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cagedbirdsong · 6 years

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hello everyone! happy new year! i hope you all had a safe, happy holiday season and (if applicable) you are currently staying warm with family and friends!

so, we haven’t seen to build a home since this past summer, but lately i’ve received a lot of asks regarding if i am still working on it and when it will return. the short answer is yes, i am still working on it, i just have to iron out some issues and develop the plot a bit more. but this was my first official fic and will always hold a special place in my heart. and, since so many of you seemed to enjoy it, i wanted to give it back to you all as well.

so, finally, here is part five of to build a home. i love you all dearly, and thank each and every one of you for the continued support. you make this all worthwhile.

find part four here, and if you need to catch up, find part one here.

ps / for my dear @marlosbooknook because she is sick, and for @internallydeceased because she’s also been on my tail about this. i love you both! and thank you @kaitrionabalfe - couponers can go to hell.

Part Five

Castle Leoch, Summer 1744

“Jamie?”

He blinked hard, coming back to reality, and cleared his throat in an interrogative gesture of acknowledgment. “Mm?”

“Be a dear and pass me that jar, would you?” Claire murmured, extending one delicate hand, palm up, without taking her eyes off the item she was examining. She had a small dish set up beneath a rather large magnifying glass; a makeshift microscope, she had called it. Good for viewing big things, but none of the wee germs she often talked about.

Obediently, he reached to pick up the jar she had gestured towards and made a disgusted noise of revulsion as he came face to face with its contents. “Jesus Christ, Sassenach, what in seven hells is that?” He wrinkled his nose and passed her the jar hastily, wanting it out of his hands.

“Worms!” She chirped cheerfully, with, GOD, was that pride? “I found some parasitic maggots on a squirrel carcass the other day, which is what you have in that jar there, and I’ve found just the sort here now-” she inclined her head to the microscope as she unscrewed the jar and neatly deposited her new additions “-so they’re going to need a place to stay.”

He gagged. “Ye dinna- what I mean is- well, Claire, ye canna be meaning ta keep the filthy buggers?” He shuddered again, casting a dirty look towards the jar, where a series of long, stringy worms and fat little maggots writhed around on a chunk of browning meat.

“Why, of course I do.” Claire sat back, wiped her hands on her apron, and blew out the candle she had lit beneath the platform of the small microscope she had made. “The worms themselves are rather useless, medicinally, but their larvae can be used to treat necrotic wounds. They’re excellent at removing the dead flesh.” She lifted her face with a smile in time to see Jamie pull one of horror, and she grimaced. “Right, sorry,” she offered, though he caught her hiding a chuckle as he turned and gagged into his fist, and vaguely thought he heard her whisper ‘drama queen.’

After a moment, he steeled himself and sat back down on the table he had been perched on, feeling a little green, but thoroughly restored as she moved the container of insects onto a dark shelf in the corner. He watched her as she went, a small smile on his lips. Her hair was perched in a pile of messy curls and flyaway hairs on the top of her head, and her smock had been dirtied with whatever she had been working with all day; smears of juice from different plants, dirt, the odd small spatter of blood here and there. He leaned back on his hands and sighed.

She no longer bore the gentle curves of motherhood, but her hips sat differently now, and her breasts were a new kind of full. It made his heart ache momentarily, still not accustomed to the loss of their child. It hit him sometimes, swift and hard and merciless, and his throat momentarily closed up.

Their stay at Castle Leoch had been good for them. They had been welcomed with open arms and open hearts and had settled nicely into their respective tasks around the castle, but the wounds that Brigid had left in their souls were still gaping and empty, with the distraction of the Mackenzie Clan as little more than a superficial bandage. They generally avoided talk of their daughter when at all possible, but sometimes the reminders were inevitable.

Like the day a young woman had come seeking Claire’s help with late-term bleeding, or the constant patter of children’s feet in the yard. But the worst, by far, had been the day that one of the older women had narrowly eyed Claire’s waistline, nodded her approval, and asked in an oh so charming voice when they planned on continuing the next branch of the Fraser family tree.

“Oh, ye’ve been marrit nigh on a year now, have ye no?” She had asked, heedless of Jamie’s cold warning look or the frantic shake of his head. “Have ye been trying? Surely a woman such as you would have something to, umph, aid with the process, no?” She had leaned conspiratorially forward and then arched her eyebrows. “Or is one of ye, mmph, incapable?”

Claire had broken into sobs, hurled the small pestle she had been grinding willow bark with against the wall, and crumpled in a mess on the floor of her own surgery. Jamie had promptly, aggressively, sent the naive old woman on her way and tended to his wife, who took days to recover from the incident, like a bandage ripped off too fast once the wound’s begun to heal around it, fibers stuck in the newly formed scab.

After that, everyone around the castle had keenly avoided the topic of children and motherhood when around the pair.

“What are you thinking about?” Claire’s voice broke into his train of thought, and he looked up at her, blinking to clear his mind. “And don’t try to say nothing, because I can see the look on your face and I can practically smell the smoke.” She smiled a bit, but then frowned at what must have been the expression on his face. “Are you feeling alright, love?” She asked softly, stepping across the room to step between his legs and press her lips to his forehead. “You don’t look very well.”

He sighed, reaching out one hand to wrap his fingers lightly around her wrist, and forcing a smile. “Aye, just tired is all, my Sassenach. Are ye almost done here?”

Claire pursed her lips and nodded slightly, brushing her hands idly on her apron as she turned to tinker with some things in her cabinet. “Yes,” she breathed, and the room lapsed into silence. Then, after a moment, she turned to look at him, leaning against her exam bench. “It’s her you’re thinking about, isn’t it?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and her honey eyes wavered.

Jamie let his breath out in a rush and hung his head. “Aye,” he breathed. “It’s always her.” He looked down at his hands, calloused and cracked and lying limp in his lap, and curled them into fists, wiping a spot of dried blood with a corner of his plaid. When he looked up next, Claire was standing with her back to him, holding something in front of her. She sighed and he thought he saw the tension go out of her. Gently, she set the small jar she had been holding down on the counter and turned to look at him. Her eyes were shining, but for the first time, she hadn’t broken down crying at the mere mention of their stillborn daughter.

Slowly, she crossed the room to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing his head down into the crook of her neck. Neither one said a word, and his arms came up to wrap loosely around her waist, both of them just breathing. One of Claire’s hands came up to smooth over Jamie’s hair after a moment, and he half nodded against her shoulder, a sigh running through him.

That night, they lay quietly in bed watching the moonlight dance across the floorboards. A small fire had been smoored in the hearth and the room was pleasantly warm and smokey, one of the shutters cracked to let in a little cool air, which Jamie always liked. He tended to always burn up like a furnace, and Claire would wake some nights to find him having flung all the covers off, or standing by the window letting the cool air prickle across his heated skin. After their marriage, sleeping next to another warm body had always made his temperature spike, and so they had settled on an arrangement: as long as the room was warm when they went to bed he could crack the window, that way, he wouldn’t swelter and Claire wouldn’t be cold.

As it was, Jamie had been drifting in and out of sleep for somewhere around an hour, one arm draped lazily over Claire’s waist as he held her, his hand tucked up under her shift and against the warm skin of her belly. She covered his hand with her own, threading their fingers together and listening to the quiet changes in his breathing.

After a bit, when she could feel he was awake again, she turned in his arms, surprised to find his eyes open and shiny in the dark of the night, so dark a blue as to nearly be black. She reached out one hand to touch her fingertips to his cheek and sighed softly, tucking herself more comfortably against his chest. The hand that had been resting on her stomach slid down to grasp her ass familiarly, anchoring the two of them.

“Jamie?” she asked softly, tucking her face against his collarbone, breathing in the smell of him. She could never quite place her finger on what he smelled like. Some days it was obvious, of course, horses or the woods or even blood, but beneath what his day was like, there was an underlying smell that was always just Jamie. It was, if she had to try and describe it, like wet heather and musk and sunshine, and just a touch of steel. It was intimately comforting, and she took a deep breath now, one hand splayed on his chest, feeling his pectoralis major ripple as he adjusted his arm around her.

“Mmph? Are ye alright?” His voice was rough with sleep and he peered at her out of the corner of lidded eyes, his long lashes brushing his cheeks.

She nodded a bit and drew back to look up at him, one hand cupping his cheek, thumb rasping over the day’s stubble. “Yes, yes I’m fine,” she said softly, biting her lip for a moment as she thought. “I want to ask you something, or - I don’t know if it’s a question, really, it’s just that I want you to be honest with me-” she pressed her hand harder against his chest, feeling his heart speed up against her palm “-and with yourself.” She looked up at him and he wore the most peculiar expression, face calm and eyes wild with thought. “Could you do that?”

“Aye.”

Claire took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and moved away from him ever so slightly, her legs still twined with his but her head resting on her own pillow so she could see his face. A moment of silence stretched between them, impossibly long, and she reached out to grasp his hand. “After, when Brigid-” her voice cracked and she saw his pulse throb in his throat, but steeled herself and continued, clearing her throat softly, “-when Brigid died, you spent so long looking after me, Jamie, and you were so, so good,” she moved her hand once more to lovingly cup his cheek, his eyes dry and locked on hers, “but I never saw you mourn her.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she swallowed, licking her suddenly dry lips. “I just, it’s only I wonder sometimes if you feel like you were so busy taking care of me you never got to say goodbye to her.” Her voice cracked and she took a moment, screwing her eyes shut to hold back tears and placing her fingertips against Jamie’s lips to stop him from speaking. His breath came warm against her fingers, and steady, and when her eyes were finally dry and she opened them, his were wet. “Do you need to cry for her?” She whispered.

It took him what seemed like a very long time to answer, the column of his throat moving slowly. “I do,” he rasped, “cry for her, I mean. Nearly every day since.” And the conviction in his voice was strong enough to break Claire’s heart. She nodded, tight-lipped, and sniffled.

“It’s only, Jamie, do you need to cry here, with me? Do you need me to take care of you? She’s your daughter too.”

The change happened slowly, barely noticeable in the dark of the bedroom, but Claire saw his full lower lip tremble and caught the glistening of moonlight off tears on his cheek. He didn’t make any move to be closer to her, and his chest began to rise and fall more rapidly as his breathing picked up, becoming shallow. “Oh, my darling,” Claire whispered, and drew him to her. His arms came shaking up around her back and he pressed his face into her shoulder.

And for the second time in his life, James Fraser went thoroughly and completely to pieces.

#to build a home #to build a home part five #outlander #outlander fanfic #cagedbirdsong #i am honestly sorry this took so long #this will be posted on ao3 tonight in its entirety! i just realized it's not over there #much love

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anoutlandishidea · 7 years

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@futurelounging and @stageandhistory tagged me in this challenge and its been a lovely distraction.

Rules: List nine albums you love and tag nine people.

{Disclaimer: these are the albums I could listen to on repeat forever *without skipping songs* and not get bored. I have many others that I absolutely love, but I skip songs}

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER, with links to listen on YouTube

1. Les Miserables - 2010 Cast Album 2. The Secret Garden - Original London Cast Recording 3. Hamilton - Original Broadway Cast Recording 4. An Evening With Sutton Foster (Live at the Cafe Carlyle) - Sutton Foster 5. Matilda - Original Broadway Cast Recording 6. Rodger and Hammerstein’s Cinderella - Original Broadway Cast Recording 7. The Nutcracker - Berliner Philharmoniker, Sir Simon Rattle 8. The Secret Garden - Original Broadway Cast Recording 9. Les Miserables - In Concert at the Royal Albert Hall

wait, there are other albums out there besides musical theater? hmm.

I tag: @the-fear-you-wont-fall, @notevenjokingrightnow, @caitbalfes, @kaitrionabalfe, @diversemediums, @manders1984, @yellowfeather84, @awesomeeyeroll, @kalendraashtar

#music #personal

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turtlesoupstories · 7 years

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through blue. i

good afternoon everyone! as promised here is (finally) the first installment in the latest series i will be posting here on tss, through blue! blue will be a series of one shots (or, for larger scenes, small ‘parts’) all from jamie’s pov. i am currently accepting suggestions for scenes both here on tss and on my main blog, @cagedbirdsong, so feel free to send them in! i am accepting both scenes from the book series and television show.

i am also accepting prompts for scenes we didn’t get to see! feel free to send in requests for any scenes you wish we had gotten as well. :)

without further ado, the first part of through blue: the scene where jamie falls off his horse. as requested (and inspired) by my other lovely kilt kult ladies! this chapter, in particular, is for my tumblr mom @kaitrionabalfe (aka @mibasiamille). i love you lots

Roadside Revelations

In hindsight, perhaps the whiskey had not been the best idea. His shoulder was hurt bad enough, and a full night and day of riding had done him no good. His shoulder had nearly come out of place again twice, by his count, and the gunshot wound he had suffered was troubling him something horrid.

Come to think of it, between the exhaustion, pain, and adrenaline coursing through him - not to mention copious amounts of whiskey - Jamie Fraser was starting to feel well and truly wretched. He gave a small grunt as his vision swam and blinked hard, trying to clear his head.

It didn’t help.

He was already poorly balanced as is, what with the addition of a second person in his saddle and his injured arm, but he was positively reeling now, and was only vaguely aware of tipping, the sensation of falling, and the impact of his body hitting the ground with enough force to take his breath away.

He jerked back to reality with a Gaelic curse some time later, the Sassenach woman’s face hanging over him and her hands on the exposed skin of his shoulder, pouring the contents of a flask on the open gunshot wound. “I’m alright,” he panted, making a serious effort to sit up and shy away from the woman - Claire’s - ministrations. “Only a wee bit dizzy.”

“You are not alright,” she said firmly, hand on his shoulder to push him back down, yellow cat eyes gleaming. “Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding?” She leaned in again, pulling back the material of his shirt to get a better look. “You’re lucky you’re not dead-” she snapped “-brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

She stared down at him, a challenge, and he stared right back, blue eyes gleaming in the dark. She had quite the tongue, this Englishwoman. Quite the tongue and quite the temper… And, if he was being completely honest, quite the arse. He had noticed it first during their ride, with her wedged between his thighs, bumping up against him the whole way. And now he noticed it again, with her perched on his thighs, knees in the mud on either side of her hips. He couldn’t really have got up if he tried… or wanted to.

She tore her eyes away from his, and it was decided. Jamie would stay put and suffer her attentions. “Alright, I need some bandage and a clean cloth,” she called, turning back to the crowd of men looking on.

Silence. No one moved.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered, grabbing a fistful of her shift and tearing for all she was worth. Jamie’s eyes went suddenly wide, watching her with rapt intent, and then his modesty got the best of him and he looked away, cheeks flaming.

He wanted her.

He could feel the heat of her bare skin now as her shift rode up, pressed up against the bare tops of his thighs where his kilt had come out of the way. He clenched his jaw, cleared his throat, and tried not to think of his current predicament. Between a rock and a, hmm, hard place.

“Hold still,” she murmured, dousing the rag with more whiskey before taking it to the wound, making an attempt to clean it.

Jamie’s eyes flew open and he grunted, sitting up more in an effort to get away from her, his sudden predicament forgotten in lieu of the searing pain in his shoulder. His eyes rolled momentarily, and he clenched his jaw harder, a fistful of grass caught in one hand.

“Easy,” Claire murmured, a hand on his shoulder as she wadded the makeshift bandage against the gunshot. She met his eyes again, hers somehow incredibly calm, and he nodded ever so slightly, taking a sharp breath.

When she was done, she gave him the smallest nod, and climbed off his lap and to his side, one hand on his back. “Alright,” she breathed and then turned to the other men. “Lift him up.” Together, she and Murtagh, who had dropped to Jamie’s other side, hoisted him into a sitting position so she could wrap the rest of the linen around his torso and hold it in place. He heard her curse under her breath as she fumbled with the awkward position, and then, louder, “Come on, you goddamn bloody bastard.” A momentary hush fell over the group, and Jamie struggled to hide a grin in the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve never heard a woman use such language in my life, hm?” He heard Dougal remark quietly, eyes peering down at the trio from beneath his cap.

Jamie arched an eyebrow back at him. Seems they were all entranced by this mysterious Sassenach woman.

“Your husband should tan yer hide.”

“Och, Saint Paul would-”

She stopped, eyes rolling, and Jamie saw the exasperation written clear on her face as she turned over her shoulder to face Angus and Rupert. “You can mind your own bloody business, and so can Saint Paul.” Silence again, and she nodded, pleased, then turned back to Jamie to fix him with another blazing look. “And if you move so much as a single muscle while I’m tying this bandage, I’ll bloody throttle you.”

Half of him wanted to take her up on the offer. The other half of him wizened up and sat still, letting her finish up the wrappings. His eyes flickered up to her face briefly, and both her eyebrows shot up, daring him to test her.

“Hmm,” he smirked, “a threat, is it? And after I shared my drink wi’ ye.” The other men didn’t seem to find his little joke as amusing.

“We’ve fifty miles ta go yet. Another five hours, at least,” Dougal growled. “We stay here long enough for ye ta stem that bleeding and dress his wound.”

“He needs rest,” Claire countered, shooting to her feet and leaving Jamie to sag against Murtagh. All eyes watched the interaction between the woman and the Scottish warlord, and Jamie could practically feel the tension ripple through the men. Someone nearby cleared his throat and let out a low whistle.

“Did you hear me?” She stomped off in Dougal’s direction, and Jamie’s heart leaped in his chest. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

“Randall!” He called quickly, relieved when she whipped around to look at him now. He sat forward, wiping a hand across his mouth, and tried to catch his breath. “The officer ye encountered,” she moved to sit back beside him, checking the security of the bandages, and he looked over at her, curious and intrigued all at once. “He won’t give up so easily. He commands the Redcoats hereabouts.” She glared testily at him. “He’ll ha’ sent patrols out in e’ry direction by now.” She paused, and he saw a flicker of concern pass over her features. She understood then, the danger that the captain posed, even after such a brief interaction.

Right then and there, Jamie would have rather gutted himself than seen her handed back over to the madman, and she was coming dangerously close with every snide remark in his uncle’s direction. She had to know that. Wherever it was she had come from, things were obviously different, but around here… Well, a tongue like that could get a woman in a lot of trouble.

“We canna stay here long,” he continued, reasoning with her, hoping she would just give up the argument and let Dougal have his way. He knew his little story about the Redcoat Captain was not exactly truthful. While, yes, they would have patrols out combing the woods, it wouldn’t be for the sole purpose of finding the Englishwoman. Jamie and his merry band of men were wanted for treason, and worth far more than an oddly dressed Sassenach found wandering the forest.

She licked her lips briefly. “You know Randall?” He almost laughed. That was an understatement. “Black Jack Randall, that is?”

He nodded a little, head hung. “Aye.” A moment of silence lapsed between them. “I willna risk you-” quickly, he added “or anyone else” as an afterthought, “by that man.” He looked up at her, gaze level. “If ye canna fix me up well enough ta ride, ye’ll be leavin’ me here wi’ a loaded pistol so I may determine my own fate.” He felt her stare at him.

“Might have well told me you were shot before you fell off the horse,” she muttered.

Jamie grinned. “Didna hurt much at the time.”

She fixed him with another one of those looks. “Does it hurt now?”

He glanced down at the bandages, and then up at her, a smirk tugging on one side of his mouth. “Aye.”

“Good.” She smirked, patted him on the shoulder, and sat back. “That’s about all I can do. The rest is up to you.” She stood, and he nodded a little, lips pursed, and then looked up to see her with her hand extended.

He took it.

She pulled him up bodily, and the two stood facing one another for a moment, each trying to discern and work out a small bit about this stranger they had come to know. “Thank you, Sassenach,” he said softly after a moment had passed between them. “Truly.”

She stared back up at him for a moment, and the spell was back, and then she nodded, smiled, and wiped her palms on her shift. “Alright then. On your horse, soldier.”

He chuckled, nodded, and turned. Yes, ma’am.

#so excited for this!#my own little tss series #it's gonne be really exciting #feel free to send scenes and things in!#anything is acceptable #through blue #roadside revelations #blue #mikayla #cagedbirdsong #new series #canon divergence #jamie's pov

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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is there going to be more of the flash-forward au where claire travels to the 20th century from the 18th? i really need to know what she makes of 20th century life! — kaitrionabalfe

Clutching the pillow to her chest, Claire watched as Jenny clattered about with her medical equipment. She hadn’t yet spoken about the date she’d seen scrawled on the windowsill, or her confusion about it but her body was too worn down to care too much --for the moment.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you into seeing a doctor, Claire?” Jenny asked, one final time, quirking her brow at Claire as she held up a suturing needle. Here she had no proper tools, nothing to numb the pain or to knock Claire out. She only had a wee drop of iodine and some basic accoutrements.

Shaking her head, Claire cowered behind the cushion, her heart stuttering at the thought of having to go anywhere near civilization. Whether or not she believed she’d fallen forward in time, she wasn’t about to risk her new found freedom. Letting her guard down wasn’t an option just yet.

“No,” she replied, shifting her feet beneath her, “I trust you, please...I just want you to do it.”

“You know it’ll hurt ye, right?” Jenny reminded. She’d been clear with Claire from the beginning --this was a dangerous thing to do. With so little to keep the area sterile, there was more chance of infection here than in an operating room. But seeing the wounds, she was unwilling to force something on Claire that she desperately didn’t want. She’d made an oath during the war, one that she was prepared to stick to no matter what. If that meant turning her attic room into a temporary hospital, then so be it.

Seeing the concentrated look of seriousness on Jenny’s face made Claire balk. Her stomach clenched as her chest constricted.

“Pain doesn’t scare me…” Claire reiterated, shrugging off the worry, “if you c-can’t manage it, I’ll take my chances without and hope it heals by itself,” she clarified, looking certain of herself.

Smiling nervously, Jenny nodded once and bid Claire to turn.

“You’ll have to lie on your front, keep the pillow if it helps, but I’ll need as much access as I can get to the wounds. Some run down your sides, but they’re not as deep as the ones near your shoulder blades.”

Doing as she was told, Claire pulled the thin nightgown from her shoulders and lay flat. Burying her face in the clean linens, she closed her eyes tight and prepared for the surgery to begin.

As she felt Jenny’s tepid hands against her sides, Claire inhaled a deep breath. She hadn’t wanted to be a burden but something inside her called out for Jamie. Biting her lip as the first shot of agony ripped through her, she fought the urge to actually cry out for him, knowing that he would come but unwilling to show weakness.

Having never needed anyone before, especially a man of similar age to herself, Claire was battling hard to subdue any feelings of affection that she had for her red-headed saviour.

As the first splash of cold liquid hit her heated flesh, Claire squealed and forced her head further into the duck-down pillow, her mouth filled with the soft cotton coverings as she bit down in order to stop herself from crying out any louder.

The stinging ebbed as Jenny rubbed a cloth over the smattering of dirt residue that had been left on her back, but Claire kept her shoulders tensed as she waited for the first stitches to be made.

Feeling a little numb, she tried to calm her breathing as she felt the needle lying against the first and largest of the welts.

“I’m going to start now, Claire,” Jenny warned, readying herself for a long job.

Despite numerous warnings, nothing could have prepared Claire for the pain that slammed into her the moment Jenny inched her needle into the severed skin. Keening, she curled her toes and smooshed her face as deeply as she could into the mattress, shunning the pillow now as she tried to hold herself still.

Unable to calm herself, Claire reached forward, her fingers shaking madly as she scraped her nails along the wood of the baseboard, her hands finding purchase as she called out for the only other person she knew in this world, her heart pounding mercilessly beneath her ribs.

“J-Jamie…” she cried, tears running down her heated cheeks as she lifted her head for just a moment, “Jamie. I-it hurts. It hurts too much.”

Hearing her pleas, Jenny continued. Claire’s distress was a clear sign that she felt comfortable enough to scream when needed at least. She wouldn’t stop, eager to have this whole mess finished now she’d begun.

“Jamie!” Jenny yelled as Claire quieted, “Jamie get in here...NOW!” Knowing that she wouldn’t stop, Jenny saw an opportunity to calm Claire at least a little. Her incessant squirming was beginning to affect Jenny’s sutures.

Slamming the door against the wall, its hinges creaking loudly as he knob hit the thin plaster, Jamie rushed into the tiny bedroom. His eyes were manic, searching for an unknown threat as he stood, feet apart, hands held in front of his chest in a defensive move.

“You daft swine, Jamie!” Jenny castigated, “she’s just in pain, aye? Come and sit wi’ her whilst I finish. It seems she wants you.”

Letting his arms relax a little, Jamie crawled onto the bed bedside Claire and took her sweaty palms against his warm ones. Waiting until Jenny had finished mending one particularly difficult spot, he angled himself so that she could curl against his chest whilst Jenny continued to sew the torn skin back together again.

Claire’s whole body was wracked with sobs as she trembled against him. Keeping her close to his chest, Jamie hummed as he watched his sister work.

“Do ye know what I’m most looking forward to, Claire?” he whispered, trying to get her attention off the pain of the treatment.

Waiting for some manner of response, he ran a finger through her curls making her jump a little before she responded, shaking her head.

“No,” she mumbled in return, her voice shaky, breathless and light, “w-what?”

“Summer-time, aye? When the wee lambs are growing and we get our one week of sunshine. I canna wait to show you how beautiful Lallybroch gets when the grass is a lush green and all the flowers surround the grounds.”

Gasping as the iodine hit her skin once more, Claire burrowed her free hand into Jamie’s shirt and held on for dear life, hissing out an unintelligible word as the throbbing intensified.

“It’s alright,” Jamie soothed, rocking her a little as Jenny cleaned herself up and let Claire rest just for a moment, “no’ long to go now, just keep hold of me. Yer alright, Claire.”

The hours passed by as Jenny worked hard. Jamie’s legs began to go numb as the weight of holding Claire against him for so long stemmed the blood flow.

Claire had quieted now, her soft pants the only signs of life for the moment. Her skin was covered in a fine layer of sweat and her trembling, although decreased, was still wracking her whole body.

She was exhausted.

Wiping her brow, Jenny peeled off her surgical gloves and threw the large needle into the kidney dish, the sound of metal on metal reverberating around the room as Jamie looked across at her.

Jenny’s eyes were bloodshot, her neck and torso flecked with wee stains where Claire’s blood had caught her during the tense operation.

“Done?” Jamie questioned lowly, shifting Claire a little as he surveyed his sister’s handywork.

“Done.” Jenny mouthed back, flopping into the rocking chair that she’d brought up earlier that morning,

Gathering Claire into his arms, Jamie shuffled himself back against the headboard and pulled the duvet around them both. The bed would certainly need changing, but Claire was far too fatigued from the stress of her ordeal for him to request it done now. The lines of strain had deepened around her eyes, her brows creased with distress. She needed rest and a chance to recuperate.

“All finished, Claire.” Jamie sighed into her ear as she stirred for just a second. “Ye’ll need bandaging come morning, but we need to let the stitches settle first.”

“W-will you stay with me?” She gasped in reply, the scratchy low pitch of her voice making Jamie’s stomach dip with worry.

“Of course, Claire. Where would I go?” He responded, a small fearful smile playing on his lips as he slid them further under the covers, making sure he didn’t catch her back.

Swallowing back the bile that rose up the back of her throat as she spoke, Claire twisted her head closer to Jamie’s neck as the warmth of him begged her closer. “Thank you…” she began, her energy completely depleted now, “thank you for not sending me back there...t-to the redcoats.”

Scrunching his brow in confusion, Jamie looked between Claire’s now-sleeping form to Jenny.

Across the room, his sister appeared not to have heard Claire’s strange remark and his cheeks burned red as his mind spinned out of control.

Redcoats?

Nobody had need for that term anymore, not in more than one hundred years.

His previous notions as to her --predicament-- came flooding back to him. Her strange entrance at Craigh na Dunn. The odd dress she’d been wearing. The way she’d eyed the light fixings earlier and how sure she’d been that she didn’t want to visit a hospital for treatment.

Glancing down at her scarred back, his spine began to ache. He felt her wounds come alive, the strong sting of the lash pulsing through him, as if it had been he who’d sustained the wounds and not her.

Wrapping his arms around her shoulders gently (avoiding the sorest spots), he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to push the sorrow away.

Something was definitely amiss, but he couldn’t help but feel a sort of unconscious kinship with Claire. That same internal spark that marked her as strange and different also seemed to weave them together, as one flesh.

Seeing Jamie cuddle up next to Claire, Jenny smiled as she cleaned up the mess around her. Placing all of her medical equipment back into her bag, she squeezed the metal clasp shut and wiped her hands on her pinafore once more.

“Will you be alright with her?” She spoke quietly as she aimed for the door.

Jamie nodded, his eyes catching Jenny’s as she pulled the knob and forced the door open. “Aye, I’ll stay wi’ her until she wakes. No worries.”

“Ach, alright. Thanks. I’ll bring you both some stew later. We have that last wee bit of beef from last week's rations if you dinna mind the pish they claim to be gravy that I have te put wi’ it?” She jested, reaching out to tap Jamie arm as she closed the door behind her.

“T-thank you, Jenny,” Claire whispered as she heard Jenny leave. Never opening her eyes, her fingers twitched against Jamie as if she were waving. “Truly.”

#;Mod MBD #ask #kaitrionabalfe #fast forward #Claire travels from 1743 #AU

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