Clan Donnachaidh

“I’m so sorry, Sassenach, I only meant to—“

Claire’s hand raised in supplication as she interrupted him, “Don’t worry about it—“

“No really, I shouldnae have—“

They were both aware of their jabbering on but for some reason were unable to stop. Knowing that whatever came out of her mouth next would be just as useless, Claire snatched the offending item from his hands.

It was then that Jamie realised that she had the tiniest excuse for a towel wrapped around her.

“Christ, I’m sorry! I brought you another towel, a… well, a bigger one.” Jamie gestured to the bed and tried to ignore the feeling of the embarrassment burning the tips of his ears. “Ye’ll be wantin’ breakfast and coffee, I’ll see to it.”

And with that, he practically threw himself out of the room and down the stairs, cringing at the sound of Claire’s quiet giggling.

When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed in a t-shirt and comfortable joggers much to Jamie’s disappointment, she snorted at his inability to meet her eye.

“If I’d known a simple bra was enough to set you off, I would’ve been more careful,” she joked as she crossed the flagstone floor in her bare feet and took up residence on the bench that ran the length of the kitchen table. “Big Jamie Fraser, scared of a woman’s underthings.”

He made sure she caught the rolling of his eyes as he placed her mug of coffee in front of her.

“I am more than acquainted with underthings, just…” he trailed off before he embarrassed himself.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Ye’ll tease me,” he replied, the mischief in his own voice making her smile even wider.

“And when have I ever done something like that?”

Her fake indignation was adorable. Jamie felt his body coming alive, acknowledging the gentle ribbing that had always been so easy between them. And he also recognised the simmering tension that lay beneath it all but this time, he wasn’t afraid of it or trying to hide it. And so he placed both of his large hands on the table and leaned forward, his shoulders rounding out underneath his t-shirt which he was pleased to see had caught Claire’s eye, just as her lower lip was caught in her teeth.

He realised that they had never really flirted before. And realised how much he liked it.

Deciding that teasing her was too fun, he pulled away just the second that she instinctively moved towards him, now looking at his mouth. Claire shook her head with a start when he put the distance between herself, as if she had been surprised by being in his game of cat and mouse. Jamie decided to take pity on her and tell her the truth.

“It wasnae the bra itself. More… the colour,” Jamie cleared his throat before turning back to the stovetop to dish up breakfast, continuing. “Ye’ll think me a lecher but ’tis similar to the one you wore in Amsterdam.”

All the bravado, the confidence that he felt moments earlier evaporated with every second of silence that filled the room. When he finally turned back to face her, he was surprised to see a calmness across her face. Her head ducked as she fiddled with a curl, looping it around her index finger before pushing it behind her ear only for it to spring back to it’s original place.

“That was rather intentional, actually. I did that, over the years. Little things that brought me comfort whenever I felt alone. It was almost like I… well, kept parts of you with me.”

Well, he thought, this is new.

Last night’s confessions had paved the way for the truth to be laid bare in front of the other. It felt like they were talking together for the first time in years.

As Jamie took his seat across the table from her, he yielded, “Aye, suppose I did the same.”

Without shame or shyness, he brought his hand up in front of his body, offering her his palm. She stared into his eyes, not sure of the gesture, but instinctively took his hand in hers, bringing her line of sight down at his open hand.

“What is that? Is that—?”

Her fingers traced over the C that he had cut into the mound of his palm that day on the beach.

“I know it’s a bit dramatic but I think ye ken that about me already, Sassenach,” he grinned wryly, earning a laugh. “I wanted a way to remember you always, to tuck you away in my heart and know that my body would forever be marked by you as my heart had.”

Jamie watched as Claire’s eyes filled with tears, one solitary tear spilling over her lash line and trailing down her cheek. As he went to brush it away with the hand that she still held in hers, she swooped down and pressed her lips to the scar, closing her eyes almost reverently.

The room was silent again but the energy that surrounded them was screaming.

He felt Claire’s tongue leave her mouth momentarily to lave at the wound that had been healed long ago. Jamie immediately stifled a gasp which quickly turned into a groan when he caught the feral look that had taken over Claire’s eyes. Swiping her hand across to clear her path, she practically pounced as her knees hit the top of the table and she moved towards him in an instant, Jamie quickly getting to his feet so that their mouths became level with the other’s before Claire began to devour him.

If he had been the instigator last night, there was no question who was in charge this time round.

Her fingers seemed to have turned into claws that scratched and grabbed at him, pulling at the thin layer of cotton that clothed his upper body and mewling like a desperate animal. Her mouth was open as she panted but kept her tongue firmly against his, not letting the two of them to be separated for a moment. Jamie’s instincts took over and he put his hands on her glorious arse, lifting and pulling at her until she wrapped her legs around his waist and he lowered her against the flagstone floor, covering her body with his own.

She started to grab at her own clothes then, trying to wrestle her top from herself but Jamie’s hands stilled hers.

“Won’t ye be cold, mo ghraidh?” He whispered against her lips.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m cold. I need to feel your skin.”

“Aye,” he breathed, pulling her up to sit and practically tearing both of their shirts off. His chest was heaving with heavy breaths as he saw her bare in front of him, her perfect breasts that he dreamt about so often. He pushed her back down against the floor so he could take her in, delighting in the pink flush that had appeared over her collarbones as he traced a fingertip across them and down.

He kept his voice quiet and steady.

“Can I touch ye, Sassenach?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Can I kiss ye?”

Her eyes fluttered close as he bent down to ghost his lips over the rise of her breasts, “Yes!”

“Will ye let me love ye, Claire?”

“Yes, yes, a hundred times yes!”

With her enthusiastic consent, Jamie closed his lips around one pretty pink nipple as he slid his hand under the waistline of Claire’s loose joggers, finding her bare underneath. He crushed his head against her sternum with a groan as he found her warm and wet and impossibly soft.

“Oh, Claire,” he whispered as he devoured her lips again, rubbing his finger down the length of her before gently pushing inside, earning what sounded like a sob.

His head snapped up to meet her eyes and he saw that she really was crying. Mortified, he moved quickly to retract his hand but her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, keeping him where he was.

“Please, don’t stop! Please touch me just like that, touch me however you like, just please don’t stop touching me! Please Jamie!” she begged frantically.

He felt conflicted in the moment and wanted to stop and talk it through but when Claire began to use the hand that she was still holding onto to rub against, he decided to trust her to know her own body and her own limits. Although he was gentler with his kisses, pouring all the love and respect that he felt for her into every own, letting his tongue slide slowly against hers as he fingers worked inside of her and the base of his palm rubbed against her aching sex. Claire was still crying slightly but he could hear the pleasure that her sobs were tinged with, could see in her eyes that she was close to finding her physical bliss and he anticipated that she would also experience a very strong emotional release.

He wanted to give it to her more than anything else in the world.

“That’s it, my lass, let yerself feel it. Ye are safe and whole and loved. My God, ye are so loved. I love ye so much, Claire. Let me hear ye, pretty lass.”

His words pushed her over the edge and he felt her contract around him with the sharp sting of her nails biting into his skin as she anchored herself to him. The scream that poured from her seemed to ripple its way up her spine, her head pushing against the floor and her back arching to the sky as her mouth hung open, eyes wide.

When her body became slack, Jamie made sure to gather her against himself to keep her from the cold floor. Claire was still breathing heavily but it calmed him to see that there were no fresh tears. Her leopard eyes were glazed and heavy, unable to quite focus on any one particular thing.

Careful not to move too quickly, Jamie got to his feet with Claire still held in his arms and moved through to the living room, gently sitting them both of the sofa and settling Claire in his lap, still skin to skin. He freed one arm from her to grab the tartan throw that hung over the back of the sofa and was amazed to see when she held her hand out for his arm to settle back around her back, as though she could not bare to be away from him for one moment. It was awkward and clumsy but he finally got enough of their bodies covered by the tartan and he felt her muscles relax as her eyes began to close again.

That night, they sat across from each other, lit by candlelight and warmed by the fire that Jamie had set in the woodturner in the kitchen. The strands of spaghetti twisted lazily around the tines of Claire's fork as she brought them to her mouth, letting the sauce drop onto her chin. Whether it was the jetlag or the red wine, she didn’t know and she couldn’t find it in herself to care, stifling a small moan as the rich sauce hit her tongue.

Jamie realised he was openly staring at her lips when she blushed in response, laughing slightly in embarrassment.

“Sorry, ye’ve jus’ got a wee bit of sauce right here,” Jamie said, motioning to his own chin.

Claire grew redder still and wiped clumsily at her chin with the back of her hand, foregoing the paper towel that was within her reach. At the sound of his guffaw, she doubled down on her lack of manners and boldly licked the sauce from her skin, earning a proper laugh from deep in his chest.

“Christ, have ye no shame, Sassenach?”

“Frank used to say I was raised by wolves. It’s taken me all these years to even notice that he had practically trained me to raise my hand to my mouth when I chew.”

The words left her mouth with a hollow laugh. The words were cold, sharp enough to cut. Jamie looked at her, watching as the realisation of what she had said floated across her features, the lines between her eyebrows deepening. His hand couldn’t help but find hers across the table, a tacit agreement of his willingness to listen to whatever she wished to say.

“It’s strange when you come to these realisations of how different you’ve become. I thought I knew who I was. I had my degree and my job and my friends and I was Claire Randall, M.D. But he… took little bits of me, chipped away until I didn’t recognise myself. And then all of a sudden I was Mrs Claire Randall, the professor’s wife. He controlled everything. It was never as obvious as telling me what to wear or what to eat but he would punish me if I got it wrong, embarrassed him somehow. Never violent but mean.”

Jamie might’ve thought she had forgotten that he was in the room with her if she hadn’t been squeezing his hand tighter and tighter as the words poured out. Claire’s eyes glazed with tears as she stared at the table, her face blank of emotion.

“He could be so cruel,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

There was a thousand things he wanted to say. Wanted to curse the bones of Frank Randall, to lay a kiss on every scar that he’d placed on this beautiful woman’s soul. But instead of ire and rage, the simplest words came out.

“Christ, yer a brave wee thing.”

“I’m exhausted, I think I’ll go to bed. Leave the dishes and I’ll do them in the morning.”

“Dinna be daft, Sassenach. I said whatever you need and I meant it. Go and rest. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Bran, in his new role as Claire’s sentinel, followed her as she left the kitchen and made her way up to her bedroom. Jamie sat for a minute, took a deep breath and got up to set himself to the dishes, the methodical work calming his thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

His time with Dr Duncan had taught him that regret was a useless tool, taking up space in his memories without offering any opportunity for clarity or closure. But he still felt the fingers of it grip at his insides, wishing he could turn back time and be in the dingy little bar on the edge of campus all those years ago to tell Claire that the guy who hadn’t showed up for their date was nothing but trouble and would only end up doing her damage.

Jamie had also been taught not to speak ill of the dead but he supposed God might give him a pass when it came to Frank Randall and his slow, systematic destruction of not just another human being, but one he had sworn to love. Here Jamie was, obsessively going over everything he could think of to try and ease Claire’s pain, and the bastard had gotten off scot free.

When he finally finished tidying the kitchen and made sure all the doors were locked, Jamie sat on the sofa and lamented the hefty loss of his beloved dog on his chest. The compression helped to keep him grounded and he had once joked to Dr Duncan that he had no use of the weighted blanket that she had recommended while Bran was still around. Jamie mindlessly flicked through the channels once again, finding nothing of value to watch and yet somehow unable to conjure up the urge to lift his body from the cushions and take himself to bed. The clock on the mantel said that it was past midnight and yet his usual habit of being in bed and asleep by eleven was nowhere to be seen.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew exactly why he wasn’t able to close his eyes. There was an undercurrent of electricity that seemed to be running through him constantly with just the thought of Claire being separated from him by something as inconsequential as a staircase. He wondered how she was sleeping, if she was dreaming lovely things and making soft noises of contentment as she did. He was, of course, profoundly grateful that she felt safe in his home. But there was an ache in his heart at the thought of her leaving, and he hoped that that day would come later rather than sooner.

He laid his head back on the pillows behind him, closing his eyes as he let himself sink deeper into the sofa.

He couldn’t have had his eyes closed for longer than a few minutes when her honeyed voice made them bolt open again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still up.”

Claire stood at the foot of the stairs, swallowed up by an old Oxford jumper.

“Is that—?”

She blushed immediately, tugging at the hem.

“Sorry for lying to you when I told you I didn’t have it. I snuck it into my suitcase when you weren’t looking. Something from home.”

“Right,” Jamie replied simply, not sure how to take her confession of having something of his for all these years. And sleeping in it, no less.

He found himself recognising a wave of jealousy, envious of even the cotton that sat against her skin without him knowing.

“Is that your own?” she nodded at the whisky that sat in the glass he was holding against his knee.

“It is,” he smiled softly at her. “Want one?”

All of her breath seemed to leave her in one big gust, “God, yes.”

Jamie got to his feet and turned his back on her to grab a glass, hiding his fond smile to himself.

He poured a healthy dose of the amber liquid and Claire’s eyes widened.

“Christ, that’s more than enough,” she said, her hand hovering by the glass having made her way across to him without him hearing. Jamie felt suitably chastised at someone else recognising his larger than usual measures.

“Aye, the words ‘hoose pour’ have taken on new meaning in the past years. Still, I ken ye can handle yer liquor jus’ fine.”

She may have jumped slightly when their fingers touched as he handed her the glass but he put it to the back of his mind, gesturing to the sofa and watching as she settled into the groove that his much heavier body had made in the cushions.

The wood that was burning on the fire cracked and hissed as it settled against the wrought iron grate. Jamie watched the flames skate over the logs, unable to bring himself to look at the woman sat beside him.

“Slainté,” she smirked, clinking the glass against his. With a wry smile sent in reply, he watched as she took her first drink of his livelihood, his heartbeat speeding up as she swallowed with an imperceptible moan.

“Ye like it? It’s one of our oldest casks, the 8 year. We may still be a young company but—“

“It’s delicious, Jamie.”

The way the word left her mouth made his skin feel too tight and he cleared his throat, fighting against the adrenaline that wanted to surge up from the dead pit in his stomach.

“Aye, well, I’ll send ye home with a few bottles if ye think ye’d get them through Customs.”

There he went again, shooting himself in the foot with the mention of home. If it had upset her, she didn’t let on. Claire seemed to shake her head slightly before raising her chin and looking him in the eye, a small but genuine smile on her face.

“I don’t know if I’ve said thank you for letting me come here. But I want you to know how grateful I am. For your hospitality.”

“Dinna even think of it, Claire. Ye needed a place tae get away from everything and I’ve got the space tae spare.”

“Still, I appreciate it. I knew I needed to get out of Boston but I didn’t realise how much being out here would help.”

“Aye, the highlands are always a good place—“

“Not the highlands, Jamie. Here. At Lallybroch with you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from meeting her eyes, fierce solemnity burning in his.

“I just want to keep ye safe.”

“When I phoned you that night, I honestly didn’t know how you’d react. We hadn’t spoken in so long and had left things less than perfect. I should’ve phoned anyone else but the only voice I wanted to hear was yours,” she admitted. “To be honest, I thought you might’ve hung up on me or not taken the call at all. I thought you hated me.”

She had said the last words with a laugh but Jamie knew that she was hiding her discomfort behind an attempt at humour. She was being honest and he was too much of a coward to look her in the eye as he returned the favour, instead staring into the contents of the glass that he held between his hands.

“I did hate you for a long time, Claire. Almost as much as I loved you.”

Neither of them moved, barely took a breath as the words hung in the air between them. Jamie didn’t really know that he felt that way until the sentiment had left his lips. He was overcome with ways to explain that he didn’t mean it, although he did in some parts, but his brain was racing far too fast for his mouth to catch up.

In the end, it was Claire who broke the silence.

“And now?”

Her voice was quiet and small but Jamie was powerless to stop the cold laugh that left him. Without having to look, he knew it had made her wince.

“I think we both ken fine well that I shall love ye until the day I die. And after that. But I ken what it is tae live wi’out my heart and I am terrified that once ye leave here, I will never see ye again.”

“I wouldn’t do that—“

“But ye did. Ye have done it. Time and time again.”

He thought he’d see anger or guilt in Claire’s eyes but it looked as though she accepted his words as true, because they both knew that if they had woken up the morning after that first kiss and hadn’t laughed it off as a drunken mistake, he would’ve loved her for the rest of their days, if she had let him.

Claire unwrapped her legs from being crossed underneath her and got to her feet, immediately turning away from him. Calmly, she swallowed the remainder of her whisky, placed the glass on the fireplace and turned to face him, levelling him with a bold stare.

“You never told me, Jamie.”

The words bubbled up in his throat, desperate to tell her how wrong she was, but it only took another steely look from the love of his life to dispel them.

She needed him to listen and so he would.

“We had all these flirty moments from the minute we met and we were obviously attracted to each other but we never spoke about it, not truthfully. You never told me that you wanted to be with me. And then Frank came and Annaliese and… y-you didn’t say anything!”

“I thought it was obvious enough. I thought ye kent—“

“Of course I did!”

“Then why didn’t ye say somethin’?”

“Why didn’t you?!”

Her words crashed over him like ice. And for once, Jamie Fraser, as stubborn as he was smart, had no answer.

Claire looked frantic and began to pace in front of the fire, twisting her hands against one another. A bolt of lightning hit him when he realised that she was attempting to twist a wedding ring that no longer sat on the ring finger of her left hand.

He didn’t have time to wonder about when she’d taken it off, whether he could remember seeing it on her when she appeared, before she began to speak again.

“Jamie, every person I have ever loved and cherished has died. My parents, my uncle… they were the only family I had and they were gone until I met you. And you have to understand how terrified I was of losing you too! I couldn’t admit to myself that I was in love with you because I knew that I’d get a taste of heaven and then it would be snatched out from under me, as it always had been!”

Claire’s voice seemed to be tinged with hysteria as though she had opened the flood gates and was now being hit by torrent after torrent of feelings that had nowhere to flow but out into the world. Swearing off all pretense of propriety, her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Broch Mordha whisky that sat on the coffee table and with the dull thunk of the stopper, she raised it to her mouth.

Jamie couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

“Was?”

The look on her face was murderous. So much so that for a moment he thought that she might throw the bottle at his head but instead she just spluttered incredulously.

“What?”

He just could not help himself. He needed to know.

“Ye said ye were in love wi' me then. What about now?”

“You can’t be serious!”

“And why no’?”

He would surely die if he didn’t know, if she didn’t tell him. The blinding hope was too much to bear.

Her eyes were wild, blazing so fiercely he thought he might go blind just from the sight of them.

“Jamie, look at me! I broke your heart, I ran across the world, I’m a fucking widow! I—”

“I have burned for ye for so long, d’ye not know that?”

The raw honesty in his voice was no shock to him but it stopped her in her tracks, mouth hanging open. Jamie noticed as she seemed to sway slightly on the spot, as though his confession had dealt a physical blow to her centre of gravity that caused her to rock backwards.

He pounced on the opportunity that her stunned silence allowed him and just told her the truth.

“I didna say it then but I’m sayin’ it now,” he closed the gap between them, bringing his large hands up to cup her face as her eyes fluttered closed.

Leaning in, almost touching his lips to hers, he could taste her breath on his tongue. Claire’s eyes were still closed but the space between her eyebrows was furrowed, almost as if she was in pain.

Before he kissed her, he tried to say it as plainly as he could.

“Your face is my heart, Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul.”

Not unlike the nature of a crashing wave, there was an inevitability when their lips met. Jamie felt her fingers fist themselves in the material of his cotton shirt as Claire pulled him closer, crashing his body against her own as her tongue licked along his lower lip. He could still feel the delicate bones of her face burning through to the palms of his hands but he needed her closer, firmer, and so he moved one hand down, lightly grasping the column of her neck while his other lost itself in her hair. Her whimpers filled his mouth as he moved her, tilting her face up with a gentle tug on her curls and sliding his tongue into her mouth, licking desperately to find her own.

He spun them then, pushing her onto the sofa and getting to his knees between her splayed legs, pulling their chests close as they continued to kiss. His hands ran up the lengths of her thighs and grabbed at her hips, quickly pulling forward to quell the urgent fear of being physically distant from her. Jamie could barely tell which way was up, he was so overwhelmed with feelings and thoughts and Claire’s words telling him everything she’d never allowed herself to say, not to mention the whisky.

Fuck. The whisky.

“Claire- Claire, stop,” he panted as he pushed his forehead against hers, watching as she gasped for her breath. “We canna.”

Jamie watched as her mouth opened and shut in quick succession, panic painting her features and making his stomach twist in regret.

“Christ, no, Claire, I dinna mean that. I’ve thought about doing that every day since I clapped eyes on ye. It just can’t be right now.”

He got to his feet and scrubbed his face with his hands, his lower lip being pulled by his thumb and forefinger as he gave in to the urge to drag his tongue across it, hoping to catch a taste of her. He didn't miss the way her eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Not right now? Then when?” she choked out in a shaky voice.

“When neither of us have whisky on our breath and our emotions are running high,” he told her, moving to pull her to her feet in front of him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Go to bed, Sassenach. Sleep and—“

“Sleep?!”

“Aye,” he smirked at her, despite his best efforts. “Sleep. Think on the things that we’ve said to each other and in the morning we can talk about it. I’ve lost ye once before and I’ll no’ do it again because we’re both caught up in each other and nae in our right minds. I don’t think I could survive it if something happened and ye woke up in the morning wi’ regret. But I’ll say this to you, Claire, before I send ye tae yer bed…”

Jamie leaned down and whispered into her ear, letting the smell of her hair fill his lungs and relishing the way that her breath was still uneven.

“I have loved ye for all these years and will love ye until time ends. Ye are made for me and I am made for ye. It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he kissed the space on her neck just below her earlobe and felt her shiver.

Stars burst into his view as Jamie cracked the back of his head into the underside of the table, his eyes darting to the floor to his left as they began to focus on a pair of women’s shoes. At once he decided to leave Bran to the spoils of war and scrambled to get to his feet, trying his hardest not to let on how fast his heart was beating.

Christ, he’d forgotten how small she was.

The contents of Jamie’s stomach soured as he took in the sight of her, blissful joy quickly giving way to concern. Although he understood that she was dressed in loose fitting clothes to make her international flight as comfortable as possible, the shapeless garments did not hide the fact that she looked dangerously underweight. The skin that he recalled ghosting his fingertips over as they lay in bed together all those years ago had lost its lustre, almost looking grey. Even the riotous curls that had always seemed to move with a mind of their own hung around her ears, limp with the same weight that seemed to have made a home on her shoulders.

She was grieving. He knew this. Had seen it with his own eyes in those he loved the most over the years. But to see this woman, his woman, so reduced in her manner and appearance. It broke his heart.

With a contented snuff from underneath the table, Bran finished wolfing down Jamie’s best laid plans for a welcome offering for Claire.

He had expected the air to crackle around them with the sense of un-nameable electricity that had followed them for their entire relationship. Instead it was dead, too quiet, the room around them almost suffocatingly empty all of a sudden.

Jamie watched as Claire began to retract into herself, her arms cradling her own ribcage like she was trying to stop herself from breaking in half, when he realised that the two of them had been standing there and not a single word had come out of his mouth.

“Bran stole yer breakfast.”

Mentally smacking himself as soon as the words left his mouth, he begged his brain to follow up with something a little more substantial.

Claire, how are ye? It is so lovely tae see ye. How was your flight? Can I get yer bags upstairs for ye?

No, that wouldn’t do either. All of the normal platitudes were useless.

But then, Jamie couldn’t recall ever coming across the rule book for ‘welcoming the estranged love of your life to convalesce in your home after their husband has died’.

“Don’t know if the sound of a dog chewed breakfast is all that appealing.”

His worried eyes quipped up to look at her, what could be mistaken for the ghost of a smile playing on her bonny lips.

He sent her a rueful smile, turning slightly to gesture towards the table and underneath, the dozing dog, “Well, that’s good because it’s well gone now.”

She huffed what Jamie could have mistaken as an attempt at a laugh before casting her eyes to the threadbare carpet, the insidious silence descending once again.

An errant thought ran through his mind before he could stop it, what if this was all a mistake? Could the two of them really co-exist in this proximity in the way that she needed the most at the moment? Was this all a terrible error in judgement?

It was Claire who broke the silence.

“Do you have any more?”

Jamie looked at her nonplussed, “Dogs?”

“Bacon, I mean.”

“Oh, aye! Are ye hungry, lass?”

She nodded.

His limbs immediately jumped into action, propelling his body into the kitchen with a jerky energy thanks due to the adrenaline coursing through him. Jamie felt himself relax upon hearing three things; the sound of her feet shuffling along behind him, her voice greeting Bran with an earnest ‘hello again, beautiful boy’ and the resulting appreciative whine from Bran as her fingers remembered the exact spot behind his jaw where he liked to be scratched the most.

Memories of the first time Claire had been to Lallybroch flooded his vision like a movie, her body curled up on the sofa and a loud guffaw bursting from her when Bran had deposited himself unceremoniously onto her lap. The look of approval on his sister’s face when Jenny voiced what everyone was thinking - Bran was an especially good judge of character and if he deigned to allow you to be the one to scratch his head for the evening (and make no mistake, Claire would be pinned to that position for the next few hours, cups of coffee and biscuits having to be brought to her as the large dog refused to move), then you must be someone that the Fraser family considered themselves lucky to know.

The memory made him flinch and he swore under his breath, castigating himself for letting his guard down and letting the evocations play with his heart. His hands found their job quickly, pulling various items from the fridge and setting them down on the wide kitchen table, coming face to face with Claire again as she idled in the doorway.

“I can see that your culinary skills have improved dramatically since last we met,” she said with a raised eyebrow as she cast a look at what he was offering.

A packet of smoked ham, an open bag containing some wilting spinach leaves, half a red pepper and a jar that contained a nominal amount of basil pesto.

Jamie felt the prickle of a cold sweat gather on the nape of his neck.

“Christ,” he wiped his hand over his face, unable to meet her eyes. “The wee gomerals must have cleaned the fridge oot the other day when they were here, I promise ye I wasn’t this underprepared for yer arrival.”

“Jenny’s little ones?”

“The very same. Although my second niece is a new addition since we last spoke. Katherine. Kitty to her contemporaries.”

Claire’s face softened at the mention of the children that she had been lucky enough to meet when they had entered into the world. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“It’s a lovely name. I can’t even imagine how big the other two will have gotten. It’s been such a long time.”

Jamie heard the unspoken question, watched as her eyes sharpened on him.

Years have passed. Things have changed so much. Are you still the man I knew?

Aye, his heart answered, Time has passed and things may have changed but not that. I am still the man who loves you.

Energy fizzled in his fingers and he instinctively grabbed his car keys from their place on the counter, needing to do anything other than stand in one place.

“If ye give me half an hour, I’ll nip out and get the messages. Anything ye’d like in particular?”

“To be honest, I’m so jetlagged, I don’t know what I want,” she admitted as she rubbed at the corner of one eye with the tip of her finger, pulling his attention to how red they looked.

Jamie smiled softly at her as he offered, “How about ye get intae bed and I’ll go tae the shops and get a wee bit of everything?”

He watched as the tension seemed to melt a little from her shoulders as she nodded. Jamie made to walk towards her but she halted him with a look as her hand clapped against Bran’s head.

“I’m sure Bran will remind me where the guest room is, don’t worry.”

A general cacophony of sound tended to follow Claire wherever she went, the clattering of something hastily dropped rather than placed or some music blasting from her phone, but she moved through the house like a ghost, only the soft click of her closing door telling Jamie that Bran had done his job. When he returned home, the house remained silent. He was extra careful as he unpacked the shopping, leaving out the ingredients for a simple stir fry that he threw together without too much hassle.

After fretting about bothering her for a good ten minutes, the worry of the food becoming cold won over his gallantry and he made his way up to the guest room, knocking quietly. His ears strained in an attempt to find a single sound coming from inside the room but there was none and so he returned to the kitchen to eat dinner alone.

He tried to spend a few hours in front of the tele, Bran’s refusal to accept that he was not exactly a lap-dog causing him to be pinned to the sofa until the ageing labrador gave Jamie’s face a solitary lick meaning that he wanted outside before bed. As Jamie stood in the kitchen, he realised through sleepy eyes that Claire still hadn’t been down for dinner so he went about putting the leftovers into a tupperware box and rooted around in his ‘everything drawer’ until he found a pen with enough ink to scratch out a note onto an old envelope.

claire - stir fry in a tub in the fridge, just needs reheating. try not to nuke the pork or it’ll get teugh. j

Sticking the note to the fridge with a homemade snowglobe fridge magnet, complete with a photo of his grinning nieces and nephew, he whistled out the back and yawned deeply as Bran made his way back in from the yard.

Doors locked and fire guard placed over the remaining embers that were burning away, Jamie made his ascent up the stairs. He couldn’t help himself from stopping by her door and before he could tell his sleep addled brain that it wasn’t appropriate to knock on her door at 1am, his knuckles rapped gently against the wood.

No response. He should go to sleep. But the pull was too great.

His fingers tightened around the doorknob and he pushed gently, saying a prayer of thanks that the door wasn’t too squeaky.

The sight of her made his chest feel like it was going to burst.

She was out for the count, the duvet coiled into a tight snake that she looked to have wrestled into submission, claiming her prize with one bare leg hooked over it. Her hair was like wildfire, unable and unwilling to be tamed against the soft ivory of her pillow. He had worried that she’d be deep in her grief in her dreams but she looked more serene than he could ever remember seeing her. Her lips were parted as she breathed with the heaviness that only comes with quality rest.

With an impatient sniff from Bran at the door, Jamie immediately felt like a voyeur. He had invited her into his home to offer sanctuary, not to letch on her in her sleep. He moved to close the curtains so that she sun wouldn’t wake her but thought better of it when he couldn’t tell how she would feel about him being in her room while she was asleep. Would she feel like he’d invaded her space? He didn’t want to find out.