AN: I apologize for making you all wait on this chapter. There has been a lot going on, not only in the fandom, but in my rl as well. For a while, I seriously contemplated not continuing this story at all. In the end, I decided to bring it back and tell the story I set out to do in the beginning. Some changes have been made but I think they worked for the better. So Enjoy!
Jamie Fraser had been a lot of things in his lifetime. He was a son, a brother, a friend. He had been a Soldier, fighting in wars he had no say in, long campaigns that had nearly taken his own life. He was forever marked with the scars from his time in the service, leaving him far more broken and battered than he had ever been in his youth.
But soldier was only one of his roles.
Jamie had been a lover, a husband, and⊠a father.  He was a man reaching for a dream. A man chasing a ghost. Always out of his reach, he Longed for the missing part of his fractured soul.
Claire. The one who haunted him. His Sorcha. All this time she had been there, locked in the recesses his mind, holding on to the secret of their shared love. Their daughter.
Oh how bitter was the taste of regret.
He raised his glass to his lips once more, the burn of the whisky sliding almost unnoticed down his throat. A rushing noise sounded in his ears that had nothing to do with the sea outside beyond the beach. His eyes searched for her, as they had from the moment he arrived. He couldnât help it, his heart knew the tune of its mate.
But she was avoiding him.
He had to find a his way back.
Seeing him, knowing he was here.
She could feel herself trembling.
Taking a deep breath, Claire gathered herself. Pasting a smile on her face, she faced the crowd once more. âPlease enjoy your meal, and thank you all again for coming.â
Applause erupted around the room as she stepped down from the platform.
âThat was wonderful Mama.â
Bree caught the look in her motherâs eyes as Claire made her way back to their shared table.
âHmm?â Claire looked up, reading the concern on her daughterâs face
âOh. Yes. Yes, Iâm fine.â Claire reached out, cupping Briannaâs cheek. âI was just thinking.â
âOh. Nothing darling. Nothing you need to worry about. I just need a bit of air.â
Brianna frowned. âAre you sure Mama?â
âAbsolutely Iâll be right back. Stay. Enjoy your party.â
And with that, Claire turned, maneuvering around the tables towards the open French doors.
She could still feel his eyes on her.Â
âMust you go?â her words were muffled, as she pressed her face closer against his chest. A dull ache in her fingers reminding her how just how tightly she clutched at his shirt, willing him, to stay.
âAye Sassenach. Ye ken I must.â Â He pressed a kiss into her curls. âI dinna want to go. I dinna want to leave ye, but ye ken I have no more say in the matter.â
âI wish you could stay.â
âSassenach, Look at meâ. Â A gentle tug under her chin brought her eyes to meet his. She saw the tears she fought against so desperately reflected back at her. She felt the gentle brush of his thumb, as he wiped the streaks under her eyes.
âYe know I would stay with ye if I could. But I promise, mo nighean donn, That Iâll come back to ye. I give ye my word. This isna forever.â
Claire sniffed, âIâll hold you to that, soldier.â
âAye,â He said, with a smirk. âI ken ye will.â
FINAL BOARDING FOR GATE C7. Â The crisp, voice blared over the intercom, breaking their small, perfect bubble within each other.
Claire pressed closer. âNo! Iâm not ready!â
âI have to go, Sassenach.â Â He took hold of her wrists, easing their grip as his large hands enveloped hers. His fingers traced the curve of the simple metal band she wore on her right hand. A promise, it was a hope of their future. One day, he swore he would replace it with the ring she deserved.
He kissed her forehead, then her nose, at last finding her lips, tugging at the roundness of hers with his teeth, willing her to open herself to him. She met him eagerly, each pouring into the other their fears, the acceptance of their parting.
Claire pulled back with a gasp, willing air into her lungs as she opened her eyes once more. He smiled. Bring her hand to his lips, he kissed her ring, and she gave a short nod.
âTis only a year, mo chridhe. Iâll be back, by the time ye graduate.â He smirked. Save me a seat. Â Just dinna forget me.â
She huffed. "As if I could.â Â
âI need to go. Write me, if ye like. Iâll try to call ye when I land.â
Then, with one last, quick kiss to her lips, he was gone, thought the terminal and out of her sight.
She didnât see him again for almost 20 years.
His damn glass was empty again.
He had seen the way her eyes widened when she saw him. The way her teeth caught her bottom lip. Â The invisible chain that bound them together, forgetting all others around him. One heartbeat. One moment.
Yet it felt like forever.
He had no right to claim her, that much he knew, and it killed him. Whoever Claire was now, Jamie knew she was more than he deserved.
More than he ever deserved.
As he made his way towards the bar in search of a refill, he paused at the sudden vibration in his pocket.
Pulling his phone out he glanced at the screen for only a moment.
He wasnât going to think of that just now. There were other matters on his mind. With a roll of his eyes, he ignored the call, and, drink forgotten, he made his own way to an empty table, his eyes searching for his daughterâs face.
He should probably tell her.
But would she understand?Â
His memory had gotten better over the years. Large gaps were still present, but for the most part, he had recovered well. The pain was still a problem, Jamie figured he would never fully be free of it. In the early days, when he was confined to his bed, his back still raw from the numerous surgeries he had more than enough time to think. To wonder. To try to remember what led him to be in that damn white-washed room in the first place. How he had hated his sterile prison.
It was three years he was confined to that ward. First, it was due to the physical scars that bound him; his back flayed open and raw. Then there was his leg, with the twisted scar that had nearly killed him. Finally, his hand. Crushed beneath the heavy stones of the crumpled building he hit as he was blown skyward. While he, laying prone amidst the rubble, was rendered immobile from his injuries.
He had remained there, floating somewhere in the murky depths of this realm and the next. For what felt like hours, he rocked into cycles of sleep by the screaming of those still alive. Half buried in the remains of his convoy, Jamie had not been aware of when he was found. Then, when the weight pinning him into the dust was lifted, Â the pain surged over him, forcing the cries from his lips that alerted the rescue team to his survival.
Looking back, it was the combined weight of the building and the bodies of his team that had sheltered him. Pressing on his wounds, keeping him from bleeding out. The fever brought on later in the too-bright hospital almost finished what opposing forces could not.
It had taken months for his physical wounds to heal. Nearly a year of intensive therapy and endless testing finally allowed him limited freedom. He praised the days he was able to stand on his own. Cried when he could walk unassisted. Anything that kept him from the confines of his whitewashed prison was worth a celebration. Days turned to weeks, then months. His strength returned at a snailâs pace, yet Jamie kept pushing, past the point of exhaustion. Yet while his physical wounds started to improve, his mental healing had taken much longer.
There was a dream he had, most nights, of a woman. The most beautiful mess of curls, framing her face, soft ivory skin, and glowing amber eyes. Her laughter, like bells, rang in his ears, the sound of her voice was a drug to his senses. But who was she?
Why did she visit him in his dreams?
Four long years after his deployment, Jamie was transferred to a rehabilitation facility outside of London to assist with his recovery. It was there that he had met⊠her.
Geneva was the daughter of the man who had given Jamie a job. One major part of his therapy involved horses, caring for and grooming them. The facility was home to a large stable where therapy animals were kept and often trained. Horses were in abundance and extra help was always welcomed. Jamie didnât mind the work. It was a task that relaxed him, and he felt a sense of peace, from the riot of thoughts in his clouded head.
What had started as a bi-weekly visit to the stables led to a small part-time job for Jamie. He found peace working with the animals. He spoke to them in Gaelic, allowing him to speak his mind without worry. The warmth of the stables and the quiet solitude he found within did wonders. In fact, the more stable his mind became, the more tasks he was given. Soon he started to feel more like himself again, though his memory still had large gaps.
There were unfortunate times where he suffered from relapses. Headaches still plagued him, seeming to split his skull from one end to the other though now they were rare. In the moments where his mind tried to reset itself, Jamie could see his mystery lass, Â drifting in and out of fragmented memories, her voice fading from thought.
Finally, he had been allowed to go home. To Scotland. With him came his young bride, and they had briefly stayed at Lallybroch before settling into their own home.
It was happy, for a time.
Then the dreams returned.
Crisp, cool sheets, the warm scent of honey and chamomile, a pleasant hum wrapping around him, a voice he knew but couldnât find. A laugh, rich, full and bright.
The feeling of something brushing his cheek, cool fingers, soft as silk, and that voice, a whisper, calling out to him, teasing his senses just beyond his reach.
Lips, teeth, and tongue worshipping his scars. Chills running down his spine as he whipped around, desperate for a look at the one who touched him, the one he craved.
The lyrical sound of her laugh.
He would jerk awake, Â soaked to his skin, his heart hamming in his chest. Eyes wide, he would stare at the ceiling above him listening to the sounds of the one who lay next to him.
Wondering why everything felt soâŠ
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