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For Gotham’s Writing Workshop, week 29 (At some point, it really doesn’t matter) and week 30 (Can’t stand).
On AO3, under the title Death Dreams.
Previously Help Me. Wide Awake. Not Yet. Five Years. Angel-Forest-Train. You want to hear more. Six Months.
Claire’s head was buried in her hands, the pads of her fingers pressing her eyeballs, until bright, white dots appeared dancing on the black background. She took a deep, strained breath. And then another.
The tears were dry by now, spent and gone, their silver tracks the only proof they’d rolled down her pale face. Guilt, however, was there - always there - sitting her weight on Claire’s chest, making her heart shrink back to her spine to be protected from the crush.
Guilt, that crawled under closed doors, finding the tiny gap that let the light in, to seal it forever.
Claire’s head was buzzing, her throat was sore, her hands not enough to banish the memories from coming back.
She’d shouted at him.
Why would she be so stupid? Why didn’t she just shut up?
New tears came in her eyes, eager to run free, as if they would carry some of her guilt on their back.
They wouldn’t - they couldn’t.
They couldn’t take Jamie’s shuddered glance away.
“LJ?”
It was a whisper, a careful intrusion, a pleading, calling her back to the surface.
“Mmm,” was the only way she could respond. Words were left on the seabed, hiding from the world, waiting for Jamie to trap them in his lips.
“You okay?” Joe moved a chair from across the desk to sit next to her. The chair’s legs scrapped against the floor, the sound so strong, so matter-of-fact, that could have come from a parallel dimension.
“I’m okay, Joe, yes.” Claire took a deep breath and lowered her hands from her face, slowly turning to look at him.
A fake, reassuring smile.
A cocked, unconvinced eyebrow.
“I’m telling you, I’m fine.” Another lie.
“Yes, I can see that.” Another questioning glance. “You’re not okay, Claire. You’re actually far from okay.”
Claire huffed. “You know, Joe? At some point, it doesn’t really matter.”
“It does.” Joe reached for her hand, taking it into his. “It matters to me. It matters to him too, even if he doesn’t quite show that at the moment.”
Claire shook her head, a pitiful laughter leaving her lips. “Oh he does show that. He cares so bloody much that he suggested we’d live apart for a while.”
“He did?” Jamie Fraser, asking the love of his life to go away. Joe tried to hide the shock from his voice, ending up breaking his question into a surprised ‘he’ and an aloof ‘did’, that sounded almost funny.
Maybe it would be funny, another day. But not today.
Claire didn’t speak, just ran her thumb on the metal of her ring, feeling the engraved thistle pattern against her skin.
“What happened, LJ?”
Claire shrugged, the pout on her lips making her the little girl uncle Lamb adored. It soon became a tight line, one designed to keep the words inside, before it trembled lightly, and the words escaped, struggling to be free from their bonds. “We had a fight - a terrible one. I’m terrible, Joe. I’m fucking terrible.”
And like that, guilt was back, with claws that grabbed Claire’s soul, squeezing out hopes until they transformed into sobs.
“It’s going to be okay,” Joe took her in his arms, running a reassuring hand on her back. “You’re not terrible, you’re doing the best you can. Jamie knows that, Claire.”
“I pushed him too much, today. I shouldn’t…” she managed to say in between her sobs.
Joe waited, keeping her in his arms, his black, warm eyes closed tight. When Claire calmed down, he schooled his face into a serene expression and tried again. “Why did you push him for, LJ?”
“Psychotherapy.” Claire swallowed with difficulty, looking at her friend’s eyes. Joe would understand.
He did.
“It wasn’t the first time we discussed about this. But he’s denying that it will help him. I gave him the facts, I explained the different approaches, I told him stories of people with depression who said how much it has helped them… Nothing. He’s so negative, the stubborn Scot, and he insists that he only needs me and I’m enough! But I know, Joe. He doesn’t talk to me about everything. It’s not the same. I’ll always be there for him, but you know… It’s not the same.”
“No, I know. It’s not. But if he’s not ready to accept this yet, there’s not much you can do.”
“I did something. I found a therapist. Her name is Agnes Hildegarde, and she’s held in very high esteem.” Claire looked at Joe, her eyes searching his for a shred of compassion. “I didn’t make an appointment!” she exclaimed, raising her hands, pleading not guilty. “I just talked to him about cognitive behavioral therapy and how it could be helpful, and then told him that I found Hildegarde and she’s one of the best. It made him furious.” The crack between Claire’s eyebrows deepened. “He was angry at first, but then he withdrew and announced that we should live separately because he’s obviously only a burden to me. I didn’t want to make him feel he’s a burden! I was just trying to help!”
“He had a bad day, Claire. He doesn’t mean that.”
“I should have known. I should have stopped before it was too late.” She ran her fingers in her hair, the curls stopping them midway across her scalp.
Joe took Claire by the arms, making her look at him. “Will you stop thinking you’re God almighty, Claire?” He asked, his voice raised higher than usual. “I’m sorry to be the one who breaks the news to you, but you're just a human, LJ. And guess what! We make fucking mistakes!” Claire opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. “You’re blaming Jamie for not wanting to open himself and talk to a therapist. Do you know for how long I’m trying to reach you, to talk to you, only to listen to you claiming that you’re fine?”
“I…” Claire tried to defend herself but found nothing to say.
“Exactly. I haven’t seen you smile for a while, I haven’t heard you laughing for ages. I can’t stand this frown that is permanently carved on your face, and I can’t stand having you saying you’re fine. I miss you, Claire, and I want to help.”
Claire nodded, stupefied, realizing that her friend was right. She blamed Jamie, but she was doing exactly the same. She tried to carry on alone, to do the right thing, to be there for Jamie. And somewhere along the way, she forgot herself. She forgot the first advice she was always giving to caregivers. Take care of yourself first and accept help.
“And now that we made a few things clear, LJ,” Joe smiled at her, “Go find your man. I’ll cover your shift.”
