as ye saw, the field is complete. We are still waiting for some of the equipment for training and gym to arrive. But they're on their way. And this here ..." he waved a hand in the air. "...will be my office."

Claire looked around the spacious room, taking it all in for the first time since she came in. It was beautiful, masculine and fit for a rugby academy director. The whole space had been fitted out with rich dark wood, high-quality furnishings and the latest electronic gadget, including a massive TV on one wall. The exposed brick wall and the wide window overlooking the rugby field lent the room a more modern, twenty-first-century edge, without compromising practicality. It was simply too stunning for words.

Claire untangled herself from Jamie and walked over to the window. "This office reminds me of a private box in Murrayfield stadium. You have a bird's eye view of the whole field. As well as an uninterrupted panorama of Edinburgh."

"That's why I chose this space for my office." He stood behind her and pointed to the roof of the stand's cover. "And over there, Sassenach, is one of the spots where the sign and logo of the academy are going."

"Yes, I can see it already, Jamie," she whispered. "In big, bold, beautiful letters ...James Fraser Academy."

Jamie cleared his throat. "About that, Sassenach, I have something to show ye."

She turned around to face him and watched as he took out a bundle of folded papers from the inside of his jacket and placed it in her hand.

"What's this?"

He smiled nervously and nodded. "Take a look."

It was some sort of official document. Claire flicked through all the pages, skimming paragraphs as she went, but it was all legal jargon to her. "I don't understand, Jamie."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled, his face turning red. "It's on the last page. Tell me what ye think."

There were only three sections on the page, and right at the bottom where Jamie's signature was supposed to be on the dotted line, was blank. Claire carefully read the words, and as the meaning behind them began to sink in, her heart started to race. Jamie had named his academy FRASER-BEAUCHAMP RUGBY ACADEMY.

She licked her lips and reread the page again, just to make sure she didn't misunderstand anything. "Jamie, but why ..." When she tore her gaze away from the paper, her heart stopped. Jamie was down on one knee in front of her, holding out her mother's engagement ring.

"Sassenach," he said gruffly. "I ken I do a lot of things poorly and a few things well. And when I'm with ye, I feel I can achieve anything and everything. Ye make me a better person, and I want to keep getting better with ye by my side. What I'm trying to say is, I want to spend the rest of my life with ye. I want to have babies with ye and grow old with ye. And if you agree to be my wife, what's mine will be yers, that's why I havenae signed that paper yer holding yet. And I swear as God is my witness, I will cherish ye with every fragment of my being each and every day until I draw my final breath." He swallowed audibly and whispered, "Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, will ye marry me?"

She gasped. Every ounce of oxygen and emotion she felt for Jamie poured out of her with such incredible force, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. "Oh, Jamie ..." Her hand clapped over her mouth, stifling her cry.

"Sassenach?"

"Oh, this all too much."

He stood up and pulled her into his arms. "Sassenach, are ye upset because I asked ye to marry me?"

She shook her head and pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his clean, masculine smell. She was crying because they were two broken people when they first met, and despite all odds and their past, their pain had brought them together. It was the messiness of their histories that drove them, and the damage that came with it connected them at a soul level. The scars they carried were so deeply embedded they couldn't see them anymore but recognised them in each other. It would have been easy to wallow in bitterness and succumb to all the negative emotions, but somehow in understanding each other's hurt, they were able to heal and forgive their own shortcomings and give them the strength to have faith in love.

Jamie's hold tightened. "Please tell me those tears mean ye're saying yes. Because if it isnae, this would go down in history as the worse birthday present ever."

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him and laughed through her tears. "Oh God, Jamie, yes, I want to marry you."

A single tear slid down Jamie's eye as he slid her mother's ring into her finger with trembling hands. And when he kissed her with so much reverence, it felt like they were kissing for the first time. As they gradually pulled away, he wiped the tears from her face. "Uncle Lamb gave me this ring to give to ye. He said this ring has been missing for a while and he found it a few weeks ago. Maybe it's a sign yer ma approves of me."

Claire laughed. "Oh, my mum and dad definitely approve. You don't need to worry about that."

"If ye dinnae approve of the ring, I can buy a new one. I cannae give ye my mother's because she's given it to Willie already."

"Oh, Jamie, this is perfect," she said, splaying her fingers out to admire the jewellery. It was a simple platinum Art Deco ring with two matching cut diamonds in a square frame. It had belonged to her father's mother.

"That's good then if ye think so," he grinned, putting on a pair of AirPods into his ears. "Now are ye ready for this?"

"What are you doing?"

Jamie didn't reply as he swiped a few times on his phone. When he shoved it back into his pocket, he smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. "I want everyone that matters to know that ye said yes. So, Sassenach, ye really do want to marry me?"

"Yes, Jamie, I want to marry you. I have the ring on now, don't I?"

A sudden loud roar of cheers came from the TV, and when she turned around, she was stunned to see Jamie's family, uncle Lamb, Joe and Geillis applauding and cheering on the screen.

"Oh, my God, so this is the surprise," she whispered, more to her herself than to Jamie.

While more shouts of congratulations and good wishes followed, Uncle Lamb's face filled up the TV screen. "Well, what are you both waiting for?" he grumbled into the camera, his face comically up too close. "Everyone is starving. Show us a kiss and come down here and let's celebrate."

Jamie and Claire both laughed and obliged their family and friends. When they got carried away kissing, another uproar ensued reminding them of where they were. With hesitation but with laughter, they untangled themselves from each other's embrace and left Jamie's office, heading down to what would one day be the cafeteria.

But before they entered, Jamie stopped her and pulled her into his arms once again. "Thank ye for choosing me, Sassenach. I still cannae believe I get to call ye my fiancee. But please, let's not make this a long engagement because I cannae wait to start our life together and start calling ye my wife."

She smiled up at him. "I don't want a long engagement neither nor do I want it all over the papers, nor do I wish for a fancy wedding. If ye want we can get married tomorrow."

Jamie shook his head. "Now, Sassenach, dinnae be silly. I want a proper wedding, and I want to see ye walking the aisle in yer dress. I'm gonnae get married only once, and I want to do this right."

"Fine, now kiss me before everyone starts looking for us."

"I love ye," he whispered before he lowered his head to kiss her.

"And I love you too," she murmured against his lips.

When Jamie's phone started to beep, they both groaned in despair.

"Come, Sassenach, we have a double celebration coming up, and everyone has been waiting for hours.."

With smiles in their faces and hearts, they entered the room to the cheers of their love ones.

As they walked hand in hand, Claire realised that loving Jamie will never cease to amaze her. He was like thunder and the gentle rain that follows. He was both fire and balm to her soul. There was no doubt there will be heartaches and pain along the way, but they've seen each other's mess and brokenness, and they still loved each other and came out stronger. She used to think it was fate when he caught her fall from the church window. But now, after all the twist and turns they'd been through, she believed fate is what one makes out of it - you get the love you fight for and the one you think you deserve. Their destiny was to nurture that love and keep reminding themselves, that whatever life throws at them, they will always find their way to each other.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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desperationandgin · 5 years

Text

Peaceful Easy Feelin’ (A Market Price One-Shot)

Rating: Explicit (or Mature? IDK.)

Author: desperationandgin

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire take their first road trip together.

A/N: Hello, my friends! After a month of 0 writing, I'm back with an MP one shot. This is, to date, the longest single fic of anything I've written, so I have to deeply thank all of my betas. @filledwithlight, @smashing-teacups, @happytoobserve, @fierceweebadger and @lcbeauchampoftarth, thank you so much. I dropped them on this yesterday and felt real bad about it, but they all knocked it OUT. A L S O thank you to @happytoobserve for the idea with the game! Annnnnd @fierceweebadger even made this GORGEOUS mood board, thank you love! This ficlet takes place after Future Expansions, and I would suggest reading (or re-reading for the tie-in) The Nearness of You afterward!

Peaceful Easy Feelin’

Let it be known, there is nothing sexier than Jamie Fraser pumping petrol while wearing his lumberjack ensemble.

Claire fires off her text to Geillis, subtly watching Jamie’s profile in the side mirror. He’s wearing jeans that make her purposefully linger behind him when they walk; and, to be quite frank, looks as if he stepped straight out of a Barbour ad. When her phone vibrates, she glances down just as he finishes, only having enough time to read part of her friend’s response.

Yer wee fox cub certainly’d like to show ye some wood-

Coughing to hide a laugh, Claire quickly drops her phone down into the bag at her feet as Jamie slides back into the car.

“Ye alright, Sassenach? Want me to go inside, get ye a drink?”

Shaking her head, she smiles and settles into her seat. “No. I’m fine, just eager to go. My expert navigation skills have us at the bed and breakfast by supper.”

The trip from home to the quaint town they’ve read about along the coast is nearly a three-hour road trip on its own. After spending most of the day on Friday making sure things will run smoothly for Jenny and Ian at the farmer’s market, their stop for petrol has them on the lengthiest part of the drive just after three in the afternoon. The temperature is a comfortable 13 Celsius, nice enough to crack the windows and breathe crisp autumn air once they hit the open road. They chat about various things each of them have been meaning to get to (Claire reminds him about the never-ending search for the perfect bedding; Jamie floats the idea of an all-family vacation to one of the cabins near the loch for winter holiday) and weigh the pros and cons of eventually adopting a cat versus a dog.

“I can run wi’ a dog,” Jamie patiently explains, as if that alone should be the winning argument.

“Well, while you run, I can laze around with a cat reading a book and drinking tea,” she responds just as matter-of-factly. “Besides, you don’t run more than once a day, but the dog definitely needs to go out more often than that. How eager are you to put on clothes at eleven p.m.?”

“Ye do tend to have me thoroughly undressed by ten,” Jamie muses, smiling at her soft thwap against his shoulder. “Dogs alert ye to intruders, they like to play, and they can obey.”

“Oh,” Claire scoffs. “Is that what you’re looking for? Something to obey you?”

“I’m no’ generally the commanding type,” Jamie retorts. Anyone trying to command Claire Beauchamp was never going to get very far, in any case. “I only meant they can learn tae do things.”

“Well, so can cats! And they don’t need to be held by the paw to go to the bathroom. I’m right about this.”

“I dinna have anythin’ against havin’ a cheetie, ye ken,” Jamie points out. “My mam had one when I was a wee lad, I liked it fine.”

Claire turns to face him, head tilting to the side. “What was its name?”

Jamie smiles in reflection, sparing a glance at her while he drives. “Adso. He was a fierce hunter, chased away all the mice and ate what dared to linger. She loved that cat until—” He trails off, quiet for a beat before finishing. “No’ long after she died, Adso disappeared. No one remembers seeing him after that, at least.”

Out of habit, Claire rests a hand on his thigh, but as he reaches down for her she meets him halfway, tangling their fingers together. “Adso was truly your mother’s. That’s beautiful, Jamie.”

For a few minutes the memory lingers, the image of his mother curled up with the kitten suddenly swimming to the surface. He can remember the sound of her calling out sweetly for her cat, and the rediscovered memory sways his decision.

“When we’re finally settled after the honeymoon, we’ll see about a cheetie of our own,” Jamie promises, wrapping up the debate for good.

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She didn’t mean to drift, and she’s alarmed to find herself alone in a still car when her eyes open. Before she can wonder too long, Jamie appears, exiting a quaint-looking home that she realizes must be Eskview Farm in St. Cyrus: the true starting point of the road trip. They’re staying for two evenings, planning a day at the beach (in jeans and jumpers) before heading out on the 30th toward Aberdeen. From there, it’s onward to Slains Castle just in time for Samhein, the questionably haunted portion of their road trip beginning and ending with a tour of Bram Stoker’s inspiration.

Getting out of the car, Claire stretches and Jamie detours, moving to her side instead of grabbing a bag from the boot.

“You were snorin’,” he teases, leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

“If I was, it was only because I found myself quite content,” she explains, granting him another kiss as she leans back against the car. “Our first road trip.”

“First road trip. How’s it feel, Sassenach?”

She smiles as she presses her lips to his cheek, then grazes his stubble with the tip of her nose. “How it always feels to be with you.”

Jamie’s lips find the crook of her neck, one hand wandering under her shirt, caressing her back slowly. “And how does that feel?” he whispers in inquiry, dropping a kiss to her pulse.

Claire feels as though she’s standing on a swaying ship, closing her eyes as warmth blooms in her belly. “It feels like an adventure with you, Jamie. Every day.” Sinking into him, her arms loop around his waist as her face nuzzles against his shoulder. When she speaks, her voice is muffled, but she doesn’t move. “And you cannot feel me up in the parking lot of our bed and breakfast.”

“And why no’?” Jamie asks, lips trailing to her collarbone now.

Her eyes drift to the porch and the pleasant-looking elderly woman eyeing them. “Because I think the proprietor is on the porch,” she laughs softly, stifling it against his shoulder. “I’m ready for a shower, though. With company.”

Distraction accomplished (and faster than she expected), they’re shown to a room exploding with lace and doilies, a teddy bear draped in a strand of pearls sitting on the dresser. Once they’re alone, Claire stops trying to hide her laughter and raises an eyebrow. “Someone not take a glance at the photo gallery before booking?”

Jamie, having opened the closet door, stands frozen to the spot. “Sassenach, I cannae think of words tae properly describe what I’m seein’, so just come look.”

Curious, Claire goes to his side, peeking in, and lets out another bark of a laugh as a row of wooden puppets stares down at them from the top shelf. “Well, this is supposed to be a spooky road trip.”

“Spooky and creepy are verra different things,” Jamie feels the need to point out as he firmly closes the door again, tugging off his shirt.

“How so?” she asks, heading into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

He follows her, shedding shoes and jeans in his wake. “Creepy is more on the weird side, ye ken? Like perhaps a person who has that many wooden puppets has other things in her cupboards. But spooky is just aesthetic, Sassenach.”

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder and appreciating the fact that he’s made quick work of his clothing. “I must say, I feel properly educated on the subject now. Thank you.” Draping her arms over his shoulders, she pecks his lips lightly before pressing closer. “I see I’m suddenly overdressed.”

“And the shower was your idea, even. I see what yer up to, distracting me from gropin’ ye in the parkin’ lot.”

Claire laughs, delighted at him — at them — and lets him undress her, if only to feel his fingers against her skin as he exposes it. “You can grope me just as well in the shower, you know.” The last word is a soft exhale as his fingers graze up her sides, pushing her shirt up as he goes and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Aye, I plan to. Dinna fash about that,” he breathes out against her clavicle, hands reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, gently pushing the straps down her shoulders. As he pulls the garment away, Jamie steps back to admire her — topless, in jeans, still wearing her practical walking shoes.

Tugging at her hand, he pulls her to the mirror, grinning at her reflection. “Ye look ridiculous right now.” She’s laughing too hard to respond, shoulders shaking with it. “I mean, it is a look, Sassenach.”

“Would you shut up and get me naked, please?” Claire finally sputters, heaving out a breath as she tries to stop herself from another round of hysterics.

Laughing with her, he unbuttons her jeans, turning her around to kiss her laughing mouth as he pushes them down her body. “I could distract ye wi’ bawdy things.”

Her laughter catches and she clears her throat. “Do go on. What sort of bawdy things will you do to me while the puppets listen?”

It’s his turn to laugh and he does, loudly against her ear. “Nevermind, ye ruined it."

“We’ve wasted enough hot water,” she decides, kicking off her shoes and shimmying the rest of the way out of her jeans, even as he pushes her knickers (with wee hearts on them; a joke gift on her birthday before the real gift of the skimpiest things he’d ever bought) down her legs.

Once all offending pieces are discarded, they step into the bath-shower-combination together, realizing the tight squeeze almost immediately.

“You know,” Claire begins. “Every movie and television show I’ve ever watched would have me believe sex in the shower is effortless. Easy, even.”

There’s hardly room to turn around, let alone do any groping, and Jamie graciously steps back to let Claire have the water. “This is why we never tried it before,” he points out. “I’m no’ prepared to break a hip on vacation.”

With a smirk, Claire wets her hair while facing him. “I’m glad you’re more practical than horny. My own hips thank you.”

When she turns her back to him, Jamie wordlessly reaches for one of the decorative (but unlabeled) bottles, sniffs it, and determines based on color and smell it must be the shampoo. Lathering it into her hair, he massages her scalp in the tamest of ways, but his cock is doing very little to help with his restraint.

“If either of us breaks anything then we cannae have one another for Christ knows how long, so I’m no’ willin’ to risk it,” he supplies practically, working on her hair until she has a well-shaped soap afro and letting her go to rinse—his favorite part.

Closing her eyes, Claire reaches up, working the water through her hair. “Then I suppose we’ll be boring and wait for bed,” she teases, scrunching her nose as soap drips down her face.

Jamie reaches up to wipes the offending suds away, then looks at the high edges of the tub. “I do have an idea. No’ quite what they write in bodice rippers, but somethin’.” As she finishes rinsing her hair, Jamie pushes the shower curtain behind his body before sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Her hips are at the perfect height, and he grins while dragging a finger over her skin.

Turning to rinse any lingering soap from her face, Claire finally finishes and eyes him warily. “What are you going to do?”

Carefully ensuring she doesn’t slip, Jamie pulls her closer and coaxes her left foot up onto the edge of the tub. When his gaze shifts to the view directly in front of his eyes, any half-hardness of his cock goes to full attention. It’s enough to make him groan, lips pressing to her stomach.

“Christ, ye have no idea how mind-blowin’ ye are.”

After his words, his tongue traces the crease where hip joins torso, feeling her shiver despite the warmth of the shower.

“I have—” her words falter, breath hitching as his fingers part her. “—you doing this. I know how to take a hint.” One of her hands pushes through his hair, and gripping a handful of said curls, she presses her hips forward against his mouth.

“Impatient,” he scolds, but the words are muffled as he’s helpless to fulfill her request. He can’t imagine what would need to be wrong with him to deny her, and he hopes to never discover it. His tongue teases around the enticing warmth of her, but his focus shifts to nerves already taut with anticipation. He waits for half a heartbeat before slowly circling his tongue around it, feeling her hand tighten in his hair, her curls brushing the top of his head as her own bows.

With one hand wrapped around her calf to keep her steady, the other moves to her opposite hip while his mouth devours her, doing all of the work. He grunts at the feel of her thigh against the side of his head, absorbing each tremble until her body pitches forward a bit. That’s when he begins listening: to the sweetest sounds that exist just for him, his own private performance.

When she’s close, when pleasure causes her hips to writhe of their own accord, she makes a keening sound; head falling back as her lips part, cheeks flushed the sweetest hue of pink, curls skimming the pearlescent expanse of her shoulders. A high-pitched cry comes next as she tenses, the skin right between her eyebrows furrowing as she chases her climax. Two letters, a gasped out “Ja—” is all the warning he has before a loud, unchecked moan fills the room, not at all drowned out by the sound of the shower. One hand is buried in his hair, while the other clutches his shoulder, leaving red half-moon marks in the wake of her pleasure.

Lapping at the fruits of his labor, Jamie hums in contentment, tongue lazily gliding along warm, slick flesh before nosing at soft curls and finally kissing her hip. As everything in her eases and relaxes, he gently lowers her leg, his arm sliding around her waist as he stands. He gathers her close, standing sideways with her in the shower as his lips find hers for a series of soft, tender kisses. Without prompting, he reaches for the soap and washes her, slowly bringing her down from her high with more touch, this time soothing instead of lust-filled.

When she can finally move again, Claire reaches out to cradle his face in her hands, smiling in blissed-out contentment. “I think I might have to marry you.”

Having previously deemed the shower too dangerous for more strenuous activities, they finish washing and step out, lazily drying in favor of kissing and touching again.

“I cannae be near ye and not want ye,” Jamie confesses against the hollow of her throat as she leans back against the vanity. After a brief pause to plant a kiss over her heart, his mouth envelops a nipple, the warm curve of her breast still damp from the shower.

With one hand braced behind her on the bathroom counter, her other reaches out to drag up and down his back. Claire’s eyes close, head tilting back as she encourages him. “I don’t have it in me to mind.” Her final word is said on a sharp gasp as the tip of his cock presses insistently against her. His mouth hasn’t stopped, moving to the opposite breast to shower it with the same affection as his hands begin lifting. She expects to be moved to the counter, but instead, he coaxes her legs around his waist once he comes up for air.

“Tell me I can have ye now,” he pants across her cheek, beginning to make his way out of the bathroom toward the bed.

“You can have me, Jamie. You can always have me.” Her lips fuse to his, and in a display of exactly how weak he is, she finds herself pressed against the wall, feet from the bed. Before she can tease him, he’s inside of her, and whatever thoughts she once had are replaced by a series of white bursts of light behind closed eyelids. Her hands grasp at his shoulders, frantically trying to find solid purchase on the scarred terrain of his back as he anchors her between his body and the wall.

Forgetting that they aren’t, in fact, in their own home, an unrestrained moan tumbles from her lips, so loud that it makes his own ears ring. Jamie slams forward, doing nothing to help keep her quiet as he sinks deeply into her. His loud groan is swallowed by her mouth, though there’s no resemblance to a kiss thanks to both of them gasping for lungfuls of air. He can tell that she’s focused again by the way she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and digs her heels into his lower back. She’s close, but not close enough, which has him sneaking a hand between them, only just able to reach her clit with his thumb. It’s plenty; she jerks as though touched by a live wire, and as her body contracts around him, he holds a thrust while burying his face against her neck. Letting her carry him with her, both of them breathlessly whimper the other’s name as waves of pleasure begin to recede.

It’s firm knocking on the door that brings first Jamie, then Claire, out of their post-sex stupor, still slumped against the wall. He lowers her gently to the ground, and when her legs are no longer as wobbly as a new foal’s, he steps back, tossing on jeans and answering the door sans shirt. While he does, Claire revisits the bathroom, cleaning herself up a bit until she hears the door close and lock.

“What was that about?” she asks curiously, making her way to the bed and crawling in naked.

“We’re deviants,” Jamie replies casually, laying on the bed and shifting so that she can drape over him. “It was the person next room over. Apparently, ye sound like a dying coo, Sassenach.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didna say it! The woman next door did. I politely disagreed, and she told me that to answer the door in such a state of undress was a mark on my puir soul.”

“Was she about eighty years of age?” Claire mutters, blushing a little.

Laughing, Jamie pulls her closer, kissing her forehead. “Closer to eighty-five, I think. I promised her we’d be leavin’ after breakfast in the morning and until then, no more rude noises.”

“You think they’re rude?”

“I happen to find them verra adorable. Sexy too, if it helps,” he playfully taunts.

She huffs, pretending to be greatly put out. “And what if I wanted to try and get you to make rude noises before 5 a.m?”

With a smirk, Jamie curves a hand around her hip. “If ye’re awake before 5 a.m. on our vacation, Sassenach, I’ll make all the wee noises ye’d like.”

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Morning comes (but not either of them, thanks to Claire sleeping straight through the alarm), and after a few impolite stares from other breakfast goers, Jamie and Claire wander along the beach, properly freezing before driving into town to shop (Jamie buys a ridiculously priced book of Scottish poems printed in the 18th century, Claire sneakily buys cufflinks to give Jamie before their wedding), have lunch, and spend the rest of the afternoon at a whiskey distillery in Aberdeen. Research, he says, and she agrees to a point—until they walk out more than a few pounds lighter. Still, there isn’t much to worry about as the day begins to fade and they make their way back to the bed and breakfast.

As politely as they can, they rush through supper before escaping to their room; both of them miss the look of contempt shot at them from their neighbor in the corner.

Once their road trip resumes, Claire takes over the driving, opting for an Eagles playlist as the low background music. A half-hour in, Jamie reaches behind Claire to retrieve a bag from the backseat, rummaging while he explains himself.

“I told Jen we were goin’ on this trip and she suggested we borrow a game she bought a while back.”

“A game?” Claire asks with suspicious wariness, glancing at him as he settles back in his seat with a plastic bag full of small square cards.

“Aye, she bought it for a dinner party, when we started havin’ vendors to the farm for get-togethers. To break the ice, ye pick a card and ask the room whatever the question is and everyone answers.”

“It sounds like something you do when you work in a business office and go to company retreats,” she says dryly, looking behind her to change lanes. “And I’m driving, I can’t stop to read.”

“Come on, Sassenach, it’ll be fun. I’ll read them all, but every other card, I’ll answer first. Deal?”

“What could you possibly not know about me by now?”

Jamie takes that as his cue to draw a card and read it off. “‘Have ye ever bought anythin’ from a TV infomercial?’” He looks at her expectantly. “Weel?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, and I’m not ashamed of it like that question implies I should be.” There’s a slight huff at the end, but when he looks over, he sees the corner of her upper lip twitch as she tries to suppress a smile in favor of mock annoyance.

“What was it then? Can I guess?”

Now it’s impossible to hide her smile. “You can try. But it was years before I met you and I don’t own it anymore.”

“Oh, so it worked sae well ye got rid of it?”

“No. I lost track of it during a move and never bothered to replace it. Tell me what you’re thinking it could be,” Claire retorts, deciding maybe the game is alright after all.

“A kitchen gadget?” he attempts on his first try, then goes through various electronic gadgets, home remedy devices, and articles of clothing before giving up.

“A towel,” Claire tells him succinctly.

“A towel? One single towel ye ordered off of television?”

“Specifically for drying my hair. It had a tab in the back to secure it like a turban until these curls were as dry as they could get without assistance,” she explains. “What have you bought from an infomercial?”

“Nothin’ at all, I can honestly say. Do they even have them anymore?”

“Towels?”

“No, ye wee brat. Infomercials.”

Laughing, she shrugs in genuine ignorance. “If they do, I haven’t seen one in a while. What’s the next question?”

Glad to see her seemingly into the idea of the game, he pulls another card. “Alright. I’ll answer first. The question is ‘do ye possess any of the qualities of yer astrological sign?’ Claire, I couldna tell ye at all. I ken I’m a Taurus, but after that, ‘tis a mystery.”

“Geillis is really into horoscopes, you know. She told me that apparently you’re supposed to be devoted and responsible, so lucky me. Stubbornness happens to be a trait of your sign, and the more we talk, the more I think there might be something to that. You know what else a Taurus likes?”

“No, but I’m interested to hear,” Jamie declares, wondering when this conversation with her neighbor happened.

“Apparently, and I wouldn’t know anything about this, you’re supposed to be good with your hands.” When she glances at him, her grin is so toothy that they both laugh, spending a few seconds recovering from it.

“I’m ashamed to admit I’m no’ even sure what your sign is. What are you supposed to be like, accordin’ to October twentieth?”

“I’m a Libra. You’ll have to tell me if I’m gracious, diplomatic, and indecisive, with a love of the outdoors.”

Leaning back as if to appraise her, Jamie ponders it. “I’ve never kent ye to be indecisive. Careful to choose, perhaps, but no’ unable to make up yer mind. And either ye love the outdoors or the acting ye do at the farm is award-worthy.”

Claire smiles, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm for a second. “I love it. All of it, everything that comes with you and Lallybroch.” Her life before him of simply waking up and going to work was status quo for so long that the moment James Fraser stepped into her life, it was as if an entire world had opened up to her. Family and togetherness, love and warmth. Every single bit of her happiness comes from that farm.

“Next question?”

Pulling a card, his face softens. “What’s the most beautiful drive ye’ve ever taken, Sassenach?” She smiles at him sweetly; it’s a quick glance that feels as though it lasts forever, a moment neither of them wants to forget, and so it seems to stretch on. In unison, they answer.

“This one.”

“‘Which American landmark would ye most like to see?’ The Grand Canyon I think, aye? We’ve both talked about that one,” Jamie answers first.

Humming her agreement, Claire adds on to the wishlist. “I want to see the older parts of the country. The original Colonies, where it’s all the most historic.”

“Perhaps in ten years or so, we could take a trip, visit museums and the like,” he offers.

In confusion, she balks. “A decade? Why are we waiting a decade to visit America?”

His shrug is easy as he draws another card. “Our first bairn would be school age, able to appreciate it more, aye?”

As Claire stops at an intersection, she takes the time to look at him, eyes moving over his face and expressing a dozen things she doesn’t say aloud. Instead, as she begins to drive again, she agrees with him. “According to your rigorous baby-making schedule? Yes, we’ll have a nice school-aged child and probably two others by then.”

Jamie’s laughing as he looks at the next card, then makes a noise in the back of his throat as he really reads what he’s pulled.

“What’s the hardest thing ye’ve ever done, Sassenach?”

The air in the car shifts as she thinks, straightening up in the seat. It’s with that question she realizes maybe he doesn’t know some things. The things she doesn’t talk about, the things she’s pushed to the furthest recesses of her mind in favor of not sinking into pieces of her past.

“I can draw another,” he offers after her silence stretches for a full minute.

Shaking her head, Claire wets her lips. “No, it’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, really. I mean, I haven’t thought about it—” She pauses again and looks at him from her peripheral vision before focusing on the road. “The first time I told someone their loved one didn’t make it. It was only my fifth surgery, a young man. He was twenty-three; he’d been biking with his friends and swerved to avoid a pothole, but his rear tire caught it.”

It really wasn’t her fault he died on the table. She knows that now; but then, younger and hearing the single monotone beep after her hands had been trying to save a life, it felt as though she’d killed him herself.

“He crashed into a metal fence, the kind with the sharp point at the tip? One went right through him, and I did the surgery. Everything went fine, I thought. I had no idea there was a nicked artery and he was bleeding elsewhere. When he died...telling his parents, his beautiful young wife…that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Jamie watches Claire as she speaks, watches her face, her hands on the steering wheel. He checks to see if she’s white-knuckling it at any point, and listens as she checks herself for wobbles in her voice. He knows her, knows her heart, and realizes that must have taken a toll. “But ye got through it?” he asks quietly, reaching over to rest his hand on her leg while she drives in a show of quiet support.

“It took a long time,” she admits, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Those don’t get easier, ever, but the first one is always the most difficult. And the hardest part was convincing myself that it wasn’t my fault.” She’ll never forget any of the wails she’s heard, will never forget the people waiting at the hospital alone who had no one to comfort them but her.

Exhaling again, she drops her hand to squeeze his. “Your turn.”

Even when she replaces her hand on the steering wheel, Jamie keeps his own on her leg as he answers. “Watching my da slowly lose it after my mam died.” His eyes move to the window, unable to look at Claire as he speaks. “I’ll always think he died of a broken heart, dinna care how cliche it sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds cliche. I think he lost the most important person in his life,” she soothes. Once she’s on a long stretch of straight road, her hand drops again to cover his.

“He truly didna want to go on wi’ out her. Her death, Willie’s, they broke him, and he was never going to be the same. When he died, it was almost a relief, Sassenach,” Jamie confesses quietly. “To ken he’d be wi’ her again, that he was no longer here in a state of perpetual grief. He tried to be brave. You would have liked him, I think. I ken for sure he would have loved ye, Claire.”

“I wish I could have met him. Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man, Jamie.” A wonderful man who raised an incredible son. Claire isn’t sure what she believes — if her parents and uncle will be waiting to greet her when she dies — but she does know one thing for sure. “If I ever lost you, I don’t know if I would be any different.”

His hand squeezes around hers before raising it to his lips in a soft kiss against her inner wrist. “I’ll try to never go where ye cannae come wi’ me, Sassenach.”

She doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “Then I promise the same.”

They can’t — not really — but the words are sweet, the sentiment real.

Time melts away and she loses track of how many questions they’ve answered before she warns him they’re ten minutes away from the castle.

“Last one then,” he concludes. “If ye could do something dangerous just once, with no risk, what would ye do?”

Claire has to think about it, then hedges her answer. “Where are we on the danger scale?”

“I would jump out of a plane. Or perhaps let NASA launch me into space.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” she retorts with a scoff. “You’re never jumping out of a plane or anything close to it. Especially not with your plan for ten children.”

Jamie snickers as he puts the cards away, spying a road sign to Slains Castle. “I do have a different answer if ye’re interested. No’ really dangerous physically, but it could be a financial disaster if it doesna go right.”

She knows this has to be about the farm, and she looks at him curiously after making the final turn of the trip. “What is it?”

He hesitates, and she’s pulling up to the dilapidated ruins before he answers. Once the car is in park, he turns to look at her fully. “I want to expand into America. Once we finish wi’ the distillery, I want to market to restaurateurs and chefs in the States.”

She can tell he’s nervous about broaching it; she knows it will take a lot of late nights and frequent travel on his part. She studies his face for a moment before unbuckling her seatbelt in order to reach over and cradle his face in her hands. It’s an awkward position thanks to the center console, but she’s determined to make it work.

“You should do it. Do it because you’re afraid. Do it because I’ll be here to help along the way.” She pauses to kiss him softly. “Do it because I know you won’t go through with anything you don’t believe in, Jamie.”

A swell of emotion makes his eyes narrow a bit, the underlying surprise turning into a small, pleased smile. “Ye dinna think it’s too risky?”

Claire kisses him again before she pulls back to turn off the car, opening the door as she answers. “It’s going to be the riskiest thing you’ll ever do with our money,” she corrects, but after walking around to the passenger side of the car and opening the door, she waits until he’s out to finish her thought. “I’m not going to say ‘no risk, no reward.’”

“Oh, thank Christ. It’s uninspired.” His hands come to rest on her hips as his eyes study her face intently. “You’re serious, though? About looking into expanding, what it would take?”

Looking around at the currently unoccupied grounds, she walks with him toward the unattractive, not at all well-kept castle—a rarity for historical buildings in Scotland, as far as she’s observed. “I’m serious, Jamie. You’d never be happy knowing you could be doing more. You should look into it, find out what Ian thinks, and see about getting in touch with your cousin Jared? It’s different than wine, but he might have some useful contacts in the liquor business.”

Jamie has to stop solely to reach for her, ignoring the scenery around them and focusing on this woman he’ll be calling his wife in six months. With his hands at her sides, his forehead presses to hers. “You have no idea how incredible ye are. Everything I’ve done and all that I want to do, I’m no’ ever worried it’s too much to put ye through.”

“Silly man,” she says with a soft smile, nuzzling the side of his nose with her own. “Nothing about you could ever be too much.” Kissing him with a quiet, content sigh against his lips, she reaches for his hand after stepping away. “Now. Explore a castle before sunset with me?”

Following her lead and seeing a grand total of three other tourists while exploring, he listens while she tells him everything she knows about the castle, including that it was once difficult to determine which areas had been outdoor spaces and which were actually interior rooms. It was a confusing space, and as they cross the property to look out at the cliffs, she stands close enough to Jamie that an arm winds around her without thinking much about it.

“Are ye pleased wi’ yer Samhein road trip, Sassenach? Is this terrifyin’ enough for ye?”

“It isn’t what I thought it would be after reading the book,” she notes idly. “I had no expectations, and the view is beautiful. The drive was worth it. This just feels...I don’t know. Cold.”

“Could be that it’s currently freezin’ out,” Jamie notes, getting an elbow to the side for his wit. “Could ye imagine livin’ in a castle? Having meals in great rooms, wandering the stone halls wi’ a torch.”

“Is that how you imagine us? Living in a castle with a staff to wait on us hand and foot?” They walk to the interior of the castle now, stopping in a room with a fireplace. “This could have been a bedroom, for all we know. Imagine a large bed with four posts. A crackling fireplace.”

She’s stepped away from him to look into various nooks and crannies, and it gives him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her from behind. “I’m certainly imagining a few specific things,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Of course you are,” she says with a smile so large he can feel the way her body relaxes with it.

“I’m thinking of making love to ye on the floor wi’ a bear skin rug beneath us. A fire going in the hearth.”

Closing her eyes, she tries to picture it, the way the room would have looked and felt; dark, probably, with the hearth doubling as warmth and light. “Would you mind it much? Not having electricity or modern conveniences?”

“If you were wi’ me? Nah,” he murmurs as he turns her to face him, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Dinna think I would mind much at all, so long as we were together.”

Pressing closer to escape the chill, her arms wrap fully around him as he reciprocates and both of them sink into one another.

“Are you happy?” Claire suddenly inquires, whispering the question as they stand together in the ruins.

“I dinnae ken if how happy I am can be measured properly. I’m happy to be here wi’ ye right now. Happy to do all of this driving, happy to be marrying ye, Claire.” Moving his fingers under her chin, he tilts her head up in order to deepen their kiss.

She gives in easily, lips parting as his tongue does a very thorough exploration of her mouth. As he does, her hands wander, dragging to the button of his jeans. “We may not have the furs or the fire, but I could certainly see about making you a little happier,” she offers with a coy grin, then pauses. “Unless there are qualms.” Her raised eyebrows suggest she knows there will be exactly zero qualms.

“If I tell ye to stop, it’ll only be on account of unexpected company. But at some point, my brain willna work and ye’ll be on yer own.”

“Well,” she begins, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down as her hands cup equal handfuls of a heavenly sculpted backside. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” When she kisses him, she can feel his laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You. How long have ye been thinkin’ about this?”

“Honestly?” she asks, backing him up a couple of feet until he can brace against what she hopes is a sturdy wall.

“Aye, of course.” His eyes follow her movements as she sinks to her knees in front of him, but she delays answering to softly kiss along the line of his pelvis. It’s enough to convince his cock as one hand reaches for her hair.

“On the cliffs.” She licks her palm, wraps her hand around him, and begins a slow stroke. “You were taking a picture of the view.”

“Really got ye goin’?”

Instead of saying anything in return, Claire presses her lips to the tip of him before using both mouth and hand to show him exactly how inspirational she found his body in profile. Dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, she hums in response to his long, low groan as one hand holds onto his thigh.

“Christ, Sassenach, do that again,” Jamie requests, panting, eyes so dark they nearly look black as he watches her intently.

She does as he asks, letting her tongue travel the length of him, slower this time. The way he shudders makes her own arousal ache pleasantly, so she indulges in the action once more. After repeating the action a fourth time, her mouth moves away in order to kiss along his inner thighs softly, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Each shaky inhale is a point of pride, and when he least suspects, Claire’s mouth moves around him again, this time finding a rhythm and not moving away.

With one hand pressing flat against the wall behind him, the other tangles in her hair. He doesn’t move her, but rather uses her curls to anchor himself. He focuses on the feel of them, the way they stretch but spring back to life instantly. He thinks of anything to keep from coming too soon, though she certainly is hell-bent.

“I’m no’—” he curses in Gaelic, wondering if this is how she feels when he’s greedy for her. “Mas e do thoil e, Sassenach,” he pleads, and the hand against the old castle wall attempts to clutch the stone as his body begins to tense.

It’s impossible to resist when he says please, and so she moves intently, closing her eyes as she focuses not on what she’s doing necessarily, but on him. The way the pads of his fingers grip her shoulders instead of his nails (she offers no such courtesy), and the way he’s careful not to actually pull her hair. His breathing, where before he took controlled but shaky breaths, is now panting gasps, each sound beginning to hitch. When she knows he’s going to come, one hand drags its way up his inner thigh to feel the way his muscles tighten, and the loud groan of her name is enough that she can feel the vibration from his body to her palm.

He loses it completely after that, head dropping back as his vision darkens and he’s sure he’s left his body. When pleasure begins to ebb and his heart seems content not to pound out of his chest, Jamie still can’t open his eyes. Her hands are warm on his body, but eventually she tucks him back into his boxers and jeans before standing. It’s then that he finally looks at her, a lopsided and lazy grin greeting her.

“Are you happy, Sassenach?”

As his arms envelop her, Claire rests her head so that she can listen to the now-normal beat of his heart.

“Aye, Jamie,” she replies, kissing his chest tenderly before raising her head to look at him. “I am.”

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #market price #my fic

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Text

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Fifteen

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

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

******************************************

When Geneva left a few days later, she took her sister to stay with her. It had been their mother’s idea since Geneva insisted she didn’t need Claire to examine her again and that she was fine. But Claire could tell from the relief on Geneva’s face as she preceded Isobel into the carriage that Lady Dunsany’s idea had been planted there by her daughter.

Claire could only shake her head at the young woman’s predicament and try to enjoy the fact that she would have her own daughter all to herself again.

Brianna appeared excited by the change in routine too. At least, she did at first. But by the end of the first week helping Claire tend to minor injuries and working in the herb gardens of the estate, Brianna was considerably less enthusiastic. Even when she began spending some of the days helping Jamie with his groom’s duties, Claire could sense something was off with Brianna.

Claire too was beginning to find the excitement and novelty of Helwater wearing away.

“You need to cut the stems at an angle,” Claire prompted Brianna as they crouched in the garden. Each had a basket next to them and a short blade with a sharp edge.

Jamie had gifted them with the matching set, though Claire’s instincts screamed not to let her daughter wield something so potentially dangerous, Jamie had taken Brianna aside and given her a thorough training with it.

“Be sure to remember, you should always—”

“Cut away from my body,” Brianna recited, exasperated. “Make sure my other fingers are out of the way. I know, Mama.”

“I know you know,” Claire said, apologetically. “I don’t say it to make you feel I don’t believe you know better. It’s more like one of your father’s superstitions. If I don’t say it, then it will happen. I’m saying it to protect you.”

She paused in her own cutting to glance at Brianna who frowned back, unamused.

They worked a while longer in silence before Claire finally broke down and asked, “Are you missing your lessons with Lady Isobel?”

Brianna shrugged but didn’t look at Claire. “Not really. I miss… I actually miss school. Back home in Boston. I miss my friends,” Brianna confessed.

Claire moved to sit beside Brianna. “Of course you do, sweetheart. It’s a lot you’ve given up and it’s only natural you would miss some of it — especially the friends you left behind. It’s not as though you can be pen pals with them. And there aren’t a lot of girls your age here at Helwater, either.”

“Sometimes… sometimes I get so bored and… I don’t have anyone to talk to,” Brianna said in a choked whisper. Claire watched one tear, then another, drop onto the tansy plant in front of her. “I’m glad to be here with Da but… I wish he could have come through and found us in Boston instead.”

Claire set her knife aside and reached over to rub Brianna’s back. “You know, sometimes I wish the same thing,” she whispered back.

Brianna’s head shot up, her face filled with disbelief and relief. “You do?”

Claire nodded. “There are a lot of things about the 20th century that I miss, too… like my friends. But I also know that they miss me and they want me to be happy – even if they don’t know where I am exactly. I wish they could meet your father.”

Brianna nodded. “I wish my friends from school could meet Da. They’d think he was a giant,” she giggled.

“I miss the hospitals we left behind,” Claire continued. “The clean smell of the antiseptic. Proper medical equipment like x-rays and anesthetic to figure out what’s wrong and set it right with less fuss. Having the necessary medication at the ready instead of always feeling like I’m going to run out of what I need the moment it’s needed.”

“Yeah,” Brianna agreed, “this is a lot more work.”

“But the challenge can be fun too. Trying to make something without the proper tools is enjoyable when it isn’t an emergency.”

“Like a puzzle.”

“Precisely,” Claire smiled at her daughter. “What are some other things you miss?”

“Television. And music, like listening to the radio in the car.” Brianna tilted her head, her voice growing more animated as they spoke freely. “I mean, it’s nice not to have so many cars around. There’s plenty of space to play and it’s quieter. But it takes so long to get places, you might as well not go. Except when you don’t go places, it gets so boring.”

Claire chuckled. “There is certainly more limited entertainment in that way. And you’ll always miss those things – the books that haven’t been written yet, the music that hasn’t been composed yet, the films that won’t happen until the equipment to make them is invented. But there’s music that you would never know about if you weren’t here to experience it in person because the people making it don’t know how to write it down or they make it up as they play. And there are a lot of books that have been written.”

“And we have Da to read them with us.”

“Mmmmhmmm. And we might miss those other stories, but we got to read them or see them or hear them and we can share those with him as well.”

“There are a lot of little things to be sad about and a lot of little things to be happy about too,” Brianna summarized, her eyes wide with the truth of it. But a smile played at the corners of her mouth too. “I think I need to do a better job counting the happy ones.”

Claire watched Brianna as she turned back to their chores. Brianna did seem lighter as she held the plant steady with one hand and cut at the stems with the knife in the other.

“I think I do too,” Claire murmured, turning back to her own basket and examining the bundles of cuttings she’d made.

They lay neatly, all going in the same direction, still mostly clustered together into the groups she would bind together and hang for drying. After that task was done, there were those herbs that had already dried that would need to be crushed and mixed into the various ointments, salves, and decoctions most used in her healing on the estate. Few of those lasted long before spoiling so it was necessary to remake them on a regular schedule and dispose of what had gone unused in the last batch. It was a constant cycle of activity, something always needing to be done, that made it too easy to ignore the disappointment and sorrow building in her chest.

She wanted a baby and every month that passed that she and Jamie failed to conceive, she sank a little further into that disappointment. It would consume her if she let it.

But if she wrapped herself in that, it would block out the light of all she did have, most importantly the daughter before her. No matter how old she got, Brianna would always be her baby. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could remember the weight and warmth of that small body in her arms, the smell of the top of her head, the subtle differences of her various cries that only she had learned how to interpret.

What’s more, she had Jamie again to share in everything yet to come. Brianna growing into a woman, courting boys, learning how to be a wife and mother, or whatever other path their daughter might decide to take — if anyone was likely to buck the expectations of an 18th century woman, it would be one who had spent her formative years in the 20th century.

She needed to focus on what she had and not what she wanted. She’d done that with Frank and it had left them miserable. It had worked out, in the end, and she’d been given what she wanted — a life with Jamie and their child — but she couldn’t expect to be so lucky again. Could she really have gotten used to having Jamie back so quickly? Was she already taking for granted the fact that she had him in her life once more?

“Mama? Are you already done?” Brianna asked, breaking Claire’s reverie.

“Just counting, darling,” Claire said, shuffling down her row and taking up her knife again. “A few more should do it. Then we can head inside and move on to the next part.”

******************************************

As she lay in bed that night and Jamie turned towards her, she began counting under her breath.

The way his fingers brushed her shift aside to expose her shoulder. “One.” The way his breath stirred her hair so it tickled her ear whenever he kissed along her jaw. “Two.” The way the heat of his body hovering just above hers had her back arching toward him, so eager for contact. “Three.” The way her skin felt like it was shrinking so that she might burst when his tongue traced its way down her torso. “Four.”

“Are ye makin’ sure I dinna miss a step, Sassenach?” Jamie asked with a chuckle as he lifted his head and grinned at her.

“Just counting my blessings,” she told him, reaching down and running her fingers through his ruddy curls. “Brianna and I were discussing all the things we miss about Boston and all the things we’re happy to have here. There were several I left off my list at the time because I didn’t think it appropriate to share them with her. But now,” she purred, writhing as he bent his head back to teasing her. “Now I intend to take a full accounting.”

“Mmmm, well, I’ll see if I can make ye lose count.”

#;mod lenny #come hell or helwater au #featuring: bree

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thebrochtuarachs · 5 years

Text

To Begin Again: Chapter 10, Lallybroch

Jamie passes through the stones on Beltane to 1968.

CHAPTER 10: LALLYBROCH / Claire and Jamie make their way up Lallybroch a week after he passes through the stones.

A/N: Happy 101st Birthday, CEBF! 💛 [October 20, 2019]

This is my contribution for “One Quote, One Shot” 2 and I knew the moment @notevenjokingfic sent me my quote that it was meant to be written here in chapter and that it was time for an update! [My given quote is below in bold so you’ll have to read to find out what it is 😅] Many thanks to NEJF and @balfeheughlywed for organising this as it just brings joy to the fandom.

Apologies for the long update but this chapter has been up in my mind many times but I didn’t feel I had it in my to write until this project came. I couldn’t feel more thankful for the time spent writing this. The creative process has been a balm in my heart and mind as I struggled these past 3 months and I am just grateful.

My first time writing a little NSFW chapter so errr… be gentle and kind, haha! I combined moments from the book, episode, and from my own “fill-in-the-gaps” moments and I love how it turned out. I knew this chapter has to happen and was going to come out eventually and I’m happy that it is today! Let me know down in the comments how it was! 😊🙏🏻

CH: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 AO3

They started to make their way up Lallybroch before dawn with Jamie sleeping most of the ride, still unable to overcome his motion sickness. Claire didn’t mind though for it meant that from the time to time she get to observe Jamie and his snoozing form – a loving act more often done by Jamie, an early riser, for the most part of their marriage.

After an almost two-hour drive, they entered the stony arch just in time for breakfast. Claire put the car to a stop and roused Jamie from his slumber.

“Hey sleepyhead, we’re here” Claire said as she leaned to give him a kiss on a cheek. He reluctantly rose from his seat, cracking a few bones as he stretched out of the car.

As Jamie slowly reacquainted himself with his surroundings, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed once again at the sight before him. Everything was just as if they were still in the 18thcentury - the smell, the land, the house, the sense of his heritage built and thriving after all these centuries. But then again, he also felt a modernity that he is still quite unaccustomed with and remembered as well that he was no longer in his time.

Claire slid beside him, wrapping an arm against his waist, offering herself as comfort when she saw his eyes started to water with overwhelming emotions.

“Thank ye, Claire. Thank ye for keeping it.” she heard him say, pulling her closer to him.

“Of course. Remember when you gave me my ring back in Leoch?”

“Mhm.”

“You said that this place is just as mine as is it yours and I couldn’t let anyone else have it.“ She paused remembering the joy she felt having it in her possession. “This was – is– our home. And at the time, besides Brianna, this is the only connection to you I have left and ever since then, this place has been my refuge and safe haven.”

Just as Claire was to explain more, Fiona opened the door to greet them. “Oh, ye’ve arrived!” She said, walking down the steps to meet them. “My grandmother sends her apologies. She asked me to come this morning as she was feeling a bit under the weather. But not to worry, she says, nothing a good ol’ rest canna fix” she quickly remarked, chuckling to herself even in that last bit.

“Is everything settled?” Claire asked, unmoving from Jamie’s side.

“Yes. The house is yours indefinitely. All of the guests have been informed of the sudden change in schedule and the financials have been handled accordingly. Also, I’ve prepared breakfast for ye both, some bannocks and soup at the kitchen.”

“Thank ye, Fiona.” Jamie said just in time as his stomach quietly rumbled.

“Tis’ no matter. I’ll leave ye two then” With a nod and the handing over of the keys, Fiona drove away from the property and left Jamie and Claire completely alone for the first time in a week.

“Shall we?” Claire asked Jamie simply.

“Lead the way, milady”

Stepping inside brought Jamie to more sentiments. Besides the plumbing and some modern technology, the house – almost all of it– remained the same.

“I wanted to keep it the same, as much as it used to be and as much as I can remember.” Claire took Jamie by the hand and gave him a tour of the house. She guided him around, mentioned how long it took to track down some of the items, how she worked with a carpenter to build the furniture, how she had to change and make way for some rooms to accommodate services for the bed and breakfast, and how restoring the house has been her favorite thing to do besides being in a surgical room.

As they ate, Claire continued to share how everything in the house came together. “It took me close to 3 years until everything was finished to how I wanted it to be. It has been a complete labor of love”

“Ye didn’t think it was hard being here with all the memories while rebuilding it?”

“At first, yes. I cried a lot. But then as the house was brought back to life, I saw you more and better and felt the history we had.” She paused, remembering. “I can be myself in this place and nothing compared to the relief I felt in that feeling. That I can still be me, be freely me in a place - not to pretend and not to hide.” Jamie gave a grunt at Claire’s remark. He can see in her eyes that this place has brought her more happiness than sadness in the course of their separation. “When I’m here I can talk to you, dream of you, think of you, and almost always, I feel you speaking back to me. And then I’d be fine and I’d lived another day.”

“I ken how ye feel.” He sighed and reached for her hand. “If ye must know, I havna thrown away any of yer clothes and baubles back in Lallybroch. I can’t and Jenny didn’t dare ask me about it.”

“What things, like you mean our clothes from Paris? You kept them?”

“Aye”

“Why didn’t you sell them or…”

“Sell them?” He paused, visibly surprised by the notion. “Memories of you? Never. Tis’ the only things I have of ye and a remembrance that we were truly real. I couldna let it go.”

She squeezed his hand and they continued on with their breakfast.

They ate slowly, savoring each other as much as the meal before them. They began reminiscing about their life together those many years ago, then carefully filling in details of their time apart. They began to know each other again and discover if they were, in fact, the same two who had once existed as one and if they could be one again.

After they finished, the same thought was uppermost in their minds. It could scarcely be otherwise.

As Claire reached for Jamie’s empty plate, he took her hand again and this time, began rubbing his fingers slowly against her knuckles.

“Would you like to explore the outside of the property? I’ve built a few new things around and it seems like the perfect time for a ride” Claire teasingly asked.

“Sassenach, if ye dinna mind, I think I’d like to see what ye’d done in the other rooms of the house, particularly upstairs, don’t ye think?”

“Upstairs, huh?” she rose and went close to him as she whispered. “Lead the way, milord”

Jamie didn’t waste time dragging Claire up the stairs and towards the Laird’s bedroom.

Just as the door closed behind them, Jamie pulled Claire back to him and kissed her fiercely just as they did on their wedding night.

They hummed and pulled at each other, moaning in pleasure in their togetherness. Claire broke their kiss and started pulling Jamie’s shirt out of his pants. Taking the hint, Jamie started unbuttoning Claire’s blouse as well. Slowly, they took off each others clothes until there were none between them.

The boldness they felt earlier seemed to disappear as they stood completely still towards one another, a shyness suddenly overwhelming them both with the sight of their naked bodies taking their breath away.

Twenty years can change a body’s anatomy a lot but for Claire and Jamie, it seemed to only have taken effect in subtle appearances neither have yet to notice. As far as they were concerned, both were still as desirable to one another then as now.

Jamie was still tall and beautifully made, the long bones of his body sleek with muscle, elegant with strength. Claire, despite having given birth, maintained her fairly slender curvature with a skin that didn’t seem to age.

“You bloody well say something.” Claire softly commanded as she tried to cover herself with her hands but Jamie beat her to it and held her hands in his instead.

‘Christ, Claire.” He said, pulling her close to him. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen”

“You must really be losing your eyesight.” Claire joked back. She took a deep breath and bravely looked up to stare in his deep blue eyes. “Are you as scared as I am?”

“I suppose I must be afraid, aye?” he said as they stood flush against each, moving in a slow sway that seem to put them a little bit more at ease. “I havena done this in a very long time.” Jamie admitted in both expectation and fact. She already knew his few connections in their parting but for the most part, in his mind, he remained faithful to her and did not live a cavalier life. To that effect, he’d had little practice and exercise in this matter.

“Neither have I”. She confessed back. Sure, she has been intimate with Frank a few times when she came back, but in all those times, her mind always reeled t o Jamie. There have been a few others in between but never significant nor memorable. To her, Jamie was – is– it. Nothing will compare to their connection physically and emotionally and that thought was enough for her decision to live a fairly celibate life in the last two decades.

Breaking her thoughts, she wrapped her arms around his neck and focused on the present. “Do you remember on our wedding night. We were both scared. You held my hands and told me it would be easier if we touched” Claire regaled, moving them slowly towards the bed.

“Aye, when we wed, I saw ye standing there, so bonny in your white shift. I couldna think of anything but when I could have you alone, naked, next to me”

“Do you want me now?” She asked as her calves hit the edge of the bed.

“Oh god, yes!” Jamie almost said, growling as Claire pulled them both down to lie in the bed.

It took a few adjustments before they found proper purchase in the bed. At one point, Jamie hit Claire awkwardly on the nose and thought she’d broken it but all ended well in a hilarious heap.

Jamie claimed Claire’s lips once again, chastely at first but then, as always, passion and heat quickly surged between them. They began clawing at each other, a frenzy overtaking them.

Claire touched where she could but in essence, surrendered herself to Jamie’s fervor exploration of her body. His lips went from her mouth to her neck while his hands were busy stroking her breasts and body. Claire was trembling with all the sensations she felt dormant all these years and she can feel Jamie feeling the same. She wanted him, all right, and was ready to open herself up to him as she felt an unaccustomed rush of arousal slippery between her legs. As he moved all around her, she felt the hardness of him, stiff against her belly. Jamie did promise her honesty and she felt no short of joy in the fact he still found her sexy and wanted.

But as strong as lust, was the desire to simply be taken, to have them master each other and quell their doubts in a moment of rough usage, to take each other hard and swiftly enough to forget their 20-year separation ever happened. They were both breathless when Claire pulled Jamie back up and held his face in both her hands. With a simple request, everything they’ve wanted will be delivered.

“Do it now, and don’t be gentle!”

As if possible, Jamie’s blue eyes grew a shade darker as he possessed Claire in a deep stare as he reached down and came into her hard. Claire let out a shriek as he buried himself to the hilt, managing to keep their eyes open in a loving stare in the process.

‘Don’t stop! For God’s sake, don’t stop!” Claire demanded with Jamie more than willing to comply as each stroke seemed to reach her womb. They moaned and grunted as they jerked and whimpered against each other, urging violence in their union. With his hands on either side of Claire’s head, he continued on his pace as she clung to him for dear life.

“Give me your mouth, Sassenach” she heard Jamie say and before she could even process it, he dove down to claim her lips and breath in the process.

Their sounds continued to echo all over the room until they were both nearing their release. They were both chasing it but wanted nothing more than to feel it together. With their minds, bodies and hearts knowing them better, they seem to have come in the same unspoken path that led to this bliss.

“Oh, god! Oh, god, Claire!” Jamie called close to her face and heart and that was enough for her as she convulsed in answer and her release came in waves all over her body. Close behind her, she felt Jamie’s release begin deep into her and he stilled, his body shivering as he spilled himself inside her, feeling each pulse of his flesh between her legs rousing an echo in her own.

When it was over, Jamie reared up on both hands, back arched and then, slowly, he bent his head forward and looked at Claire with unutterable tenderness that made her heart flutter even more. Heheld himself over Claire, still as a stone for a long moment. Still joined, he gently lowered himself, bringing them both to their sides, body pressed together as their breathing normalized and they let sleep lull them in a joyful slumber.

When hunger woke Jamie around noon, he reluctantly left Claire’s side and went about naked to the small table where Fiona had graciously left them some food to eat. A few minutes later, Claire stirred and opened her eyes when her palm touched the empty side of the bed.

“I’m here, Claire, just got hungry. Thankfully, Fiona left us a plate here of some wee bannocks.”

“Oh, that was thoughtful of her.” Claire said, smirking, remembering what they’d just been doing all morning. ‘What time is it anyway?”

“Just past noon. Ye hungry?”

He was about to toss her some bread when Claire rose from the bed, not bothering to cover up as well and knelt down to where Jamie was sitting.

“Not for food”

Before Jamie could register what was happening, Claire took his length swiftly by the hand and covered his heat with her mouth.

“Christ, Claire!” he exclaimed, trying to hold on to the sides of the chair to steady himself but to no avail as the it was too small. Jamie had to hold on to Claire’s hair instead, steadying her rhythm as to much as hold himself and enjoy the feel of Claire once again.

Claire gave in and held up being rough to tenderness, exploring Jamie this way as she wished and dreamed these last twenty years. She stoked and tasted him sweetly, hearing and learning his moans once again. She can feel his hips urging to flex but knew he was holding back to let her have her fun as well, so she doubled her efforts in thoughtful appreciation, sucking deeply, hand and mouth working in tandem, until she felt him quiver and spill himself inside her mouth. Pulling back, she ran a hand twice along his shaft, pleased with herself and gave it his head a kiss as she swallowed and gave Jamie a seductive look that was hotter than the midday afternoon.

“Come here, you” Jamie all but pulled Claire as he settled her in his lap, his hands cupping her bottom as she straddled him. “I canna tell ye what it felt like when I touched ye and knew ye to be real.” He leaned for a quick kiss and pulled back again. His eyes traveled all over her and felt his heat yearning as hers called and melted to his. “Don’t ye see? Since ye left, I’ve been living in the shadows and then I wake up in Craigh na Dun, saw yer face and it was as if the sun returned and cast out the darkness.”

“Don’t you think it’s not the same for me?” Claire replied, wrapping her arm around his neck. “You came thousands of miles and 200 years to find me.”

“I did promise ye.”

“Yes. And I’m grateful that you are here, no matter the cost.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “If I’d known you lived, I would give up everything I have for us to be together again.”

“And leave Brianna?” Jamie gave a smile at her sentiment but knew he had to say something about it. Tears sprang Claire’s eyes and Jamie swiftly brushed them away. For once, Claire said nothing in retort and took the correction. Their separation and reunion is not to be taken lightly, but they had to be on the same page that everything they did was for another person they absolutely loved the most besides each other.

“Ye were right to leave, Claire.” Jamie whispered as quiet tears continued to fall from Claire’s eyes. “Ye – we – did it for Brianna. I see her now and I ken ye were a wonderful mother, Claire. I know it. Ye gave me a child.” One of his hands made its way from her back to her belly, caressing the soft lines left by the birth. “She is alive, safe. Because of her, we will live forever. You and I”

“You’re right, damn you.” She said softly, giving a sad chuckle. “But I promise you, Jamie. I will never leave you again.”

“Nor will I you, Sassenach.” Jamie said, sealing their pledge with a kiss.

They both proceeded to compose themselves back, wiping each other’s face, feeling the closeness again to one another. “I can’t believe we went through that conversation naked.” Claire remarked as she rolled her eyes in its humor. “It seems, well, not the best way and place to do it.”

“Well, I believe we were…” Jamie latched his mouth in her neck greedily and she clutched his head keeping him there a while longer.

“I thought we were eating?” she said jokingly and yelped as Jamie lifted them up and laid them back down in the bed.

“Well, ye had yer fix. Now, I will have mine.” Jamie attacked her lips and neck again with Claire’s laugh filling the room and Jamie’s eagerness rousing them both. He reached her core, not wasting any time tasting her for himself as she did him minutes earlier.

“Christ, Jamie. More”

He pulled back and looked at her, “I aim to please ye, Sassenach.”

She heard his Scottish grunt and knew in a while she’ll be seeing the stars behind her eyes and knowing who will have brought her to completion just made her all tender once again. His tongue expertly licked and swirled her most intimate area bringing her to the edge she knew only Jamie can bring her to.

They came together again and again until the sun set and darkness filled the room. Claire and Jamie are cuddled together, kissing and touching here and there from time to time, wrapped in their own little romantic world of togetherness.

“It’s like riding a bicycle, I suppose.” She remarked, caressing the hair in his chest.

“What is a bicycle?”

Claire chuckled and decided that it was not the time to explain what a bicycle is. “I just mean, well, we seem to remember what we do all right.

“Did you think we could forget, Sassenach? I may be lacking in practice but I have lost all my faculties yet.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Jamie turned to Claire and pulled down the blanket covering her, reached out a hand and touched her. “Yer breast is like ivory” His hand cupped one breast, his fingers slowly exploring the its space. “Only to see them, sae full and sae round, Christ! – I could lay my head here forever.” he said softly, his Scottish accent prominent that I knew he only reserved in moments when he truly moved. “To touch ye, Sassenach. You, wi’ yer skin like white velvet and the sweet long lines of yer body, God!” He paused as his hands moving down her waist, hips, to her thigh and eventually, to her bottom. “I couldna look at ye and keep my hands from ye nor be near ye and not want ye.”

“Is that how you felt the first time we lay together?”

“It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach.” Jamie pulled Claire and turned her to him. He raised her leg to wrap around him and aligned their bodies once again, making his intentions known in the stillness of a dark, full moon, night.

“Surely not?” Claire said, amused despite her tiredness. “Jamie, you must be half-dead.”

This trip to Lallybroch was their first time to really relax in a week since they all found each other in the stones. From Jamie’s miraculous journey, to meeting his daughter, to celebrating his birthday, to acclimating him in this century, to Roger, Fiona and Mrs. Graham’s generosity, and their activities since they arrived this morning at Lallybroch, they barely had time to just stay put.

“A lot more than half, Sassenach. I’m knackered and my cock’s the only thing too stupid to know it. I canna lie wi’ ye without wanting you, but wanting’s all I’m like to do”

“Ravenous man” she eyed him but gave him his way – and as if she was going to say no.

Looking at the face they loved most and and breathing each other’s presence brought a joy neither thought they would feel again. They made love in a slow, unspeaking tenderness, savoring each movement and caress until pleasure slowly overtook and left them lying still at last, in possession of each other’s secrets.

Sometime later, they fell asleep entwined, with the mingling sounds of their hearts beating at the same time, the crack of fire by the hearth, and the stillness of the quiet, deserted forest night that surrounded Lallybroch envelope them in their own piece of heaven.

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Saorsa, an Outlander AU Novel

A/N At the suggestion of my Outlander publicist (thanks @gotham-ruaidh!), I am going to be posting my multi-chapter Outlander AU Novel, entitled Saorsa, one chapter at a time here on Tumblr. For bite-sized consumption in smaller morsels! The first arc of the story is complete and posted in its entirety over on my AO3 page, in case you get impatient with the chapter-by-chapter approach.

Here’s the blurb - A novel that re-imagines Outlander while trying to answer the question - what might have happened if it was Jamie who went through the stones to meet Claire in the 1940s? The sub-title should probably be: Outlander Run Through the Blender.

I’ve never written for the Outlander fandom before, so any reblogs or comments are doubly appreciated. Having spent four months sweating over this baby, I want it to find as many readers as possible, and hopefully a little love as well.

Thanks in advance, and now on with our show!

Chapter 1

The furious silence of battle was upon him. All around men screamed, bawled, their swords groaning in metal complaint, but the tumult did not reach his ears. His heart felt enormous, swollen to fill his entire chest with rage and bloodlust, pumping so violently his breastbone ached.

The morning sun was a watery orb hidden behind thick grey fog that hung over the moor like peat smoke. A family of black grouse startled from beneath a thicket and rose in a confusion of wings, but the fighting rushed on without a pause.

One Redcoat after another spilled into his line of sight like water down a flume. He hacked and stabbed with his sword and dirk until the way forward was clear again. If he stepped over their broken bodies or ground his muddy boots into their sundered limbs, he was unaware. There would be a moment, maybe two, when his vision would clear and the scent of death would reach him before another opponent appeared.

The early spring grasses grew slick with blood and gore, making each step a struggle. His arms felt heavy as iron, but still he pressed forward into the fray. His fellow clansmen lay in heaps across the moor, dead or dying. If the Jacobite cause was to perish at Culloden Moor, he would be certain it did so at maximum expense to the English.

Through some combination of skill and dumb luck, he’d yet to be seriously injured, although blood from a gash near his hair stung his left eye. He had no idea how long he’d been fighting. It felt like years, but the sun had barely lifted from the horizon. His tongue was thick with thirst and he paused, swordpoint planted in the boggy ground, to take the measure of his surroundings and swig a massive draught of whisky from his leather flask.

The din of combat sounded far off, like a rockslide on a distant mountain or a rumour from underground. Mist combed prettily through the heather and he felt a flood of love for his country wash over him like cold air. He would gladly give his last breath to defend this land from the English. If the Scottish way of life were to perish, there was no place left in the world where his soul could bide.

An English soldier attacked from his left without warning. His reflexes, honed through countless skirmishes and lesser battles, caused him to raise his forearm to meet the descending blow. The force of collision jolted up his left arm, freezing his nerves. He drew a deep breath through his nostrils, tasting the tang of iron and rot, and dislodged his sword from the earth. The Englishman was on him again, several inches shorter but wiry and driven by the mad frenzy of a morning’s worth of bloodshed. The flat of his sword made contact with the officer’s ribs and he thrust upward, trying to slice through his arm. The Scot threw himself forward, his left arm dangling uselessly. His heel caught on a clod of dirt and both men fell to the ground, caught in a murderous embrace. They rolled and heaved, each seeking enough space to land a killing blow. He dropped his broad sword, useless in close confines, and reached for his sgain dubh, hidden in the folds of his plaid. Thrusting upward and sideways into the Englishman’s gut, he felt a rush of heat flow over his fingers, loosening his grip on the thin knife. The officer grunted and reared backward, staring down at his stomach in awe. Their eyes met and held, strangely intimate and peaceful as the day dimmed to blackness around them.

His last thought before succumbing to the onrushing shadow was that he had no idea which blow had killed him.

#my writing #outlander

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 4 years

Photo

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 2: Je suis prest!

"Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire's heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore it from her thoughts.

It was the voice of Dr. Ned Gowan. The company’s lawyer stood between the open wings of the large door and invited her to come in. Claire stood up in surprise. She was the last of the women who had arrived and now she was the first to be invited in. The other women also looked at her in irritation.

Then she entered an elongated rectangular room whose furnishings also bore all the hallmarks of the neo-Renaissance style. In front of a large wall of shelves with countless books, stood a massive desk made of dark wood. On it were several telephones and monitors, a keyboard, files, books and - to Claire's surprise - a large, dark red orchid. A large muscular man with bright red hair that turned into curls at the neck and at his temples sat at this desk and signed some papers. When she came a little closer, the man stood up, came up to her and held out his hand.

"Welcome to 'Fraser & Son International', Mrs. Beauchamp. I'm James Fraser," said the giant, who reminded Claire more of a Viking warrior fallen out of time than the CEO of an international company. She knew that he was 37 years old and estimated that he measured at least 1.90 meters (if not more).

Fraser's handshake was firm and warm, but not hard or uncomfortable. His voice sounded soft and melodic. He spoke softly. Claire needed a moment before she could answer, so much so that she was surprised by the discrepancy between the man's height and his appearance. Later, she would describe her first impression of James Fraser as that of a gentle giant.

"Claire ... Elisabeth Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Fraser," she replied, looking into his bright blue eyes. Now she also saw that she had a 3-day beard around his mouth and cheeks. The color of the beard seemed a little lighter to her than the color of his hair.

Fraser pointed to the left:

"Please follow me."

Directly to the right of the office was a somewhat smaller room, which was entered through a door in the style of a Japanese Shoji. Opposite the entrance, a wall-high panoramic window attracted Claire's interest. Through this window one could see directly onto the Gendarmenmarkt and the French Cathedral. In the light-flooded room, two light leather sofas faced each other, separated only by a coffee table. Fraser asked Claire to sit on one of the sofas, he and the lawyer sat down on the other.

Dr. Gowan spoke first:

"Mrs. Beauchamp, before we discuss your possible employment, we must ask you to sign this document."

He handed her a piece of paper with several narrow lines written on it. Claire took it and began to read. It was a confidentiality agreement. Under threat of a 250,000 Euro fine, the signatory, obviously meaning her, agreed to keep quiet about everything that was discussed between her, James Fraser and his lawyer.

Claire looked at Dr. Gowan in surprise.

"You must understand, Mrs. Beauchamp," said the lawyer, "that Mr. Fraser is not just anyone, but the CEO of an international company.

"I understand," she replied quietly, then took the pen that Dr. Gowan handed her and signed the paper.

"Thank you, Mrs. Beauchamp," the lawyer said, "this copy is for you.”

Claire saw how Fraser pressed a button on his smartphone. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons appeared and brought tea and cookies. When she had left the room again and everyone had been provided with tea, James Fraser sat back and explained to Claire which job he was offering her. He told her that he had a foster son named Fergus and that he was looking for someone who could permanent take care of him. For twenty minutes, the businessman talked about his son and the qualifications that a caregiver would need. With each of these minutes, Claire became more aware that she had the best chance of getting this job. But did she really want it? The salary was fantastic and Fraser seemed a serious, friendly person. But what if the child did not like her? And did she really want to take care of just one child for years? Did she really want to spend all her time in that man's house for years? These thoughts frightened her a little, but then there was the prospect of significantly reducing her financial burden of this job. Claire decided inwardly to at least try. And if things didn't go well, well, the German healthcare system was constantly looking for new employees. Just recently, the German Minister of Health returned from a trip to Mexico, where he had recruited nurses and male nurses. She would find a new job at any time. She was sure of that. So she had a safety net and wouldn't fall into a bottomless pit if she had to give up her job with Fraser. Claire knew that and that reassured her a bit.

Fraser had finished his explanations and asked her directly:

"What do you think, Mrs. Beauchamp? Would you be willing to take that position?"

"In principle, yes..."

"But?" asked Fraser in surprise.

"Well, it's not my decision alone. What if your son doesn't like me?"

"We might as well test that. Would you like to come to our house to get to know Fergus? You could have lunch with us afterwards?"

"Y-e-s, ... of course.”

"Right," said Fraser, again pressing a button on his smartphone. When Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons appeared, to Claire's great surprise, he ordered her to send the other waiting women home. They would be contacted if the company still needed them. She was also to call his housekeeper and tell her that he would bring two guests for lunch. Claire became almost dizzy from the speed at which this conversation developed. But now she could no longer escape the pull that the whole thing was exerting on her.

"Mercedes Maybach S 600 Pullman" Photo: BMK Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1130176

Together with Dr. Gowan, they left the room through another door and then entered a secure elevator that took them directly to an underground parking garage. There Fraser's chauffeur was already waiting next to a black Mercedes Maybach S 600 Pullman and opened the doors of the limousine for the arriving guests. The lawyer and Claire sat down in the back, Fraser took a seat next to the driver. Shortly afterwards they found themselves in the thick traffic of the German capital. The drive went through Charlottenburg, then along the river Havel. Afterwards they drove through Steglitz-Zehlendorf, along the Western Düppelner Forst and over the Glienicke Bridge, which became famous worldwide through Steven Spielberg's film "Bridge of Spies". With this they had reached the city of Potsdam and ten minutes later they stopped in front of a clinkered multi-apartment building. Claire estimated that it had been built around the beginning of the 1930s. Fraser went ahead and led them into the house. A lady, who Claire estimated to be in her mid-forties, approached them in the entrance hall. Fraser introduced her as Mrs. Curtius and explained that she, along with her husband, was responsible for the management of the house.

"I would now like to show you the apartment that we are providing. If you'll follow me, please."

Claire nodded, and Fraser led her to an elevator that took her up to the top floor in a few moments. A few more steps brought them to a small hallway and from there to a kitchen-living room. Another living area followed, separated from the first by a large panoramic window. Claire was magically drawn to the view.

"Oh! You can see all the way across the Jungfernsee!"

“View above river Havel/ lake Jungfernsee to the Saviour’s Church at the port of Sacrow“ by Lienhard Schulz CC BY-SA 3.0, via WikiMediaCommons https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=358200

Fraser smiled. Then he led her a few steps further. They now came into another small hallway and from there they went right into the bathroom and left into the bedroom. All rooms were modern and bright.

"Do you like it? Could you imagine living here?"

When Claire didn't answer right away, Fraser added:

"Of course, you could furnish the apartment to your liking. You can bring your own furniture, or we can have it redecorate it for you."

"Thank you. I like it very much. But I think we should wait and see how your son reacts to me first."

"Yes, of course," Fraser relented, "then I want you to meet him right away."

They drove back to the second floor, where Fraser Claire led Claire through the living room into the conservatory and from there to the large terrace facing east. A spiral staircase led into the garden from its left side:

"I had the garden redecorated several years ago. In Potsdam there used to be a long winegrowing tradition and so there are still many terraced areas here".

They walked across a lawn and then came to a circled flowerbed that was full of different types of roses. Claire estimated its diameter to be several meters. There were two paths around the circle, one to the south and one to the north. Fraser and Claire entered the second path, which in turn led them to a larger lawn and from there to a tree-lined corner of the garden. There was a small pavilion with several sunbeds and a table. Behind the pavilion one could see a swimming pool that was covered with a wooden boarding. On one of the sundbeds, which reminded Claire more of couches, lay a small boy with dark, curly hair, completely absorbed in a book.

"Fergus!" Fraser shouted and the boy was slightly startled.

"Papa!"

The book almost flew to one side, the boy jumped up and ran towards Fraser. He welcomed him with open arms, picked him up from the ground and pressed him warmly to himself.

"Papa," the boy asked, while Fraser carried him back to the sunbeds, "why are you home so early?

"Because I want you to meet someone."

Fraser sat down on one of the beds with Fergus, and told Claire to sit down, too. Warmly he pressed Fergus once more to him, then he pointed at Claire and said:

"We talked about hiring someone to help you when you start school now. Someone to be here with you while I have to work or when I have to go on a business trip.”

The little curly head nodded.

"I want you to meet Mrs. Beauchamp. She speaks German, English and - you will be especially pleased to hear that - French as well."

The boy's face began to radiate.

"Mrs. Beauchamp has come here today so that you can talk to each other. And if you wish, and if Mrs. Beauchamp wishes, she could start working for us."

Fraser gave Fergus a light nudge on the back.

The boy stood up, walked over to Claire and politely reached out his hand to her.

"Good day, Mrs. Beauchamp."

"Good day, Fergus. Would you like to sit next to me?"

The boy nodded, then sat down.

Fraser watched with delight how Fergus looked at Claire. Obviously, his son was as impressed by the young woman's natural beauty as he was.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Is there anything else you want me to have brought? Tea for you Claire and hot chocolate for you, Fergus?"

Both nodded. Fraser rose and slowly walked back to the house. All he could think of was that all he wanted was for Claire and Fergus to get along well and for her to take the job. But why wouldn't that happen? The morning had already made a small miracle come true. Claire had shown up for the interview and she had shown her willingness to take the job. Why shouldn't another small miracle happen? From the moment he first saw Claire's photo on her application, he could only think of other things with difficulty. In every spare minute she had dominated his thoughts. He had made all sorts of inquiries about her and there was nothing he wanted more than to get to know her better.

Back at the house, he asked Mrs. Curtius to bring tea and hot chocolate to the pavilion. When the housekeeper returned half an hour later, she had to tell him how she had found Claire and Fergus.

"They sit next to each other on the chaise longue and talk intensively - in French. I did not understand much of it. Fergus seems enthusiastic. He talks without interruption and gestures while doing so, just like when he talks to you. He almost knocked over the cup of hot chocolate."

"Thank you."

Fraser smiled. Then he went into the dining room where Ned Gowan was waiting for him.

"Potsdam - Shingle House" by Giorgio Michele - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3492265

An hour later Mrs. Curtius came and began setting the dining table. Fraser got up and wanted to go to the pavilion to get Claire and Fergus. But as he stepped out onto the terrace, he heard Fergus scream with enthusiasm. Then he saw the reason for it. Together with Claire, who had obviously taken off her pumps and was now walking around in stockings, the boy chased after a soccer and shot it into an imaginary goal by the garden fence. As if from one mouth, they shouted "Tooor!" and hopped around each other. Fraser could hardly stop laughing, and Ned Gowan, who had followed him onto the terrace, also began to laugh.

"You were right, Jamie. She's the one for Fergus."

Shortly afterwards, the two soccer players, Claire now back in pumps, also entered the terrace.

"Papa, Claire can play soccer and knows the rules," the boy reported enthusiastically.

"Fergus! That means: Mrs. Beauchamp. Please! Behave!" Fraser admonished his son.

"No, no, I allowed him to call me Claire. That's all right."

Claire smiled. Fergus and she had obviously found a connection.

"Well," said Fraser, and the surprise was clearly audible in his tone, "then we can have lunch.”

After lunch, Fraser took Fergus to bed for a nap. Claire had to accompany them at Fergus' insistence. But she was happy to do so. Instead of his father, the boy asked her to read to him from the "Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Primeval Animals". While she did so, she let her eyes wander through the room again and again. She was surprised how lovingly it was furnished. Fergus' bed was made in the style of a pirate's bunk, the walls decorated with pictures of pirates and dinosaurs. Everything was bright and friendly, only the carpet was in a deep dark blue.

"He wanted such a carpet. This is supposed to be the sea his ship sails on," Fraser explained to her when they later returned to the second floor. They sat down with Ned Gowan, who had been waiting for them in the dining room. There were a number of documents on the dining table and Claire was aware that she had to make a decision. But after meeting Fergus and being taken to her heart by him, the decision was easy.

"Are you ready to accept the position I am offering you?"

"Yes, I am. I look forward to taking care of Fergus."

"I'm glad," replied Fraser, and Claire was surprised to discover that the businessman seemed genuinely relieved.

Together with her, the company’s lawyer then went through the employment contract. Everything seemed to comply with the legal requirements, which she knew from her previous contracts. But then they came to a point that startled Claire:

"But ... I can't ... start on Monday! I have to give notice at the Charité and I have a period of notice!”

"Don't worry about that," said Fraser, in the calm manner she was already used to from him, "I know the director of your clinic well, he will certainly agree to your change. I will call him tonight and discuss everything with him."

"If that's possible..."

Claire was amazed, but assumed that a man with as much influence as Fraser could correctly assess the situation.

"We would then send a moving service tomorrow to move your furniture."

"It's all very quick..."

Claire sighed.

"Is it going too fast?"

Fraser looked at her somewhat anxiously.

"It's all really happening very quickly, but... now that I've met Fergus, I'm looking forward to being there for him."

Claire didn't mention that during the conversation with Fergus she had sensed how much the boy longed for someone who would be there for him during the many hours his father was absent. He had told her that Mr. and Mrs. Curtius were very friendly, but that they had little time for him, since they had other duties to perform. Much of what Fergus had told her had reminded her of her own time as an orphan. Uncle Lambert had brought her up with a lot of love and spent every spare minute with her. And yet, somehow she had always been missing something. A mother? She was not sure. She didn't think she could be a mother substitute for Fergus. And given that her time in this household was certainly limited, she didn't want to take on that role either. But the boy had touched her heart, and if she could give him a sense of security by being a good, trusted friend to him, then that would make her happy. She was sure of that.

Claire picked up the pen that Ned Gowan had handed her with the employment contract and signed it.

Fraser smiled, then pressed a button on his smartphone. Claire thought that she would get used to that. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Curtius appeared with a trolley carrying three champagne bowls and an ice bucket with a bottle of "Moet et Chandon".

“Champagner” by Myriams-Fotos

"Let's toast to a good future together," said Fraser as he filled the glasses and handed them over to Claire and the lawyer. They toasted and drank. Claire had assumed that the meeting was now over, but to her surprise Fraser then said

"Mrs. Beauchamp, we have another ... very ... delicate matter to talk about."

"And what is that?" she asked in surprise.

Now Dr. Gowan intervened again:

"As Mr. Fraser explained to you, Fergus is his foster son. A year ago, Mr. Fraser visited his Uncle Jared in Paris and when he went for a walk one evening, he found the child asleep near a bridge. No one knows what happened to his parents. It is known that both were drug addicts. They disappeared years ago. The authorities assume that they are either in Asia or dead. The child grew up in the care of his grandmother and when she died he was taken to an orphanage. But the boy could not stand it there. He fled from the place and began to make a living by begging and ... well, petty theft ... Mr. Fraser found him and promised him that he would give him a good home. He was lucky in the courts in Paris and was able to win the guardianship. But he wants to adopt Fergus as his son. But that is almost impossible for a single man in this country, even if he has as much money and influence as Mr. Fraser".

Gowan had stressed the word "single" and a dark premonition was rising in Claire's mind.

"And...what...does...this...have...to do with...me?" she asked cautiously.

"We would like to offer you another, very well-paid job."

Claire looked at Fraser and Gowan, but remained silent, so the lawyer continued:

"We are asking you to become, for three years, only pro forma the ... how shall I put it, Mr Fraser's girlfriend or fiancée. Only pro forma. For each of these years we will pay you 250,000 Euros plus a final payment of another 250,000 Euros. We will transfer the amounts to an account at a bank of your choice - wherever you want".

"And ... what do you expect me to do for it?" asked Claire, shocked and completely out of breath.

Once again, the lawyer took the floor:

"First of all, of course, we expect you to abide by our confidentiality agreement. Then we ask you to accompany Mr. Fraser to official occasions and that you behave like a girlfriend or fiancée to outsiders ... well ...".

"But ... am I not making myself liable to prosecution?" Claire asked uncertainly.

"We're not asking you to say anything untrue. Something completely different would be a fictitious marriage. And as for money, who can stop Mr. Fraser from giving money to his girlfriend or fiancée? You should pay the gift tax, though."

Again, Claire was silent. Then she saw Fraser reach into the right pocket of his jacket and pull out a small box covered with black velvet. He opened it and pushed it over to Claire. Visible was a ring of white gold formed from chased thistles. The flowers of these thistles were made of cut amethysts. Carefully Claire took the ring out of its packaging to look at it.

"It is beautiful," she then whispered.

"The thistle is the national flower of Scotland, the country of origin of my family," Fraser explained. Then he was silent for a moment.

"Would you wear this ring for three years, Mrs. Beauchamp? You would be a great help to Fergus and me."

A thousand thoughts went through Claire's mind. But then she decided immediately. She handed the ring to Fraser and then held out her left hand to him. Fraser smiled, put the ring on her finger and pulled her hand toward him. He ended the ceremony with a kiss on the hand that came as a complete surprise to her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Beauchamp, when this is all over, Fergus and I will be forever in your debt.”

Claire blushed.

"I still can't believe all this," she then said softly.

Even Ned Gowan had to smile.

"Believe me, Mrs. Beauchamp, we are no different. This morning you came to the company hoping to get a job. Within ...," Gowan looked at his watch, "six hours you have seen your new apartment, got to know the subject of your future work, signed your employment contract and got engaged. And in three years, Mrs. Beauchamp, you will walk out of the door of this house a twofold millionaire.”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Fraser shouted:

"Yes, please."

and Mrs. Curtius came in.

"May I serve the tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Is Fergus up yet?"

"Yes, he's in the kitchen, painting.

"Please send him in," Fraser asked.

It didn't take a minute, and Fergus came in, holding a large sheet of Din-A-4 in one hand.

"This is for you, Claire," he said, beaming with joy, and handed her the picture of a dangerously green-looking Tyrannosaurus Rex.

"Oh, thanks Fergus!"

She pulled the boy towards her and gave him a hearty hug.

"Fergus, will you come and see me for a moment?" Fraser asked.

The boy climbed onto Fraser's lap.

"I have some very good news for you," Fraser began, but didn't get any further.

"Mrs. Claire is staying with us?"

Fraser could only say "Yes," and then the boy was already on his way back to Claire. He climbed onto her lap and pressed little kisses on both her cheeks.

"Fergus!"

"It's all right," Claire repulsed. She pressed the boy warmly against her and had to control herself immensely to keep from crying. How long had it been since she last met a person with such honest love? At that moment, Claire was sure she had made the right decision.

"Dinner" by JillWellington

They had dinner together, then Ned Gowan said goodbye. Fraser and Claire put Fergus to bed and of course Claire had to read from the "Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Animals" again. When the boy had fallen asleep, they sneaked quietly out of his room. Then they took the elevator that brought them to the garage where the driver with the limousine was already waiting for them. Fraser sat with Claire in the back seat and on the drive to her apartment at the nursing home they reflected on the day.

"Tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. the moving company will come and take care of everything. I look forward to welcoming you then, Mrs. Beauchamp," Fraser said as they arrived in front of the Charité nursing home.

"Claire, please call me Claire," she replied.

"All right, Claire. I'm James, to my friends, Jamie," Fraser said, reaching out his hand to her. She took his hand, but somehow it seemed quite natural for them to hug briefly.

"Good night, Jamie."

"Good night, Claire."

While a completely irritated Claire walked down the path to her apartment and wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life, a very cheerful James Fraser had himself driven in his limousine towards the Pfingstberg in Potsdam - feeling verry luckey, verry blessed.

#outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #Jamie Fraser #Ned Gowan #Claire Beauchamp #Fergus Fraser #Potsdam #Berlin #Germany #Modern AU

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