#first date!!!

you make sure to give yourself extra time to do your stretches in the morning after you go to camila’s to get breakfast. the atmospheric pressure of the incoming storm is, unsurprisingly, causing your back to ache, but that’s not new and it doesn’t really faze you at this point. if things get bad enough — and they do, sometimes — you just reschedule your plans and take pain meds and muscle relaxers from dr salvius after you do your physical therapy exercises. but your hands don’t ache and you don’t have any numbness in your feet, your temperature is normal, and so you go through your routine and feel better by the end of it.

beatrice picks you up at eleven on the dot, as she confirmed twice over text the evening before with perfect punctuation that made you feel a little bit like you were in trouble but was charming anyway. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say when she knocks on your door, and she blushes and smiles and you’re delighted by the effect you have on her, almost immediately — this exceedingly smart and competent person stumbling over herself the second you smile. it makes you feel powerful and it also makes you want to treat her kindly, to make her laugh.

‘good morning, ava.’ she fidgets, for a moment, and you’re curious why you’re not just going to her truck, but then she takes a hand out of the pocket of her peacoat and opens her palm. ‘i, uh, i noticed your cane was getting stuck in the snow.’

‘oh.’ your first instinct is to be embarrassed, eleven years of abuse rearing its ugly, awful head, but then you look at what she’s actually holding.

‘i already had it,’ she explains, slightly rushed like she’s trying to make sure you’re not upset, like it was just a thoughtful aside of hers. ‘i tore my acl a few years ago and used both on my crutches, and so, i just figured, well… if it doesn’t work, that’s fine, but maybe worth a try?’

you take the winter cane tip attachment from her outstretched hand and it really does feel like some kind of offering for a moment. it’s nice, the crampon itself retractable, and easy enough to put on your cane. when you try it outside the door on the way to her truck, you can’t help but smile, remember a little bit of the joy that first came with movement as you started receiving proper care and accessibility and mobility aids. you don’t take healing for granted, even now. ’thank you,’ you tell her as she unlocks her truck and goes around to the driver’s side. 

she nods. ‘like i said, i already had it sitting around. not a problem at all.’

‘still,’ you say, climbing up and twisting around to greet a suddenly very excited theo in her kennel strapped into the backseat. ‘not many people have been particularly thoughtful in my life, especially not at this.’

she frowns at your admission, her jaw clenching, her face stormy. she’s handsome in her rich maroon scarf and camel wool coat, careful hands on the wheel.

‘anyway,’ you say, a little overcome, ‘how’d you tear your acl?’

she immediately reddens, pulling out of the driveway and trying to act like she’s concentrating very hard on her turn signal to merge onto the completely empty road. 

‘bea, please.’

she sighs, refusing to look at you even at the red light. ‘i was training with theo,’ she says.

‘that’s not horribly embarrassing on its own.’ you grin. ‘there’s got to be more to it.’

‘fine,’ she says, mostly just to humor you, you’re pretty sure. ‘she was small, and we were both learning how to herd. i, well — i tripped over one of the sheep.’

you wait a beat to picture it and then laugh, not unkindly but without any remorse. ‘thank you truly so much for telling me.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘you’re so welcome,’ she says flatly, and you laugh again.

/

you’re confused if your little outing to the christmas market is a date or not for the two minutes it takes for beatrice to park the car, get the small pack holding treats that she carries around for theo buckled around her waist — a little nerdy and totally adorable — and then letting theo out of the kennel. she’s in a little green coat, the same as the other day, and it kind of makes you feel like you’re going to scream, she’s so cute. she greets you fully now, with happy little wiggles, and then situates herself at beatrice’s side. she has a leash connected to her harness, the other half slung over beatrice’s shoulder and across her chest so her hands are free; you think theo doesn’t need it at all, but beatrice explains, ‘in crowded public access areas, it’s appropriate.’ theo, for her part, is busy sniffing a few treats beatrice scattered around her feet in the snow, and then she smiles at you and gestures to head inside.

you’re confused no longer when you see camila’s booth, advertising hot chocolate, apple cider, and egg nog, and she whistles. ‘beatrice, you look so nice with your fancy jacket.’

beatrice glares. 

camila turns to face you fully, a smirk on her face. ‘she never wears that unless it’s a special occasion.’

you can’t help yourself: ‘well, i am a special occasion, if i do say so myself.’

’no one else is saying it,’ lilith grumbles from her seat behind camila, and beatrice fights a laugh while you pout.

‘you look nice too, ava,’ camila says, keeping the peace as you’ve quickly figured out she always does. 

you preen a little, just for the fun of it. ‘why thank you. i love your sweater.’

camila looks down at her jesus was palestinian sweater. ‘’tis the season and all that.’ she beams at you, then beatrice. ‘well, what can i get you both on this romantic outing?’

beatrice sighs in defeat but you grin and look at the menu. ‘well, i’m on vacation and bea picked me up—‘ camila perks up even more at this— ‘so i’m going to do your bailey’s hot chocolate.’

‘i’ll have a cider,’ bea says, and you shoo away her attempt to pay for things, which brings a blush back to her cheeks when you tap your card with a pointed flourish. 

you go through the market with your warm drinks, your cane not sinking into the snow as it had been the past few days, making everything easier, simpler, less nervous with every step. once you have half of your hot chocolate, you lean into beatrice with a smile, and she offers her arm, all clove and pine and her soft scarf. there are booths with ornaments, knitted coasters; you convince her to buy a pretty wreath for the front door of her cabin, which you kind of hope she’ll invite you to see.

it starts to snow when you’re about to leave, the sky darkening early, and she feed theo a few treats before she situates her in the kennel. 

it’s quiet when she starts the truck, and she seems nervous, her hands white knuckled around the steering wheel. ‘i apologize if i was presumptuous.’

you soften. ‘that was a really wonderful date, bea. you can be as presumptuous as you want.’

her smile is shy, bathed in the waning light. ‘well, in that case, would you like to come to my house for dinner?’

‘yes, obviously.’

Jamie pulled out a worn leather chair for her before seating himself across the small square table draped with a crisp white tablecloth and topped with two brass candlestick holders and a myriad of glassware. Claire smirked at the fanciness of it all -- they’d met in a dark bar in the middle of the night and talked over dusty bookshelves and now, she was pretending she belonged in a place like this. When Jamie had asked if she liked Italian, she figured they’d end up at a mom and pop place eating spaghetti and drinking too much wine, not acting on their best behavior at one of the finest restaurants in Beacon Hill.

“Are ye alright, Claire?”

Her head popped up to find Jamie studying her. His head cocked like a puppy who watches something new with a mix of awe and confusion in his eyes. He leaned forward as if to reach for her hand, and drew back.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that, I must’ve zoned out a bit there,” she fibbed. She fidgeted with her napkin on her lap, folding and unfolding it.

“Ye know, I--” Jamie was interrupted by the waiter. He sighed and requested two bottles of wine, a red and a white, and two whiskeys. Claire stifled a giggle at the waiter’s outfit while Jamie was acting the role of adult: the teen wore clean black slacks, a pressed white shirt, a black vest, and a white cloth on his forearm completed the look. The waiter looked at her with confusion.

“Sorry, just thinking about something that happened earlier,” she muttered. The waiter walked away, with a parting glance at Jamie.

“Care tae share what’s so funny, lass?” She expected a look of disdain. The same look Frank would’ve given her, she realized, if she acted this way at a dinner with him. There was never to be any fun, never any giggles, never any banter. She straightened in her chair and attempted to put her feelings about the absurdity of the night behind her.

“Oh, it’s nothing!” Quickly shifting the subject, she moved on. “Did I hear you order four separate alcohol drinks?”

“I wasna sure what ye liked, besides the whisky, so I thought I’d get one of everything to be safe.” It was Jamie’s turn to shift in his seat now. “Shit,” he muttered. “I forgot to ask for ice water.” Motioning back toward the waiter’s station he stopped to add, “Wait, did ye even want ice water? Mebbe ice tea? A coffee? I should’ve asked what ye wanted instead of assuming, Claire, and I’m sorry for it…”

“Jamie. It’s fine.” It was Claire’s turn to reach across the table and take his hand. His eyes moved from the waiter across the room instantly down to their hands. He marveled in the way her fingers intertwined with his, how she traced the bones and knuckles, drawing maps to nowhere in particular. He thumbed over the soft skin of her palms and looked up at her through long lashes. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Ye can ask me anything ye want,” he answered quickly.

“What are we doing here?”

That got his attention. His gaze hardened, his spine stiffened. “What do ye mean?” She didn’t immediately answer, so he continued on. “I asked ye here tonight, because I couldn’t stop thinking about ye all night. And then today, to see ye, to be healed by ye… Christ, I couldn’t wait to see ye or talk to ye or to hold yer hand or merely to be near ye again. If ye’d rather not see me after tonight, I understand and I respect yer wishes. If that’s the case though, I think I’d rather ye let me know that now instead of having me sit here knowing I can’t have ye. I have enough alcohol to get me through the night, I think…” A giggle erupted from the opposite side of the small square table.

“You certainly do have enough alcohol, but I’d rather like to enjoy it with you, if you don’t mind.” One hand held his, and the other held her chin in her palm, elbow propped up on the table.

“Ye’d let me see ye again?”

“Without a doubt.”

Tension flowed out of his muscles and his eyes shimmered in the candlelight. “Why’d ye ask what we were doing here then?”

“I just mean that you don’t have to go through so much trouble for us to spend time together. I know we just met but I’d wager that fancy restaurants with wine lists bigger than the menu aren’t your usual hangout. I’m a simple woman who enjoys simple pleasures, Jamie. Please don’t make this anything more than the perfect night it could be if you just relax.”

He studied her. The curls flowing down around her face, curling at her collarbones. The eyes the same color of his favorite whisky sitting in the crystal decanter on the sideboard back home. Her delicate features that reminded him of the stories of the faeries from back home. She wiggled in her seat under his gaze. He sighed. “I just wanted to honor ye, Sassenach. Do ye right,” she smirked at that. “Och, ye know what I mean,” he said and playfully squeezed her hand in his. “I wanted to treat ye the way I think ye should be treated.”

Would he ever cease to stop being so honest and vulnerable? She hoped not. This confession, his honest assessment of her, made her eyes shimmer with a thin line of unshed tears.

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I overstepped…”

“You didn’t.” She looked up from her hand in his and marveled at the way she cared for him already, so soon. “Just… thank you, Jamie.”

The waiter reappeared to take their dinner orders and the two were left to talk under their meals arrived. He talked about his favorite book, Song of Myself by Walt Whitman (“Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you.” he brought her knuckles to her lips. She shivered. He blushed.) ; she told him about the tropical plant she’d grown from a start for the last five years, the pride and joy radiating from her words and beaming smile (“I couldna ever grow something that took that much work,” “It just takes the right touch,” “Aye, that ye have.”) . The waiter arrived back at their table with plates and bowls galore. Soon, the small tabletop was brimming with large flat bowls of pasta and salad plates layered with leafy greens; all four glasses in front of Claire were full, wine and whisky and water warming her core.

Claire didn’t immediately reach for her food, and Jamie smirked. “Tell me what yer thinkin’ about, right now. Don’t think, just answer!”

“I’m thinking that I don’t know which of these fancy forks to kill myself with.” Silence, then roarous laughter.

“I’m no’ sure what I expected ye to say, but for what it’s worth, I did consider the same the question. This is a hell of a spread!”

Vaguely, Claire thought she should eat a little more food and drink a little less liquids, but the notion rolled passed her with another twirl of whisky in her mouth. Dinner continued to pass with much less fanfare and much more excitement and laughter and banter and all the things Claire thought a date should be. It wasn’t until she went to take another sip of her whisky that she noticed it was entirely empty. About to call for another, Jamie shushed her and brought a finger to his lips to stay quiet. She giggled, then remembering to stay quiet, brought her hands up to cover her mouth. Jamie looked around them conspiratorily and pulled a hip flask from his pocket. He poured a generous amount of what she presumed to be whisky back into her glass, and topped off his own. They continued this way, with mouthfuls of noodles and laugher and soft touches that grew more bold with each sip.

“You know, the drunker you get, the more obvious you’re becoming with your thermos.” The waiter was standing before them, hands on his hips.

“ Thermose? Thermasse? I'm sorry, I don't understand. What's a thermousse?” Jamie was trying his best to put on a serious front, but Claire’s giggles made his mouth spread from a smirk all the way to an honest to God grin.

“That one. Right there in your hand.”

“Oh, the thermas-eh?” Jamie patted the spot where the now-empty flask sat in his pocket. “For yer information, it’s a hipflask and it’s actually quite stylish.”

“Sir, I can’t have you in here, drinking liquor you bought from home.”

“Och well if yer selection wasna grossly overpriced, that wouldna be an issue. But alas, I suppose it’s time for me to take my most lovely date and be on our way. To the next adventure!” The waiter looked as if he wanted to throw Jamie out of the restaurant himself but since they were apparently ready to be off into the night, he asked for his payment politely and returned in record time to usher them out the door. Jamie lent out a hand to Claire and twirled her into his side when she stood, her laughter filling the cozy space.

“Sassenach, they’re all watchin’ us. Let’s get out of here, aye?” He whispered into her hair and he focused on not bumping into tables on their way out. The other patrons watched half in annoyance and half in good-natured smiles cast their way.

“Ayeeeee!” Claire rolled her r’s as best she could and Jamie laughed so hard she could feel his chest reverberate against her back as she led him outside.

Back in the park, Claire led him down brick paths and through lines of tall trees, and he followed her every move. She knew they were only minutes from her townhouse but reveled in the magic of the gardens at night alone with him. With Jamie.

“I wrote it for you, you know,” she said quietly as she walked along the low brick wall lining the gardens. Jamie, down on the sidewalk, looked up confused.

“Ye wrote what, lass?”

“The french song you heard today. I wrote that, last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

Jamie stopped walking. When he turned to face Claire head-on, she came up a few inches above his head from standing on the low wall but felt incredibly small under his gaze. She fumbled with her dress and tried to take a step forward along the wall, but two strong hands held in place by the waist.”

“Will ye tell me what ye wrote? What the words mean?”

“I thought you said you spoke french.”

“Aye, I did. But I was so entranced by ye when I saw ye in the shop, so surprised, that I forgot to actually listen and translate,” he smirked. “Please tell me?”

She watched him for a moment. Not yet. It’s too soon for that. She leaned in close, close enough to smell his cologne and see peak of ruddy stubble on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and his mouth fell open just a bit, and she whispered, “Not a chance.”

She jumped down from the wall past his grasp, strolling back down the brick path. Jamie stood stunned, shook his head, brushed back a few rogue curls, and jogged to catch up with her pace.

---

They arrived back at Louisburg Square not more than ten minutes later. The night was getting late. Claire fidgeted with the hem of her dress, Jamie kept shrugging his shoulders in the black leather jacket, and they walked slower with each step. When it couldn’t be delayed any longer, they arrived at the brick steps to Claire’s porch.

“So, this is me.” She turns to face him, to prolong this moment, this night.

He smirked. “Aye, Sassenach. I remember.”

“Why do you call me that?” He cocked his head at her. “A sassenach, I mean.”

“Och, I mean no offense by it and can stop if ye’d like. It just means outlander, someone not from here.”

“Here? It seems that here is Boston, and you’re not from here either!” She crossed her arms in mock admonishment.

“That mebbe so, but I can’t help that being with you makes me feel like home,” he said as he took a step toward her. Her arms fell to her sides then, and Jamie reached for them in his.

“Was that jus’ the most foolish thing to say? Shit, I jus’ keep making a right fool of myself around ye it seems. First the voicemails and now…”

“I understand… exactly, how you feel.” She couldn’t look at him. It should be too soon to feel this way. He was a practically a stranger, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was different. As if he could read her mind, he replied with questions of his own.

“Is it usual? What it is between us?” He watched her with such intensity, such revere, such awe. She met his eyes, and softened.

“It’s often something like this, I think.” He nodded in agreement. “But no. This isn’t usual. It’s different.” He nodded again, seeming to memorize the pattern of the bricks on the sidewalk under their feet. “I guess that’s my queue… Thank you for a truly wonderful night, Jamie,” she dropped his hands and began to walk up the steps to her door when a strong arm pulled her back into a familiar warm embrace.

“Claire, I--” he swallowed and took a step back from her. She noticed that in the distance he created, his hand still held onto her waist. His fingertips pressed into her flesh and goosebumps erupted under the fabric. She met his eyes and sank into their ocean depths.

“I’d very much like to kiss ye. May I?”

---