This part is brought to you by @diversemediums! Over to @faeriesfanficemporium!!
Roger and I sat side by side on a fallen log, watching as Jamie tapped his fingers against his thigh, brows furrowed as he stared into the flames of the campfire. Considering the enormity of what we’d just revealed, he was taking it rather well. Trying to control my breathing, I noted every one of his features, comparing this Jamie to the one I knew in my own time.
This Jamie was younger, of course, but the familiarity of him caused a lump to form in my throat. The same long, straight nose. His cropped hair, reds and golds sparking off of each strand as the firelight hit it. His eyes were intelligent, discerning, and so blue when he’d looked at me.
“How is it that ye ken what ye say?” he asked, gaze meeting mine. “Why should I believe ye? Why should I believe any of it?”
I swallowed, feeling Roger’s encouraging squeeze on my shoulder.
“It’s… it’s hard to explain. I know it sounds mad…”
Jamie raised a brow, the corner of his mouth turning up in agreement. Still, he wasn’t calling me a witch yet.
“I know you,” I said softly. “You’re a Fraser.”
He snorted briefly.
“You have a sister,” I continued. “Janet. Your mother, Ellen, died in childbed when you were young.”
Jamie was still, face inscrutable.
“Your father, Brian, and your brothers Willie and Robert are also dead. Your family cemetery is on your family’s land. You have a godfather named Murtagh who has looked after you since you were a baby.”
I took a deep breath, stealing myself.
“I know these things because… you told them to me. The James Fraser in my time, I mean. It’s as if we all exist in a parallel story. The stories are similar, but never touch.” Tears started to well up at the disbelieving look he was giving me. “I know it sounds crazy. I do. But it’s the truth. I’ve seen it. Every version of ourselves living and… being torn apart, away from each other…”
I was truly weeping now but I pushed on.
“We came here because we wanted to warn you.”
I felt Roger nodding his head next to me. We had omitted Roger’s full part in all of this. Our tale was fantastical enough as it was. Jamie sighed and met my eyes directly.
“Why would ye warn me? If pain is what is brought then why strive to save what wilna survive?” Jamie asked.
He didn’t seem angry, merely curious. Desperate and looking into the same face of the man I loved and left on the other side of those stones, I said the only thing that mattered.
“Because I would walk through fire, time, and even death for you Jamie Fraser.”
Jamie took a deep breath as he looked at me, eyes searching my face. He looked almost sad… perhaps regretful.
“I dinna ken ye, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Nor do ye ken me.”
This part is brought to you by @nandan11! Next up is @yanceyrenee!
Claire sat down on the loveseat in Frank’s study and accepted the glass of whisky he offered her. “How have you been?” Frank asked. Claire took a sip of the amber liquid. “I am so sorry for bursting in on you this way—it’s just that a rather important issue has come up and, crazy as it may be, I need to know, rather urgently, if Jonathan Wolverton Randall is an ancestor of yours?”
“I see,” Frank responded as he studied the woman sitting before him whom he had dated for almost five years. She hadn’t changed much in the intervening years they were apart. Her hair was dark with riotous curls; her skin still beautifully pale and luminescent, like pearls. Her eyes were different today though—still the light amber color, but with an edge. Was it panic, he thought? No. It was more of a determinedness he recognized all too well. That drive she had to become a doctor. To excel in medical school, to be top in her class. A relentless drive that he could not tame or even compete with. That was the downfall of their relationship he thought.
May I ask why you need this information? And so urgently?” Frank asked. “I’m afraid it is rather complicated, and in the interest of time, could you just take my word for it now?”Claire pleaded. “Alright, let me find my notes.”
While rummaging through his desk, Frank told her he had traveled to Scotland last summer to learn more about the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion and to see if any of his ancestors may have played a role in the uprising.
“Found it!” he exclaimed. Frank began spreading out the papers and documents on the coffee table.
“Frank, would you mind if I asked a young historian to join us?” Claire asked. “He is the son of one of my colleagues, and he is most interested in this era of Scottish history,” Claire lied. “He’s actually in the car outside.”
“Oh,” Frank replied, slightly confused. “No, of course not. I do tend to get carried away and I’m happy to help a fellow historian any way I can.”
“Wonderful! I’ll run out and ask him to join us,” she responded.
Introductions were made and another dram of whisky in hand, Frank proceeded to explain what he knew about Jonathan Wolverton Randall.
Claire took notes and Roger asked as many pertinent questions that he could think to ask. Thanking Frank for his knowledge and time, the two, armed with their valuable information, made their way back to the hospital.
All the tests being completed, it was indeed confirmed that Brianna was a match for Jamies’s new kidney. After a consult with Jamie, Claire, Bree and the surgeon, the transplant surgery was scheduled in one week. Although Claire would have preferred the surgery date be sooner, Roger pointed out there was more preparation still needed before heading through the stones. It was decided that their “traveling” would wait until after surgery was completed and Brianna was well enough to look after Jamie.
In the meantime, all four met for hours during the week leading up to the surgery, thoroughly planning out what could or should be taken, clothes to be worn, coins to be somehow be obtained, etc. And, by some miracle, Roger was able to find an old Scottish map of Broch Mordha and the surrounding countryside at the Scottish Antiquities and Historical Society. Claire also decided it would be prudent to smuggle some 21st medication with her, in case of an emergency. They plotted how to get to Lallybroch by foot from Craig ‘na dun, determined where Castle Leoch and the surrounding MacKenzie lands were and where Fort William was located. Most importantly, their cover story as well as their respective histories were well rehearsed, so when they arrived in 1742 Scotland their circumstances would be believed.
The surgeries were a success and after all the meticulous planning it was time for Roger and Claire to bid their farewells. Jamie was resting comfortably in the step-down ICU and Claire was holding his hand. “‘Tis time lass, eh? To say our goodbyes.” Claire laid her head on Jamie’s chest and couldn’t talk. She knew if she did she would start crying. Jamie put his large hand in her curls. “It’s going to be okay, Sassenach. I trust you and Roger will be successful. But, please take care and dinnae do anything foolish. I know I don’t have to remind ye it is a different time, and independent women will not be takin kindly to. Please, I beg ye to be mindful.”
She nodded in agreement, gently hugged his midsection and then placed a long, tender kiss on his soft lips. When they broke apart, Jamie wiped away her tears then she rose and walked out of his hospital room.
This part is brought to you by @yanceyrenee ! Next up is @diversemediums!!
Their biggest worry, out of many, was what would happen if Claire was to meet up with her past, or is it present self? They are unsure how to avoid this possibility. After all, they must, by necessity go to all the places where Claire and Jamie are likely to be. It is easier for Roger. He has no past/ present self here. But Claire..well they have no choose.
“ Are you ready for this?” Roger asks her. They stand before the stones at Craig ‘na Dun. They can hear the horrid sounds of the past at war with itself and feel the pull so they know it will work. They are dressed in 18th Century clothes and armed with all the knowledge they will need to survive, as well as some 21st medicine hidden in the folds of Claire’s dress. They are ready. But.
“ No. But we must.” Roger holds out his hand and they move towards the center stone. With a deep breath and outstretched hands, they touch it. And for an endless eternal moment, are lost in the center of time. It felt like they are present at the start of creation, at the center of the chaos. And then they are free.
“ Oh bloody hell, are you okay Claire?”
“ I believe so. That was..”
“ Aye. Did we make it?”
They look around. The hill seems the same. Until they look closer. No it isn’t. There are more trees and some are smaller. Keeping tight hold on each others hands, they work there way down. No modern electric poles, no roads, and the air itself is different, cleaner. So in the past then. But are they in the right time?
They venture further. A ways past the bloody awful hill and it’s standing stones. They had decided to head towards Inverness. But before they got a good start, before they got more than a half a kilometer away..
“ Jamie!” his name is ripped from her throat before she thinks of the consequences. For it is Jamie. The same impressive height, the same fiery red hair, the same confident stance; wrapped in a more Viking Highlander man.
Hi guys! It’s @internallydeceased! I apologize for the long wait and the short length of this part. @nandan11 you’re up!
“Wait, Randall?” Claire asked, eyes lighting with recognition.
Two sets of ruddy brows furrowed as Jamie and Brianna looked to her. “Do you know someone by that name?” They chimed at the same time, the relation between father and daughter unmistakable.
“I dated someone named Frank Randall in high school. Do you suppose they’re related?”
“Could be. There’s only one way to find out. Do ye ken where he is now?”
Pulling up outside the ornate building, memories raced through Claire’s mind. She’d dated Frank for nearly five years, and she thought she loved him. As it turned out, she didn’t even know what love was—not until now.
Jamie and Brianna stayed behind at the hospital to make arrangements for the transplant, and Roger drove Claire here: find out where—and when—this ‘Black Jack’ was.
She raised her fist to knock on the front door but hesitated, second-guessing the entire thing.
Then she remembered what Brianna—her daughter—had said.
“And if you don’t survive, the version of me that’s supposed to be born in this story, will never exist.”
She had to ensure Brianna’s survival, as well as Jamie’s.
“Clai— what are you doing here?” Frank sputtered, absolutely dumbfounded.
Claire gave him a slight smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m actually here about one of your ancestors. At least I think he’s your ancestor.”
Frank shook his head as if to clear the confusion from his mind. He stepped to the side, allowing her to enter.
“Could you be more specific? I have many ancestors.” He crossed to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter of whisky and two glasses, pouring each of them a generous amount.
Claire crossed to a small loveseat in the corner of the room and sat down, her feet curled beneath her. “Jonathan Wolverton Randall, otherwise known as ‘Black Jack.’”
Hello lovelies. @romancoin with chapter 15. Next in line: @notevenjokingrightnow
@whiskynottea and issue #14
Disheartened, but also marginally hopeful with the solution proposed by Master Raymond, Claire and Jamie left his shop.
“I operate, so to speak, in the concrete. The factual. What can be explainable through science and logic. This defies everything I’m accustomed to” Claire remarked to Jamie as they strode back to her apartment. “The idea that we need to ‘return’ to a former life in order to fix the present is just…mad!”
“Aye. It doesna fit into my own understanding either, Claire But it’s at least an option. We’ve no much else.”
“This amounts to nothing more than magic!” Claire said, throwing up her hands.
Back at her apartment, Claire tossed her keys onto the table. They both stood there preoccupied and, if they were honest, afraid. Jamie took her hand and lead her to the couch. Leaning back on a pillow, he pulled her against him. Rubbing his hand over Claire’s back, he kissed the top of her head.
“Let’s rest now. There will be enough time later to work this out.”
Tears came quickly to Claire’s eyes as she held Jamie tightly.
She soon felt his breathing slow and knew he was asleep. She smiled, but understood she wouldn’t find peace so easily – or quickly. Too much was going through her mind to rest.
She got up and pulled a blanket from the chest, intent on covering Jamie, when she recalled a different bed warmer filled with hearth-heated river stones, and a mattress of goose down.
Wrapping the blanket around him, she instinctively reached for a bible. She paused, wondering where this desire came from.
“Maybe I will read something.”
She shuffled off to her bookcase in the hall to pull down her old lecture notes and textbooks with the hope of finding some clues or a solution more scientific than traveling through stones.
The remnants of her time at University were strewn throughout the shelves: Anatomy and Physiology, Medical Terminology, Nephrology, Hematology.
About to pull out Biological Psychology, a large brown leather book, very old, stood out to her. It was laid horizontally on the bottom shelf, atop others, with a faded gold-leaf cross on the spine she’d never noticed before. She sat down and laid it on her lap.
“I completely forgot I had this.”
A few years ago Claire had covered a shift for a colleague. She called in the favor shortly afterward when the potential for spending a weekend in the warm spring air, rather than in the stale-smelling, disinfectant-laden hospital, overtook her.
That Saturday morning she took her time. Breakfast would be nutritious: oatmeal and freshly made juice. This was a conscious change from her weekly habits: flying by the seat of her pants and eating take out, or worse, hospital food.
At the top of the to-do list would be rare book stores. These had always been a secret pleasure. In one shop she was drawn to a what looked to be a centuries-old book, laying by itself on a podium in a corner.
Catching the attention of the woman who had greeted her when she walked in, Claire asked if it was for sale.
“You’re the first one to take an interest! But yes, it is.”
Thinking for a moment, the woman recalled that it had belonged to a man who had been a physician.
“He was quite old and said he couldn’t live on his own any longer so was moving in with his children. Needed to downsize.”
The woman then went back to taking a cursory inventory of the many boxes of books that were threatening to barricade the front desk.
“That’s probably something on herbal concoctions and tinctures, due to its age. I’ve not gone through it though” she offered without turning around.
With a passion for early medicine, Claire bought it on the spot. She added it to her already sizeable stock of books with the intention of learning its secrets on her days off. Unfortunately, it would lay there untouched; an impulse buy that would not be immediately appreciated.
Now, though, she ran her fingers over its cover gently, reverently.
“I didn’t notice this was a bible. I just took the woman’s word it was holistic remedies.”
Its large metal latch was sturdy, with a heavy patina. It looked to be made of iron. The center piece was a Scottish thistle. Turning the book onto its spine she admired the fore-edge painting. It was a landscape of what she thought might be a small fort with a tower, in a beautiful valley, done by someone with a delicate but capable touch.
“IHS” had been embossed into the cover but was so worn as to be nearly invisible.
“I’ve seen this before” she whispered to herself.
A memory washed over her - being wrapped in tartan, sitting on the floor of a bedroom beside a fireplace. A man’s voice low and warm as he read from it of Israel’s exodus, Joshua’s campaigns, and Jesus’ ministry. Solemn prayers before sleep.
She knew, even without the memory having perfect clarity, that it was Jamie. No other voice touched her soul the way his did.
As if a well had been uncapped, more memories flooded her heart.
Walking on a narrow path through a field of bluebells and heath-spotted orchids towards a far-off building. A church?
The gentle warmth of a spring day.
Birdsong.
A gown of white silk, the feel of its embroidery in her fingertips as she lifted it gently off of the ground.
Freshwater pearls around her neck.
In the distance, rather than screams, was laughter.
A man she knew somehow, a kind protector with mischievous eyes, as her escort.
At the chapel doors – her bridegroom?
Sunlight through a stained-glass window.
Pews filled with happy people.
A priest, behind a podium, smiling and nodding to her.
“This bible was on a podium at the church…..where I was married!”
Now, rather than fear and stomach-turning nausea at her visions, Claire was overwhelmed with joy.
Undoing the latch, she lifted the heavy cover to see large cursive on the title page in a language she didn’t recognize:
Bìoball Teaghlach Fhriseil*
Several pages of birth and marriage records followed. One entry caught her breath.
“Good gracious. It can’t get any more concrete than this….”
She carried the bible to the couch, kissed Jamie, and nudged him awake.
Rousing, he grazed his thumb along her cheek.
“Didna mean to pass out so quickly. Are ye alright?”
@abbydebeaupreposts left us at Master Raymond’s...
There was a small man half-hidden in a corner speaking in a thick French accent.
“That is fine, Delphine, wrap it in the—Madonna!” he said sharply as he caught sight of Claire, but hadn’t yet seen Jamie entering after her. “You left it a little late. I feared all might truly be lost this time. Have you found him, the Red Man?”
I had found Master Raymond by accident, I had stepped into his shop one day in search of a painkiller. It was the darkest, weirdest pharmacy I’d ever been to. Things became more awkward when he started calling me “Madonna” and proceeded to act like he knew me. I’d listened to him with half an ear and one eye on the door.
Now I was entering through that same door with Jamie by my side. I’d brought the Red Man, the one Raymond had mentioned the first day I met him. Back then, I had thought he was a lunatic. Now, I wasn’t sure if he was normal or we were a bunch of schizophrenics who had just found each other.
But that couldn’t be. These dreams were more real than anything else in my life.
Jamie’s grip on my hand tightened the moment he heard Raymond talk about the Red Man. I squeezed back.
I am here. We’re in this together.
“Oh, good. You did find him.” Raymond let out a breath, relieved.
“Hello, Master Raymond,” I greeted with a shaky smile, “This is Jamie.”
“I know, I know. Come with me, you two.” He walked to the back of the store and opened a door leading to another room.
We entered the room and sat on a couch, surrounded by bookshelves with animal bones. Jamie’s eyes locked with mine as we settled ourselves, his question obvious. Are you sure? I nodded and heard him gulp. He could see the uncertainty in me, just as he’d seen everything in me, but I was as sure about this as I’d ever be. His hand trailed across my back and settled on my waist pulling me closer to him. I placed my hand on his thigh, my thumb moving absentmindedly on his taut muscle, stroking invisible lines on his jeans.
“You’re a bit late, but we can still fix it,” Raymond said without introduction.
“Fix it? The dreams?” Jamie asked eagerly.
“Oh, no. The dreams will stop only if you fix the story. In that timeline.”
Our hearts were beating to the same rhythm, our breaths lifting our chests in a synchronized dance that brought life into our bodies – the life we’d seen brutally taken on the pyre and gallows. Raymond confirmed our suspicions about vibrations and quantum physics, alternative universes that interact with ours and the rare connection we experienced. A connection linking us not only to each other, but to our other selves as well. These selves that had loved unconditionally and were now pleading for help with the last whisper left in their bodies.
Change it.
As if reading our minds, Raymond continued, “Telepathy is not enough, this universe is not that close to yours. You can jump in there through a dream, but all you can do is observe. If you want to help, you'll have to use the stones. You have to go there, physically.”
“What?” Jamie and I exclaimed in the same, incredulous voice. His hand pulled me even closer – if that was possible – trying to protect me from what was coming for us.
Hello everyone! @moghraidhjamie here with #8 of the Outlander Fanfic Relay! Thanks again, team, for letting me jump down a few places.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Sassenach. It was usually a mild insult from a Scot to an Englishman or Englishwoman. But on his lips, it sounded right. It sounded like home.
"I...” I swallowed hard, my heart still in my throat, “I saw you, too.”
His hand raised as though to touch me before lowering again. I shakily stepped back in a gesture of invitation. Nodding his thanks, he stepped inside. As he passed me, I struggled against a bone-deep instinct to touch him.
Another door -- wood and iron. He wore a kilt and a vest over a loose shirt, and had a blade of some kind strapped to his side. He smiled and gave me a quick, familiar kiss as he passed, walking into a bedroom that I somehow knew to be ours.
I blinked away the image that had layered itself over the scene in front of me. When I looked at him, I saw that James also seemed to be trying to refocus his eyes.
“Did you--”
“Aye.” When his eyes focused, they were locked on my lips. I swallowed and turned, my hands shaking as I closed the door behind him. I silently led him to my still-dark living room where we sat on the couch, knees brushing, seeing only by the light of the streetlamps outside the window.
Our hearts beat, our breaths matched. We were, the both of us, at a loss for words.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed, taking simple comfort from his presence and the pressure of his knee against mine, before I broke the silence.
“What’s happening to us?”
He shook his head, “Dinna ken. But I,” he paused, formulating his thoughts before speaking with a heavy significance, “I know you.”
He knew me. He knew my heart, he knew my soul, he knew every part of me as I knew him.
“We’ve barely spoken.”
“I canna explain it.” He reached out, taking my hand in his. “When ye touch me, it warms me, Sassenach. It feels like--”
“Like coming home.”
You are my home now. It was an echo of a whisper, murmured in some far-off dream that didn’t feel like a dream at all. I shuttered.
“Aye. Just so.”
I twinned our fingers together, his hand inexplicably familiar in mine. “What was that dream? The field... all those men.”
He shook his head. “It dinna feel like a dream.” Seemingly moved by the same fear and bone-deep instincts that I was struggling against, he quietly asked, “May I?”
I wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking, but I nodded. He gently pulled me into his arms and, in an instant, the air felt lighter and it was easier to breathe. Safe. Safe. He is safe. I wrapped my arms under his overcoat and slid my hands across his back, nothing but our thin cotton t-shirts separating us.
His back felt smooth under the shirt. I felt conversely shaken and relieved by the absence of scars.
Blood everywhere, covering his back. His hands, tied to a post.
I pressed my face into his warm neck and tightened my arms, holding him to me. My Jamie. My love.
I didn’t know what the hell was happening, or why, but in that moment I knew beyond any doubt that I loved him, and that he was mine.
