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dixons-sunshine · 6 months

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Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl didn’t know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn’t stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn’t expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.

Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don’t exist in this? I don’t really know.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.

Word count: 8.1k.

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow’s version! Pure perfection, honestly.

“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that ‘leave me alone’ attitude of yours?”

Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had silently been observing everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.

“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialize a bit.”

“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.

“That doesn’t count. That’s work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn’t in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”

“I dun’ need to. Y’all are the only company I need. Ain’t gon’ waste my time tryna make buddies with people who dun’ even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”

“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.

“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.

Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.

“Mistah lonely?”

Startled, Daryl’s head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer’s hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the dangerous weapon.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun’ touch that,” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl’s reach.

“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.

Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl’s grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child’s hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.

“Mistah use sharp mife?”

“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”

“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”

“What? No, that ain’t—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, wobbling more like a penguin than anything else. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl’s retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.

Well, he thought, at least that’s the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl’s voice calling out to him.

“Mistah! Mama here!”

Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman’s hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.

“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.

“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.

Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he had done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn’t show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.

“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.

Well, the kid certainly knew how to follow orders. He had told her to go get her mama, and there you were.

“I'm Y/N. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.

Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.

“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer’s hand and putting it in yours.

Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

This was the worst random social situation he’d ever been in.

“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don’t touch people unless they say we can, alright?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”

“Daryl,” the archer corrected her with a gruff tone of voice, talking for the first time since you had approached him.

Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.

“No, ‘s—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.

“Sorry. She has trouble with pronouncing some words and names. I’m working on helping her with that,” you explained, your body language exuding a challenging aura, as if daring him to insult your daughter for something as miniscule as not being able to pronounce a name.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and noticed your defensive stature, making him raise his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S’alrigh’,” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.

“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.

However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn’t need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn’t protect themselves in this harsh world they were forced to live in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm’s length.

Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.

The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron’s house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.

“So yeah, that’s how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his long and winded tale.

“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”

“Nah, s’a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin’ yer coffee on his shirt bit, but s’still a good story,” Daryl reassured him. “Now c’mon, didn’t ya say somethin’ ‘bout havin’ a part for my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps of Aaron’s home and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but quickly regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than his little Asskicker clinging to him like that.

“Kid, what are ya doin’?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a koala bear.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you’ve met Hazel. She’s quite the character, huh?”

“What’s she even doin’ here?”

“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”

Hazel giggled against Daryl’s leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.

“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl’s head, accepting his fate of being clung to for the time being.

“She can’t say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing things sometimes.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin’ ‘bout that,” Daryl said without really thinking about it.

“So you’ve met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn’t quite decipher.

“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.

Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”

To his complete and utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn’t even fully registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer’s heart fill with a sudden and unexpected fondness, completely taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from little Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”

“What do ya mean?” Daryl found himself questioning, confused entirely by the man’s revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was that way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who had just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?

Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.

“From what Y/N told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel horribly, and Hazel hasn’t fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.

Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”

“She wouldn’t say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel’s trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn’t budge. But she seems to trust you and you said you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at that makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel’s small back subconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.

“Then you’re definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn’t trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.

Daryl followed his lead, taking a seat across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel’s attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself occupied.

“They were with a group ‘fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you, although he didn’t know why.

“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven’t been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/N and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/N almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”

Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist. “That hurts,” he told her softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his usually gruff voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head down on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be correct with Hazel.

“You’re good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, ‘scary’ man and the small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at what?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”

Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type’a guy who could’ve started a family back then.”

“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl’s inner turmoil.

Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family, ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain’t got a partner, and there ain’t exactly women linin’ up to be with me, so kids ain’t somethin’ I see in my future.”

“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you’ll meet someone.”

“A lot of confidence for somethin’ that most likely won’t ever happen,” Daryl grumbled.

“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”

“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement evident in her voice.

You smiled at the sound of your daughter’s voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone in your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she seemed to be okay.

You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.

“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.

You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease; he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.

“I see that, Sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.

“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.

“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before, he had shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times by the toddler that day, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ’s, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without Mama’s help?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on full display. “Bye, Dar!”

“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he’d grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.

Daryl ducked his head. “Ain’t nothin’,” he replied, shaking his head.

“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I figured you’d avoid her at all costs.”

“I was spendin’ the day helpin’ Aaron. He invited me to his place ‘cause he had a part I needed for my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn’t let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.

“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.

You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn’t let his mind go there. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm’s length. It was bad enough that Hazel had broke through his barrier in one measly day, so he couldn’t allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments definitely wasn’t something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you’ve just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling that I ain’t got much say in the matter.

“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn’t looked that happy in a long time.”

“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry for bein’ a dick yesterday.”

“It’s fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren’t botherin’ me. I jus’... Weren’t in a good mood, s’all. M’sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Daryl frowned in confusion but didn’t say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.

“What’s this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.

“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I’d give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your ‘gift’. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.

Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin’,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“I’ll walk you out,” you replied, making good of your promise by walking with him over to the door.

Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.

“I hope you realize that she isn’t gonna let you off the hook. You’re going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you’re going to be stuck with me, too.”

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn’t mind that thought at all.

“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun’ wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”

The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”

Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus’ try to be more careful, alright? I dun’ want ya gettin’ hurt.”

“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.

“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “That’s why ya gotta be careful, alright? Dun’ want anythin’ to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”

Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”

“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.

Two months had passed since Daryl had initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.

The archer hadn’t asked you what had happened to Hazel’s father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask something as personal as that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn’t the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.

However, as Daryl’s love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel’s dad, that he could’ve been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would’ve worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn’t be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend instead. At least it meant being able to both bond with the little girl and simultaneously have an excuse to see you.

“The two of you look like you’re having fun. Mind if I join?”

Daryl’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.

“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.

You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.

“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.

You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl’s lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.

“I know what I just said, but I actually can’t, Baby. It’s time to go home. It’s dinner time,” you told her.

Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl’s neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.

“S’alright, dun’ cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alright?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun’ ya go say bye to Jude?”

Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, Baby. I’ll wait for you.”

Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair. As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.

“This is the first time ya’ve come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. S’somethin’ wrong?” Daryl inquired, searching your eyes for an answer.

You shook your head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”

“It ain’t that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus’ a couple’a houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But what?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s nothing. Just some moms around the community who like to be judgy.”

“What are they sayin’?”

“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I’m dumping my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I’d start proving them wrong.”

“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin’ Hazel home at the end of the day. That way I know she’s safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.

“Dun’ let ‘em convince ya that yer a bad mom. I ain’t never seen a better mom than ya. How many moms here can say that they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? That, despite everythin’, their kid came first and that they would kill for them?”

“How did you know I wasn’t here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he that found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact that ya kept her alive on yer own for that long proves to me that yer the best fuckin’ mom under the sun.”

You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.

Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer’s emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.

You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl’s side and clinging to his leg.

“Bye, Dar!”

Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”

Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.

“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”

Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.

“Yes! Please, Dar!”

In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn’t be able to say no this time around. He just would’t be able to. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”

“Dun’ I need to change?”

“No, you’re fine, don’t worry. You can come as is.”

“Alright,” Daryl nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I’ll be right out with the food.”

Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler’s footsteps come into the dining room.

Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure that she was settled and wouldn’t fall out, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel’s happy babbling.

Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl’s mouth practically water. The last time he’d eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago at that point.

“It smells fuckin’ good,” Daryl complimented you without really thinking about his choice of words, and he instantly regretted not thinking about them beforehand.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl’s face, or the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun’ say that. Dun’ ever say that,” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.

“Fuck,” Hazel giggled.

“No, I jus’ said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not gonna bite your head off because of one little slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would’ve had enough money to be able to buy a yacht in the old world. You’re good, don’t worry.

“Okay, but we can’t have her goin’ ‘round sayin’ that, though,” Daryl replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself. You weren’t mad. Everything was fine.

“You’re right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can’t say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he’s ready to share that word, you can’t say it, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.

Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a delicacy he never knew existed in him.

The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel’s happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving, tender way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.

Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he would send in your direction. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart. It was both terrifying and thrilling to think about.

Your respective meals were soon finished. and Hazel’s eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly laid her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“You tired, Baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.

“If Daryl’s okay with it,” you whispered, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs, and he obliged. Together, the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel’s bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.

Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, but was now always there for both her and her mom. The man who undeniably had started to feel like a daddy to her.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.

Time froze for a moment. Daryl’s eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough to see him as her father. She couldn’t, could she?

He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn’t address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.

“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered to him, motioning towards the door.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.

Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.

“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I’ll join you.”

“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes. Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”

Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.

Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S’good. Thanks.”

“It’s nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”

“Ya can’t jus’ drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.

“I could, but I prefer not to. I don’t want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.

“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.

You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.

“Hazel’s father,” you revealed, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything in the world.

“What was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn’t even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up, but I stayed. I was too scared to leave. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”

Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He had no right to get angry. That wasn’t something that happened to him.

“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that’s where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to taunt and be mean to her. Hazel didn’t even do anything wrong, and I never even brought up the fact that she was his kid, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but I could tell that it really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I’m surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us, and the rest is history.”

Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could’ve found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.

“Yer a strong woman. The fact that ya went through all’a that and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves that. Yer amazing and I hope ya know that.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but a smile soon spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips. You didn’t even fully know why you did that. It was more than likely liquid courage, you figured.

“You’re amazing too. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”

With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips to have you flush against his body. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.

As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.

“What ‘bout Hazelnut? Won’t she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

“No. She’s out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”

Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other’s clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl’s shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn’t do nothin’.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you asked him, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn’t have a good childhood,” was all he offered before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. Sure, a few scars littered his chest, but they didn’t repulse you. You didn’t understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged and raised, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.

You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.

Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he ever associated with his back was pain from his father’s cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.

Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl’s eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the lowest scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.

“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You’re so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”

“M’perfect?”

“You're perfect.”

That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.

That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.

Two years later...

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”

You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to extinguish it, you and Daryl each handed her a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she thanked with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.

“Dun’ thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open ‘em.”

Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons, and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts. “Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”

You laughed and nodded. “Sure, Baby. Just be good for Auntie Michonne and Uncle Rick, okay?”

“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.

“I can’t believe she’s growin’ up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, right? She’ll be moving away from home for college soon enough,” you joked.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”

“For me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain’t my birthday for another couple’a months.”

“I know, but this can’t wait that long. Here,” you told him, handing him a small box.

Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind indeed wasn’t playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.

“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut’s gon’ have a baby sibling. We’re gon’ have another kid.”

“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya, too. And I already love that lil’ peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own lil’ family,” Daryl told you wistfully, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.

“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn’t instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.

“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But for now, let’s enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.

“I like that idea.”

2K notes · View notes

wardenparker · 2 years

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Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 11

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. ✨ Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Hurt/comfort, angst, EMTs/hospital, shoddy medical knowledge that proves we could write for tv, plenty of twists and turns and pulls at the heartstrings in this chapter. Summary: Arriving back in your own time is not at all what you or Pero had in mind, but your best friend is there to help pick up the pieces. Notes: Writing this chapter *shattered* us. Y’all have been warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

For the better part of two days, the ride is hard and unyielding. Little is said between the companions except to explain to Father Malcolm what happened in the village square, and the young priest simply nods as he absorbs the tale. When he returns he will tell the village that he delivered the witch and her companions to justice in the city, and send a letter on to the dead men’s home village expressing regret over their encounter with bandits. He will bless and bury the bodies, knowing the men are already in hell. He will do his duty. It is late on the second day of riding when Inverness comes into view through the rolling hills, and the group continues through the woods instead of heading toward town. You have held steady thanks to Arwena’s magic but not improved at all, and though your priest friend has prayed over you many times, Pero must believe that the choice he has made to bring you here is the right one. That sending you home will be what saves you. Even if it breaks his heart to do it, what matters is that you will live.

The steady gait of the horse helps keep you from bobbling around too much. You have not taken water for the past half day. Nothing they tried would get you to drink and he is at his wits end. He feels you starting to slip away, even if Arwena denies it. “Hurry!”

Father Malcolm has been riding ahead, making sure the trail is passable and that he does still know the way to Craigh na Dun. His memory is steel, thankfully, and when he doubles back to appear at the top of the hill to Pero’s right, he points in the direction of a small grove of trees. “Through here!”

Guiding the horse towards the priest, Pero sends up a prayer. That this works, that he can go with you, that whatever you have will be easily treated in your time. Most importantly, that you will understand why he is making this decision for you. Binx is purring, trying to use her own brand of healing on you, curled up on your chest under the blankets.

The Stones at Craigh na Dun stand tall, the dusk settling around them as the sun begins to lower in the sky and the quiet of a winter evening closes in on them with claustrophobic intent. For a world so barren and forlorn, it certainly does not feel empty or wide. “My word…” Arwena breathes, seeing the sheer size of the standing stones as they bring their horses up to the side of the seeming monument. “Help us to get her down.” Father Malcolm has already dismounted, calling to Briac to do the same so that the two men can carry you from Pero’s mount to the center stone.

Dread and fear well up in Pero, nearly choking him as he dismounts and grabs the bag with your things along with his own bag. He has no clue what to expect, even if you have told him about your time and he is woefully ill prepared, but determined to face whatever may come.

“What will happen?” Arwena is close on Briac’s heels, her own fear painted on her features as clear as day. She still does not understand how this magic can be real, despite wielding fire that answers only to her voice, and looks between you, Pero, and the Father with naked apprehension.

“From what I know, she should…go back to where she came from. The year 2022.” He sounds more confident than he really is. “But I will be with her to protect her no matter what.”

“She said she heard buzzing, touched the stone, and fell through time.” Father Malcolm has heard the tale from you then and thought it sounded like fairy magic. He is still not convinced that it was not. “Hopefully, it will be as simple as Pero holding her as she goes through, and they will travel together.”

“Take care of Gato.” Binx has climb out from her cozy spot and meows, looking up at Pero. “I don’t know if animals can come through.” He explains, as if he were talking to a human as he kneels down and scratches her head.

“She will be safe with us.” For as stoic as she had been during the confrontation of the day before, Arwena is nearly in tears as Pero turns to say goodbye. “I—I can never…thank you enough. Either of you. For what you did for us.”

“Stay safe.” He pulls the girl against him for a surprisingly gentle hug. “Make babies and live happily.” He tells her, pulling back and pinching her chin slightly as he tilts her eyes up to meet his. “I am proud of you; you are a strong woman. Just like Sassenach and you will carry her legacy well.”

“We will never forget you. Either of you.” The tears in her eyes are for so much more than mere sadness, but there is no time for those words. Even if she knew what to say, there would be no time. “Tell her…when she is well again…tell her we love her. And come back to us if you can?”

“I will.” Turning to Briac, Pero is as proud as any papa watching his son prepare to go out into the world and forge his own path. “Fight well. Kill quickly and love harshly.” He tells the boy before he pulls him in for a hug that would crack ribs and pounds him on the back as men do.

“We will stay nearby.” Briac promises, stifling thick tears with heavy sniffles as he embraces Pero tightly. “Come back to us when she is well again, and we will all go to Spain together.” He must believe it is possible. He must. Otherwise he fears the despair that will overtake both himself and Arwena.

“Do not stay here long.” Pero cautions them. He takes the pouch of coins off his waist and hands them to the boy who is really a man. There is enough for them to establish a good life if they are judicious with the coins. “Settle in the Cádis area and if we come back, we will find you.”

“Gracias por todo.” Thank you for everything. Briac nods, despite wishing he could shove the pouch back into Pero’s hands and insist that they find a solution here and now. They all know it is hopeless - even the priest who is currently cradling you in his arms at the foot of the center stone. If you remain you will surely die, and Arwena and Briac would rather struggle through life alone knowing you are well elsewhere than be the reason you did not survive. “Take care of her,” Arwena begs, no longer able to keep the flood of tears at bay. She feels as though she has failed you, and no amount of trial and error will fix that. You have to go. Go and live, rather than stay and die. “There is no more time to be wasted.”

Pero swallows down his own emotions although he knows the water in his eyes is noticeable if anyone were paying attention. Instead of commenting further, he strides over to the priest and relieves him of his burden. Bundling you close and jostling you slightly as he pulls your hand out for you to touch the stones. That was the most important part of your story. You touched the stones. “Adiós, mi familia.” His voice is thick with emotion as he lifts your hand to the wall and in the blink of an eye, you disappear and he remains in his own time, without you.

******

There had been no warning when you disappeared - not so much as a sound or a flash of light or even a breeze brushing through the late October afternoon. Nothing could have prepared Beth for the way you seemed to evaporate into mid-air, poofing out of existence like a cartoon. She had searched around the standing stones at Craigh na Dun frantically to find where you were hiding, but to no avail. You were just gone. Her best friend in the world, her steadfast companion, her ride or die. Just...gone. Like you had never existed in the first place. Nearly catatonic, Beth had slumped down against one of the large stones facing the one you had touched. What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?! You were there and then you weren't and what the FUCK was going on? How was she supposed to explain this to people? To literally anyone? And then - out of nowhere - there you were again.

Pushing to her feet, scrambling and sliding on the fallen leaves and mossy ground, Beth screams your name and rushes over to the lump of blankets, your face half covered in hair and your eyes distressingly closed. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Pero?” You’ve been murmuring his name over and over, sometimes out loud and sometimes you only think it’s out loud, but the hard ground underneath you feels nothing like whatever it is that you have been. “Pero.” His name comes weakly from your lips again, although you could see at you hear Beth’s voice from somewhere far, far away.

Beth’s hands are practically shaking as she pulls material away from you, rough fabric that you definitely didn’t have on you when you had vanished. Your name falls from her lips again. “Open your eyes!”

“Pero.” The two syllables are all you can manage, caught in that horrible purgatory between life and death that is grave illness. There is no sun or moon here, no forest or sea. Only darkness, and the longing stuck in your heart that you might fight to see him one more time.

“Jesus Christ.” Her eyes widen and she pulls back as if she’s afraid to hurt you when your hair shifts, and she sees the grisly scar bisecting your brow and running down your cheek. What happened to you? It doesn’t help that she can feel how hot you are from where her hand is hovering. “I’m going to get you help.” She promises, shakily digging for her phone.

The emergency number in Scotland is different than in the States, but after a second of fumbling Beth manages to remember what it is and dial with unsteady fingers. "999. What service do you require?" Asks the kindly, heavily accented voice on the other end.

“I- we are at the stones of Craigh na Dun and my friend–she–she disappeared for five minutes but now she’s back and she’s unconscious and burning up.” Beth babbles into the phone frantically, sweeping her hand over your forehead. “She’s sick.”

There is a pause on the line before the kindly voice clears its attached throat and asks: "Do you require an ambulance, miss? Should your friend be seen in hospital?"

“Yes! Please yes, hurry! She’s been- attacked. She has a large scar on her eye that wasn’t there before!” Beth manages to get the blankets unraveled from your body and gasps. You are not wearing the skinny jeans and flannel shirt with hiking boots you had been wearing just twenty minutes ago.

"Attacked?" The emergency dispatcher asks, the sound of clacking keys in the background telling Beth that she is including this fact in her report of the call. "Miss, please do not attempt to move or jostle your friend. Emergency Medical Technicians are on their way to you."

“Hurry!” You moan and call out ‘Pero’ again, making Beth frown as she hovers over you. Where is your bag? Your phone? There is a bag made of some kind of leather but it wasn’t the North Face bag you had tucked your water bottle and granola bars into.

It takes less than ten minutes for an ambulance to come screaming into view, braving the small hill that the stones of Craigh na Dun stand on. The man and woman who hop out of the vehicle are as kind as they possibly can be for having such an intense job, and they load you onto a stretcher after hearing Beth's rambled explanation that you disappeared and reappeared - suddenly sick and injured. "What's your name, miss?" The woman asks, holding the door of the ambulance open to offer the mobile American the opportunity to ride inside.

“Beth” She breathes out, terrified and clutching all the things that you had reappeared with. “Beth Franklin.”

"We're going to get you and your friend to Raigmore Hospital," the paramedic tells her gently, moving quickly to get the American seated so they can be on their way. "We're going to take good care of your friend, Miss Franklin. You just sit tight, eh?"

“I don’t know what happened. She was just- she wanted to touch the stones like the show, you know?” Beth shakes her head. “I was taking a photo and then she was just– gone.”

“Does she have any health issues? Asthma? Diabetes? Even migraines?” Any clue as to what is normal for their patient is invaluable. Otherwise diagnosis can be like finding a needle in a haystack.

“Nothing but a little heartburn.” Beth shakes her head and bites her lip. “Her eye, that scar wasn’t there.” She manages to reach her phone again and opens it to show a picture of you taken just before you disappear. Your hands are outstretched toward the stones as you look at the camera and grin.

“Well, that’s a wee bit odd now, innit?” The man peers over his shoulder in time to see the photo right before putting the vehicle in gear. “That an old photo, miss? Hasta be, since it’s afore she got her scar. Unless her soulmate’s the one ‘a got inta some nasty business.”

“It was right before she disappeared.” Beth frowns and looks at the picture again. “And her hair is longer.” She doesn’t mention your soulmate because you don’t have one. It’s a sore subject and people react funny to that kind of news.

“Mebbe she’s gone and traveled through time,” the man chuckles, turning to focus on driving the ambulance out is the woods and toward Raigmore Hospital. “Me nan used’a say that’s what happened to people who touched the Stones, but I think she just liked them books a lot.”

Beth swallows and shakes her head, not believing that although the two of you had giggled about sliding through time and finding your own Jamie. “I don’t know.” She mutters and looks down at you with a worried frown. “I’m more worried about what she has right now.”

“Can’t do better than Raigmore,” the woman tells Beth with surety. She has been hooking you up to various monitors or taking measurements or just generally checking on you since Beth buckled in, but she turns now to whisper something to her colleague and he steps on the gas. “They’ll see her put to rights.”

The rest of the trip passes in a blur, the beeping of the monitors seems faster than they should be and Beth is terrified, especially since she can’t find your wallet, with your identification and insurance card.

Lost items are the least of the hospital’s concerns, ultimately, though the team testing you is grateful to have someone who knows your rough medical history. The full day it takes to get your medical records sent over from your doctor in Florida are nothing compared to the intensity of the race to diagnose you properly. After stabilizing and settling you, it takes a team of no less than seven professionals to put every piece of the puzzle together. The first doctor to suggest meningitis seems to consider it a stretch, but still he says it. When you open your eyes again mere hours after the first dose of medication to test that particular infection, the entire team breathes a collective sigh of relief.

Beth is living on horrible coffee from a vending machine - she doesn’t like tea - and paces like she can make laps on the linoleum for a cure. She hadn’t been allowed back in your room, too worried about what you might have and if it’s infectious.

Opening your eyes is like staring into the sun, despite the fact that nothing about the light surrounding you is natural. There are loud beeps and clicks and you feel like you got thrown out of a bell tower directly onto a boulder. Everything hurts and you feel weak, unable to focus your limited sight on anything for all the brightness. Only one word, through a foggy mind and a scratchy throat, makes it to the surface. “Pero?”

“You’re awake, dearie.” A plump, red-headed nurse with kind blue eyes leans over the bed after checking your vitals. It was a pleasant surprise to have you wake up while she was making your rounds. “Your friend has been so worried about you. I’ll send ‘em in.”

That makes you breathe a little easier, thinking that Pero must be pacing nearby and growling at anyone who even dares approach him. You can't remember the innkeeper having red hair but you were barely paying attention - too excited to get married to care about much about anything else.

Diedre is the nurse that has given Beth the most information and she waves to her now as she makes another lap around the room. “She’s awake!” She calls out, a cheerful smile on her face. “You can go in and see your friend.” “Oh thank God.” Beth exhales roughly, nearly crying as she practically flies towards the room that you had been placed in.

You could swear you hear Beth's voice again, chalking it up to whatever weird dreams you were having, and start to close your eyes again when you feel someone with delicately manicured fingernails grip your hand. That is definitely not Pero...

“Hey. God, you had me so worried.” Beth rushes out, squeezing your hand. “You- how are you feeling?” She needs to interrogate you, figure out what the hell is going on. But first she needs to know that you are feeling okay.

"Beth?" The bulk of your wedding ring vaguely registers against your finger when she squeezes your hand and you turn your good eye on her again, forcing yourself to focus. Are you in a fucking hospital room? "H-how?"

“How?” Apparently you are shocked to be here, but given your appearance she’s got questions. “You disappeared! Where did you go?” Her voice creeps up but she shakes her head. “You were there one moment and then gone the next. I looked around for you and when I seriously started to panic, you were back.”

"Uh..." There is a lot more to digest here than just where you were, or how you got back, but the sadness that registers in your eyes is unmistakable. "Where's Pero?"

“Who?” Beth frowns in confusion. “Who is Pero? You kept calling that name.”

Shifting your hand in hers, you look down at where they're joined - gold band shining slightly in the stark lighting - and sink further down into the hospital bed. "My soulmate."

“Soulmate.” Beth’s thumb brushes over your hand, dumbfounded by the idea that you had left the present. That the magic of the stones wasn’t some story or plot in a book. It was real. “When did you go?”

"It was..." Math isn't your strong suit at the moment, your headache is too bad for that. "A thousand-something years? 1006. Eight years..."

It explains everything. The clothes, the length of you hear if you’ve been gone for eight years. “Jesus.” Beth sinks down into the chair that is by your bed, still clinging to your hand. “You- your soulmate is from the past? Nearly one thousand years before you are born?”

"Figures, right?" If you're really back - if this is really Beth and not some insanely elaborate hallucination - then it means a lot of things happened in Gretna that you don't know about or simply can't remember. Either way, this is the woman you've been missing for literal years, and you squeeze her hand as best as you can manage. "It took literal fucking magic to find somebody who would put up with me."

“Finally found one strong enough.” Beth counters, knowing that it would take a tough man to make you happy. “But what happened?” Her brief smile disappears and she reaches over to brush the bottom of the scar on your face.

"That was before." Each word comes a little easier, which is an unexpected blessing, but your throat is very dry. "Wh-where am I?" You ask, trying to look around a little but finding the whole room far too bright.

“Raigmore hospital.” Beth squeezes your hand before she murmurs your name again. “You were sick, unconscious and burning up when you came back.”

"Alone?" You're almost afraid to ask, not wanting to have to contemplate what it would actually mean if she says yes. It's too much to stomach. Too much to try to wrap your head around if he didn't come through with you.

The fear in your voice makes Beth’s stomach flip and her hold on your hand to tighten. “Just you.” She confirms quietly.

"He wouldn't–" The tears are nearly immediate, hot and angry, leaking from the corners of your eyes like lava. "He wouldn't leave me. Not after we–we just got married–"

“What is the last thing you remember?” She asks softly, wanting to understand more, and wanting to help you in some small way. “Maybe he- did you plan to come back?”

"No." Shaking your head feels like a lot of effort despite you only managing to move it a half inch in either direction. "I got sick. Th-the morning after the wedding, I...felt hot..."

“The doctors said that you- if you hadn’t gotten to the hospital when you did, you would have died.” Even then it had been touch and go for a while once they figured out what was wrong with you.

"What's wrong with me?" If you couldn't save your own eye, then it is no surprise that you couldn't save yourself from whatever you caught. Even if you had brought Pero back from the brink of death, it had taken all your strength to heal someone that ill.

“Meningitis.” Beth remembers that there’s something else that the doctor had said. “C - something meningitis.” They had told her that your brain had been swelling and that was why you had been unconscious.

"At least it wasn't plague, I guess." Not that you really know anything about meningitis, except that the school nurse had scared everybody when you were in seventh grade by saying you could die from kissing.

“You–your brain was swelling and they–” she chokes out a small sob. “They were telling me that you might not make it when you got here. Your temperature was sooo high.”

"He wouldn't leave me." You repeat the sentence a little more firmly, trying to put together all the flashes of things you can put together that may be real or may be imaginary. Pero carrying you keeps coming to mind, and so much riding with his arms wrapped around you. Though that might have been when you were headed to Gretna, not afterward. "H-he must have...the Stones must not have worked for him?"

“Maybe.” She’s less sure considering all of your things were with you and none that would belong to a man. “That must be it.”

"Arwena...I—I didn't..." Tears prick at your eyes again, realizing your sweet, kind, steadfast young friend is a thousand years gone, along with playful and optimistic Briac. A knock on the door pulls Beth's attention away from you and your mind out of the fog of regret. "I hear our friend is awake at last." A tall, lanky man hums, smiling as he strolls into the room. He lends Beth a warm smile before leaning over you and looking into your eyes with the air of someone making an inspection. "You're lucky that your friend brought you in when she did," he tells you. "She saved your life."

Beth leans back, trying to absorb what you have told her while the doctor examines you. It’s a lot and if she hadn’t seen you disappear and reappear only five minutes later looking completely different, she would have thought you crazy.

"—This form of meningitis is incredibly rare." The doctor is explaining, though you barely hear him. He is taking your vitals while he talks and inspecting the dilation of your good eye, and saying things that you barely understand because the irony of you being a healer in the eleventh century is that your modern medical knowledge is mediocre at best. "Your recovery and treatment are going to be what we call long-haul, but if you take your medicines, get your strength back, and eat healthily, there is no reason that you shouldn't make a full recovery."

“Can she travel?” Beth pipes up, worried about your ability to travel home, although she still has no clue where your passport and ID are. “Or does she need to stay here longer?”

"It will be at least a few more days." The doctor tells Beth, trying to break the news to both of you as gently as he can. "We will be contacting your general practitioner at home to make sure that you have continuous treatment, and I'm afraid that you'll have to take some time out of work. That infection did quite a number on you and your mind and body will need more time than you expect to recover." He smiles again, clearly used to being the one to deliver bad news because of his boyish looks. "But now that we're certain your friend isn't contagious, we can bring a cot into the room for you, Miss Franklin. You can stay with her as much as you like."

“Good.” Beth immediately agrees, nodding quickly. Whatever happened, she is your best friend and she’s not leaving you for a second. “I can stop wearing out the floors in your waiting room.”

"Am I allowed to have water?" The question feels slightly pathetic, but since you know now that you're going to be stuck in this hospital bed for a while longer and not able to get back to the Stones to go back to Pero, then you'll start with water to soothe your cracked throat. "Of course," your doctor chuckles, nodding to you and Beth before he heads for the door again. "I'll have your nurse get you some and order a cot to be brought up. The rest of the team will be up to check on you soon, so try to rest." He advises and shuts the door softly behind him.

“So we get you feeling better and then we can go home—no, no, back to the Stones…” her eyes widen, and she nods as you start shaking your head. “Of course. We go back to the Stones to see if I missed him coming through?”

"He won't know how to find me," you remind Beth insistently. "We have to go back. O-or watch the news. A random grumpy Spaniard in medieval armor wandering around town is sure to get some attention."

Beth’s eyes widen, realizing that could be disastrous. “Oh shit, yeah, that would be bad. He would be trying to stab cars with his sword.” It’s funny in theory, but he would get arrested and that would cause a whole other set of problems. Movies that include time travel don’t really think about the logistics of that kind of thing.

“He knows what cars are.” You had explained so much to him over the months you had together, drawing little sketches for him on the hearthstones in charcoal before smudging them away. “In theory, I mean.”

“What is he like?” She asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

“He’s…” You crack a small smile, heart aching from being separated from him but relishing the chance to tell your best friend about your soulmate. “He’s grumpy,” you admit right away. “Ornery, you could say. But he has such a good heart, and—” A half-chuckle bubbles out of you unexpectedly. “He’s so fuckin’ hot, Beth.”

“Hot in that unbathed, sweaty kind of way?” She had no idea how the medieval times really were, but she can’t imagine there are too many baths or much attention to hygiene.

“Oh no, if I ever take that man into a Lush he’ll lose his mind.” Thinking of all the ways you can pamper him when he appears on this side of the Stones is going to be what gets you through missing him, you can feel it. “H-he…bought me a bathtub. Traded for it. The most beautiful buckskin for a bathtub that fits two.”

Beth’s heart melts at the thought of your soulmate providing for you. At least you had been taken care of while you were gone. “That’s so sweet. I always imagine sexy bathtub scenes in front of a hearth.”

“Guarantee you that the reality was hotter than whatever you imagined,” you smirk, going quiet for a second when the red-haired nurse returns with a pitcher of water and cups and departs again.

“I- honey, I have to ask….” she hesitates and then gestures towards your eye. “What happened?” It might be a sore subject, but it doesn’t look fresh and she knows you wouldn’t put up with abuse, so it’s not from your soulmate.

"I–" Laying back down fully in your nest of pillows and multiple thin blankets, you shut your eyes for a second and sigh. "I was attacked. I fought the guy off, but lost my eye in the process." There isn't any reason to burden her with all the ugly details, and you would rather not relive them anyway. "It was more than three years ago."

“I just can’t believe it.” You were gone for maybe seven minutes and yet you say you spent eight years where you were. Or, rather, when. “Bastard. I hope you killed him.”

"No..." Although if you were ever going to kill anyone, it would have been Magistrate Padrig in all his piggish bombacity. "But I helped his daughter run away and elope with her soulmate that he didn't approve of. Does that count as revenge?"

“Perfect revenge.” Beth agrees, reaching for your hand again. “I’m just- I don’t know what to say. It sounds so impossible but the things you have, what you were wearing….” she gives a small shrug and tries to make you laugh. “You got the live the Outlander experience.”

"Yeah," you huff, chuckling darkly and ending up coughing until Beth pours a small cup of water and helps you take a few sips. "Even got the nickname. I was Sassenach for years..."

Blinking owlishly at you for a few moments, the cup still up near your lips, she starts to laugh. “Oh my God, you didn’t name yourself Sassenach!”

"It wasn't me." In fact, you had had to excuse yourself to laugh about it soon after the nickname was used the first time. "But it turns out that medieval Highlanders really did use that word for outsiders. And I...I was definitely an outsider. After a while it just became a nickname. Very few people actually knew my real name."

“Like your soulmate?” She asks, smiling slightly when you nod. “What is your soulmate’s name?”

"Pero." Saying his name makes you ache all over again, a wave of sadness tinged with physical pain and plenty of fear as you look down at the gold band on your finger. "Pero Tovar."

Sensing that you are sad, she squeezes your hand gently. “You should rest.” She urges. “The faster we get you out of the hospital, the faster we can go back to the stones.”

"You have to go wait for him." Holding Beth's hand tighter, there is fear in your expression as well as enough desperation to sink a ship. "If he comes through he'll be panicked. You have to—" The clothing that you were wearing has been removed and replaced with a hospital gown, so when you reach for your cloak pin, it isn't there. "My cloak pin. Take my pin and go back to the Stones. Please, Beth? I told him about you. He'll know he can trust you."

She doesn’t want to leave you and she doesn’t want to go to the stones. However, the look on your face tells her that you won’t settle for anything else, You are stubborn like that. “I’ll go until it’s dark, but I’m not camping at the stones.” She warns you.

“Thank you.” You don’t want to admit how tired you are, considering how long you’ve been sick, but your body is screaming for rest after maybe twenty minutes of being awake. If Binx were here, you would hum to her until you fell asleep, with Pero’s nose buried in the crook of your neck as he drifted off right alongside you…and even the remote possibility that you may never see either of them again is tearing you in half. So sleep wins - for now, at least.

******

It’s bittersweet, watching you slap your hands against the stones repeatedly while crying out for the heavens and wildlife to hear. Beth stands guard silently, wishing she knows what would help you. Every day she has sat hear, waited for someone to appear, and every day she’s had to break your heart when she reports that no one has come. Never saying out loud that there might be a reason no Spanish mercenary had followed you, you wouldn’t want to hear that. But the thought remains as she holds her hands together in front of her to keep from reaching for you, from pulling you away from the stone.

"You don't understand!" Even through the curtain of violent tears, you aren't strong enough to pull out of Beth's arms as she drags you back to the rental car. They only released you from the hospital this morning, it's not as though you've been hitting the gym since you woke up five days ago. "He wouldn't leave me! I have to figure out how to make the Stones work!"

“He’s not here!” Beth snaps, trying to get you to into the car. “He’s not here, and you have to accept that.”

"How?" It's not her fault. It's not her fault and you know that deep in your heart. Shouting at her isn't fair. But you have to shout at something right now, or else you might just shut down completely and never speak again - so you turn your eyes up to the sky instead. "How am I supposed to do this? With magic, and family, and my soulmate on the other side of those FUCKING ROCKS and you won't let me go through again?!"

Beth’s heart breaks and she closes her eyes, dragging you close and into her arms for a bone crushing hug. “One day at a time.” She whispers softly, not letting you go and feeling you sob against her.

“I don’t want to.” The words, muffled against her jacket, shake through you with so much resolve that if you were her, you might be hauling her back to the hospital. “Not without him.”

“I know you don’t.” Losing your soulmate is supposed to be devastating and it seems like it is for you. Even though she’s never found hers yet, she doesn’t envy you the agony. “I know you don’t, sweetheart, but we have to go home. We have to.”

“I’m trying to.” You insist, though this time is more sad than angry. After checking every inch of your skin in the hospital and realizing that you had lost every one of Pero’s marks, you had had the first of what are now several breakdowns. The idea that he truly had not followed you through the Stones is devastating to process, but you’re convinced that it is the fault of the magic and not a lack of love.

“I know.” Beth loosens her grip on you enough to start rubbing your back. A small gesture that won’t make up for the heartbreak you are going through, but she doesn’t want you to feel like you are alone. “Why don’t we talk to the innkeeper?” She suggests softly. “If she hears talk of a Spaniard dressed like a RenFaire participant, she can call you.”

“Who knows how long it’s been for him, ya know?” Wiping your eyes barely does anything, but you work at the futile gesture anyway. “My eight years was eight minutes to you. It’s already been over a week.”

“Don’t think like that.” If you do, you will go insane because your soulmate, your Pero, would surely be dead. Although technically, he was very deceased.

"I hope that you meet your soulmate just walking into a normal building in St. Augustine. Totally normal meet cute on a totally normal kind of day." It isn't bitter, though you suppose it could be. It isn't Beth's fault, though. None of it is. You just never want her to have to feel the heartache of leaving your soulmate behind. Especially like this - since you had no say in the matter.

Sighing softly, Beth wishes she knew something to help you. Some magic words of wisdom that would make all of this alright. Even if she knows there’s nothing and this would just be a process. “We got lucky we got your passport expedited and can get home on time. Your demon kitty will be missing you.” She jokes, hoping to make you smile like it always does when she complains about your cat.

"Bowie is an angel." And even though you'll probably have another long, solid cry over missing Binx when Bowie is back in your arms, you are excited to see the handsome black and white cat again. "I hope he's not too mad that he had to be alone for so many extra days. Binx would have thrown a fit if I did that to her."

“Binx.” You had told her about your life, about the cat that was your familiar there in that time. That you had actual magic, fire that flew from your fingertips. “I’m sure that Pero is taking care of her. Or Arwena. You said she was a dear friend.”

"Binx won't leave Pero if she has a choice." Even remembering the sweetness of the two unlikely friends together after they had lived side by side in the cottage for weeks and months brings a small smile to your face. "By the time we left the cottage, she would bring her prey in from the cold and lay it at his feet to soak up all his praise."

Beth chuckles, imagining a fierce warrior praising a cat for the dead bird or squirrel that she brings into the house. “Then Bowie will love him. Put a dead mouse on his pillow.” She shudders, still swearing the evil cat had meant to make her scream loud enough she had lost her voice.

"I like cats that are good providers," you defend, even though you know that Beth hates that Bowie is such a mouser. "Wouldn't you rather have Bowie catch the mice than have them getting into our cupboards?"

“I would rather he not put them on my pillows!” Beth huff, even though she’s happy that you aren’t as forlorn as you had been moments before. “Give them to you. Or eat them.”

"He's a good boy. He just wants you to be proud of him." Sitting back in the car is awkward. Awkward in the same way that it's odd to be wearing panties and jeans and a bra and a sweater again. When you get back to Florida you might have to search out some of those Etsy shops run by historical costumers and get yourself a few pairs of basic stays - life without underwires and elastic marks in your torso was significantly more comfortable. "I guess..." You blow out a sigh and reach for the passenger side seatbelt to buckle yourself in. "I guess we should go back to the inn. And talk to the innkeeper, like you said."

It is a start, and one that Beth will happily take. She starts the engine and looks over at you with concern, you are still weak and recovering from your illness so you are tired. “Rest on the way back. Okay?”

"I'll try." You haven't told her that the last few days have been plagued with nightmares. It's why you had asked her to bring your laptop to the hospital a few days ago. Just to get your mind off your nightmares. And, more specifically, so you could sign up for a bunch of ancestry websites and try to research Arwena and Briac's family line as best you could from a thousand years in the future.

Honestly worried about you, Beth turns on some music, low and soothing in the background. Determined to drive slowly, she sets off back towards the inn that you had checked into on your innocent trip and that the inn keeper had so graciously extended your stay when you had fallen ill.

A mere twenty minute drive from the Stones back to the bed and breakfast in the middle of Inverness where you're sure there will be a three course meal waiting since Beth told the lesbian couple that runs the place that you were getting out of the hospital today. One of them had inherited the inn from her grandmother and the other had attended culinary school in Paris, so they combined forces to make a beautiful experience for their guests. And this week, that had meant sending Beth to the hospital with sack meals so she wasn't doomed to eat whatever came out of the vending machines after the hospital cafeteria closed for the night.

“Here we are.” Beth pulls up to the inn with a small sigh. You are still awake, but you are more relaxed than you had been before. “I bet you will be happy to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

“Yeah.” A real bed will be nice, but sleeping without Pero has been impossible. If not for being sick, you doubt you would have slept at all. “It’s…” You shrug slightly, looking down at yourself in the car. “It’s weird wearing pants again. I know that’s not really affecting anything in our lives right now, I just…everything feels a little weird right now for so many different reasons, and I’m grateful to you for sticking with me through all of it.” Reaching across the center console, you squeeze your best friend’s hand gently and offer her a smile. “A lot of people would have had me committed the second I started talking about time travel and magic. But not you. And I’m thankful for that.”

"Honestly, if I hadn't watched you disappear, I might think I was crazy." Beth admits, having replayed that time over and over again in her mind while she had sat at the stones. Too afraid to touch them herself now that she knows what could potentially happen. She gives you a small smile. "We will get through this like everything else....together."

“Thank you.” Small, soft words, but you mean them from the bottom of your heart. If the Stones won’t give Pero back to you - or let you go back to him - right now, then things are going to have to move forward. You’ve already made up your mind that you’re going to come back next Samhain and try again, wondering if there is some kind of rule that ties their abilities to that day. For now the best thing you can do is get strong again for whatever adventure lays ahead of you. “Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the inn. “Let’s go inside.”

Beth had warned the couple that your appearance and demeanor had drastically changed, not going into details why but just not wanting them to be overly shocked when they see you again. She's certain there will be questions, how could there not be? However, it was up to you to determine how much to tell them.

“Yer back!” Hadley - the elder of the two women who ran the inn - is tidying up the sitting room and setting out a jar of fresh homemade sweets when Beth helps you inside, and she almost succeeds in not flinching when she sees the scar on your face and how very different you look from when you had left the inn on Samhain morning. “Sarah’s just upstairs cleaning up after a check out. Can I make ye some lunch? Or tea, at least?”

Beth answers for you, feeling your tension from the day and knowing you need to eat. "That would be great." She smiles softly and keeps her hand around your waist, as if you need steadying. Maybe you do, even if you had been pretty damn resistant when she had been dragging you away from the stones. "Doesn't that sound good?"

“It does, thank you.” You nod, knowing that classical French cuisine like Hadley makes is going to be a hell of a lot tastier than whatever stew you were eating in the cottage. Even if it wasn’t bad, the vague memories you have of Hadley’s cooking are excellent.

There is a small sitting room, comfortable and inviting and that is where Beth guides you. Sure that you aren’t ready to face all the belongings you have from before your time away. It’s still mind boggling that you’ve lived eight years more in the span of a few minutes. Especially since you haven’t aged, nothing except your hair and your scar, or eye, would tell anyone that you had left.

“It’s been an unexpected week for ye, I’d say,” Hadley offers a soft smile because she’s not quite sure what else to say. “That’s putting it gently,” you laugh ruefully, shaking your head slightly and squeezing Beth’s hand. “I’m lucky to have the best friend in the world to get me through it.” Without Pero, Arwena or Briac, there’s no one you care more about in the world - past or present.

“Just sit down.” Beth insists, hovering and probably smothering you a little but she has a very real fear that if she blinks you would disappear again. Who knows if it’s just the stones?

"Yes, mummy." Teasing is habit - and a bit of a defense mechanism - and you shoot Beth a grin that makes her roll her eyes dramatically but smile anyway. The two of you settle down in a pair of armchairs while Hadley disappears into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with a tureen of soup and a heaping plate of scones to go with the tea tray that you swear she must have been balancing on her head or else how could she carry it all at once? "Luncheon," she pronounces, obviously ready to worry over you along with Beth.

“Good.” Beth gives Hadley a grateful smile and looks at the meal as she fusses over setting it up just so. “It looks delicious but then, everything you make is wonderful.”

"Oh, well, thank you hun." Hadley beams, setting a bowl of steaming hot potato leek soup and a cheddar scone in front of each you and Beth before taking her own. The tea, however, is what you go for first - practically groaning over the taste that you had been missing for eight long years. Tea had not come to Western Europe yet, and while you drank herbal tisanes often, there is nothing quite like a strong cup of Earl Grey.

Beth opens a scone and smears it with the clotted cream that she swears that is the best she’s ever had before she slides it onto your plate. She watches you carefully, wondering when you want to talk to the innkeeper about Pero.

It isn't until Sarah comes downstairs and sits down with the three of you to enjoy some lunch, that you clear your throat gently after pouring your second cup of tea. "I was wondering if I could ask you both a favor," you begin, looking between the couple apprehensively. You're not really sure how to explain this - or if you can explain it at all without sounding crazy.

Beth reaches over and takes your hand, silently giving you support because that’s all she can do right now. She couldn’t explain it properly if she tried.

"Of course." Sarah practically looks offended that you even think you need to ask. "There is someone that might...come looking for me. A man named Pero Tovar." Or at least you hope there will be, although that isn't entirely the same thing. It's semantics at this point. "If you hear about a Spaniard wandering around town, or causing a commotion, or something jokey about a man in costume coming to Inverness...would it be too much to ask you to call me and let me know? That's my soulmate and I...I would jump back on a plane to come see him in a heart beat. I just...w-we got separated. And I don't know how long it will take him to get here..." It's the best you can do, without explicitly mentioning the Stones or time travel, and you just hope Hadley and Sarah don't find it a suspiciously vague or too-odd story.

Sarah frowns and exchanges a silent, communicative glance with Hadley. The type that couples seem to develop over their relationship. “I will call you straightaway.” Sarah promises after a long moment, looking back towards you. “Pero Tovar, Spaniard, dressed in ‘costume’.”

"He can be a little...abrasive." Thinking of how grumpy Pero can be even when he's in a good mood just makes you smile - a melancholy little thing but a smile nonetheless. "But he's a good man. He's just...well, call it being a fish out of water."

“He will nah attack us, will ‘e?” Hadley asks bluntly. “Somethin’ we can say to calm ‘im down?” Sarah tuts slightly, thinking that Hadley could have put it slightly more tactful, but they both look to you for an answer.

"You can tell him--tell you know his Sassenach." That would get his attention at the very least, and they would have time to explain how they know you.

“Sassenach….” Sarah hums and she leans back to watch you for a minute with a small smile on her face. “He will come here or will we be tracking ‘im down?”

"I don't expect you to go searching for him," you clarify, knowing that that would be too much to ask of them. Even if they were your closest friends in the world, they have a successful business to run. They can't be combing the countryside for your lost husband. "But when - if - he does arrive...he'll be spotted first near the Stones at Craigh na Dun."

“Ahhhh.” Sarah looks positively triumphant as she twists her head and grins at Hadley. “I see.” She nods eagerly as she looks back towards you. “Of course, we will be calling you straight away.”

"Mo chridhe, no." Hadley shakes her head, her eyes practically pleading with her wife not to get so excited. "Lots of people go to the Stones. Tourists."

“It explains it, mo grá.” She is practically bouncing in her chair as she swings her head between her wife and the guests who obviously know the secrets of the stones. “You know it does.”

"It does not." Holding Sarah's hand a little tightly in her own, Hadley bites her lip and shakes her head. "Just because you have an odd auntie with fairy stories she claims are real, it doesn't mean the Stones are actually magic."

You practically fling yourself out of your chair, grabbing for Sarah's other hand like a lifeline. "You know someone?" You blurt out, eyes wide with a sort of desperate hope that you hadn't expected. "You know someone who came through the Stones?"

Her emerald green eyes blow wide and she looks at your desperation before she nods. “Aye, me aunt.” She tells you softly. “Claimed that she had travelled back in time. No one took her seriously. There have always been stories, rumors but no proof of the Stones powers.”

"I'd say this is proof." Putting a finger to your cheek, you touch the bottom of the scar crossing your eye that the women were kind enough not to mention or show a reaction to. "You both know I didn't have this a week ago."

“It wasn’t our business.” Hadley mutters quietly, biting her lip. “But it does look old. Unless you acquired a new soulmate? But that doesn’t explain….” the blindness.

“I was gone for eight years.” The relief you feel at having someone else who will believe you is enormous, and you feel like you’re practically shaking with it. Beth is an emotional bond that you won’t take for granted for a second, but you can’t ask her to do more than she already has. She spent the daylight hours of every single day this last week looking out for Pero for you. “Beth said it was no more than a few minutes to her.”

“The two of you were only gone for half the day before poor Beth was making a call from the hospital.” Hadley confirms, amazed that this conversation is happening.

“It was eight years for me.” And that fact is mind-boggling even for you. “Pero must have brought me back to the Stones because I was sick. But he—for some reason, I mean, the Stones I guess — he couldn’t come through with me. But I know that he’ll keep trying.”

Sarah deflates slightly, biting her lip and starts to speak before she gathers her thoughts. “All the stories I have heard have always been about someone going back and coming home.” She admits quietly. “Alone.”

“I won’t give up on him.” On that, you stand absolutely firm. Nothing in the world could make you doubt Pero. “I know he’s trying to get through just like I would if he had come through instead of me. I just…I’m just asking you two to keep an ear out. That’s all. Not to go searching through the woods for a confused mercenary.”

“Of course.” Both women bobble their heads immediately. “If we find a grumpy Spaniard with a scar on his eye and lookin’ like he belongs in the past, we call you straight away. No matter the time.”

“Thank you.” It’s nothing short of a goddamn relief that they’re so willing, and you sink back in your chair, exhausted. “I think I might need a nap,” you admit, knowing that meningitis has taken all the fight out of you and hating yourself for it. “But Sarah…would you…would you be willing to tell me about your aunt later? I’d like to hear someone else’s story about the whole thing. If that’s okay?”

“Oh no.” Hadley rolls her eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh that is softened with an indulgent smile. “You asked for it.” Sarah huffs and shakes off her wife. “I have the journals. And the stories from others. Legends, what have you. All in me library.” There is an excited sparkle her eyes as she thinks about all the material that has been gathered that she can show you.

“Maybe after dinner?” Being a bed and breakfast didn’t stop the couple from providing all meals to their guests upon request, and Hadley’s cooking really is remarkable. “Our flight is tomorrow afternoon, so I wouldn’t mind sitting up with a cup of cocoa and a story, if that’s okay.”

“It will give her plenty of time to drag everything out.” Hadley rolls her eyes and pats Sarah on the leg. “For now though dearie, you go upstairs and have yourself a nice sleep.”

Facing your things from your old life is daunting, and you’re grateful when Beth gets up from the table with you without hesitation. “I’m not going to freak out or anything,” you promise her, though the stairs do wind you a little. “I just…it’s weird. Really weird.”

“I know.” Beth has tried to imagine what it would be like to be in a certain existence for years only to be thrown back into your old one without any warning. You haven’t said that you weren’t planning on coming back, but she feels like you weren’t. That you were going to stay with your soulmate, no matter what time you lived in. “We’ll have to get you a new phone.”

"I'll have plenty of time to get one, since I'm on leave." It was probably a blessing, honestly, to be on leave from that job. After only a week and a half they would never believe that you had simply forgotten how to do your entire job. "I need a new wallet, too. New cards and everything. All my stuff ended up being thrown into a fire once I realized that I couldn't get back. I didn't want to leave evidence sitting around, ya know?"

“Smart. No one would believe that you had that perfect of a portrait painted. And not on canvas.” Beth snorts, imagining trying to explain that. “Did you- how much did you tell Tovar about your time?” She has taken to calling him by his last name, reserving the very intimate way you say Pero for you.

"A lot." You shrug again, unable to bring yourself to feel bad about it. "More than I should have, probably. Some things you just can't explain well, ya know? Like I don't think he ever wrapped his head around the concept of the internet or cell phones, but electricity? Running water? Cars? All that made sense to him once he believed I was telling the truth. I never embellished to tease him or anything, so he knew I was always being honest."

“It would be fun.” She gives a small, half smile. “Watching him explore a strange new world. We don’t have anything new here. Not like that.”

"We don't," you can admit that readily. "But I'll take a flushing toilet over a chamber pot any day of the week. And I won't mind going to the grocery store over having to hunt. Although...Pero is a magnificent hunter." At the door to the room you share, Beth pops in front of you and unlocks it with the antique key that fits the lock, but lets you go in first. "That's...that's how he got me to kiss him the first time. Which sounds weird, but it was a sweet moment."

She had questions, many of them after that statement but she doesn’t want you to share unless you want to. Knowing that you might want to keep something for yourself. “I do not know anything about hunting.”

"You would hate it." Knowing how sweet and gentle Beth is, you know she would rather starve than have to kill an animal and you fully respect that. "I was...I was teasing him." Having brought it up, the memory is brimming to be told. "We were out in the woods by the cottage on the edge of the village and I teasingly told him that if he could get us a rabbit for dinner, I'd be so glad I would kiss him." The room is welcoming and warm, but you're hesitant as you walk into it, seeing your own things set neatly on the far dresser where Beth clearly tidied them up while you were in the hospital. "He did it, of course, and it was...it was perfect, honestly. I knew I was completely ruined for kissing anybody else ever again."

“That good of a kisser? Or the soulmate connection?” She asks, curious about how a man from a thousand years before this time would kiss. It wasn’t like the basics of being human changed, but it’s a firsthand glance into history.

"Both, honestly." The bed on the right has your sweater folding on it and you sit down on the edge tentatively. The spring in the mattress makes it feel lighter than air, but very different than your down feather mattress in the cottage. The bounce takes you slightly off guard and you smirk at your own amused reaction. It's just a mattress, after all. "Like he was already a good kisser, but because he's my soulmate, it made it perfect and not just great."

“Sounds like he’s a good man.” She sighs wistfully. She’s always wanted to meet her soulmate but so far he hasn’t shown up yet. She sits down beside you and reaches for the bag she had snuck out of the hospital, containing all the things you had reappeared with.

"He is." You refuse to use the past tense for him, even though technically he is very much in the past. "We'll find your soulmate, Bethy. I promise. If I can find mine a thousand years ago, then we'll find yours no matter how hard we have to look."

“I hope we don’t have to look that far back.” Beth chuckles and shakes her head before she hands you the bag. “Here is the stuff you are more familiar with right now.”

"Thanks." The clothes are dirty, for the most part, but you distinctly remember having one clean chemise in the bottom of your bag that you dig for - pulling it out with a nearly triumphant flare. "Pants are nice, but I don't think I'll sleep in them ever again. These things are like the world's best nightgown."

“Is that- what do they call that thing again?” It’s more off white than the pure snowy white that is always depicted in the movies. “The undergown thingy?”

"A chemise." It's slightly misshapen, since it's one you made yourself, but it's comfortable and soft and you wouldn't trade it for anything. "And I'm not going back to bras, either. I'm going to track down somebody on Etsy that makes historical clothing and buy a few sets of stays." The confusion on Beth's face is clear and you dig into your bag again to pull out the corset-like garment. "See how it's not long like a corset, but still laces? It's all support and no underwear. It's great."

“Fucking shit.” Beth tilts her head and whistles at the contraption with interest. “I knew bras were torture devices created by men to punish women for their mommy issues.”

"I'm gonna get you one," you promise her, slinging your arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug for her amusement. "You'll see how awesome they are. And somehow also good for your posture? Which is great in a world where nothing is ergonomic."

“Jesus, I didn’t think about that.” Her eyes widen and she grins, pushing you back slightly so you fall back on the bed. “Get some rest!”

"Wake me up for dinner?" The expression you give Beth is completely puppy-eyed, but you don't really care. Not having to spend all day monitoring stew on the fire makes you feel positively lazy. "Hadley's cooking is way too good to miss."

“I will.” Beth promises, reaching out and caressing your cheek and pushing your hair back. “You get some rest, okay? Some real sleep without all the beeping.” Sleeping in a hospital is never very restful.

******

In the end it's about a five-hour nap for you, and when Beth wakes you up you can see that she's been on her laptop at the writing desk on the other side of the room while you were asleep. "Hey friend." Ungluing your eyes and yawning, you shift over in the overlarge bed so she can sit on the edge. "Everything sorted out for tomorrow?"

“Yeah.” Beth nods and sits down beside you. “I’ll pack you up when you’re talking to Sarah about…others who have experienced this.”

"You don't have to do that." The last thing you want is for her to feel like a servant, not when she's already done so much for you. "I can pack up a little now and finish in the morning before we have to leave for the airport."

“No, I want to give you a chance to talk to her and not worry about that.” She reaches over and takes your hand. “You don’t have a long time to learn and look over whatever she has, so use it.”

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to wait on me," you explain, gladly accepting the gesture of her hand in yours. "I know I'm in recovery and all that, but if I don't do at least a little bit every day I'll never build my strength back."

“I know, but I also know that you will have a lot taken out of you just with the dinner and research.” Beth huffs. You had gotten winded going to the bathroom at night.

"Yes, mummy." The tease makes both of you smile, and you sit up in bed with only a little bit of effort. "I'll get back to where I used to be. Apparently almost dying takes a lot out of you."

“I have to imagine that he was terrified of losing you.” Beth murmurs quietly. “To send you to a place he doesn’t know. If- he’s probably going insane in his time. Wondering if you’re alive.”

"I can't even imagine how worried he must have been when he couldn't follow." It brings tears to the surface almost immediately, thinking about how panicked you would be in his place. "I just hope...if it's been a long time for him, ya know? I hope they went to Spain like we were planning. To get Arwena and Briac settled. H-he was so happy about being able to go home again..."

“Shit.” Beth could slap herself as the tears start to fall and she wraps her arms around you again. “I’m a dumbass. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s okay…”

"No, it's okay." Sniffling back any kind of flood, you hug her tightly before letting go again. "I'm gonna cry sometimes talking about him. It's just...it's unavoidable. But that's better than never talking about him or pretending he doesn't exist."

“I know. Let’s get you freshened up so you can go gorge yourself on Hadley’s cooking.” Beth jokes, tossing you a smile.

"You're joking, but that's exactly what I plan on doing." You slip out of bed and throw a sweater and skirt on over your chemise, feeling more comfortable that you had earlier in the same sweater and jeans. The slippers you had packed for shuffling around in are soft and gentle on your feet, and you head downstairs with Beth a mere ten minutes after waking up.

Dinner is delicious, as always. Hadley outdoing herself with the food and Beth groans when she pushes back from the table, the food baby in her belly making her want to unbutton her jeans. “Holy cow, I should have worn a dress too.”

"I'm telling you, it's pure comfort." Groaning a little in your own right, your hands cup the empty water glass in front of you and you lean your forearms on the table. The inn's other guests - a pair of friends from Australia and an elderly couple from Wales - nod their agreement before getting up from the table to help Hadley clear the table. It was a true family style meal and that had kept conversation polite and light.

Sarah is obviously eager to get started and Hadley shoos you and her wife away from the table. “You two go on, I’ll handle this with all the other hands helping.”

“You’re a doll,” Sarah grins, and you follow her into the inn’s small library eagerly. There’s a dessert tray already set out with shortbread and two cups, and you have a feeling that either tea or cocoa will be on the menu later on when you both have room again.

“I pulled all the books that I have on it.” Sarah tells you, gesturing over to the coffee table with stacks of books. “Including auntie’s journal.”

“Wh-when did she go back to?” Knowing you aren’t alone — well, you always knew logically that you couldn’t be, but seeing the proof is completely different.

"From what she gathered, she went to 1692." Sarah pulls her journal out of the stack, a worn leather bound thing, and looks over at you curiously. "When was your time? Your soulmate's time? I've never heard of soulmates across time, but it's a fascinating idea."

“1692? Thank god she was in Scotland and not America.” You shudder a little even thinking of it. In 1692 in the Colonies, there is no way you could have escaped hanging at Proctor’s Ledge with the other accused witches of Salem. “When I left it was January 1006.”

"Gods and Goddesses be praised." Sarah whispers under her breath, eyes rounded in shock at how far back you had been sent. "It is a miracle you found him at all."

“He found me.” As usual, talking about Pero gives you both that undeniable swell of love in your chest and a sadness in the pit of your stomach. “He was all but dying from tuberculosis when his horse just walked him right up to my cottage. I’ll never really know why they were in that party of Brittany, but I’m grateful for it.”

Her brow wings up at what the man had been sick with and she shakes her head. “I guess that it is good he showed up at your door.” She murmurs softly. “Did your scars appear when you showed up there, from him, I mean?”

“Yes.” Accepting the journal in her outstretched hand, you run your fingers over the cover and sit back in your chair. “Did your aunt…was it an accident? Or did she go to the Stones hoping to travel?”

“It was an accident.” Sarah settles down beside you before she snaps her fingers. “Would you like a brandy? A sherry? Sometimes telling a story is better with a stiff drink in your hand.”

“I’m not supposed to…” The shrug you give her is weak. “Medications and all. But please, you go ahead. I’m just happy to have indoor plumbing and central heating back.”

She snorts and bites her lip as she stands and moves over to the beverage cart. “I can’t imagine. I mean, I can, but you lived it. More than any RenFaire experience.”

“Think about the least luxurious camping trip you’ve ever been on, and then take away all your little luxuries.” The chuckle you let out is low, but you have to admit it’s the truth. As far as environment went, anyway. “It wasn’t all bad. Truly. I met some genuinely kind people and had wonderful friends. And learned that I am a lot stronger than I think I am.”

“Did you—” Sarah breaks off the question as she brings her drink over and sits back down. It’s a touchy subject and one you might not be okay with answering.

“Did I…?” You prompt, not wanting her to hold back. “We’re sharing stories tonight, Sarah. If it’s something I don’t want to talk about, I’ll say so. But you can ask.”

“Did you have the ability to…do things there that you can’t here?” Sarah asks candidly. “Auntie said that she had magic in the time she was there.”

“I—” You stare, wishing you knew this woman well enough to just reach over and hug her. “I was…a healer. Ironic, considering I couldn’t even take care of myself.” As if you haven’t had that thought enough this week. “I mean…I know there are other witches in my family. My mother gave it up before I was born but I joined a coven years ago. I just…I was so much more powerful there.”

“I’ve often wondered if that’s why some can pass through and others can’t.” Sarah admits, taking a sip of her brandy and staring at the amber liquid as it swirls in her glass. “If magic is required, even in minuscule amounts. Auntie said that magic then was more powerful because technology has taken over in this time.”

“I’ve heard that said.” Your grandmother used to claim it was the case, before your mother caught wind of her teaching you about the old ways and cut off contact. “I wish there was some kind of clue about how they work.”

“The stones?” Sarah hums and looks over at the books and handwritten accounts that she has preserved. She didn’t amass them, her family did, she just continued on the tradition. “I personally think that they do what they want, when they want. That it’s all foretold.”

"If that's true, it's not very comforting." It's downright maddening, actually, that the Stones would bring you to your soulmate only to separate you again for seemingly no reason.

“I know.” She can’t help that, although it doesn’t help your situation. “I am not certain though. We may never know.” She bites her lip and looks over at you with cautious optimism. “Would you be willing to tell your story? Have me record it? For the legacy of the stones and a record of it?”

"It isn't an entirely pleasant tale," you warn her, knowing that there are parts of your story that would have you in therapy for years if telling them to a professional wouldn't land you in an inpatient facility. "But if it can help...if maybe one day we can figure out how the Stones work because of me or your auntie or other people who went through?" You nod and offer her a smile. "Then I think we're going to need a pot of tea."

"I promise that it will be very closely guarded." Sarah smiles reassuringly and sets her brandy down. "I would ask for a written account, but it would be easier to just record it, right? If you want, we can just record the audio, if it makes you more comfortable?" She wants the account for her information collection, but she doesn't want to push for more than you want to give.

“Since we only have one night, it might be easier to record it for now.” Curling up in the armchair, you pick up a shortbread cookie from the tray and smile a little at the large grains of baker’s sugar on top. After eight years without cane sugar, these are going to be so sweet. And amazing. “If I remember anything later in that I forgot to tell you, I can always write you a letter?”

"Absolutely. This is your story." Sarah assures you. "What you wish to share or keep to yourself is yours to decide."

“Well, it starts a few days ago, lasts several years, and then ends up here again.” Only one other person has heard all of it. Only Pero. But not even he knows where the journey is headed now. “Let’s put the kettle on and dive in.”

******

Beth sighs as the door to the apartment you share is pushed open and immediately your cat starts to cry. Yowling like he’s been murdered even though she sent her parents over to feed the darn thing and make sure the litter robot you had splurged on was clean. “Well, here’s your welcome committee.” She jokes, aware that you are tired after the international flight.

“My baby!” Immediately dropping everything, you nearly fall forward to scoop the chunky black and white cat up in your arms to be rewarded with his powerful purr box roaring to life immediately. Even Binx, for all her glorious cuddles when she was in the mood to give them, never quite purred the way Bowie does. After crying behind a pair of sunglasses through two airports and most of the flight, being back in your apartment is disquieting. When you had imagined coming back here, it was with Pero’s hand in yours and the eager excitement of showing him what the world will become. Instead, you feel like your heart is completely hollow - and maybe if you’re lucky, the purring might start to fill it a little.

She handles everything. Luggage, transportation home, getting everything into the apartment. Just letting you mourn like you need to. Fresh tears appear as you cling to Bowie and Beth heart breaks all over again, slightly moving around you to take care of getting the door closed and takes your bag to your room before depositing her own. Groceries would need to be ordered, but she will take care of that, knowing you aren't up for it. Instead, she wishes that you knew what had happened to the man who is your soulmate, maybe it would give you some closure.

“Beth?” In the doorway to her room with Bowie in your arms, you lean against the door frame and wish you knew how to say what you felt. How grateful you are to her that she has been so helpful and so supportive. How dearly you value her friendship and who she is as a person. “I-I just…I thought about you every day. That should have been the first thing I said to you. How much I missed you. A—and…” When your voice breaks again you just shrug it off and press a kiss into Bowie’s fur. “I love you. And I missed you. That’s what I wanted to say.”

"I can't pretend that I know what you went through, or what you are going through now." Beth leaves the bag on the bed, willing to unpack later and walks over to you. Bowie bristles at her slightly but doesn't hiss, turning and burrowing into his favorite person in the world. "But I- I am glad you are here. I don't know what I would do without you."

“Looks like you never have to find out.” Hugging her with Bowie between you gets barely any protest from the cat - he just snuggles into you more determinedly and you press your forehead to Beth’s with a sigh. “I just wish he were here too. That’s all.”

"We'll go back next year." Beth promises you, the same promise she has given you for the past three days. Knowing that you need to hear that you can go back and stand at the stones with your hand against them for days if you need to.

“This vacation was…not what we imagined.” Huffing a laugh, you wipe the dried tears from your cheeks and tip your chin back to leave an affection kiss on your best friend’s forehead. “I’ll let you unpack, honey. I have eight years of Bowie snuggles to catch up on.”

"Remember to him that it's only been two and a half weeks." Beth chuckles and shakes her head. "I'll order some groceries and we will get you all settled in."

“Thank you.” As many times as you’ll say it, you can really never say it enough. When your world turned upside down, she didn’t run or hide or abandon ship - she doubled down and reminded you exactly why you call her Ride or Die.

"Of course. Do you want pizza for dinner? Or hell, we could even order Chinese." Beth offers, shooting you a grin. Things will slowly get better; it will just take one day at a time. You've been through a lot.

"Let's stick with pizza tonight." Ordering Chinese will just give you yet one more pang of wishing Pero was here, telling you stories of his time at the Wall and all the shit he used to get into with William. "Whatever toppings you want. I'm just excited for pizza."

Beth snorts and grins at you. "Of course." She hums. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't contrive a ninth century version of a pizza."

"No tomatoes." You shrug, laughing half-heartedly. "They come from the Americas, and it was way too early for that. Plus...no mozzarella." Really, though, you have to laugh at how well she knows you. "I did get pretty good at a kind of flatbread-style thing with cooked down carrots and melted cheese. I'll make it for you some time when you're craving medieval eats."

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Beth mutters, less than eager to try it. To be fair, she hates mushy carrots so that isn’t entirely her fault. “I’ll go order the pizza, call out if you need help.”

“It’s better than it sounds!” You call after her as she heads back down the hall, and you end up following her back out to the living room just so you don’t have to face your old bedroom alone quite yet. Remembering how all the bullshit on your smart tv works will be bad enough for now.

“Yeah right!” The kitchen is where she’s headed to now, needing to dump out the milk that might have lasted if you came back on time, but it was now sour. Assessing how much cat food Bowie has left since she’s 100% sure her parents over fed him. She opens the cabinet you use for a pantry and hums. “Do you want me to order more tea too?”

“Please.” There’s no question that you’ve pretty much been drinking your body weight in Earl Grey the last few days, and the doctors seemed to be okay with it so you are, too. “And…this is going to sound incredibly dumb.” Skirting the kitchen counter, you go to stand next to her at the cupboard. “Could we get some fresh fruit? I can barely remember what bananas taste like, but I know I used to love them.”

“All the fresh fruits.” Beth nods and quickly opens the app to add them to the cart. “We will have fruit for days!”

“And no more dealing with a beehive to get honey.” Roping one arm around her waist, you hug Beth to your side and remind yourself to smile. Grieving doesn’t mean that you can’t appreciate a few good things here and there.

“Yikes.” Being allergic to bees and wasps makes Beth shiver slightly. “Yeah, that would have been all you. I would be going without honey.”

“All those videos about beekeeping and bread baking and the whole cottagecore movement during Covid was actually kind of helpful,” admit. Rifling through the cupboards with her is oddly soothing and a little fun - letting you get excited about foods you had been missing. “If I hadn’t been watching that living history museum’s YouTube channel for ages, I might have been pretty screwed. Thank god I’m a nerd, I guess.”

“Well, you certainly are an expert on ninth century life.” She jokes, bumping your hip. “You should set up a little knowledge center. Like Colonial Williamsburg.”

You snort, trying to imagine how that would even work on a logistical level. “If anyone tries to argue technicalities with me, I’ll just start babbling about magic until they leave me alone,” you joke.

“Do you want to recreate the Salem Witch Trials? They already do that in Mass.” Beth snorts, shooting you a grin.

“Aw, come on.” A good-natured roll of your eyes makes you both laugh again. “This is Florida. I’ll just keep a jar marked ’bath salts’ in clear view and no one will even blink if I start to sound crazy.”

It shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but Beth can’t help but giggle and nod in agreement that it would be overlooked as ‘Florida being Florida’. “We’ll build up a small cottage and pray the gators don’t take it over.”

“I’ll go from being a Sassenach to a big witch.” Of course the whole thing is a joke, but laughing helps immeasurably. You feel less like you’re going to be torn in two by your own heart when you can laugh with Beth. “I…um…I was thinking about something. On the flight, I mean. And I was kind of wondering what you would think of me spending my medical leave trying to find traces of Pero or Wena and Briac in history? I know it’s a long shot, but if—if I can’t be at the Stones, and I can’t get back to them at all…I need to at least try to know what happened to them.”

“I was honestly wondering when you were going to try to look for them.” Beth admits, knowing how you work after being your friend for so long. “I think it makes sense. Knowing what happens, if you can, would be a godsend. Do you remember Briac’s surname?”

“They called this family Lannion, because that is where his father came from.” Surnames still were not terribly commonplace in Brittany in that century, so it is a slightly sticky subject to wade through. “He would be Briac Lannion, or Briac Tovar, if he decided to change his name.” There is not a single shadow of a doubt that those two amazing teens would take Pero’s name and present themselves as a loving family. “It’s just…not that many records have survived from that period, and it might take a long time to find even a trace of them. I just don’t want you to think I’m losing it or something. If you were the one left back there, I would be looking just as hard for you.”

“Honey….” Beth abandons the peanut butter jar to see how much she had left to reach out and grab your hand. “You do what you need to do in order to cope. I won’t think you’re crazy. You’ve just- you’ve gone through something very few other people have had to go through.”

“And I can’t go to therapy about it, so I guess amateur historian is the next step.” That warns you a soft chuckle from her and you hug Beth tightly before picking up the peanut butter jar and waggling it in her direction. “What would you say if we ordered a package of Oreos to go with this bad boy?”

“Double stuffed?” She asks, as if she needs to. Oreos and peanut butter are the ultimate comfort food.

“Is there any other way?” This will be the way to do it. Small doses of comfort. The idea of returning to your old normal. Nothing about this life is bad, per se, it just has an unfortunate lack of Pero Tovar. Which, from the disappearance of his shared scars, seems like something you will have to get used to.

******

It’s been months. Four months since your world completely changed and you are slowly starting to come back to yourself. Beth worries, hovers really, but you don’t let her do everything anymore. She grunts as she shifts boxes in the storage room you have, tilting her head when she sees the markings on the box. Carrying it out of the room and down the hall, she pushes your door open. “Look what I unearthed.”

The big shipping label on the unopened box reads your grandmother’s home address from before she went into hospice - when your aunt and cousins were helping her pack things up and distribute them between family members and your mother had continued her mantra of Grams being ‘dangerous’ somehow. Because you had listened to her then, the box remained unopened after its arrival. “I guess it’s about time I took a look,” you admit, scooting over on your bed so Beth can set the thing between you.

“Do you want some privacy?” That has been the question that most frequently falls from Beth’s lips, rather than ‘how are you feeling?’ since your health has improved.

“No, it’s okay.” Setting down the cup of tea in your hands, you instead reach for the nearby butter knife from your afternoon snack to slice the tape open. “It’s not like I had much of a relationship with her. I don’t know what she could have even left me.”

She’s never really heard you talk about this grandmother of yours, so she sits on the edge of the bed with idle curiosity as you open the flaps. Bowie is stretched out beside you with his eyes closed but as soon as the cardboard opens, his head pops up and he lets out a yowl.

“Bow-baby, don’t be so dramatic,” you scold him, rolling your eyes fondly at the cat’s antics. The top layer of the box is packaging, of course, then a beautiful wool shawl that looks like it must have been hand-made sometime many decades ago. A small jewelry box holds a few trinkets like an old claddagh ring and a set of earrings with a perfectly matching necklace that remind you of all those Alphonse Mucha posters your friends had in their college dorm rooms. Under that is a large square - something heavy wrapped in tanned leather that feels weighty not because it is actually heavy, but because it feels magical. It almost seems to pulse in your hands like it has its own heartbeat, and Bowie yowls again in objection before diving off your bed and hiding in his kitty castle on the other side of the room. “What the hell?” When you pull the leather wrap off, the book is bound in beautiful dark mahogany stained leather, but there is no title. The binding is cracked and worn, there are tears in pages sticking out at odd angles, and it smells as much like your old herb stores as it does like a book.

“What is that?” Beth leans over, intrigued by the worn leather and the smell. It doesn’t smell musky, but it smells old, treasured. Like how she imagined archeology sights smelled when she was going through her Indiana Jones phase.

“I’m not sure.” Putting the protective layer aside, you carefully lay the book out in your bed between you and open the cover. In the inside of the cover is an elaborate illustration of what might be the symbolic tree of life, and a few flowers labeled with names in what you recognize as Middle French. The fly page has more drawings with names in what seems like Middle Spanish, and someone had come in later and added names in modern English underneath everything for convenience. The next page is the one that makes you stare, choking on a gasp and pulling away from the book all at once like it’s burned you. Balance is the key is written out in the center of the page. In your handwriting.

Instantly Beth is snapping to attention “what’s wrong?” She demands, looking at the book and then your hand to make sure that nothing sharp was on the pages that cut you.

“Do you remember that I told you about the grimoire I made for Arwena?” The way your voice shakes when you ask makes you sound almost like your teeth are chattering. It had come up a few times over the last few months, usually when you were trying to remember the exact proportions of ingredients in a potion. Magic in the twenty-first century takes much more concentration and intention.

“Yes?” Beth furrows her brow in confusion, looking back at the book. “You wrote down your spells and potions for her to use when you decided you were going back the first time. Before you decided to stay with Pero, right?” Even if her heart had clenched when you admitted that, she hadn’t held it against you. It was your soulmate after all.

"Look." Picking up the book as gingerly as you possibly can, you turn it so that Beth can see the page it is laying open to. After years upon years of friendship and working in the same office, you would know her handwriting anywhere - and you know she knows yours just as well.

“Is- holy shit.” Beth whispers, eyes wide and jaw nearly unhinged. “How did your grandmother get the grimoire you wrote a thousand years ago for Arwena?” You’ve talked about Pero, Arwena and Briac so much that Beth feels like she knows them. At least she wishes all of your friends could gather for a drink at the local pub.

"I have no idea." The tears fall freely and immediately, though you're careful not to let them fall on the book. Each page is brittle and requires a delicate touch, but it's obvious that these are the pages that you wrote out for Arwena six months and a thousand years ago. "I can't believe it's survived..." Some of the pages in your handwriting have been amended by other people later on, and the pages directly afterward are clearly in Arwena's looping hand. Seeing it again brings on more tears, but they are such joyful ones that you don't even mind the heartache that comes with them.

“She must have added on to it.” Beth whispers, amazed that the book has not been destroyed through carelessness or by time itself. It honestly belongs in a museum.

"It wasn't just her." As you move further and further through the book, it's clear that it has been rebound and added to several times. Sections of pages vary in color, the handwriting changes periodically, and the annotations get fewer the further in you thumb, purely by virtue of fewer readers having tested and adjusted the spells. "How many other people have added to this over the centuries? I mean...this thing is huge now. When Wena gave me the notebook, it was maybe the size of a novel."

“This is proof that they lived, thrived.” Beth rushes out excitedly. “Is there anything about the family in there? A history? Where they went?”

"The fact that some of it is in Middle Spanish might mean that they went to Valencia." Flipping back to the original section of the grimoire and Arwena's carefully constructed spells, you squint at a page bearing the ingredients to a paste that treats 'hede and tooth payn in bebitas' and smile. "Wena's handwriting, with a few words of Spanish here and there. And...oh my god..." Down in the corner of the page, there is and added note: 'Keyp calendula buds farr from tine hands. Pero lyks to et them. "They really did name their son after him like they said they would..."

“That’s so sweet.” Beth bites her lip, knowing that you might need a moment, so she stands up. “I’m going to make us some tea, how does that sound?” She asks softly, smiling at you. “I’ll be right back; you have that cry if you need to.” It’s not about abandoning you, she’ll be back with a cup of soothing tea, but she wants to let you reminisce without answering the inevitable questions she would have.

When you nod, Beth takes your empty teacup from your nightstand and squeezes your shoulder gently before leaving you alone with the book. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, after having come up with absolutely nothing in your search through historical records. The immense number of ways records could get lost or destroyed in a thousand years meant that even if little Pero Lannion had his birth and baptism recorded in the parish church in Valencia, any of a hundred different things could have happened to the church’s books. A stray set of barely inked paw prints makes you choke on a sob. Arwena’s handwriting on the page giving you the unshakeable feeling that they must be Binx’s prints, which means the entire family - your entire family stayed together at least for a short time. The page is a protection spell, something meant for the well-being of a traveler, and the note at the bottom of the page is even more alarming than seeing Binx’s paw prints in ink: “Toomorow Pero returns to th’ Stons w’ thys enchaentmont upon his ryng forr sayfe kipping.”

Beth tries to take her time with the tea, knowing you need your own space to go through the book. Except she hears a small cry and the spoon drops back into the cup and she rushes back into your room. “What’s wrong?”

“He went back!” With your heart pounding a mile a minute you feel like you have to shout to be heard above your own boiling blood. “Look! Wena enchanted his wedding ring with a protection spell the night before he left.” You’re shaking slightly as you turn the book to her, pointing at the bottom of the page frantically.

Beth’s heart sinks slightly, knowing that it’s a blessing and a curse to know that. There’s no accounting for him between the time he left and when he made it to the stones...if he did at all. “That’s great.” She manages brightly, plastering a smile on her face.

"You don't think it's great." As much as she might try, you've known each other too long and too well to be able to get that stuff past one another.

Beth sighs, unable to lie to you when you ask. She nods towards the book and gives a helpless shrug. “I just- I’m afraid that you’re going to be waiting forever. Especially now that you know he tried to go back to the stones.”

"Of course I'll always be waiting for him." It's almost silly, to you at least, the way you love him on such a deeply instinctual level and the way you know that he loves you too. "But the stories Sarah had from other people who have gone through...even if he had made it through the first time, that doesn't necessarily mean he would have arrived at the same time as me. Apparently my reappearing ten minutes after I went through is a complete anomaly. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason as to when people appear on the other side. It's as if the Stones decide." Looking down at the book again, your thumb brushes over Pero's name in ink with affection. "This just proves that he didn't give up trying."

It’s a touching way to look at it, but Beth is also practical. There is a good possibility that Pero Tovar died in his time, after all, you don’t have any of his scars anymore. Her real fear is that you will spend your lifetime waiting for a man who isn’t coming.

"I don't plan on dating again or anything like that," you tell her, looking back down at the book in your lap like you can dispel its secrets if you just ask it nicely. "He is my soulmate. My husband. Even if it was only legally true for a day. So yes, I will always be waiting for him. But I don't view that as a bad thing. I-I'm just sorry that it makes you worry."

“I - I’m always going to worry.” At least you’ve come out and said it. Making your wants known and Beth reaches up and pets your head gently. “You would do the same if it were me.”

The moment of silence that falls between you as you look at each other is surprisingly calming. The love you have for your best friend, and she for you, is completely different but just as thoroughly bonding. You really will never let go of each other, and that means the world to you. Especially after everything you’ve lost. “I would,” you agree finally. “I really would.”

Another moment passes where Beth just hugs you, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing you tight before she pulls away. “I still want to know why you have Arwena’s book now.”

“I do, too.” It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore, frankly, and you look down at the book again with curiosity. “It’ll take a while to read the whole thing, but maybe I’ll find some clues as I go through it?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Beth agrees, standing up. “I’m going to finish making that tea while you look through it. I know it’s even more special to you now.”

Truth be told, it would have been something interesting but not terribly meaningful as an heirloom. But now? It is easily the most precious thing you own.

******

It would take endless days of meticulous reading and deciphering before you found the answer. Some handwriting was messy, some non-standardized spellings nearly impossible to make it. Some ink has been made cheaply and faded over time only to be retraced by later hands with more reliable materials. It’s a work of art, really. A careful compilation by dozens of women, and even a few men, over hundreds of years. But it is the sturdy pocket in the back cover that holds the answer to how Arwena’s grimoire made it back into your hands. It’s a Sunday morning when Beth drags herself out of bed late that you find it. There are pages upon pages stacked in the back cover’s protective leather folder, and at first you thought you were losing your mind. Too overcome with grief at not finding the answers in the book’s pages to be setting things correctly. But there was your name at the top of the first page, spelled out plainly in a hand that you recognize as belonging to the book’s fourth contributor - Arwena’s granddaughter, Almunia. It’s a list. A very long list of names, but it’s clear - they are the names of all of the women and men who contributed to the book’s contents over time. Some even have places listed beside them, though it is unclear if it is where they were born or simply where they lived.

“Hey.” Beth yawns and shakes off the last dredges of sleep as she shuffles into the kitchen where you have the book spread out over the dining table. “You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” She asks, patting your shoulder as she moves into the kitchen to make coffee for herself.

“I got up early.” If she knew how early she’d probably be upset, but you still have trouble sleeping without Pero. “Look at this.”

Once the water is dumped in the holding tank, she throws a filter into the basket and dumps in three scoops of coffee before turning it on. “What did you find?” Her robe winds around her body as she shuffles over and pulls out a chair beside you.

“There was a folder built into the binding. I’ve seen it in notebooks before but never anything like this.” Carefully showing her the way the back cover of the grimoire accordions open, you tap the top of the first page in front of you just as delicately. “Arwena’s granddaughter started a list of all the book’s contributors, and…look.”

Beth looks at the list of the contributors and frowns, shaking her head. “Why would your grandmother be a contributor?” She asks, tilting her head as she examines the page.

“Look at the names on the page before.” Shuffling the papers carefully, you show her a dozen more names that are much more modern than anyone called Arwena or Almunia. “Now look at this.” To the left of you, your laptop is open to the painstakingly researched family tree you have been working in over the last four months. Each name from the list of grimoire contributors lines up with the women in your family going back more generations than you can easily show - you would have to spread it out all over the wall like a madwoman. “I think…” Your throat catches as you look up at Beth with wonder and disbelief in your eyes. “I think this is my whole family.”

“Wait—” Beth blinks and shakes her head before looking between the list and the family tree. “You think you’re Arwena’s relative? That she’s your ancestor?” It’s not exactly crazy, but what are the odds?

"Sarah says that the Stones send you to where you need to be." It was something you had talked over with the innkeeper many times since returning home, as the two of you text regularly. "What if...what if I went when and where I did...to make sure that I could help Arwena and Briac?" The thought is as comforting as it is heartbreaking, honestly, and you look back down at the book in awe. "If I hadn't been there, she would have had that monster's baby and been forced to marry him. She never would have even known Briac was her soulmate, let alone get to spend her life with him. A-and...and I'm the one that taught her magic..."

“Well if that isn’t the never-ending circle.” Beth quips, finding it far too early to be dealing with life altering revelations without coffee. “It means that you are basically responsible for your entire family tree.”

"I guess..." you blow out a breath, eyes tracking back up to Beth as she walks back over to the coffee pot. "I guess I kind of am."

“Wow.” Beth pours a cup of coffee and adds way too much sugar before she comes over and sits down beside you again. “There’s something that I need to talk to you about.” She admits quietly, fidgeting slightly.

"Anything." God knows you talk to her about enough weird shit, the least you can do is sit up straight and give her the focus she deserves.

“I—” Beth blows out a breath with a nervous giggle. “Might have met my soulmate.” She’s been very hesitant to bring this up because of Pero but he wants to meet you.

"What?" You practically jump out of your chair, ready to hug the ever-loving shit out of her as soon as she puts her coffee down. "Are you sure? How? Where?!" Of course it makes you miss Pero - but since you have never stopped missing him, it hardly changes how you feel. Only adding the fact that you are excited for your friend.

“He- he goes to my gym.” In the concerted effort to get fit, she had signed up for a gym membership. Also allowing you to have some privacy on nights where you needed to mope but not have company.

"Honey, that's amazing." Though you do smirk at her slightly, knowing her as well as you do. "So how many nights are you actually spending at the gym versus how many nights have you been with him?"

She rolls her eyes, but the way she ducks her head gives her away. “I haven’t seen the inside of that gym in six weeks.” She admits with a laugh.

"Beth!" Knowing she goes out at least three nights a week with a gym bag on her shoulder just makes you laugh, but it subsides a little when you register how long she just said. "Six weeks? When did you meet him?"

“Two months ago.” She knows you might be upset at her, but there was no way she was going to smoosh her growing happiness in your face while you are still mourning.

"I—" You stuff your hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, feeling more than sheepish in the face of why she kept this completely life-changing piece of information from you. She was being gentle. Letting you grieve and readjust to the life you left behind. "I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me," you murmur, knowing that you probably would have done the same in her place. "But I'm also very glad you're happy."

“I—you’re doing so well.” Beth stresses. “I didn’t want to make you relapse or…” she gives a helpless gesture, knowing you will understand.

"I'm always going to miss him." Hopefully now that Beth has met her own soulmate, she understands a little bit better how deeply your love for Pero has embedded itself in you. "But I don't want it to mean missing out on your life."

“I know. I was just wanting to give you some time - hell, give myself time.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s different with him.”

"That's because he's your soulmate." You hum, seeing the happy grin spread fully across her face. "Now. Tell me everything."

“His name is William and he has these beautiful watery blue eyes.” Beth gushes, the floodgates opening now that you seem to be handling it well. “Kind of dirty blonde but I like it better dark when it’s wet.”

"You and your blue-eyed men." She has a history full of them, and you had teased her one year by making her a little rag doll 'Perfect Boyfriend' that had blue glass beads for eyes. "What does he do?" Popping up from the table, you snag her hand and bring her back into the kitchen, deciding you'll make brunch while she gushes over her new man. Bacon and waffles sound like a perfect start to the day.

“Private security.” She tells you, taking another sip of her coffee. “The reason why he was at the gym. Getting ripped to protect people.”

“We like a man strong enough to fight but soft enough to snuggle.” You waggle your eyebrows at her and grin. “Come on. It’s been two months. I know you’ve fucked him by now.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to braaaaaaggg.” She laughs, rolling her eyes at you and picking up her coffee mug to hold it very saucily aloft. “It’s amazing.”

“Brag all you wanted, honey. I’m happy you’re happy.” And miraculously, even with the way it tugs at your heart, you’re not having to convince yourself that it’s true. Just maybe…the fact that Pero’s best friend was named William can be saved for later.

______

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