A/N: Clipping from the Saturday, May 28, 1949 issue of the Boston Globe. Image borrowed, ahem, from Ancestry.
This update is a (rather mean) birthday present for @lady-o-ren, who is the greatest online support system for me. Forever indebted.
Chapter 1 | AO3
"You have a small child sometimes near you, but she is very faint." -Go Tell the Bees that I am Gone, Chapter 117
Soundtrack: Sentimental Journey by Doris Day, recorded 1944
There was little to be done about the yawn that skimmed the surface of my coffee mug as the broad page of the Globe fluttered to the playmat under the lazy direction of my thumb. I rubbed Bree’s back with my free hand, though she continued gumming her rubber key without attention to her old mummy’s lack of wakefulness.
Brianna seemed little affected by the wee hours her teething pains had forced her (and her parents) to greet that morning. A touch of whisky on those same gums had done the trick for the time being, and I knew it would be only a matter of time before she wound down for her nap, all so we could begin the cycle over again that evening.
The only question to mind was how I would busy myself during that short window of unoccupied time. My bleary eyes had already muddled through all but the human interest pages of the previous weekend’s newspaper, and little on the radio held my attention anymore. Frank, who had bustled out that morning with circles below his eyes and an extra canteen of coffee cuddled to his chest, would be occupied with office hours until just before dinner time.
I turned the page again, seeing little of interest printed in the Sports section. And, there. My thumb smoothed over the slight crinkle of the paper. It was hardly the first photograph to give me pause, but the blown-out image in front of me left plenty of room for imagination. Yes, perhaps that bonnet covered cinnamon curls complemented by dark blue cat eyes. The shot could have been captured in a rare motionless moment as the subject anxiously urged her mum and da to catch up with her, bogged down by precious cargo and the accompanying baby things as they were. Perhaps…
The sound of the teether hitting the hardwood several feet away shook me out of my reverie. Bree’s grunt called me back to my living baby, who knew only this cold flat, however dappled with sunlight it may be.
I huffed into a small smile, letting the tears burn into the corners of my eyes. I had learned they were a guarantee in this uncharted phase of my life. “Never fear, Lovey.” I extended my arm just far enough to reach the offending toy, then stretched into a standing posture to sanitize it. “Mummy will get it sorted.”
The open floor plan allowed Bree to remain in my sight until I turned to face the sink. A few suds later, I faced the great room once again to a sight that set my heart racing: Bree’s palm braced on the armchair my own weary back had been leaning against, and her dimpled knees wobbling as they tentatively held her upright.
Keyring forgotten, I was on her in a moment, my hands bracketing her elbows as her bum hit the mat again with a gentle thump. “Bree!” I swung my daughter high in the air, eliciting a giggle that lifted my battered heart. We spun in just a semi-circle as I dropped into the chair behind me. “Aren’t you my big girl?” I cooed tremulously, her legs kicking out beneath her as if to replicate the feat in my lap.
Pride turning me practically buoyant, I looked around the room to see who else might have witnessed the milestone.
I blinked, and it was so effortless to imagine a lithe tyke clutching her baby sister’s hands as first toddling strides were accomplished across stone floors, myself squatted nearby to capture a full canister of film so their father could experience it later, dirt-smudged fingernails gripping the edges of printed photos… but no, that wasn’t quite right…
Curly wisps against my chin brought me back to awareness, Brianna’s little fist clutching my neckline as she relaxed bodily against my shoulder. The day had finally caught up to her, while reality pursued me just as hotly.
In a world where I had no choice but to face an underwhelming future, Bree and my little imaginings of lost things were all I had to hold onto to keep me afloat.
Claire paces her bedroom in nothing but her shift, threadbare and falling off her shoulder. Her hands, pale and trembling, grasp her belly, round with child.
Her uncle is outside in the small courtyard. She can see him from her window, pacing the same anxious step as she, leaving a trail of smoke from his pipe in his wake.
There's an unexpected knock at her door. It makes her jump and her belly stretch with a fierce kick. She bites her bottom lip red as she groans from the sharp pain.
Who could that be? She wonders angrily, breathing through her nose.
They ordered the servants away. No one can bear witness to this birth.
Another round of knocking. Louder. Urgent.
Claire leans one hand against the stone frame of the fireplace, the other on the arch of her aching lower back. The heat of the fire makes her skin slick with sweat.
"Go away, Suzette. You were told to go home."
She hates the harshness in her voice.
Suzette has been nothing but wonderful since coming into their employ. And the one woman who may just be the one to finally capture her dear uncle Lamb's heart.
"It's not Suzette. It's me . . ."
That voice!
She can feel the memory of it brush against her lips. That brokenhearted sound when they parted, before the crushing blaze of his kiss.
The door then creaks open and there he stands. A feral beast of a man in size and manner, his appearance rough and sunburnt, hair wild as ever, clothed in a patched up coat and muddy breeks, shirt opened wide at the throat to where his chest heaves.
She's mildly pleased he looks like hell.
"Claire . . ." Jamie's near breathless when he speaks her name as his eyes drop to her belly in awed disbelief. "Oh, God. Claire."
He reaches for her, blue eyes bright as the moonlight shining through the window, blinking away tears of unbridled joy.
"No!" Claire swings her hand between them before he can touch her. " I haven't heard from you for months. Months! You had me thinking you were dead, you bastard! Fucking dead -" Her voice cracks, seething with anger that claws at her throat.
But it's the tears falling down her cheeks, the agonizing pain of love bursting within her chest that breaks her resolve to punish him. And she sways on her feet, feeling her knees give way.
Jamie wraps his arms around her best he can, holding her tightly as if she were to slip away.
She's too exhausted to fight back. Too scared of what's to come next to hate him and grabs fistfuls of his shirt. Buries her face in his chest, sobbing. Feels the warmth of him sink and smolder into her bones.
"I'm here now, Sorcha" he rasps into her curls, breath shaky. "And nothing will ever keep me from you again . I promise, I promise . . ."
They cling to each other before Claire pulls away, lovingly tracing his features she memorized long ago with her fingertips, brushing his red curls away.
"Oh, my love. What happened to you?"
A shuddering sound leaves his lips as he grasps her wrists that cradle his face.
"I'm sorry, I'm sae sorry. I meant to come back to ye right away but it wasn't to be. And then I couldn't find ye, went into a rage thinking someone had taken ye, was hurting ye. But it was only that ye left and changed yer name, ye wicked wee thing."
It breaks her heart to see the pain on his face as he gives her shoulders a little shake.
"Lamb thought it best. Especially when I found out I was with child."
Jamie's throat bobs, overwhelmed, feeling the breathless thrill of impending fatherhood fill his heart.
"It's soon, aye? The birth."
She nods, feeling terribly giddy.
He sees this and rubs circles into her back, his voice gentle against her freckled cheek.
"There's nothing for ye to be afraid of now, I'm here wi ye."
" I'm more than afraid. I've had nightmares where I give birth to a litter of your feral children."
" If you were a she-wolf, aye. We'd have six if we we're lucky," he says , with a gold twinkle of mirth in his eyes.
Claire slaps his chest and he laughs then takes this moment to finally kiss her, tenderly, with all the earth shattering love that swells from his heart to hers.
Both breathless, Jamie leads her to the chair by the window and kneels in front of her to nuzzle her belly while she strokes his head, twining his hair around her fingertips.
But then he suddenly lifts his face.
"There's two ye carry."
Claire smiles, but with a line between her brows.
" I thought so too but how the hell can you know that?"
"I can scent it," he says simply, voice full of wonder and presses his ear against her, rubbing her sides. "And I can hear their heartbeats. Braw wee things. Just like their mam."
He beams with pride then asks with a questioning cock of his head -
"Why are ye alone, a nighean?"
" Poor Lamb only smokes his pipe when he's nervous but the reek of it makes me sick so I sent him outside until I knew for sure these two were coming. And ," she pauses, dropping her hands to grip to his shoulders, "and I was afraid to call a midwife. "
He can see on her face the fear she won't speak. He raises himself and cups his hand to the side of her neck, the other splayed protectively over their children she carries.
"They'll be like you and me as I am now."
" Are you sure?"
He arches a brow.
"I was a man when we made love, Sorcha."
"Were you? Because no man has ever done what you did to me."
A hot blush suffuses both their faces, remembering that startling moment beneath the summer sun and swaying trees when he was knotted deep inside her, heart and soul forever linked.
"Weel," he begins, unsure of what to say and scratches his nose, straight as a knife. "I dinna remember ye complaining at the time," he shrugs.
Just as Claire hits him again, and Jamie peppers her with kisses, assuring her over and over that nothing will be amiss, she's struck with a wave of pain.
When she can breathe again, Jamie dips his hand beneath her shift and cups the swollen flesh between her legs.
"Too late to call for a midwife."
He presses his brow to hers, a crooked smile on his face.
"Between us we'll manage. We always have."
//
There's two of them, nestled against their mother's breasts.
One with dark hair like the water in a burn kissed by sunlight, the same as their mother. The other the rich red mane of their father, shimmering with strands of gold.
Jamie kisses the chubby curve of their peach soft cheeks as they suckle hungrily from their mother, tired but glowing. They both grunt, hating their father's attention, his suffocating affection when they're just trying to eat and take it out on their poor mother who winces in pain.
But then all is calm again and both Jamie and Claire each cradle a child in their arms as they sleep, sitting close together in bed.
"Are you happy?"
Claire has her head on Jamie's shoulder, her eyes growing heavy, but the need to know every detail of her daughter's faces keeps her awake.
Jamie carefully maneuvers his arm to gather his loves even closer and presses his mouth to the top of her crown.
"Aye. Three lasses I have. And all three of ye breathe, thank the god above. No man could ask for more. I could howl at the moon, I'm so damn happy," he grins wolfishly.
She laughs into his chest so as not to wake their girls, sleeping sweet as angels. And she wants to keep it that way.
But then a frown darkens her face with a thought she can hardly utter.
"Will you stay with us then?"
Her voice is a small, hollow whisper.
"Look at me, mo ghràdh."
She does, hesitantly, and it tears at his chest that she does so.
"I told you I would never leave ye again and I meant it. And it's not just because ye gave me the gift of our bairns - though for that alone I owe ye my soul. I love ye, Claire, with all that I am, and I will live as a man with ye. Be yer husband, yer mate, serve ye for the rest of my days . . . if ye'll have me . . ."
The sun itself could shine no brighter than the love that beams from Claire's heart as she gives her answer in the loving press of her lips to his.
Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3
Chapter 15A: Dreams
Wilmington, North Carolina
Labor Day Weekend, 1988
I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see
Help me baby, or this will surely be the end of me…
- Dreams, The Allman Brothers Band (1969) [click here to listen]
“I’ll be upstairs in just a few minutes. Did you finish your reading?”
Ten-year-old William MacKenzie shook his head. “I was going to, but that’s when Daddy arrived with Jamie and Claire – I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. And then it was time for dinner, and then - ”
Gillian Duncan MacKenzie bent to kiss her son’s forehead. “All right then. Why don’t you get yourself all caught up?”
William’s eyes darted over to Claire, seated across from his mother at the kitchen table, sipping sweet tea.
“Jamie and I will be here all weekend,” she smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk with him about music tomorrow.”
His face brightened. “OK! See you in the morning!”
Claire couldn’t help but smile as William darted out of the room, footsteps quickly thudding on the stairs.
Gillian turned to face her guest. “He’s so excited. It’s not every day that a bona fide rock star is here in sleepy Wilmington.”
“Thank you for asking him to not tell his friends at school. I’m used to the attention now – ”
Gillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you?”
Claire shrugged. “Well – no. I don’t know if I ever will be. But one thing that won’t change is how much we value our privacy. So – thank you.”
“Of course, Claire. Privacy and discretion are what I do professionally – how could I not extend the same courtesy to you, when you’re a guest in my home?”
“Still. Thank you.”
A beat. Claire sipped the sweet tea Gillian had made – the same recipe she’d grown to love, those months at The Ridge. Gillian gently pulled Claire’s left hand across the table, studying her rings.
“You said this was his grandmother’s engagement ring?”
Claire nodded. “He inherited it when she died. His sister Jenny kept it for him, until he asked her for it. Called her the day he got home from The Ridge, and went to see her the next day. He gave it to me a few weeks later.”
“A man who knows what he wants.”
Claire smiled. “And I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”
Gillian returned the smile, then focused on the wide band next to the engagement ring.
“I love how solid and simple your ring is. Silver?”
“Platinum. His is the same. Wide enough for an inscription on the inside.”
“I do,” she had whispered. Smiling through the tears. Thinking he looked just a bit ridiculous in his suit. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Love” across his knuckle.
“I do,” he had whispered. Eyes burning, full of awe. Agape at the simple gray dress she had chosen, his mother’s pearls around her throat. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Heart” onto her finger.
“I am so pleased to…” Professor Quentin Lambert Beauchamp loudly blew his nose into a polka-dotted handkerchief. “Excuse me. I am so pleased to pronounce you husband and wife. Jamie, you may kiss your bride.”
He did. To the applause of the ten dear friends gathered in Joe and Gail Abernathy’s Boston backyard.
“That’s beautiful.” Gillian lay her own left hand on the table, adorned only by a thin gold ring. “Dougal never gave me an engagement ring, and he insisted I have the gold band for our marriage. His is silver. He had just sunk all of his money into building The Ridge, and we couldn’t even afford flowers at the reception.”
“That’s beautiful, too, Gillian. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to upgrade. Because what you have now, is that much more meaningful.”
“I was sitting here, when Joe and Gail staged the intervention.” Jamie looked over at his wife – his wife!! – gazing up into the arbor behind the house. “The vines were heavy with grapes. I remember thinking, how appropriate that I’m looking at what could be wine.”
He pulled her closer against his side, and kissed the top of her head. Careful of the tortoiseshell combs that Jenny had so lovingly placed in Claire’s hair as she got ready this afternoon.
“Ian confronted me in a hotel room in…Sacramento, I think. I had been so wasted on stage the night before, slurring through half the songs. Jenny had come to see Ian, and she was so scared for me. She had already done the research, made a few phone calls. I puked the whole flight across country to North Carolina.”
“It’s always the ones we love who we hurt the most,” she murmured.
“I’m never going to hurt you, Claire. You know that, right?”
She turned to face her husband – her husband!! – and smiled. Reassuring.
“I do. And you know I’m never going to hurt you, Jamie. Right?”
He nodded. Couldn’t help but kiss her.
“Ah!”
Dougal MacKenzie and Alec MacMahon turned the corner, and cheered. “Here you are! Come on – don’t let us have all the fun without you. Can’t miss your own wedding reception!”
Gillian nodded. “I don’t need it. I have the life we’ve built together, and our son, and a man who somehow thinks the sun rises and sets with me. I’ll never understand it.”
Claire swallowed.
Of course Gillian noticed.
“Don’t ever doubt how much he loves you, Claire. I’ve seen you two together – you’re so natural with each other. That’s never going to change.”
She clenched her hand into a fist. Centering herself.
“It’s…it’s just so…intense, with him,” she whispered.
“We don’t have to tonight, Jamie. We have forever, now.”
His hands shook as his thumb softly, softly traced down her neck, across the pearls, and settled into the cleft between her breasts.
“I want to, Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. I just…”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Gillian asked gently. “I can be your therapist, or I can be your friend. But I will listen.”
Claire took a deep, calming breath. “Being on tour – I see now how he developed the addictions. Every aspect of it is so stressful. He feels so much pressure to lead his band, to write music, to live up to the fans’ expectations. And he has to deal with the label and the tour manager and the production guys, and do media, and somehow find time to eat and shower and sleep on top of all of that.” Her thumb twisted her wedding ring. “He’d use the drugs to come up, and the alcohol to come down. And the women to just forget about everything for a while.”
“Are those groupies?”
Colum had organized a small gathering for the band and crew to celebrate the first show of the acoustic tour. No alcohol or drugs in the room – though Claire quickly learned that the rules by no means extended to hallways and bathrooms and storage rooms at the venue.
Jamie squeezed her hand, standing side by side in the corner, both of them holding a can of Tab.
“Yeah. I can ask them to leave, if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”
“No need.” She dropped his hand and quietly approached the four women giggling on the other side of the room.
“Ladies. I’m Claire Beauchamp. I’m with him.”
She turned slightly, looked at Jamie over her shoulder, and then turned back to her audience.
“So?” A girl wearing a strategically ripped Def Leppard t-shirt popped her gum. “That’s not what I heard about the last time he was here.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. I will say this only one time. If you even think about flashing a boob, or smiling at him, or trying to get him alone? I will end you.”
The girls gaped.
“Tell all your friends here in Albuquerque, please. Are we clear?”
“And now, that you’re there with him?”
Claire smiled. “He’s eating and sleeping a lot better. Has a lot more energy. He so desperately wants to do everything right. And I’m not going to lie, Gillian – seeing him perform the songs he wrote for me at The Ridge, and then being there when he comes off stage, all keyed up from singing and playing the guitar…”
“It sounds like in many respects he’s replaced his additions with you.”
Claire looked up, meeting Gillian’ gaze. “Of course he has. The album and lead single will be called She’s My Addiction. Doesn’t get any more obvious than that.”
“And how do you feel about that, Claire?”
She lay her hands flat on the table. “I’ve never felt more…loved, and cherished, than when I’m with Jamie.”
She frowned and opened her eyes when he stopped brushing her hair, one morning in Minneapolis.
“What – ”
The pads of his fingers swept the left side of her neck, still a bit tender from his kisses after last night’s show. “I bruised you. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm. I’m not.”
She swallowed. “But it’s so, so hard sometimes. He loves me for who I am, but I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. And he stresses over so much that he doesn’t have to. Gillian, he’s been having panic attacks all tour.”
“My God. Is he seeing anyone to help with that?”
Claire sighed. “You’re looking at her. Thank God I did that psych rotation when I was in med school. I’ve helped him recognize the signs, and he knows enough to tell me when it’s happening so that we can get away and I can help him through it. But I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t be everything he needs. He has to do a lot of work to explore what’s triggering him, so that he can manage that. Because after we take the break at the end of the year, we’ll be on the road for most of ’89. The label has booked more than a hundred shows.”
“And you’ll be with him?”
“Of course. He’s the air I breathe. I know this sounds insane, but we want to try for a baby next year. That way he can be off the road, off touring, to be with me if the timing lines up.” She sighed. “So I’ve talked to him about bringing a therapist with us on tour. He needs to have that kind of support from someone other than me. Especially when we’re in Europe and he’s playing soccer stadiums and dealing with a next level of bullshit.”
“Do you want some recommendations? Between Dougal and I, we can definitely help you find someone.”
Claire smiled thinly. “That would be wonderful. It has to be someone we both trust. Who can deal with all the craziness.”
Gillian nodded. “Consider it our wedding gift to you. I – we – really want to help you. You know this, Claire – getting sober is hard, but staying sober is so, so much harder. It does and doesn’t get easier with time. Dougal would say the same thing.”
“Do you ever miss it?”
She settled her chin into his shoulder, nestled securely in his lap. Together they watched the cornfields of Iowa glide by, thousands of feet below.
“No. Not really. The pills helped me deaden the pain. And my life doesn’t have that kind of pain at all, now.”
The private plane had four clusters of four seats, two seats on each side facing each other with a table in between. Jamie and Claire always had a cluster to themselves. Ian, his bass tech, Jamie’s guitar tech Arch, and Angus’ drum tech always sat together. Colum kept to himself. Leaving Angus in the final cluster – which he shared with the two groupies he’d been surprisingly faithful to since Albuquerque. He hated flying, but the girls certainly made it easier for him – plying him with snacks, rubbing his back, squeezing him between them in the big seat.
Claire turned slightly, and inhaled at his temple. Kissed his earlobe as he shivered. “I know you miss it, Jamie. And it’s OK.”
His grip tightened on her hip. “You taste so much better,” he whispered. Eyes far away.
Claire wiped the corners of her eyes. “I just love him, Gillian. So fucking much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so proud of him, for everything he’s done, and for the man he’s worked so hard to become. I’m not going to lie – sometimes it’s so damn hard to deal with everything. With all of his past shit, and how he still lets it mess with his head. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told him that none of it bothers me. Not the drugs, or the alcohol, or the destroyed hotel rooms, or what is probably hundreds of women. I can’t let any of that bother me, because that’s not the Jamie I know. But Gillian…”
Gillian reached across the table and took Claire’s hand.
“He makes everything so fucking hard sometimes. He starts to spiral, and he worries that I’ll have had enough and walk away. But then we just take a deep breath, and we look at each other, and all the bullshit is gone, and it’s just so easy again.”
“You need a day off!”
Jamie rubbed his hands over his face, exasperated. “I do have a day off tomorrow, Claire. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a show.”
She huffed, hands on her hips. “Not the point, Jamie. I saw the call sheet for tomorrow. You’re meeting with the label, and then with Colum to talk to the merch guy, and then the lighting team, and then you’re doing some local radio spots. That’s NOT a day off!”
He shrugged. “At least we can get dinner together and it won’t be shitty venue food.”
She pursed her lips, trying so hard not to scream. “Do you not remember the panic attack last night? You were sobbing in my arms, Jamie. It was really, really bad. And then you were so exhausted, but you wanted to be a hero and do the show anyway, and then you tripped over your fucking amp when you went on stage and could have broken your arm. Where would that leave us, hmm?”
He reached out to her – and she stepped back.
Not done with him yet.
“You need rest, Jamie. Your body is going to shut down. And that won’t be good for anybody.”
“Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Beauchamp?”
A hint of a smile. Good.
“Yes. I’m your personal physician. I’m prescribing a day in bed, sleeping.”
He smirked. “OK. But only if you’re in it, too.”
She shrugged. “I’m not making any sense.”
“Yes you are,” Gillian smiled. “You said it’s intense between you – there’s no way it couldn’t be. Set aside his being a musician, and being in just about the biggest band in the world right now. Think about how and when you met. What had happened to both of you beforehand. All the changes you’ve made in both of your lives, in a relatively short timeframe. It’s overwhelming. And being on the road with him this summer had to have just upped that intensity.”
“We’re together non-stop. Which has been great, because we have so much time. We have what nobody else has, and I treasure that, I really do. But it’s also exhausting sometimes.” Claire paused, considering. “Nobody else knows what I’m about to tell you, but it’s another factor. We…we didn’t…” She closed her eyes. “We waited until our wedding night.”
Gillian’s silence was a gift.
“We were both so scared. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I think we were worried that…that it wouldn’t be good, for some reason. And it was good, Gillian. So fucking good. We both cried.”
“You’re everything.” He kissed her nose and cheeks and forehead and mouth over and over and over again, his tears mixing with hers. “My heart is going to burst.”
She hugged him tighter, nails digging into the flames tattooed on his shoulders. “Love you,” she whispered, breathless. “Love you love you love you love you…”
“I don’t need to tell you this, Claire, but I will anyway. It’s been a really good decision to spend so much time together, to really get to know each other, before you were married. Both of you deliberately wanted your relationship to be different from anything you’d known or done before. And now that last barrier is gone between you. So everything has changed, am I right?”
Indianapolis. Married one week. He couldn’t stop smiling at her, standing side stage during the show. She couldn’t stop giggling when he found her after the encore, threw her over his shoulder, and ran to his dressing room. His breath hot against her lips, breathlessly pleading for her to stay quiet, as they loved each other on the sofa and the techs and roadies and catering people and production staff bustled by the locked door.
“It has, Gillian. But in many ways it hasn’t. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like forever.”
New Haven. Married two weeks. The morning after a powerhouse show at the Coliseum. A penthouse suite overlooking the water. She had slipped out of bed in the dark, opened the curtains wide. Watched him watch her as she returned to bed. Held his gaze as they loved each other, dawn breaking over their faces.
“I get that. You’ve introduced another layer to your relationship. Probably the most complex layer that there is.”
Providence. Married two weeks and two days. Holding each other in a bath, Jamie’s hand splayed across her belly, Claire’s nose buried in the curtain of his hair.
“So, be patient with yourself, Claire. Cut yourself a break.” Gillian reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “And just enjoy yourself! My God – what an incredible life you have.”
Claire’s smile was the widest Gillian had ever seen.
“Holy shit. I married a rock star.”
“I heard that!”
And then Jamie was there, smiling, and kissing Claire’s smile.
Dougal hung back in the doorway. Exchanging smiles with his own wife.
“Come on, rock star. You said you’d help me hook up the new CD player.”
Jamie pulled back. Rubbed his nose against Claire’s.
“Hey, Dougal?”
Dougal crossed his arms. “What?”
Jamie stood. Squeezed Claire’s hands. Kissed her wedding ring.
“Love is a much better high than any drug.”
Dougal rolled his eyes. “I’ll put that on the new pamphlets we’re printing up for The Ridge. But the stereo won’t install itself. Help out, and I’ll even let you play that new stuff you brought.”
Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3
Chapter 14C: Where Do We Go Now?
Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]
Where do we go now?
Where do we go now?
Where do we go?
- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)
Tucson || July 1988
AA met every Thursday in a church hall not far from the studio. She’d borrowed Bobby’s Trans Am to drive Jamie, holding his hand the whole way, hearing about his chat with Alec – who had graciously agreed during their January trip to New York to be Jamie’s sponsor.
She kissed him when he went inside. Needing some peace and quiet of her own, in the car, as she waited.
She had tried NA off and on, but it hadn’t really clicked. She was so very happy that AA really worked for Jamie – it was always much easier for him to open up to perfect strangers – and she was grateful that he could get the support he needed, at a moment’s notice, in any city.
Not to mention that the Friends of Bill took the “anonymous” in Alcoholics Anonymous quite seriously – meaning, in those meetings Jamie was just Jamie the alcoholic, not Jamie Fraser the frontman of Print, not the rock star. Just a man who fought daily battles with addiction, who was trying to be better, who just so happened to have the number six record in the country today.
It was hard. It was always going to be hard. But he was worth it. The life they had together was worth it.
She pulled out the folded envelope. Smoothed the creases against the steering wheel. Reading and reading and re-reading the return address.
Listening to Guns N’ Roses and Def Leppard and Poison and Cheap Trick on the radio.
She didn’t see Jamie cross the parking lot. Jumped when he slid into the passenger seat, smiling, with a kiss.
“Hey.”
She offered a tight smile. “Hey. How are you?”
“Much better.”
His gaze found the envelope.
He didn’t need to say anything.
She couldn’t say anything.
But now that he was here, she opened it.
Held out the single sheet of paper.
They read.
Dr. Claire Beauchamp
via Colum Laird, Broch Productions
Dear Dr. Beauchamp,
Thank you for your letter and providing a forwarding address. Three months ago, the BMC board unanimously voted to terminate your employment. For legal reasons we will not provide further details, and the board’s decision is final.
However, we have communicated to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts that your medical license should be restored, with the provision that you no longer practice medicine in any kind of high-stress environment. You may contact the medical board at the below address to request a copy of…
Jamie watched Claire read and re-read and re-read.
“Sweet Child O’ Mine” played softly on the radio.
A long, long moment.
The song shifted to the bridge.
Where do we go now, sweet child? Axl Rose murmured.
Jamie took a breath. “Where do we go now, Claire?” he whispered.
She folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. Laid it on the dash. Reached beneath her shirt to pull the long chain up over her neck. Settled her left hand on Jamie’s thigh, skin hot through his jeans.
Jamie unclasped the chain, letting his grandmother’s engagement ring slide free. He slipped the ring onto her finger. Brought her hand to his lips, kissing so softly.
“I’d like us to have an extra day in Boston when we’re there next week. So that we can pack up my apartment.”
She was looking through the windshield, face turned to him in profile.
“Yes. What else?”
“I’d like a little house in the mountains of North Carolina. Not too far from The Ridge. It’s so beautiful and peaceful there. I’m sure Dougal and Gillian can help us find something.”
Gently he bit her knuckles. “Something small. Kitchen and living room. Bedroom for us. A room I can use for music. And a room for your medicine.”
She nodded. “I’ll transfer my license – I’ve already looked into how to do that. I can file the paperwork when we get to Boston. I don’t know if I want to be in a private practice, or just volunteer in a clinic, or maybe something else. We’ll get settled, and then we’ll decide.”
“We will. I – are you happy, Claire?”
She smiled tightly. “More…relieved. And yes, I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to be free. Happy to be marrying you.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Listening to the final notes of Slash’s guitar. And then the first two minutes of INXS and “New Sensation”.
Memory flared – the last time she heard this song was the one time she’d seen Jamie nude, changing into his leather pants backstage in Orlando, when she’d entered his dressing room without knocking.
She swallowed. “I want the house to have at least one spare bedroom.”
He laced their fingers. “Of course – for guests.”
She flushed. Finally met his eyes.
“Yes. And for children.”
He released a suddenly shaky breath. “Oh, my love. Yes.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m never taking this ring off again.”
He leaned across the console and kissed her. Kissed her. Kissed her.
Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3
Chapter 14B: Where Do We Go Now?
Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry
- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)
Tucson || July 1988
It didn’t matter what Colum or the label or anyone else said – all recording studios looked the same on the inside.
Sure, there were always small differences. The really comfortable couches at Sound City in Los Angeles. Electric Lady in Manhattan still had the really cool paint scheme that Jimi Hendrix himself had designed. Muscle Shoals in Alabama oozed coolness.
But this studio, whose name he couldn’t and didn’t care to remember, nestled down a back street in Tuscon was…tired.
Almost as tired as Jamie.
The “quick three week tour” had stretched to eight weeks, with no end in sight. Theater shows had been upgraded to arenas. Playing to thousands and thousands of ecstatic fans. Pouring their hearts out night after night after night, and squeezing in radio promos and sound checks and business meetings during the day.
Fucking exhilarating.
Everybody wanted a piece of Print – their music, their story. Jamie still hadn’t granted too many interviews this tour, but the press ate up every word he said about sobriety and music and forgiveness. Insatiable for details about the woman he had met in rehab, and written all the new songs about, and refused to name publicly.
Print was making more money than they knew what to do with. The label had sprung for a private plane, and nobody in the band missed the rickety and smelly tour bus (except Claire, because it was still all so new to her, which Jamie added to the list of thousands of reasons why he loved her). Their hotel rooms were bigger. Catering in the dressing rooms was much nicer.
Fucking exhausting.
So many people wanted a piece of Jamie every day. Ian and Angus, to run through the new material that just kept pouring out of them. Colum, to talk ticket sales and adding second and third nights in each city. The suits from the label, who kept finding them in Dallas and Kansas City and Detroit, slapping Jamie’s back and pushing terrible ideas for duets with pop stars or contributing to a movie soundtrack or pleading to do the acoustic set in a special for MTV.
And on top of that, some dirtbag reporter from the National Enquirer had figured out who Claire was, somehow got a hold of her personnel file from the hospital, and tracked down her shitty ex-husband for an exclusive interview. Splashed her life all over the tabloids, complete with very grainy photographs of the she and Jamie together, holding hands, on a rare day off in Nashville when he took her to a few honky-tonks. The one saving grace was that thankfully, nobody at The Ridge had said a word about anything about her time there, or the time they shared together.
Claire took it all in stride. She always understood. Holding him in the bathtub of their suite in Denver as he shook from another panic attack. Smiling over a three AM hamburger at a diner in Topeka. Whimpering as he came off stage in Atlanta, sweaty and keyed up from singing about her, hoisting her in his arms for a long kiss against the lighting equipment at side stage, heart stuttering to see his eye makeup smudged against her cheeks.
The man he was on the last tour – unhappy, unfulfilled, so deep in an addition he didn’t care to acknowledge – would not recognize the man he’d become on this tour.
“In ’86, we played seventy eight dates. We had a number one record. I bought my house, and my motorcycle, and my car.” Quietly he sipped coffee in their suite in Seattle, watching the city wake up, running his thumb over Claire’s shoulder as she settled against him in front of the window.
“You had everything you had always dreamed of.”
He snorted. “I was a mess. All I could think about during every show was how to find a girl or a bottle or a baggie as quickly as possible. And the crew would always do that for me.”
The crew respected his – and Claire’s – request for no drugs or alcohol backstage this tour. What the techs and roadies and production crew did on their own time, in their own hotel rooms, with whoever they wanted to – Jamie didn’t care. But for everyone to help with, to respect, his sobriety was a gift. And he never stopped saying thank you.
“If only those reporters could see you now – Jamie Fraser swaggering off stage for an Evian.”
He smiled. “And to kiss this beautiful doctor who for some reason keeps following him around. Because he loves her, more than any man has ever loved any woman.”
He wanted to provide for her. To shelter and protect her. To never leave her side ever again.
She didn’t need him to do any of that, of course. They’d talked about it many times. But she wanted him to do that. And the fact that she chose him, kept choosing him…that was why they kept going. Kept each other sober. Kept holding each other up.
They’d agreed that this time on tour was for her to understand this part of him – and to help both of them decide how and where they would live once the tour was done.
Which is why the radio silence from Boston, four weeks after mailing the letter from Philadelphia asking, politely, just what the hell was going on…was so fucking crushing.
The stress of that – and the grind of touring – did make it just a bit more difficult every day.
Thankfully Colum had scheduled a week-long break at the end of the month. Angus was already planning a trip to Aruba with the two groupies, who truth be told had grown on the rest of the band. Ian was planning to spend the week with his wife, Jamie’s sister Jenny, and their kids.
And Jamie and Claire – well, they’d be getting married.
Only a few people knew, with good reason. Ian and Jenny, of course. Alec and Faith, in New York. Colum. Dougal MacKenzie and his wife Gillian, who had helped both Jamie and Claire so much at The Ridge. Uncle Lamb, who would officiate. And Claire’s friends Joe and Gail Abernathy, who had quite literally saved her life by getting her to The Ridge in the first place.
The service would be simple. Exactly what they wanted – what they needed.
And after that…well. They would truly be husband and wife.
But there was a lot to do – a lot to take care of – between now and then. Not the least of which was, wrapping up this recording session.
The time laying down acoustic tracks in Philadelphia last month was very well spent. They weren't so rusty. But the guys were eager to hear the songs in electric form. And since they were in Tucson, and Colum knew Bobby Higgins – who not only owned this studio, but who had also produced that really killer Ratt album in ’84…
“OK, Jamie.”
Jamie took a deep breath, and looked up through the glass at Bobby, hunched over the console in the control room.
“Ready for take two?”
Jamie looked left, to Angus – and right, to Ian.
“Yup.”
“OK – this is In My Veins, take two.”
Jamie grit his teeth.
Caught Claire’s eye in the control room.
She smiled.
He relaxed.
Angus counted in on his drumsticks, and then started the heavy beat like they’d discussed.
Four bars – and Jamie’s guitar and Ian’s bass joined in.
--
“That was really, really great, Jamie.”
Claire handed him a new bottle of water, cap already twisted off. He drank it in four deep gulps.
“I know you’re not shitting me. So thank you.”
Quickly she looked over her shoulder – Angus’ cheeks were being loudly kissed by the groupies, and Ian played around with his bass, and Colum and Bobby were deep in conversation in the control room.
“Where are you?”
She had pulled him away before, when the panic attacks were coming, and he knew she’d do it again right now if needed.
He wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand. “About an eight out of ten.”
“Do you need a break?”
He met her eyes. “I need a meeting. Been thinking about my old friend Jack Daniels all day.”
“Did you see something?”
He sighed. “I’ve only played electric a handful of times since I got back from The Ridge.” He looked down at the gorgeous Stratocaster strapped across his chest, fist flexing. “I got this guitar because the black tone and white trim matched the label on the bottle. Stupid, I know. But it’s all I could think about today.”
“Not stupid. We’ll deal with it. You should call Alec. And I can find you a meeting.”
He leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I’ll call him. And I need to sell this guitar.”
She nodded. “We’ll find a charity.”
He kissed her again. “I love you.”
She kissed him quickly, and returned to the control room.
Grateful that Jamie had turned away to talk to the guys, when Colum tapped her on the shoulder, and slid over an envelope postmarked Boston.
“Mail call. Do I want to know?”
She shook her head, folded the letter, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Is there a Yellow Pages I can borrow?”
Let's be very careful. Let's prepare ourselves. A sudden break now, however brave and admirable, would be too cruel. We can't do such violence to our hearts and minds.
Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3
Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?
Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]
She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...
Philadelphia || June 1988
Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.
Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.
Chief Physician
Boston Medical Center
To Whom It May Concern,
As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.
As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.
I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.
Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.
Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.
But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.
To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.
Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.
But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.
Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.
He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.
Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.
But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.
When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.
“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”
Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”
He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”
“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.
“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”
He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.
But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”
He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.
“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”
He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.
“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”
He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.
“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”
He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.
“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.
Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.
“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”
She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”
He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.
Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.
She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.
All because of Jamie.
“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”
She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”
He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”
She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.
She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.
I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Dr. Claire Beauchamp
She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.
After a deadly confrontation with the Laird and Warchief of Clan Mackenzie, the last son of Lallybroch goes on a frantic search for his one true love, praying he isn't too late . . .
//
Jamie's found his runaway heart in the ruins of an old abbey by the sea.
He swings his long leg from off his great stallion's back and crosses what's left of the crumbling stone archway to the back where the wall of the abbey has collapsed.
Claire sits there amongst the rubble and weeds with her knees pulled up to her chest, transfixed by the rhythmic rise and fall of the black ocean waves. Was she longing for them to sweep her away?
Jamie couldn't bear the thought of losing her, even as guilt gnawed away at his guts for being the one to have selfishly brought her to this savage place.
For failing to keep her safe.
He can see the bruises on her neck with the lifting of her long dark curls by the cold misty wind and can only imagine what other marks hide beneath her cloak and crumpled dress, making his blood burn black with rage.
As if she's heard the mad thrashing of his heart, Claire looks over her shoulder and her eyes that could bewitch a man into giving up his soul widen in a burst of golden surprise.
"You idiot!" She cries to Jamie's horror. "You damned stupid fool!"
Seizing a rock, Claire hurls it at his head, followed by another and another after that. She then attempts to run when Jamie makes a move to grab her and becomes trapped against his chest.
"Let go of me!" She shouts, jerking violently in his arms wrapped ironclad around her.
"Sassenach! Claire! I'm not here to hurt ye!"
"Let go of me, damn you! Let go!"
The desperation in her voice tears at Jamie's very soul making his arms drop like lead at his sides.
Claire stumbles forward but doesn't run off like he feared she would. Instead she turns to face him, glaring fiercely, with her breath coming out in hurried white puffs around her flushed and freckled cheeks.
"Why did you follow me?" She demands.
"Why the hell did ye leave the castle wi'out telling me? Surely ye must've kent I'd search night and day for ye," Jamie fires back, shuddering with frustration and exhaustion from his tireless pursuit of her.
"It doesn't matter why. You weren't supposed to follow me anyhow." She waves her hand to the trees beyond them that blanket the hills. "Now Dougal will send the entire clan after us thinking you've betrayed him. "
"He won't. I made sure of that," says Jamie, voice cold and unrepentant as the tide crashing against the cliff side, eyeing her bruised throat.
Claire clasps her hand to it.
The same one she slashed Dougal's face and bare chest with in the shadows of her bedchamber, drawing blood that she can still taste like poison on her lips.
"You didn't have to - he didn't -"
Blood rushes to Jamie's face, furious as a thundercloud.
"I did what needed to be done to protect ye, Claire. "
"Jamie, that's all you've ever done for me. That's why I didn't tell you about Dougal. I didn't want to put you in danger."
"You think I care about myself? He hurt ye dammit!"
Jamie slams his fist against a standing stone.
"The one I've waited all my life for. Who holds the whole of my heart . . ." He takes a step closer, voice low and thick with passion. "The one I love."
Claire takes a step back, not daring to believe. Her voice a quivering whisper.
"You can't mean that."
Jamie fixes her with a searing blue gaze and says -
"Have I ever lied to ye?"
The tears come hot and fast down Claire's cheeks and Jamie does his best to thumb them away, lifting her face that's ethereal as a star in his big hands. Oh, how lovely she is.
"Since when?" She murmurs tearily. "How long?"
"From the moment I gave ye the breath of my body while you struggled for air on the shore, when ye weeped in my arms for what was lost to ye that first night at Leoch, my heart and soul have belonged to you. Even in death when I'm nothing more than dust in the wind and far beyond the hereafter, my love for you will never waver." He rests his brow against hers, bowed as if in prayer. "This I promise you wi' all that I am. Will you have me?"
Claire reluctantly pulls away and looks up at his face beaming with devotion she's never known, could never dream of, hands grasping at his chest.
"More than anything I want to say yes -"
"Then say yes!" Jamie sings, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth as he says so, clutching her waist to his.
"But the clan -" Claire pleads, cupping his stubbled cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "They'll kill you because of me."
Jamie lays his hand on her wrist, feeling her pulse throbbing hard against his palm and squeezes it.
"My uncle had many enemies and a great many of them are drinking to his death right now not knowing who gave their laird the final blow nor caring. And as for us," a shy and hopeful smile illuminates his face that gives Claire's heart an ache so sweet. "They'll think we've eloped just like my mother and father did. That damned fool James Fraser, they'll say, bewitched by his silkie bride."
And then there's no longer a need for words or even air as Claire once more takes Jamie's breath away, this time with a joyful, heavenly kiss.
//
Backstory: Jamie finds Claire on a rocky shoreline thinking she's a dead seal. But when the seal starts to move he thinks there's a pup trapped inside. He slashes the belly open and out comes Claire. Bloodied. White as bone. And her first gasp of human life leaves her choking and breathless hence Jamie giving her the breath of his body so that she may live.
Also I couldn't think of a better name for this drabble nonsense so I went with the first thing that popped into my head. The song by The Cure - The edge of the deep green sea. That song has a totally different vibe than what's conveyed here but damn what a great song.
