#datril

“Aye, but I think ‘Brianna’ suits ye well, a leannan.” Jamie looks at his wife, the pair of them sharing an amused smile before he gets up, navigating boxes and dragging one back with him. Their family growing, a two bedroom apartment wasn’t nearly enough anymore, and with the last of the paperwork signed two days ago, they’re slowly making their way through boxes in their new home. He only regrets that the timing placed it directly on Bree’s sixth birthday. “Come here, to my lap, Brianna,” he instructs after lifting two things out of the box at his feet and putting them in the spot Bree’s vacated. “Do ye ken who this is?” he asks her softly as he puts a frame into her wee hands; the photo of Halloween with him, Claire and Faith.

“Mam and Da!” she says immediately before peering at the little girl in the photo. “That isna me. It’s...my big sister? Faith.”

Claire reaches out to run her fingers through Brianna’s unruly red locks. “That’s right, darling. Do you remember what we told you about her yesterday?”

Brianna nods in determination. “That she went to be in heaven and she takes care of me from there.”

Jamie’s lips press to the back of Brianna’s head, his healthy, happy and sweet (but Christ, so stubborn) daughter. She’s celebrating a birthday that Faith never lived to see, and he both aches because of it and has never been happier to know Bree is thriving. “And she’ll take care of yer wee baby brother or sister too. Watch over ye both.”

“She kind of looks like me. We both have red hair! Did she like fishing wi’ ye, Daddy?”

“Oh, aye. She was a braw worm catcher. And tree climber.”

“So am I!” Bree says with delight before noticing a stuffed elephant next to her side. “This was on the fireplace at our old house, da.”

“Aye, next to this photo.” For a small little girl, she didn’t often look at or have any interest in the mantle, but he’s proud that she noticed.

“I like havin’ lots of pictures of my sister,” Brianna decides.

“Why is that my darling?” Claire asks softly, smiling just a little as their daughter rearranges herself in Jamie’s lap.

“Because then it’s like she’s really here still.”

It’s an innocent answer that gets to Jamie, closing his eyes as he holds Bree close, fingers playing with the end of a braided pigtail. “She was five when she had to go to heaven, a leannan. But she’s still your big sister.”

“‘Cause she was born before me?”

“Aye, lass. That’s right.”

Bree eyes her mother’s belly. “But I’ll be older than my new brother or sister?”

Claire takes Trunky and presses the toy into Brianna’s hands. “Yes, darling. You will be a big sister. And as the big sister, you get to have this. His name is Trunky and he makes all little girls and boys very brave and very ready to do anything.”

Her eyes widen now, and Bree looks absolutely enchanted. “Anything?”

“He’ll even make sure ye ken we still love ye verra much. A new bairn canna change that.”

“There might be a lot of crying, and the baby might be loud sometimes, and we’ll have to pay a lot of attention to her or him. But as long as you have Trunky, you’ll always know how much we love you. You just hold him tightly, alright?”

Brianna nods and holds onto the toy with both hands, looking down at it. “Okay, Mama.”

Three weeks later, as her new baby brother fusses, warming up to a full-blown cry, Bree sneaks into his room and stands at the crib, whispering. “Shhh, Alex, it’s okay.” When he doesn’t stop, she looks down at Trunky in her hands and presses it through the bars to rest against his side. “Trunky will keep ye safe,” she promises.

When he calms down and peers at her (focused more on the sound of her voice), she grins at her success, then whispers again.

The sight of the blood makes him blanch a bit, though he stays steady on his feet and the sound of Claire grunting makes him move back to her quickly, abandoning his own fears and speaking to her quietly. “Our bairn’s head is there, right there, Sassenach. Listen to me,” he murmurs, trying to get her to focus. She’d had an epidural but it only numbed one side of her body; the way she’d cursed his name might have been funny if she hadn’t been in excruciating pain and he hadn’t been terrified out of his mind. “One more big push, aye?” he says, looking at the doctor just to be sure he hadn’t lied to his wife by accident. At the nod, he focuses on Claire again. “Maybe some other smaller pushes, but this one will be the worst of it.”

She doesn’t speak at all; mostly she’s a sweaty mess of curls and exhaustion. Forty-five minutes feels like an eternity when it seems she’s giving birth to a cheese grater. Claire does look at him to center herself, her eyes blown wide with adrenaline and determination. With the next contraction, she lets Jamie support her weight as she bears down and a nurse on either side of her holds her legs. Every push, push, push! of encouragement comes down to a pinprick of sound at an almost muted volume; each voice sounds like a shout from miles away except for one, counting down from ten. At five, she feels Jamie’s hand move to lace their fingers together.

“Four.” His lips pause to rest at her temple.

“Three.” There’s incredible pressure; it makes her cry out, head turning toward Jamie’s.

“Two.” Between three and two the pressure bottoms out and she knows it means the shoulders are out and one other voice cuts through the fog. The doctor, she thinks, telling her to ease up, to give him one more small push.

“One.”

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing as the doctor suctions out a tiny mouth and tinier nostrils, and then every voice in the room comes rushing back as she raises her head in time to hear it’s a girl. Their baby is out and angry, wailing with powerful lungs. Claire cries as a bundle of uncoordinated arms and legs wind up on her chest while her own arms wrap around a blue-hued baby. As the newborn cries, she begins to turn pink, and shaking hands rest on her daughter’s back. Claire looks for Jamie but he’s glued to the doctor asking if there’s anything wrong, if she’s bleeding, if her blood pressure is fine.

“Jamie, come here,” she calls softly as their daughter stops her crying under a receiving blanket and Claire wipes away the remnants of birth from her body.

Almost as if he can’t refuse her command, Jamie moves to her side, vision blurring as he takes in the sight of Claire and their baby, both of them seemingly spent. Nothing he’s ever seen has been more beautiful and he knows right then that she’s fine. They both are. In the aftermath, once the placenta is delivered, routine tests and exams are done, and their daughter has been weighed, diapered and swaddled, she’s placed right back in Claire’s arms. There’s a bit of guidance from a lactation nurse once it’s time to feed her, but when there’s a good latch the new, tiny family is left alone for the first time.

“She’s sae small,” Jamie whispers, tentatively dragging his finger over the top of her head.

“Please tell that to my lower half,” Claire says with a wobbly smirk, still emotional. “She needs a name.”

He’s in awe of the wisps of red hair; there’s few of them, but the color is unmistakable. “The only name we ever truly traded back and forth was Brian Henry.” After both of their fathers respectively.

“I have an idea,” Claire murmurs, watching their nursing daughter. “What about ‘Brianna?’”

“Brianna,” Jamie whispers, a thumb moving over her forehead feather-lightly. “And a middle name?”

For a moment, Claire thinks of the possibilities. Julia, after her mother, or Elizabeth, after herself. But that red hair speaks more to Claire than anything. “Ellen. The grandparent we have to thank for her hair.”

Jamie’s lips press to the top of Claire’s head now, a grateful tear falling into her hair. “Brianna Ellen Fraser. Sassenach, I canna…” He has to stop, choked up as he clears his throat. “I canna tell ye how much it means to me, ye ken?”

“Oh, Jamie. I know. I understand,” she breathes out, turning her head in order to brush his lips with her own. Glancing back at Brianna, Claire’s eyes close, heavy with exhaustion before snapping them back open again. “I’ve never been so tired in my life.”

“As soon as she’s done, I’ll take her from ye, so you can sleep,” he promises. She seems bottomless for now, though her suckling is slower and seems to come in bursts before going still. It’s a pattern: nurse for a few seconds, drift, then come back to it. Jamie can’t stop watching her, and he lets out a shaky breath. “She looks…” He pauses, clearing his throat.”Like Faith.”

At the admission, Claire feels wide awake, looking up at her husband, ready to comfort him in any way he needs.

“A girl, Claire. Another wee lass,” he breathes out emotionally, but when he meets Claire’s eyes again, he’s smiling. “Ye gave me another daughter.”

Her own tears catch up to her and she lets out a grateful sob, sniffling as she wipes tears away with the back of her hand. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Jamie,” she sniffles, watching as Brianna is finally deeply enough asleep that she unlatches.

“Here,” he offers quietly, taking their baby to rest on his shoulder, patting her back to coax a burp. “And perhaps not, but here she is. And ye were so strong. Stronger than me.”

“You looked below the belly, didn’t you?” she asks, resting a hand over the now smaller swell of her stomach.

“Aye,” he admits sheepishly. “Wasna expecting to see what I did, but there she was.”

“And we’re both just fine,” Claire murmurs, desperate to sleep as she relaxes, but she had to see this, had to see how impossibly small their daughter looks in his arms.

“Both of ye are perfect,” Jamie declares, lips pressing to a very tiny temple. When she burps it’s so loud that it makes him still for a moment and look at Claire. There’s a moment of silence before they both laugh as quietly as they can until sleep finally pulls his wife under. Making sure she’s covered and tucked in, Jamie sits in the chair next to her bed, cradling his daughter now.

“Hello, a leannan,” he whispers softly. “Do ye remember my voice? Could ye hear me, before?”

Of course, he’s met with silence as she sleeps, lips slightly parted in a tiny pout.

“I didna even realize how badly I wanted ye until ye were here in my arms. I was sae afraid, ye ken? No’ anymore, though. You’re whole and healthy, same as your mother, and I’m verra grateful.”

There’s a yawn from Brianna in her sleep, shifting in her swaddle before her lips turn up just a little. It’s a small smile, and no doubt only reflexive, but it makes his heart burst in his chest to see.

“Ye have a big sister I’ll have to tell ye about,” he murmurs, stroking Brianna’s cheek with his thumb slowly. “She’d have had ye wearin’ dolls clothes in less than an hour of takin’ ye home,” he manages to laugh, swallowing heavily and shaking his head. It’s the first time he’s spoken so freely about Faith and not felt as though his heart might shrivel.

“Already, ye make things better, wean,” Jamie realizes. As he looks from his sleeping wife to his sleeping daughter, everything he’s carried seems to shift and slide into place. There’s still a piece of grief in his heart for Faith, that won’t go away. But the pieces that once felt so scattered feel as though they’ve come back together.

Finally, he feels whole again.

How it’s possible, she doesn’t know. She’d taken the test just to quiet a voice in the back of her mind as a doctor unwilling to let coincidences slip by. She remembers the day she’d been told she couldn’t have children, the damage from the accident she’d been in with her parents, being crushed --pinned at her abdomen-- left behind too much that couldn’t be fixed--or so she’d been told. Because she doesn’t know for sure if this is viable, she decides to wait to tell Jamie; it’s too early, and if he has anything to fear or worry about she can’t do that to him right now without any concrete answers for him. Dinner is quiet, her mind elsewhere, and she’s thankful his response to it is not asking questions, just holding her close that night and murmuring a soft, Gaelic prayer across her forehead.

After pleading with a local office’s staff, she manages to see a doctor two mornings later. Clad in nothing but a flimsy pink paper gown, she’s quiet as the sound of her own heartbeat fills the room, steady and strong. With only a slight adjustment, the rapid pulse of her child (no bigger than the size of a single sweet pea) fills the room, a muffled garble of thumping.

Eight weeks pregnant. She’s approximately two months, and when she does the math in her head it’s so obvious that she’s shaken. The baby’s in the right place, not growing along a fallopian tube or anything equally dangerous. Everything is normal and she has the prescription for prenatal vitamins to prove it.

She calls in the rest of the day at work and nearly goes to the bookstore but decides to simply head home, sending Jamie a quick text that she isn’t feeling well and he doesn’t need to worry about walking her home. Laying down in their bed, she rests her hands atop her still flat stomach and closes her eyes, trying to imagine that belly swelling, having a soft roundness to it and giving life when she never thought she would. She knows with Jamie, if they’d ever decided to have a child they would have, but she never thought it would be a situation outside of adoption or surrogacy. It makes her cry, tears of joy (and some fear) that she gets out of her system by the time Jamie’s home. Meeting him at the door with a soft kiss, she takes a brown paper bag from him and peeks in.

“Chicken and dumplin’s. From the place ye like that ye say has perfect comfort foods. Something easy on yer stomach,” he explains, watching as she moves to the kitchen to put their dinner down. “How do ye feel?”

Claire pretends to be busy for a moment getting bowls and spoons and napkins, but finally, she answers him. “I’m all right. Ready to eat,” she manages to say with a soft smile. “I’m not sick. I went to the doctor today.”

“Aye?” he asks with a small frown, though there’s relief in his eyes as well. “A person does no’ throw their guts up multiple times a day for no reason.”

“They do if they’re pregnant.”

She hadn’t meant for it to come out quite like that, and she looks up, locking eyes with him. Her on one side of their kitchen, him on the other, a countertop between them.

“...What, Sassenach?”

It feels so quiet a pin could drop and sound like an explosion. “Jamie, I’m pregnant,” she says softly, moving around to him and reaching for his hands. “About eight weeks, the doctor said. I wanted to be sure I really was and that everything was alright before I said anything.”

“Pregnant.” With one hand in hers, the other runs over his face before sitting in a chair. “I thought ye couldna--”

“So did I. But I was so young when the accident happened, my body’s had a long time to repair itself in ways I don’t think anyone expected possible. At least back then, when it happened.” Sitting across from him, Claire squeezes his hand between both of hers. “I’m having a baby, Jamie.”

There are a lot of reactions she expects; fear and anxiety are at the top of her list. He lost his wife in childbirth, after all, after being reassured that she was fine. What she doesn’t expect is the way he pulls her close and clings to her, one hand tangled in her hair and the other pressing to her back.

“I canna lose ye.”

“I know, Jamie,” she whispers. “I know. I wish I could promise, but I won’t. It isn’t fair to you. But I will tell you I’ll do everything I can to make sure I’m healthy, that our baby is healthy.” Her lips press to his temple as she feels his hand snake around to rest against her belly. “I listened to a heartbeat today. It sounds like a washing machine,” she says with a soft smile.

“So, the bairn is strong? And you’re healthy?”

“Everything right now is very normal, Jamie. The fatigue and morning sickness, and I’m sure any pending tenderness. All normal,” she tries to assure him.

Jamie stares at her stomach for a good long while before speaking again. “How long have ye kent it?”

She shakes her head to make sure he knows it hasn’t been long before the words even leave her mouth. “Only since the day before yesterday. I took a test but I didn’t think it could possibly be correct. I waited to tell you in case it wasn’t, or in case it was something else.” Something else causing a false positive. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Jamie,” she urges, mentally noting that she might suggest he bump his therapy back up from once a week to twice. At least for a little while.

Wetting his lips, he clears his throat and inhales deeply before letting it out slowly. “I canna lose anyone else,” he finally tells her. “To go through it again, I’m no’ strong enough. If I Iost ye at any point, or the bairn, I…”

This is is what she knew would be the biggest mental roadblock keeping him from being happy. She doesn’t blame him; to know how horrifically and quickly Annalise died scares her a bit, too. But still, she knows odds and her lips press to his forehead firmly for a moment before pulling back. “If there is ever, ever any sign of distress for me or the baby, we’ll go straight to the hospital, I promise. I might have one advantage Jamie, and it’s that I’m a doctor. I’ll know right away if something isn’t right.” At least she hopes she will. Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter to her so much as soothing him right now.

Nodding, Jamie pulls back so that he can see her face fully. “I want to be excited, I do.”

Shaking her head, Claire relocates herself from her own chair to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know you’re afraid. I understand why, I promise. You don’t need to be any sort of way, I just need you here with me. Supporting me.”

“I’m no’ going anywhere,” he says vehemently, wrapping her up and pressing his lips to her shoulder. “The next appointment, I can go wi’ ye?”

“Of course. Every visit from now on. I know it was a risk, keeping the appointment from you today, and I would have told you if something was wrong, I just--you’ve been through so much Jamie, we both have. I wanted to have as much information as I could before saying anything.”

His lips press to her forehead this time. “No, no, it’s alright, Sassenach,” he assures her, resting his head against hers now. “I understand.” She was trying to protect his heart the best she could, and for that alone, he’s grateful for the different ways she loves him. “When’s the next visit, then?”

“Next month. Just after the wedding,” she murmurs. “Wait, hold on,” she remembers, getting up and going to the counter, picking up an envelope before settling herself on his lap again. Pulling out the ultrasound photos, she points out their baby. “Usually they don’t even do ultrasounds for this stage, but I insisted.”

Jamie squints a little as he tries to make out the photo but he sees the small little dot that is apparently life in Claire’s belly. “Ye ken what this is?” he breathes out, trying to focus on what he knows to be true, not what he’s afraid could happen.

“Hmm?” Her fingers lazily move through his hair, gliding easily through the curls.

“Proof, Sassenach. Living proof that through all of the pain and hurt, we made our way back to one another. We’ve loved one another.”

Blinking quickly, trying to push back tears (could she blame her sudden emotions on hormones yet?) Claire presses her lips to his temple. “We can still make something good, and put that into the world,” she murmurs, covering his hand which has found its new home against her stomach.

“Aye, we can,” Jamie agrees, letting out a soft breath that makes her hair bounce lightly against her cheek.

“We can, and we will.”

“I can feel the head, here,” Jamie notes, cupping the slightly lopsided curve near her pelvis.

“Nearly done and ready to make an appearance. Our child could arrive anytime now.” She’s been perfectly healthy throughout the entire pregnancy; no elevated blood pressure, no prenatal diabetes. She’s been the very definition of perfect health all these months, but she knows the closer they get to her due date, the more worried Jamie becomes.

Quiet now, his hand moves in slow, rhythmic circles before he bends to press a soft kiss to her stomach. “I canna wait to meet our bairn, but at the same time, everything seemed to be going sae well before, I…”

“I know,” Claire interrupts softly, covering his hand with her own. “I know you’re afraid, Jamie. Anything could happen, I won’t pretend that isn’t a possibility. But our baby has a perfect heartbeat and perfect lungs. And aside from my arse getting much wider, I have no complaints, either.”

He lifts his head to eye her, trying to gauge how serious she is. “Ye ken I think your arse is just fine this way, aye?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes.”Oh, aye. I’ve been made aware by the way you squeeze it every time you walk by me.” She loves it, even if she flicks his shoulder now in mock annoyance.

Somehow, his wife has a way of putting his mind at ease, even if he manages to work himself up again. She always brings him back down to reasonable and sane sounding. “Ye look like ye swallowed a basketball, Sassenach. Canna even tell you’re wi’ child from behind.”

“You mean my entire backside doesn’t give it away?”

They laugh together at that and he actually moves, shifting upward to kiss her lips softly. “No, but ye ken what does?”

The backs of her fingers graze the stubble under his chin. “What?” she asks, gaze warm as her head rests back against her pillow.

“When ye think no one is looking and ye stop to take a moment to rub your belly,” he reveals quietly. “Ye have such a faraway look in your eyes and the barest hint of a smile.”

“Do you know what I’m thinking of in those moments?” Claire asks him, moving her hand to cradle his face now. When she feels him shake his head no, she pulls him into a soft kiss before answering her own question. “I’m imagining you with our child passed out and snoring on your shoulder. I’m imagining the way it will sound when you speak to our baby in Gaelic the way you do our nieces and nephews. I imagine what it will be like the first time we’re here in this bed together with our baby on your chest.”

Their mouths come together again in an emotional kiss, one full of hope and promise. They whisper their wishes and dreams back and forth together (Hers; for their child to have his bright red curls, sense of humor and honor. His; her eyes and smile and heart.) and she finally admits something quietly in the dark between them.

“What if I don’t know how to be a mother, Jamie?”

His forehead creases as he pulls away just enough to be able to see her face in the shadows of their bedroom. “What do ye mean, Claire? Have ye no’ seen the way all the bairns at Lallybroch bypass me now and go straight to you?”

She smiles softly and shakes her head. “I know, but… I’m their aunt, not their mother. That’s different. I’m not in charge of their lives for the next eighteen years. I can’t even remember my mother, what if I--” She stops short, huffing out a breath. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

Jamie sits up against the headboard and tugs her gently until her head is on his lap. It has her lying sideways across the bed, but it helps him in his goal of running his fingers through her hair. “There’s no possible way ye could be, Claire. Not wi’ the way your heart works. No’ wi’ how much ye care.” His hand comes to rest over her heart, feeling it beat steadily against his palm. “I’ve never in my life met someone who tries to put so much good in the world.”

Swallowing hard, Claire tries to blink back tears (Christ, these hormones) at his words. “What if there are things I don’t know how to do?”

“I’ll teach ye,” he promises, moving his hand to her belly again. “And what I dinna ken, we’ll learn together. But ye willna be alone, Claire, I promise.”

Drawing him into a soft kiss, her lips part sweetly under his, both of them getting a bit lost in it until a very solid kick lands just below Jamie’s palm. “Ouch,” Claire mumbles before finding herself repositioned once again, losing Jamie as a pillow with nothing but mattress beneath her head as he moves.

At her belly now, his lips press to her stretched skin before murmuring softly. “M’ annsachd. ‘Tis your da speaking. Bi sàmhach. Let your mam rest.”

“What do those things mean?” Claire asks as her hand lazily moves across his shoulder blades while he presses more kisses to her stomach.

“The first, ‘my blessing.’ Because that’s what our bairn is and will be. A blessing,” he breathes out.”

Reaching for his hand now, she smiles softly and twines their fingers together. “And the other?”

“I only told our bairn to be quiet,” he chuckles quietly before reaching up and grabbing pillows to stuff haphazardly under his wife’s head before taking up his position for the night. “Ye need rest, after all.”

Adjusting what she needs to, Claire settles back with one hand in Jamie’s hair again. “I like it when you speak to our child in Gaelic,” she confesses, closing her eyes. “I want you to teach our baby, too.”

“And you, Sassenach? We’ll be speakin’ in circles around ye before long.”

She smiles sleepily now, then lets out a soft, contented breath.

“Good.”

Blinking, his gaze focuses on her again, sitting up a bit straighter and grabbing his menu.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Aye, ye forgot your glasses and canna see a thing. Dinna worry, I’ll take care of it,” he decides. “Might I order for ye?”

Claire puts down her menu and looks at him in amusement. “You know me so well, do you?” she asks with a teasing smile.

Reaching over the table, Jamie shrugs a bit as he captures her hand, though the confidence is written on his face. “I like to think so. Do ye trust me?”

Running her thumb over the back of his hand, she nods, sitting back in her chair. “I do. With more than just food, I hope you know.”

That means more to him than she might realize, especially after everything they’ve gone through--things that he put her through. She may see it as an innocent and one-off exchange; for him it’s a privilege he’s earned. “I ken it, but I reckon I’ll keep proving I’m worthy of it for the rest of my life.”

It’s another hint, but one that she doesn’t have time to dwell on before the waiter comes to ask if they’re ready to order. With no hesitation, Jamie orders a braised pork belly dish with chilies, ginger and orange for her, for himself a Scottish beef sirloin steak. He also requests a bottle of wine, something red and full of body that’s brought to the table, uncorked and poured for them.

Once they’re alone again, Claire can’t help but wonder what has him like this, unable to fathom what’s warranted a night out with such a hefty price tag. “Is the shop doing alright?” she asks curiously. Maybe sales are going so well he wants to spoil her a bit with a good meal. She can’t say it bothers her much, whatever his reason.

“The shop? Aye, ‘tis fine. Ian did a braw job when I couldn’t, and I should do something for him, though I’m no’ sure what.” What do you give to the person who kept your business afloat when you couldn’t get out of bed? It’s a distracting train of thought that gets his mind off of the true reason for dinner. “Do ye think it would be enough to offer to watch all of the bairns for a long weekend? Let him go away somewhere wi’ Jenny?”

For the past two years, his family has done nothing but support him, and it’s time to give something back in return. He paid Ian, but it isn’t about money, not to Jamie. There were days he would have rather sold the bookshop than think about running it, so for his brother-in-law, he’s grateful.

Claire’s face softens as she holds onto Jamie’s hand again across the table, squeezing gently. “I think that’s lovely. I could even help, perhaps we could go there and stay for a Friday evening through Monday afternoon? I’m sure I could take a day off to do it, and I could even keep the children so you could be at the shop on Monday.”

“Ye’d really do that, Sassenach?” Jamie asks, touched.

Thinking about it for a moment, she nods before reaching for her wine, taking a sip to gather her thoughts. “I would, Jamie. For family.” For a family that has treated her with amazing kindness and nothing less. “It’s a good idea, and you should offer it to Ian. Tell him to take Jenny somewhere with no alarm clocks and a comfortable bed.”

“They’ll need the long weekend for all the actual sleeping they’ll do the first day,” he figures with a fond smile. It is a good idea, one he shared and she broadened, and Jamie files it away. Soon; after other important things he needs to do. The weight in his pocket comes to the forefront of his mind now, thoughts wandering yet again.

He’d torn up the house looking for a box, antique wood with flowers carved into it that he remembered tracing with one small finger as a wee lad.

“Where is it, Jenny, do ye ken?”

“We’ll find it, brother, dinna fash or panic yet.”

“I’m no’ sure where mam’s things wound up, especially wi’ Da grieving as he was,” Jamie’d worried, but just as he’d been ready to try the attic he spotted the edge of a box in the far upper corner of the closet. Reaching blindly, he’d pulled it down and let out a breath. “Found it.”

Their mother’s jewelry box.

“Why do ye think Da didna bury Mam wi’ them?”

Jamie shook his head, then opened the box to find exactly what he was looking for. “Because of this moment, I reckon. Ye’re sure ye dinna want to wear them?”

Jenny’d shaken her head as she stood next to him, reaching in and pulling out a wedding ring and band. “Ian’s given me plenty. They’re yours, brother. And these.” A strand of pearls were pulled next. “She should wear them on the day.”

“Sir?”

“Jamie?”

Once again, Jamie finds himself blinking and clears his throat, nodding at the waiter to put the plate with steak in front of him. “Well, Sassenach? Does it look as though I chose well for ye?”

Claire eyes him curiously. “I’ll tell you when I taste it. Where did you go, just then?” she asks quietly.

Not wanting to make something up too far from the truth, Jamie clears his throat, scooting closer to the table. “I was thinking about my mother. Dinna ken why.” There’s the lie, but one he hopes he’ll be forgiven for once it’s clear why. They eat, trading forkfuls of food across the table to share.

“Admittedly, I wasn’t sure about the pork, but it’s delicious, Jamie. You picked perfectly,” Claire promises with a soft smile. She isn’t ignoring the comment about his mother, but it’s something she decides to bring up again when she’s holding him, when she can soothe.

“I told ye. I know ye well, even if ye dinna ken your own palate,” he teases, though his mind is working through every possible moment there is to ask her to marry him. He still hasn’t figured it out by the time their dinner plates are cleared away, instead talking with her about getting a better leash for Skye, possibly spending some time going to antique stores on Saturday morning; they talk through dessert and when the check arrives he has a moment of internal panic. He still hasn’t asked and he isn’t sure why. He wants to, wants it to be a perfect proposal, but for some reason, the restaurant doesn’t feel quite right.

They walk home, hand in hand, the moonlight making her look as though she’s glowing. It’s the perfect time to ask, he should do it, but before he can they’re at the front door and he’s pulled the keys from his pocket instead, letting them in. The evening, while nice, hasn’t entailed all he thought he would, and he realizes--as he hears himself offer to walk Skye while she changes--no moment will ever be perfect. He’s tried to make up for months of being so much less than perfect, but he should listen to her, stop trying to apologize in ways that aren’t verbally saying the words. They’re here now, they’re fine. It’s a revelation that comes as he and Skye round a corner; she doesn’t need something so grand he can’t even imagine. She just needs him.

He’s never rushed a dog to do its business so quickly in his life.

Back at the apartment in record time, Jamie doesn’t hesitate now, making his way to the bedroom and pausing in the doorway. Dress off, she’s standing in front of her vanity and leaning over a bit in just a bra and underwear so small he’s not even sure why she wore it to begin with. Smiling at him in the mirror, she slides an earring out of place. He hears her say something about the walk not taking long but he stops her, tugging her hand and turning her around to kiss her deeply, one hand cradling the side of her face. It’s a deep kiss, one that leaves him breathless and wanting, but finally, he reaches into his pocket, hand closing around the slight weight.

“Claire, I need to ask ye something,” he begins, pulling back just enough to see her face.

If it gets her answers about whatever’s been going through his mind, she’ll listen to anything he has to say, and one of her hands reaches up to rest lightly against his wrist. “What is it, Jamie?”

That hint of concern is back in her voice, and he looks down, swallowing hard and then forgoing the entire idea to get on one knee. Instead, he holds her close and presses his forehead to hers. “Do ye remember that night at the apartment when we danced?”

Closing her eyes, Claire lets herself think about life in Boston, a small hint of a smile gracing her features. “Janis Joplin.”

His lips press to the tip of her nose. “Aye. That was the first time I kent how well ye fit in my arms. I held onto the feel of ye there, head pressing to my chest. I was afraid I’d never feel it again.” The comforting weight of her nestled right there, close to his heart.

“And now? Are you still afraid?”

Opening his eyes to look at her, Jamie steps back and takes her left hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “No. I’m no’ afraid, Sassenach.” Wedding band first, Jamie slides the rings onto her finger. “I dinna think I’ll ever let ye go again if ye say yes.”

There’s a beat where she doesn’t understand what just happened before the ring on her finger registers and her breath catches. He’s asking her to marry him, even if an actual question never graced his lips. “Jamie--”

“I want to take care of ye. And Christ, I’m terrified. Terrified to love ye, terrified to lose ye, but since I’ve kent you, Claire, ye’ve brought me nothing but peace. I want to call you my wife,” he explains quietly, feeling as though he’s barely breathing.

“Yes,” she hears herself whispering, unable to take her eyes off of the rings on her finger.

“Yes?” Jamie whispers in return, thumb moving in slow circles over her temple, voice husky with emotion.

“Marry me,” Claire breathes out, just before her lips claim his as her own. As they kiss, one hand cradles his face before finally pulling back to look at the rings again. “Jamie, these are beautiful,” she murmurs.

“I know ye’re only supposed to wear the part wi’ the stone now, and I’ll give the band to ye at our wedding, but they were my mother’s,” he says quietly. “I couldna wait to see them on ye, both at the same time.”

“Oh, Jamie.” Swallowing a sudden swell of emotion, Claire blinks back fresh tears, pulling him into a tight hug and burying her face against his neck. For a few moments (longer than she means to) she stays just like that, breathing him in until pulling back to see his eyes. “This is why you wanted to go to dinner? Is it why you’ve been so distracted lately?”

He smiles softly. “Now ye ken why. I’d thought to propose at the restaurant, but it didna ever feel as though the timing was right. It probably isna right now, either, considering ye may as well be naked in my arms.”

The laugh that bubbles up from her is sudden, and she can’t help but nuzzle against his cheek. “I’m glad you did it this way. Any other way wouldn’t be us, Jamie.”

Raking his fingers through her hair, Jamie bends just enough to kiss her softly, sweetly, but it quickly turns into more as his hands move from her hair down her back, around her backside, and then he hoists. As soon as her legs are around his hips he moves to their bed, carefully lowering her to the mattress. Gaze drifting, he lands on those flimsy undergarments again and his fingers skirt the lace at her pelvis. “These dinna seem to serve a purpose, Sassenach.”

Regarding him for a moment, Claire sits up and reaches out, cupping his very obvious arousal in her hand. “I believe they’ve done their intended duty quite nicely, really.”

Barking out a laugh, Jamie reaches to move her hand, kissing her palm tenderly before gently pushing her back down. “Ye dinna need frilly things that cost ye half a salary to give me a cockstand, Sassenach.”

“You might have told me that before I bought them,” she teases, raising her hips as questing fingers tug at lace and push it out of the way. He makes quick work of her bra too, and when she’s completely bared to him, he steps back to undress with lightning speed. As he does, he watches her reposition herself until she’s against the headboard, sitting in such a way that no single part of her is left to the imagination.

If she was trying to make him useless, she’s succeeded. For a second he thinks he might speak, parts his lips, and then closes his mouth again. Relying on actions being stronger than words while he gathers himself, Jamie moves to the bed once more, tugging her until she’s flat on her back and he’s planted over her, kissing her until his body demands more oxygen. “Give me a thousand kisses,” he murmurs, kissing her neck. “Then a hundred and another thousand,” Jamie recites, kissing the hollow of her throat. “Then another thousand, then a second hundred.”

She knows the poem; over Christmas, she’d found a book in the library at Lallybroch and they’d curled together by the fire, reading. This one had struck her, stayed with her, and she’d found herself gravitating toward it over and over again. It was even saved as a note on her phone. So, as Jamie kisses and she arches, she manages to speak. “Then, when we--when we have performed many--ah--thousands, we shall shake them into confusion.”

Jamie’s lips move around the curve of a breast, kiss the peak of her nipple. “In order for us to lose the count--” He’s interrupted by a loud moan from her and so gives her more, trusting her with the next line.

Eyes closed and one hand planted in his hair, Claire thinks through the haze of budding arousal. “And--and in order to--in order not to let any evil person envy us,” she begins to finish, but then gasps as he presses kisses in a warm path down her stomach. For a moment she can’t think as his mouth blazes a trail across one inner thigh. “As no one will be aware of--Christ, Jamie,” she gasps as his tongue glides home between her thighs.

Raising his head briefly, one eyebrow arches. “I dinna remember my name in this poem, Sassenach. Finish it,” he murmurs as he ducks back down, nose grazing soft curls, giving her a chance.

Slowly, Claire’s hands drag up and down his back, memorizing the map of his scars as she begins from the last line.

“As no one will be aware of how many kisses there have been.”

He didn’t in June, a month spent trying to pretend he was fine, randomly going to the bookshop to check in while letting his brother-in-law continue running things. July was spent locked up in his room, refusing to come out to do anything other than get food and drink and go right back upstairs. The only people he paused for were the bairns, and sometimes he took Michael or Janet back with him. Jamie sat in the window when he did, rocking whichever babe he’d picked up, praying over them, trying desperately to remember the feel of Faith in his arms. August was when the therapy hammer finally dropped, and after reluctance, putting it off, and telling the adults in his family to mind their own business, he finally went. Multiple sessions were spent getting to know one another and going through the expected (early childhood, post-accident, post-death of his wife) before the psychiatrist asked one solid question that punched Jamie right in the heart.

Do you think Faith could or would have ever blamed you for her being sick?

After it was asked, Jamie stared blankly ahead, past Doctor Cho and out of a window so high up all he could see was blue sky.

I didna protect her.

It’s the only answer he’d been able to come up with. He was supposed to be the one to make things better, to keep her safe and whole, and he’d failed.

That wasn’t an answer to the question.

He’d scrubbed at his face with his hands, gotten up, paced, then finally sat heavily again.

No. She wouldna think I did anythin’ to her. She wouldna blame me.

The doctor’s voice was quiet when he asked his next question, leveling his gaze at Jamie.

Then why do you blame yourself when cancer has no care for who it affects or who might feel at fault?

That was the first revelation. It came at the end of the month, and as September rolled in and the prescribed meds did their jobs (Celexa for the depression, Rozerem so he could sleep), he began running. Most of the time, he didn’t have a clue where he was running to, but the land Lallybroch sat on provided him with enough room. Sometimes he ran for an hour, sometimes two or three. He ran until he was too exhausted to keep going and typically stayed right where he went down, sleeping outdoors under the sky. Something about it made him feel closer to her. In his room, closed off, he couldn’t feel Faith. But out in the world she loved exploring so much, a hint of breeze could be her breath on his cheek as she curled up for a nap against his chest. A tickle on his arm could be her small fingers playing with the fine hairs. It hurt to think about her, but the thoughts usually came unbidden; one moment he could be removing his shoes and the next, choking on his own breath to think about the day Faith sat determined to learn how to tie her own laces. He was dealing with it better, trying to take what happened for what it was. His daughter got sick and she died. He didn’t make her sick or do anything to keep her sick. It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Mid-October is the approximate timeframe of the second revelation with Cho.

I blamed Claire.

He blamed the only person who’d been able to stand toe-to-toe with the Neuroblastoma.

Why?

That fucking question. He hated it, not because of what it was, but because it forced him to remember the things he’d said to her. His words, the way they’d made her face crumple, the way she’d left.

Because I could no’ blame anyone else.

Claire had become the face of it, of what was slowly killing his daughter, and then she’d been the one to tell him to leave. It was easy to make the whole of it her fault, to have something physical to be angry at. But she wasn’t just something.

You said she loved Faith?

Aye. She cared for her, no’ just… she cared.

He’d let himself hope for the day he could take Claire with him to Scotland, had believed he’d lead her through the entrance with one hand in hers, Faith on the other side of him. That was the amount she loved Faith; enough that Jamie let himself think of a future with both of them.

Perhaps, as you grieve, so does Claire.

That’s what it took for Jamie to realize what he’d done. He’d blamed the woman who’d devoted her life to saving his daughter. Then he let her go.

It’s late in Scotland when he pulls up her number in his phone. Jamie stares at it, chewing on the inside of his right cheek at their last exchange. Before Faith died, simple words that he took for granted. Words he didn’t see then as her caring for him but were full of it. Have you slept? Do you need anything? I’ll be there. He’d asked for nothing and she’d tried to give him everything. Thumb hesitating over the screen, he finally sends a message, a simple request for permission to call her, but before he can put the phone down and wait for a reply, the message bounces back. He tries again, checks to be sure his phone is still working, then calls. The number doesn’t even ring.

We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service.

Something close to panic tightens in his stomach before he tries again, and for some reason, a third time after that. Tapping a finger against his leg, Jamie thinks, then calls the hospital to look for her. It takes time, one person transferring him to the next, before finally, a nurse whose name he remembers fondly (Marsali) tells him kindly that Doctor Randall has taken a leave of absence and no one knows exactly when she’ll return. When he hangs up, Jamie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry; no longer working, a new phone number. As he sits heavily on the floor of his room, it hits him all at once. She’s grieving something horrible and he’d pushed her out. Closed himself off and then broke her. The only thing other than the death of his daughter that has made him cry in the last five and a half months is knowing what he’s done to a woman who only ever wanted to take care of him. Of them.

The drive to fix it is what has him up all night, searching for all of the ‘C. Randalls’ in Boston. There are 16. Glancing at the clock, he realizes ten P.M. Boston time is too late to make calls, so he keeps the tab open, gets a dram of whisky, and tries to sleep. As soon as the time is reasonable in Massachusetts he begins calling, going down the list; it would help if he had an address to narrow it down, but he doesn’t, so he starts at the top of the numbers. Nothing is a match; either the calls are never answered or it’s the wrong number. He dials the last of them, and if she doesn’t answer, if the voicemail recording isn’t her voice, he’s prepared to fly to Boston and knock door to door. As the number rings, he curses under his breath at the sixth flat tone just as it picks up. The voice on the other end sounds weary and further away somehow than an entire ocean.

“Jamie.”

At the sound of her voice, he chokes back the want to spill his guts to her right away. The sound of her voice; the way she calls out to him is like a call home, and he tightens his grip on the phone to get ahold of himself. He wants to say so many things at once that each individual word feels like a jumble, but finally, something coherent manages to fall from his lips.

“Christ, I miss ye.”

It isn’t what he planned, it’s not what he thought he’d say, but it is the truth. And the sound of a sob on the other end makes him choke on his own, the words pouring from him.

“I didna mean to blame ye, it wasn’t your fault, I ken it, but my mind was so…” He trails off, trying to say anything that makes what he did to her right. Nothing will, nothing ever can. “I’m sorry, Claire. Ye dinna have to forgive me or say anything.” She hasn’t reached out to him in months, either. For good reason. “I only needed ye to know it, that I’m sorry. That I dinna blame ye. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so verra…”

“I understand, Jamie.”

Three words that don’t process at first, and he closes his eyes tightly against tears. “That makes one of us, then.” He’ll never understand how he so easily hurt her that way.

“Grief is complicated. It’s messy.”

Claire, for her part, is keeping herself together by gripping her kitchen counter until she’s white-knuckled. She never expected to hear from him again, and once she’d given her phone back to the hospital, she’d thought for sure that was it. She’s glad now that she saved his number, even if she knew there would never be a reason for her to call him again. When her screen lit up with his name her heart had stopped, skipped a beat, and now she’s listening to him apologize over and over again.

“Can ye ever forgive me, Sassenach?”

Sassenach. God, she’d missed the way that word sounded. Had found herself whispering it out loud to herself at times, but never could quite make it sound the way he did. His question surprises her, strikes her mute as her eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out a response. Forgive him? How had he managed to forgive her? “Forgive you for what?”

“For the things I said. I was sore. I said more than I meant.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, then another.

“Forgiven.”

One word has never carried so much weight, and Jamie closes his eyes. That she would grant him this is incredible to him.

“I’m sorry, too.”

He’s shaking his head even though she can’t see him before remembering to speak. “Sorry for what, Claire?”

There’s no answer save for her trying to choke back tears to find her words. “I let you down. I let Faith down, your family. I was so sure, Jamie. I knew the odds, but I believed--” Her words stop short as she forces back a sob, coughing with it. She’s been processing alone, withdrawing from the world and questioning the occupation she was so passionate about, doubting her skill. There has been no safety net of family, no one to kindly (or forcefully, with love) recommend that she speak to someone. She’s been on an island, adrift and struggling to keep her sanity.

He’s never wanted to hold onto someone more, to reach through the phone and pull her into his arms, but he’ll have to do the best he can with what he’s got. “Claire, ye did no’ let anyone down. Ye gave me almost another full year wi’ my daughter. Ye made her laugh, made her smile. Gave her holidays in good health because of everything ye did.”

“I meant it, Jamie, when I said I would have done anything…”

“Hush now, Sassenach.” He can’t stomach the idea of something happening to her now, even if they’re so far now from where they were a year ago. “Are ye… I called the hospital. Are ye no’ working?”

Claire swallows on the other end of the line, rubbing a hand over her face. “Every patient is Faith, and I can’t stop second-guessing myself. I thought I was so right in my treatment, and I--” She stops speaking as fresh tears spill over, sniffling.

It pains him to talk about Faith at all, he’s avoided it except with Dr. Cho, but for her, for Claire, he can do anything. “Ye fought. You and Faith together,” he says huskily, fighting his own emotions back. Now is when the third revelation decides to make itself known. Just as he’d let his daughter carry him through the pain and fear, he’d let Claire do the same for him. Used her, let her be strength he could draw upon. “Ye did so much, gave me time wi’ her that was good, and for that alone, I owe ye my soul.” He pauses before adding one more thought, something he feels like she may need to hear now more than ever. “You’re a good doctor, Claire. Nothing has changed that, ye did everything right. You belong at that hospital.”

There’s no sound but her stilted breathing as she tries not to completely lose it. “I can’t right now, Jamie. Thank you, for what you’re saying. But I can’t face any more parents right now, I can’t let anyone else down.”

A tear falls down his cheek. Christ, what has he done to her? “Ye didna let me down, Claire,” he whispers.

There’s silence for so long she wonders if the connection has been broken. “Jamie?”

“Aye, Sassenach. I’m here.”

She hiccups, a residual cry that fell apart. “Will you call me again tomorrow?”

He doesn’t hesitate, closing his eyes in something resembling relief.

“I’ll call ye every damned day, Claire.”