Metamorphosis Chapter 27: Nesting
Huzzah!! I’m so excited to finally bring you Chapter 27!! You can catch up on where we left off in Ch26 HERE (since its been awhile), or head on over to the master list. Metamorphosis is also up to date at AO3!
The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?
Ch27 fits in the Season One finale episode of the show, or towards the end of the book timeline. Claire and Jamie have OFFICIALLY left Scotland’s shores and are on their way to safety in France!
Claire.
Midday, February 21st, 1744; Somewhere in the English Channel
I shifted cautiously on the outrageously uncomfortable crate my husband had deposited me on, trying not to make any noise, but it creaked and groaned just as much as my aching joints were at present — tattling my discomfort to Jamie, who I swore had batlike hearing.
“I have the bucket jus’ here,” Jamie commented cautiously from somewhere behind me, alluding to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left in my stomach after several bouts with the receptacle.
“No,” I bit out as the muscles in my lower back spasmed, a band tightening around my waist with an increasingly bothersome intensity.
What I needed was to move around… to be able to stretch my stiff limbs and appease my offended muscles. I voiced this suggestion — a slow turn about the room with assistance — and a sudden, Scottish noise of amused non-committance sounded from my left.
Snapping my head in Murtagh’s direction, I found him bracing his weight casually against a post, one arm raised as he held onto a beam just above his head. The ship heaved just then and I could see the tendons in his wrist tighten as he steadied himself.
He caught my gaze and lifted brow as if to say ye’d fall on yer arse in a moment, lass.
I sighed, abandoning his support and craned my neck in search of my husband. The room was dim and stacked high with crates and bundles, easy enough to lose track of a bored yet always curious Jamie.
He’d made no comment in support or negation of my request, but was currently choosing to remain out of sight.
“What are you up to over there, anyway?” I eventually huffed when it became clear that neither of them had any intention of helping me.
“Ach, tis nothin’,” he tried to dismiss my attention, which piqued Murtagh’s in turn and drew the older man to his side like a magnet.
“Just a wee bit of putterin’ to pass the time is all.”
An amused sound of delight came from the elder of my two companions and I heard him slap Jamie on the back… hard.
Making no effort to hide my amusement, I heard my husband begin to protest the joyful abuse befallen him but his words were interrupted by Murtagh’s enthusiastic, “Now how’d ye manage that, ye wee fiend?!”
There was an exchange of heated Gaelic conversation — so overlapped that I was confident I’d have a hard time following even if they were speaking English — and then I quite suddenly found myself being lifted by my elbows and carted off to the other side of the room!
I objected strongly as my hips screamed in protest at their pace and was about to dig my heels in and balk completely when we came to a screeching halt before what looked remarkably like a bed.
“How the bloody fucking hell—“ my voice broke and I stared down at my husband’s miracle in disbelief, then turned to look up at him in awe.
“God, I love you, James Fraser.”
Murtagh cackled with glee at this and Jamie bent his head to kiss me in support of my declaration. I expected a quick peck on the cheek or a rather brief smooch on the lips — we didn’t exactly have the room to ourselves — but was taken aback by a kiss that made a thrumming warmth begin to grow between my legs. The heat spread across my hips and up my spine, loosening my muscles and made me feel quite suddenly completely and utterly exhausted.
I sighed as he pulled away, inquiring, “When can I crawl in?”
“Now if ye like,” one shoulder rose in a shrug and Jamie explained his construction plans. “That is, if ye dinna mind us building a wee fence around ye.”
“A fence?” I stared up at him incredulously.
“Oh, aye!” This came from Murtagh. “We canna have ye rollin’ aboot, now can we?”
Jamie caught the glare that his godfather missed entirely — being that he stood between the two of us — and bit his lip in a failed effort not to betray the mirth that clearly bubbled up inside him.
“Think of it more as a wee nest than a paddock, Sassenach,” he chose his words more carefully, then realized he quite liked them and patted my arm rather patronizingly. “A wee nest for my mother hennie, aye?”
“As long as I’m not a wallowing sow,” I grumbled, making Jamie choke in an effort to conceal a laugh.
This assuaged me a good deal and I felt myself smile a bit as I prodded him in the ribs, “Are you going to help me with my shoes or am I to track mud all over your beautiful nest?”
Jamie perched me on a nearby crate and knelt to shed me of my shoes. There wasn’t much to the flimsy things and what they were composed of was now completely sodden in mud and sea water that they all but fell off my feet with his guidance. He set them neatly aside and began to rub my aching feet, bringing warmth and a rush of blood back into the extremities with a burning pins and needles sensation.
I winced and his face contorted in contrition.
“Christ, I’m sorry, a leannan,” he crooned, keeping up his blessed work. “Ye deserve a proper bed and a fire ragin’ in the hearth… no’ this lumpy mess wi’ barely even a plaid to keep ye warm.”
Reaching out my hand, I brushed the curls from his brow and cupped his cheek in my palm, “You know I’m not above sleeping on the ground.”
Though I thanked my lucky stars it wouldn’t come to that just now.
“And I have you to keep me warm,” I nudged him with my toe, making Murtagh cough behind me.
Jamie gave him a look, but his gaze softened as it returned to me, “Aye, well, I only wish I could give ye more.”
My hand moved to the place where one of the baby’s heels pressed sharply against my side and I reached for him. His hand moved to mine, slipping beneath it to feel the life within.
“You’ve given me more than I could ever dream,” I whispered hoarsely.
The flicker of uncertainty in Claire’s eyes cut me to the quick.
Did she really think I wouldn’t?
Nodding, I made quick work of my own filthy shoon and dropped them beside the entrance to the cove of safety Murtagh and I had built for her.
The thought warmed me and brought a smile to my lips as I gingerly crawled in beside my wife.
“Always, mo nighean donn,” I assured her, arranging the plaid around us both as I curved my form around hers.
It dawned on me in an instant that it wasn’t my presence she doubted… it was her ability to fall asleep. She looked dog tired and pale as any winter’s snow, but now that I had her in my arms, her restless spirit was made clear.
Claire shifted her hips, first this way then another, always finding it unsuitable and moving back… then tried adjusting her head and shoulders, first moving closer to me — I received a an accidental elbow to the ribs but didn’t comment — then away again, all without success until she was left completely spent and utterly exhausted.
I had loosened my arms around her, giving her full range of motion to seek the best position for sleep, but now that I knew this was an impossible task — I thought I might have a try.
Pulling her close without ceremony, I tucked her head neatly beneath my chin and curled my knees up to surround her completely. I felt the taut muscles of her back and shoulders begin to loosen against my chest as I twined my fingers between hers, our clasped hands resting gently atop the swell of our children.
A deep, shuddering sigh left her and I knew she’d not last much longer. I squeezed her hand gently, whispering, “I’ve got you, Sorcha… you can rest now, all is well.”
Another ripple of fatigue ran down her spine, her muscles slowly succumbing to the heavy weight of slumber and becoming limp. The vice grip on my forearm loosened, her head slipping back and resting fully against my arm. Her lips parted softly in that first sigh of sleep — in the way of hers that I found so irresistible — and I knew she’d not wake for anything save the second coming of Christ Himself.
I tucked a stray curl back into place behind her ear, brushing a kiss across her cheek, and settled myself more comfortably beside her.
My eyelids were growing heavier and heavier as I caught sight of my godfather. He’d positioned himself between us and the door, far enough away as to give us a measure of privacy but close enough to respond to a call for assistance at the drop of a hat. Everything about his rigid posture made me lose my resolve to stay alert beside my wife and sleep came crashing down around my ears.
It was a shallow, dreamless slumber — the sort where you know you mustn’t drift too far, should you need to be fully wakeful again — and I didn’t think I’d been out long before Claire began to stir in my arms.
She curled inwards, her knees tucking up tight against the swell of our children as a low groan escaped her lips.
We were each cursed with our own nocturnal demons, but my wife found hers to manifest themselves in reoccurring dreams… the most prominent and prevalent being the one born in the depths of Crainsmuir’s Thieves Hole. It hadn’t stopped twisting and turning in these many months and I would be lying if I said my blood didn’t run cold when she’d tell me of the night’s latest development, sobbing into my chest as though both the bairns and I were truly gone.
“Shh, mo chridhe,” I murmured low, curving myself around her. “Tis but a dream… I’ve got ye.”
Her entire body tensed and her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t wake.
Sweeping away the curls from her brow, I gently brushed my finger along the curve of her cheek, intoning, “Ye’re safe, Sorcha.”
Claire’s eyes opened at her name, yet stared ahead unseeing. The muscles of her jaw worked as she clenched it tight and a short burst of air left her nose in a decided snort. Her hands moved restlessly, reaching for me but then drifting back to her stomach, only to roam up and down and nearly every direction at once.
I covered one hand with my own, twining my fingers through hers — not speaking again, but letting her know I was aware of her turmoil.
Her head snapped towards me at my touch, her eyes widening as wheezed, “Jamie!”
“Aye,” I shifted onto one elbow, bringing my face directly above hers as I hovered above her. “I’m right here… I’ve got you.”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut again without comment.
“Claire?” I tested, gazing down at her in concern as her jaw clenched tight.
She didn’t open her eyes so much as a crack but let out a grumbled fuck from between persed lips. I dropped her hand, my own flying to her face. Her eyes did open then at my touch, ever so slightly, and she peered up at me in agony.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Talk to me, Claire,” I begged, my heart racing.
Shoving me away, she thumped the narrow space in front of her and groaned, “Move over here.”
I scrambled around her, careful not to jostle her from her current position but finding it near impossible to wedge myself between her knees and the wall of crates behind me. Somehow managing to accomplish it, I lay nose to nose with her and could now see her flushed face in startling clarity in our deeply shadowed cocoon.
Her breathing remained ragged, with drops of sweat gathering at her temples as she lay rigid in my arms.
“Tell me wha’ to do, mo nighean donn.”
“Make it stop,” her voice cracked, the jagged edge of her supplication knifing across my heart and flaying me wide before her.
My mind spun as my thumb caressed her cheek, wiping away the sudden dampness that I found there. Skimming my hand along her neck and down her spine, I found the fastenings of her skirts and had them free in a moment. I bunched them loosely around her, keeping her warm, but no longer restricting her. I moved to do the same for her stays, but found she’d already started the process.
Pulling the strings completely free, I flung the constricting thing to the side and took her face in my hands.
“A wee bit better?” I tentatively asked, knowing it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside her.
She didn’t respond, having instead retreated miles within herself in the time it took me to undress her, and I did the only thing I could think of to retrieve her.
Kissing her softly to begin with — not wanting to jar her and giving her full opportunity to refuse me — I cupped her cheek in my palm. She shifted, seeking more of me, and I grew more confident in my ministrations.
I slid my fingers into her hair and slowly gathered each pin, intently undoing the neatly coiffed style she’d worked so hard on this morn as I worked to rid the tension from her body. Setting my bounty aside, my hands traveled back down to her hips, digging my thumbs into the muscles that I knew continually plagued her.
A moan bubbled up from deep within her and I knew I was moving in the right direction.
“Aye, tha’s the way,” I crooned as her arms slipped around my neck, her nose nuzzling my cheek.
“Damn it, Jamie,” she sobbed against me. “It hurts.”
I didn’t comment, but nodded and kissed her again, keeping my hands moving as well. A shudder ran down her spine as she nearly swallowed me whole, finding suddenly a respite — an ability to draw from me that which she needed.
And I was only too eager to give it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her arms loosened around my neck…the taut muscles beneath my fingertips became lax and Claire became limp once more in my arms.
“A dhia, mo chridhe,” I sighed, my lips moving against her neck, “ye scared the life near out of me.”
I felt her groan, her voice dry as she quipped, “Well, it was no picnic for me either, you bloody Scot.”
A measure of relief washed over me, hearing her vocal jab, but reality still hung heavy in the air.
“Tha’ was different, Sorcha,” I whispered hoarsely, my good fingers splaying wide across the curve of her children. “The other pains ye had at the Abbey… they were’na like that.”
Her grip on my arm tightened as she tipped her head back, needing to see my face as much as I needed to see hers. Lifting one hand to my face, her fingers deftly traced my cheek bone, her eyes gazing deep into mine. They were now free from the fog of pain, but instead of clarity, I found agonized turmoil.
I covered her hand with my own, curling my fingers around it as I turned my face to place a kiss in her palm.
How I longed to close my eyes and slip back into that blessed, deep slumber in my husband’s arms… but every inch of me was now wide awake, whether I liked it or not.
I was now having bonafide contractions… whether I liked it or not.
Swallowing hard, I felt a shudder run down my spine and Jamie instinctively pulled me closer. I did close my eyes then, turning and burying my face in his neck as I hid from his gaze for a moment.
He knew — damn him — without me having to say it out loud. I was rather glad, for I wasn’t entirely sure I could say the word ‘labor’ aloud just now without dissolving into hysterics.
What the bloody hell are you going to do, Beauchamp? I mentally sighed against Jamie’s chest.
Was I really going to have to do this without a midwife? Twice? And while bobbing along in a dingy at sea?!
“Jamie?” my voice cracked, betraying my abject terror.
His hand traveled up my back, lifting to gently curve around the back of my head, “Mo chridhe?”
My mouth opened and shut like a floundering fish, no longer suffocating from the strength of my contraction but the size of my fear. A low rumble started up within him and I knew in an instant he’d heard my unspoken thoughts.
“Aye,” he acknowledged, softly kissed my brow. “But ye canna change things any more than I can make this ship sail faster… although, I’d get out and swim it to France if I thought t’would get ye there faster.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that particular image and Jamie must have taken great comfort in it, for he continued.
“Tis my fault, ye ken… I should no’ have taken ye in such a manner last night.”
I snorted, finally moving to look at him once more, “If you recall, James Fraser, I brought you to that pool with the exact purpose of taking you in such a manner… so don’t you dare apologize for it.”
His shoulders began to shake in suppressed laughter and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Care to share what’s so funny?” I poked him in the ribs.
“You are Sassenach,” he grinned, easily taking hold of both my hands to prevent future attacks and squeezed them gently. “Ye’ve never wanted me so badly… or so openly as ye did last night.”
“Oh,” I commented quite lamely, finding myself blushing for the first time in quite a while.
This made my husband laugh all the harder and I resorted to kicking him in the shins as he currently had possession of my hands.
“Will you help me sit up or are you just going to lie there and find humor in my depraved state?” I quipped, raising a brow.
Jamie eagerly agreed to this and dropped my hands, easily moving himself into a seated position before guiding me into the same. I sat beside him, swaying slightly, and realized a half a moment later that we were completely alone in the captain’s quarters.
“Where’s Murtagh?” an uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I asked.
“Tis nothin, Sassenach,” Jamie tried to reassure me, but it was clear that he wasn’t overly comfortable with his godfather’s absence either. “Jus checkin’ in wi’ the Captain is all… he’ll ken how long til we reach Le Havre when he gets back.”
The urgent, persistent twinge started up again at the base of my spine and I swore under my breath.
“Too long,” I pronounced, reaching for Jamie’s arm and taking a firm hold of it.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded and took a deep breath.
“Then we’ll take it one step at a time… aye?” His hand covered mine, “Together.”
Murtagh.
A Good Deal Later.
The door swung closed behind me with a solid bang, shutting out a snowy stramash unlike any I’d ever seen. The warmth of the Captain’s quarters rolled over me like the tumultuous sea outside its walls and I sagged against the door for a moment, letting it thaw my fingers and tip of my nose.
Hrmph, I snorted, wiping the dripping appendage on my sleeve and ridding myself of near an inch of snow and ice.
“Tis jus’ me,” I greeted, unable to see them from the room’s one and only entrance.
I heard movement and subdued voices, but no answer to my call. Frowning, I quickly navigated my way around boxes and crates until I reached them — and stopped dead in my tracks.
“Iffrin,” I muttered as I took in the pile of Claire’s discarded clothes and found her in nothing but her shift and Jamie’s plaid, clinging to him as if life itself depended on it.
I raked a hand across my face and sank down onto the closest crate. It was lower to the floor than I thought, making it seem as though it weren’t there at all, and a wheezing oof left my lips as my hind end finally found it.
When I looked up, both Jamie and Claire were gazing at me with no small amount of amusement. I disregarded my godson’s jesting smile with ease and instead turned my attention to the young woman who had stolen both our hearts.
Her face was pale, with furrows etched deep in the usually smooth plane of her brow. The spark of amusement in her eyes was dwindling quickly and in its place grew a consuming agony that I couldn’t bear to see.
“Yer pains have begun, then, mo leannan?” I asked unnecessarily, my voice hitching at the endearment she’d earned in our time together.
Claire nodded, trying to give me her best attempt at a smile. It wobbled and faded as she pressed her forehead against Jamie’s, her eyes sliding shut as she commented hoarsely, “They seem to be in a hurry.”
My heart turned over, skipping a beat before clattering on again as I heard the Captain’s words echo in my mind.
We’ll be lucky to find Le Havre at all in this storm… twould be another day a’ least on fair seas, but now? Best be prayin tha’ my men dinna toss yer lady overboard to appease Neptune himself.
Jamie’s gaze found mine again, this time much more subdued, and asked, “What’d ye learn, then?”
I lifted one shoulder and tried to wave him off. It was nothing I wanted to share while Claire was in such a state.
“A goistidh?” he insisted, lifting a brow.
Taking his cue, I slipped into the Gaelic, telling him of my conversations with the Captain and his superstitious men. He took it about as well as I had, working to keep his frustrations in check as Claire seemed to regain some composure and alertness.
“I dinna think we’ll make it in time,” Jamie kept his voice even, but his unease was palpable. “We’ll have to help her deliver the bairns.”
While I’d expected as much, his second pronouncement took me completely by surprise and I burst, “We?! Ye canna be serious, lad! She needs a midwife, not a couple of numpties wi’ no idea what they’re about!”
Claire sighed heavily and I realized too late that I’d said that in English. I began to apologize, but she waved me off, interrupting me.
“You may have no idea what you’re about, my dear Murtagh,” she muttered, seeking a comfortable seated position, “but Jamie does because I’ve told him what will need doing… and you’ll listen to him and do as he says, is that clear?”
She’d stopped shifting to spear me with a look that had me agreeing in an instant.
The look of relief on her face was nearly my undoing and I assured her, “I’ll do whatever ye need, mo rùinean beag… I promise it.”
Claire reached out her hand to me and I plucked it up, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.
“I know you will,” she whispered hoarsely, squeezing my hand. “You always do.”
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