#sasscnach

in hindsight, this whole mess really is his fault. if he had known that claire would come back to him in twenty years time, he’d have done it all differently. but he hadn’t known. how could he have? he’d thought her lost forever to time, and so he’d married laoghaire mackimmie... and hated himself for it ever since. he hadn’t known that it was possible to hate himself more... until claire came back. he’d known that she would find out about laoghaire sooner or later, but the circumstances... they had not been ideal.

so now, with a wounded shoulder, he sits on the edge of his bunk. the ship hasn’t started to move yet, not yet for another hour or so, and he knows that once it does his stomach will be in knots. claire is sitting across from him, eyes downcast, and he knows she’s pointedly not looking at him.

“...i canna tell ye enough how sorry i am, sassenach--” he says, his voice quiet.

         it wasn’t as if he’d completely forgotten his human life. it was much like any passage of time, with more distant memories becoming less clear as time marched steadily forward. flying officer in the royal air force, shot down, recovered in london, died during the raids. no. before that. he was trying to place her face, searching dusty memories for just the right-- there. a nurse. combat nurse at the field hospital he’d been taken to after being shot down. made a joke about having a good scar. claire randall? ‘ shit. ‘ now she was looking at him with similar curiosity, and he could only hope she didn’t recognize him. after all, he was a dead man.

SEND “💋” TO KISS MY MUSE OUT OF NOWHERE.( ᴀ ᴄ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ɴ ɢ . )

*looks under the kilt as much as possible*