Jimjeran-Chapter 35 : I Choose You
The long road home…
Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents Or Read the Entire Work on Archive of Our Own
Previously on Jimjeran: Chapter 34 : Hey, Murtagh! Drunk Jamie needs someone to talk to. This tape recorder should work.
My heart was singing as I began to walk. Jamie. I was going home to Jamie. I imagined his face when he saw me, how his eyes would light up. I thought of making love to him, of how much I wanted to be one with him again. The gravel crunching under my sandals was a repeated chant, “Jamie, Jamie, home to Jamie.”
After an hour on the road—an hour in near pitch darkness—I began to question the wisdom of my choice to walk home in the middle of the night. I had tried to jog at the beginning, but after landing firmly on a sharp rock that had lodged itself in my sandal, followed five minutes later by stubbing my toe, I decided it was best to be a tortoise.
Math occupied my mind for a time. I had left a little before 11. If I kept a steady pace of about two-and-a-half to three miles an hour, it would take me over three hours to get back to Jamie. Could I walk until two in the morning? Or later? I was already tired; it had been an emotionally exhausting day.
To keep myself from discouragement and exhaustion, I knew I needed to distract myself. I tried to recall the different times I had interacted with Jamie, and how each one had led to falling in love with him. There was a common thread, as most of them were him being compassionate and ended with him hugging me, holding me, or sleeping with me, so I decided that was ineffective at helping me stay motivated or awake. I wanted to be home already, in his arms already, and I didn’t want to start crying.
I thought of singing my favorite songs, but realized that in the silence of the islands, I’d forgotten a lot of them. I did remember Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” from the countless times my dad had played it for us at home, so I sang as much of it as I could. I tried to remember the soundtrack for the Sound of Music, though I did question whether singing was the best of choices. I didn’t want to attract the attention of any wandering drunk men.
By one in the morning, I was exhausted. I was past the point of wondering whether I was developing blisters on my feet and now wondering if I would be able to keep my toes. A nagging thought in the back of my mind made me think I might just fall down and die of exhaustion and get eaten by coconut crabs. Or mosquitoes. I hadn’t put on bug spray after snorkeling, and they were finding me delicious.
But then the moon came up, a slivered crescent of light in the sky. I could see it slowly moving, and it provided just enough light that I didn’t feel like I was walking in circles. I could see the pale channels of coral gravel with a grassy divider in between, and I doggedly put one foot in front of the other. My new mantra was “One more step…one more step…” (during which I could actually walk eight steps). Occasionally I would close my eyes, but I found myself veering to one side of the road or the other and decided that was ineffective.
On the outskirts of Ine, I nearly started to cry in relief. The trees occluded my view of the moon, but there were finally outlines of houses added to the never-ending coconut palms of the previous miles. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of the iar, silvery slivers of moon reflecting off the ripples of water.
And then I heard it. A low growl, coming from my left. I figured it was just someone snoring, but then I heard it again. It was definitely a growl, and it was coming closer.
I had nothing on me. I was wearing a dress and sandals. But I remembered Jamie’s rock story, and I dropped to my knees on the road, scrabbling around to see if I could find a rock. The growl came again, and out of the shadows slunk the lithe form of a wild dog, his hackles raised, white teeth visible. He started to move toward me and I drew back my hand, gripping the medium-sized rock I had found. This dog wasn’t as skittish as the one in Jamie’s story; he kept moving forward. As he came closer, from somewhere deep in my throat came a gutteral, primal sound. “AAAaaaa!” I screamed, running toward the dog, as I hurled the rock with all my might at his head. “I am going home to my husband, you beast, and you are not stopping me!”
I don’t know if I hit him with the rock or terrified him with my voice, but that dog turned tail and ran, and so did I, not caring about the way the rocks jabbed into the bottoms of my feet, the way my blisters stung, and my sweaty legs chafed together. I was going home…
The faint solar light was lit on the exterior of the clinic as I stumbled across the yard to our door, up the steps, and tried the door knob. It was locked, and my key was back in my suitcase in Arno Arno. I knocked quietly; I didn’t really want to bother Jamie if he was sleeping. But looking at the curtains through the louvers, I thought I saw a hint of light. The lights were on? Jamie was up? I knocked louder.
I heard a low male voice and the hollow echo of footsteps across the floor, then the rattling sound of the lock being unbolted. Why was it taking Jamie so damn long?
The door opened, and there he was. Still wearing the blue sarong, still no shirt. His eyes were bleary and red, his hair was a mess. His fingernails were rimmed with white and there was a smudge of flour on his cheekbone. The bread?
He stared at me, then said in shock, “CLAIRE?!!” He stood there dumbly.
“Jamie, I’m home,” I said, as if I needed to declare it to myself as much as him.
“Oh, Claire,” he said, “God, Claire,” he stepped outside and wrapped me in his arms.
“Jamie,” I whispered into his chest, then lifted my chin to look at him. “I choose you.”
“Get in here!” he exclaimed, ushering me into the house. As I came into the light, he laughed at me, looking me up and down. “Oh, Ripālle, ye look like hell, woman!”
I’d held it together until then, but dissolved into tears. It took Jamie a moment to realize that I felt like hell as much as I looked like hell, and the smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of compassion.
“Itōk, Ripālle,” Jamie said, leading me toward the bed. “C’mere, let me hold you.” He sat down and pulled me onto his knee, kissing me soundly. We pressed ourselves together like we hadn’t seen each other for years, kissing as hungrily as if we were starving.
Jamie picked me up and rolled us onto the bed, continuing to cover my lips and face with ardent kisses. Then my hip bumped something in the bed, and I picked it up.
“Ha, Murtagh!” Jamie exclaimed, taking the tape recorder from me and talking to it. “Ye shneaky wee bastard. Thought ye’d listen in, did ye? Talk to ye later, man.” He almost looked like he was about to cry as he looked at my face, and smilingly said “All is well in my world tonight” before he hit the button on the side of the player.
It didn’t take long to realize Jamie wasn’t acting like himself, more like a big goofy four-year-old who wanted to touch my body. When he tried to kiss me again, now that our first fervent greetings were done, I could tell why.
“Jamie, you reek! Have you been drinking?” I grimaced, pushing his face away.
“Aye,” he said. “Whisky… froMurtagh…” he slurred his words together, and pointed at a bottle of amber colored liquid on the table. “D’ye wanssum?”
“No thanks,” I said, pulling myself out of bed and going over to my dresser. I was sweaty and dirty, and I needed something clean to wear before going to bed. There would be no passionate love-making that night for a number of reasons, among them that I was exhausted, it was past two in the morning, I had blisters on my feet, and my thighs were chafed from walking nine miles in a dress. And add to that, my husband was totally and completely drunk.
I grabbed panties, shorts, and a tank top, then went into the kitchen. Jamie followed me with his eyes; the rest of him didn’t appear to be coordinated enough to stand upright.
Right then the timer went off, and I pulled two slightly lumpy loaves of bread from the oven. Bread wasn’t meant to take ten hours from first rise to baking, but I was impressed that Jamie had even tried to get it baked.
Plugging the sink, I poured some water in. Peeling my clothes off, I grabbed a washcloth and soap, and hopped up to sit on a hand towel on the counter, sticking my poor sore feet into the sink. Just being able to wash the dirt off my legs felt good, chilly as the water was.
At the sight of my naked body, Jamie roused himself, stumbling across the apartment to join me. “Oh, Claire,” he said, as he leaned on the kitchen counter, watching me. “Yer so bew-ful. I just want to touch your body. B’cause I love you soooo mush… mush.... so much…”
"Drunk Jamie” Picture by @cantrixgrisea. You’re awesome, Cantrix!
“Really, now?” I said dryly. “You do know I came home for you, don’t you?”
“Aye,” he said. “I washdrinking because I dinna ken if you would. I cried a lot today.”
I had a hard time reining in my laughter. “So is whisky like truth serum for you?” I asked.
“I dinna want pancakes,” he said, closing his eyes. “Even wi’ serum.”
“Go to bed, Jamie,” I said, laughing. “If you talk much more, I’m going to turn around and walk back to Frank.”
Jamie’s eyes instantly looked five times more sober. He walked over and put his arms around me and his forehead on my shoulder. “Ye canna leave me now, Claire. You chose me.”
As sore and tired as I was, I could see my husband was in much worse emotional condition. I swiveled my legs and lowered myself off the counter, put Jamie’s arm over my shoulder and my arm around his waist, and helped him back to our bed.
“S’like when we first met, Ripālle,” he slurred. “’Cept, I was bleeding, and ye werena naked.”
I turned, took his face between my hands to kiss him, and then lowered him into the bed.
“Lie wi’ me, please, Claire,” he said, not letting go of my hand. “Just until I fall asleep? I need you in my arms.” He was teary, and it made me misty-eyed in sympathy. “Today was the worst,” he sighed. “I love you…I’m so glad you’re back.” Looking at him, I realized bathing was the last thing my sweet husband needed me to do. I turned the apartment lights off and tiptoed back to our bed, lifting the sheet to crawl in.
“I love you too, baby boy,” I said, curling up in front of Jamie. He wrapped his arm over me, palmed my breast with a contented grunt, and swiped my hair out of his way so his forehead rested at the nape of my neck, his curls blending with mine.
I felt him whispering then. I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly or not, but I thought I heard him say, “Oh, God, thank you for bringing her back to me.”
I woke to a touch as soft as a paint brush, Jamie tracing the lines of my face with one finger. I breathed in deeply and sighed as I exhaled, as Jamie drew my cheek, my eyebrow, the bridge of my nose. I stretched and smiled without opening my eyes, and Jamie touched my lips with his.
“I’m sorry about last night, mo ghràidh,” Jamie whispered. His breath was minty, his skin cool, and hair wet. He’d showered and brushed his teeth.
The touch continued, a light whisper against my skin…my jaw, down my neck, up the slope of my breast, and a chilly circle traced around my nipple, echoed by the warmer whisper of breath and lips. I gasped and my body contracted in response to him.
I opened my eyes to see him beaming down at me. This morning his eyes were cloudless blue, crinkled at the corners, his mouth a constant smile.
“Oh, Claire,” he said. “I dinna ever want ye to leave me again.”
I could feel myself opening to him, first as an ache of affection in my chest, followed by a growing warmth between my legs.
“Will ye say it again for me?” he asked, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to mine.
“Say it?” I asked, confused. “I love you?”
“No,” he answered. “You told me last night, I think, but I was pretty drunk.”
“Oh!” I said, realizing what he meant. I raised my hands to his cheeks and looked him in the eyes. “I choose you, James Fraser.”
He groaned. “Oh, Claire, I need ye so bad. But I’ve got to go teach. And I think a quickie at lunch won’t be satisfying enough. I promise that this afternoon or evening after school, I will have recovered from my hangover and you’ll have rested enough. I need to spend some time on you.” The promise in his eyes made me shiver.
“Please. Because I need you, too,” I said, pulling him down to me. “Probably a good idea to delay, but you still may need to be gentle. I walked nine miles yesterday, and my upper thighs are chafed.”
He got an impish look on his face. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to leave, so I can do something about that…Let me start by massaging you with some lotion, then.”
“So kind of you,” I teased. “But somehow I have a feeling I wouldn’t let you leave once you got started.”
I slept almost all day. Jamie had scribbled “Miss Peach enañinmej,” on the clinic sign before he headed wearily off to school, kissing me soundly before he did. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any terrible accidents and I could just rest, after the emotional and physical upheaval of the last 24 hours.
Partway through the day, I heard a knock on my door. When I pulled myself from bed and opened it, there was my suitcase, with a curt note from Frank saying it would have been nice for me to let him know what I was doing—he was terrified when he woke up and didn’t know where I was. I shook my head wearily, and went back to bed.
I had thought Jamie would come home and want to spend time with me immediately after school, but instead, he had brought a stack of tests he needed to grade with him, so he sat down at the kitchen table to try to finish them up. I had slept the day away, and was feeling stir-crazy and bored, having only achieved one goal—taking a thorough shower. I stood behind Jamie for a while, rubbing his shoulders, but not managing to distract him, I started wandering around our bed.
“Do I get to listen to this?” I asked him, pulling the portable tape recorder from where he’d set it on the bedside table the previous night. “Drunk Jamie could prove to be very interesting.”
At the look of terror on his face, I teasingly grabbed the tape recorder and ran to the door of the cabin, out to the shower, and locked it with the hook. Jamie, having been in a sitting position on the heavy wooden bench at our kitchen table, was at a distinct disadvantage.
“Claire!” Jamie’s voice thundered out through the louvers. “Ye shouldna hear the awful things I said about ye.”
“Awful?” I said. “I was under the impression that you loved me and wanted me to come back…”
“No, just lustful things. The things I thought and the way I felt before we were married.”
“Oh, now I’m even more interested,” I said, pressing rewind so the recorder made a metallic squeaking sound.
“Claire,” his voice was lower now, pleading. “Dinna embarrass me, please. I was drunk…I think I said some things I wouldna want you to hear.”
“Okay,” I sighed. I unlocked the door and headed back into the house, handing the recorder to Jamie as I entered.
“What if I want you to talk a little dirty to me?” I said. “What if I want to hear those lustful thoughts? What if they make me want you as well?” I grinned at him.
“Okay,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Just one. For now.”
“And?” I said helpfully.
“But ye have to play along,” he said. “So ye need to be wearing a tank top, and no bra, little panties, and tiny shorts.”
“And what will you be wearing?” I asked.
“A sarong,” he said, biting his lower lip. “And a tee shirt.”
“I think I like where this is going,” I said, as I retrieved the suggested clothing items from my dresser and started to change. “But no peeking!” Just for jollies, I left off both the bra and the panties.
“So,” I said. “I’ll be Claire, who has just newly moved to a tropical island. She’s lonely, and this guy…let’s call him…
“James,” said Jamie. “A really handsome, nice guy, great smile, hot body.” He grinned.
“He just walked her home. And he dropped her off at her house, and he headed back to his, leaving her all alone,” I narrated sadly.
“But he started thinking, she looked so sad. She maybe needed a hug. So he turned around, thinking, she’s going to think I’m stupid.”
“Really?” I said. “Oh, Jamie, I didn’t. It was the sweetest thing!”
“Oh, I ken,” said Jamie, confidently. “Because when James knocked on the door, and asked if she needed a hug,”
“She said yes. And started crying,” I said, stepping into his arms.
“He felt her body against him, all those luscious curves.”
“How did he ever restrain himself?” I lifted my face to Jamie.
“By the grace o’ God,” Jamie replied with a grin. “But he was toying wi’ God’s grace when he took her into her apartment,” he led me by the hand, “and sat down on her bed. And took her on his knee.”
“He was holding a crying woman. What could he have possibly been thinking?” I asked innocently. Jamie looked shy for a moment, until he realized I was just fishing for more details.
“Aye,” he chuckled, “What indeed? Just that she had the roundest arse he’d ever seen, and he wanted to put his hands on it.” With that, Jamie made me squeal by dipping his legs as if to drop me; but he saved me by firmly grasping the part under discussion. “And what of Claire? Was she having holy thoughts about her fiancé?” Jamie asked.
“I don’t think she remembered she had a fiancé right then,” I admitted honestly. “What she did notice, was that James was looking down her shirt.”
Jamie complied with my directive, grasping the neckline of my tank top and pulling it outward slightly. “Oh, Claire,” he breathed, looking up at me with dilated pupils. “I dinna ken how much more of this I can stand!”
“Restraint is sexy, Jamie,” I said, and then squirmed on his lap slightly. “Oh, I remember this part, too.”
He flushed in embarrassment at the memory and his current state. “God, I was horrified. It isna fun to be a man sometimes. Yer body betrays what’s in yer head and heart, even when you’re trying as hard as ye can to be respectful.”
“I received your gesture in the spirit it was meant, Jamie,” I said seriously. “You were being so sweet to me.”
“Can we stop now? And move on?” Jamie asked, eyeing the bed. “I think we’re both adequately roused.”
“You need to tell me what you were thinking of doing,” I said. “Once you’ve confessed, I’ll let you do it.”
“Now, that’s an odd kind of confession, Ripālle,” Jamie said. “I’m used to feeling guilty for what I confess because it’s wrong.”
“You need to retrain yourself,” I said. “Because now, with me, your desire is completely correct.”
“Aye, marriage is a sacrament, isn’t it?” He wrinkled his forehead. “After years of confessing my impure thoughts, I dinna ken if I’ll be able to freely share them.”
“Shall we listen, then?” I said, eyeing the tape recorder.
Jamie scoffed. “Maybe if I tell ye quietly, in yer ear.”
He perched his chin on my shoulder, his rumbly voice and the tickle of his breath on my ear and through my hair giving me shivers even before I registered what he was saying. “I thought about coming back in after we said goodbye. I thought about standing with you, taking you in my arms, and kissing you. I imagined peeling off yer tank top, and pulling down your shorts and panties. I wondered if ye might take off my shirt and unwrap my sarong,” he blushed. “I wondered if ye would touch me, too. I thought of laying ye on your back, and lying on you between your legs. I wanted to take yer breasts in my hands and in my mouth. And when you invited me, when you asked me to, if you asked me to, I was so ready to make love to ye, to give myself to ye.”
“Even though you were committed to being a virgin?” I turned to look at him. “Even though you’d kept yourself from it all those years?”
“Oh, Claire,” Jamie said. “I knew I loved you that day. When you cried, and I held ye; I couldna imagine ever letting anything hurt or harm ye. And I didna want any other man to have ye. I waited, yes, but I think I was waiting for you. You are my match, Claire, my perfect fit. Will ye say it to me again, Ripālle?”
I smiled into his eyes. “I choose you, Jamie Fraser.”
He kissed me. “I choose you, too.”
Chapter 36 : Love Making It’s not what you think; Claire needs to let Jamie hear her heart.
Chapter Notes: This feels like the end of “Book 1.” Christmas break is ending, and it’s time for me to focus on the home business, so while I will try to continue, I’m afraid daily updates need to be a thing of the past. (Can’t guarantee I will restrain myself, but duty calls...)