New House Blurb

I’m bored and work died so here you go.

All the bairns were sleeping. Bree loved her room, as did Faith. Claire was round as a melon and heavy with the end of her pregnancy. The nursery was painted with a sweet farming scene, though he’d been hesitant to let the animals look quite so cartoonish.

“Will you come to bed now, love?”

“Aye, in a moment. I just want to check on the girls again.”

“You’ve done it twice. Come to bed. The baby is active tonight.”

That pulled him away from his slumbering daughters. Claire waddled to their room and sank onto the bed. This bairn was large, and seemed to enjoy doing a dance routine right before bed every night.

“Aye, I ken I check on them all the time. I just want to be sure they’re happy and safe.”

“They are. They love it here, being in a house and still close to their cousins. Get dressed for bed quickly and tell your son to calm down or I’m likely to bruise.”

Jamie smiled and did as she asked, tugging on his favorite tartan pants.

“Hush, mo chridhe,” he whispered to her belly, one hand tracing soft circles. “Your mam needs her rest, ken? Hush now and let her sleep. I’ll keep watch o'er ye both.”

Claire breathed a contented sigh and her body relaxed.

“Why does that always calm him down?”

“Because he already kens his father. Can ye sleep now, Sassenach?”

She nodded and sighed, scooting as close to him as she could.

“I can, now that you’re here.”

“Always, mo nighean donn,” he said softly, caressing her large bulge. “Always.”

It Has Always Been Forever - Part 9

Previous Chapters :)

Part 9.

 Claire had just little over a week before she had to get back to the hospital, and wanted to spend every waking moment with Jamie. Even though he, if she was being honest, was one annoyingly stubborn patient. He’d finally agreed to call the repair shop, but only after she agreed to let him cook her dinner in thanks, once the bandages came off.

As much as he insisted he needed his rest, which basically entailed him vegetating in front of the telly all day with her, she insisted they take walks whenever they could - which was often - and if he was being honest, were extremely pleasant ones at that. They could talk about anything; Claire told him how she was only a few months away from completing her residency at the hospital and had already chosen general surgery as her specialty - her dream to one day open up a little practice of her own that blended both conventional medicine with that of herbal treatments. Jamie told her about his business, how he loved to read any and all things, and knowing how hard it was for unknown writers to get published, had decided on starting his own wee publishing house, that he affectionately called the Printshop. There didn’t seem to be much of anything that was off limits, lending a freedom when they spoke.

After a few days sleeping in her bed however, Jamie firmly declared she let him have the couch, which she counter argued wasn’t good for his ribs.

“Sassenach, I’ve kept ye from yer bed long enough. Please, the couch is fine. I’ll do.” He said for the hundredth time. In truth, after the first night watching him fall asleep, Claire’d been struck by an odd sense of closeness with him.

That night, she’d rested her head - for what she intended to only be a minute - and just listened to him breathe, found herself being inexorably pulled toward him. She gave in to the urge to touch him and stroked his cheek, to be rewarded with the most singularly sweetest smile she’d ever seen. Then followed him gladly into oblivion.

It was an intimacy she hadn’t anticipated or at all expected in that moment, the depth of it giving her pause. Claire had kept to the couch every night since.

Instead, she now found a compromise. When Jamie’s godfather, Murtagh, came to check on him - and after hasty introductions had been made, “This is Claire, a goistidh,” Jamie’d said, nervously. Then added something more in Gaelic, making his godfather’s bushy eyebrows slowly rise almost to his hairline, then he shrugged and replied gruffly in Gaelic in return - she asked if he could help her move Jamie’s mattress into her apartment (and into her bedroom; “So the noise from the ongoing repairs won’t interfere with his sleep in the mornings.”).

“I dinna see why ye hired this lot, Jamie!” Murtagh gestured irritably - as he carried one end of the mattress, Claire the other - at the repairmen going about their work on Jamie’s balcony doors. “Ye know fine weel the lads and I would’ve helped ye get that sorted faster and cheaper forbye,” he clucked his tongue. Claire lost track of the rest of his grumble, as she caught Jamie’s eye and the look-what-ye’ve-started expression on his face. She barely managed to stifle her laughter. Seeing it, Jamie’s face broke out in a face splitting grin of his own that rather made her knees weak.

“Och, I have other things on my mind just now, a goistidh.” he said in Gaelic. From the glint Claire saw in his eyes, she needn’t understand the words to take his meaning.




“Why d’ye take yer wedding ring off?”

She knew he’d noticed. How could he not. She’d taken it off the day she’d gotten back to Edinburgh, but with one thing and another, she hadn’t much thought for it.

Now, in the dark quiet of her bedroom, both on the edges of sleep, he finally asked the question he’d been burning to ask ever since seeing - as fair as her skin was - the light tan line where her ring once sat at the base of her finger.

He heard her shift then, rolling onto her stomach, the silhouette of her head appearing suddenly, hair like Medusa’s snakes, over the edge of the bed. She rested her cheek on the back of her folded hands and looked down at him where his mattress lay alongside her on the floor.

“You know why,” her voice was hushed, as if she didn’t want to disturb the night’s stillness.

“Tell me anyway, aye?” he said, just as hushed, rising and resting his head on the bed beside her.

She smiled, remembering the day she’d stitched up his hand.

“Frank and I… We’re getting a divorce.” And she told him all that happened during her brief time in Oxford. Despite her resolve to end her marriage, Jamie could hear the tone of sorrow that underlined her voice.

“It saddens ye, Sassenach.” It wasn’t a question, but she sighed and answered, “It does. I’ve known Frank a long time. To have that chapter of my life come to an end…” Her words trailed off. He gently found her fingers in the dark and interlaced them with his, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Aye, I understand. But you get to start a new chapter in yer life now, Claire. One that… maybe includes me?” he sounded suddenly very shy and unsure. Overcome with tenderness, she leaned toward him and gently pressed her lips to his temple, letting the touch linger for a moment.

“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty. “One that includes you.”


After the initial hesitance fell away between them, they spent their days and nights in a rhythm that was both comfortable as it was natural. They fitted into each spaces like they’d always belonged there. Claire found herself hoping the repairs next door took the longest amount of time possible.

The day before Claire was meant to start back at work, Jamie knew their perfect bubble was about to burst, and it filled him with a sense of sudden panic. What would happen once she started her crazy hours again and the repairs were complete? The attraction between them had deepened. They’d spent their time together building their friendship, getting to openly know each other. It wasn’t something that had been conscious, just a magnetism that drew them to one another, to want to know all there was to know. Their conversation came easy. The teasing never taken seriously, but exchanged. The looks always held, never avoided.

What was to happen when they both went back to their lives?

He decided - bandage or no - he’d make her dinner. Something special to mark what could be their last night together for a while. With Claire out running last minute errands, Jamie rushed to the store to get the things he’d need.


It had taken Claire longer than she anticipated to get through her never ending list of errands. After numerous back and forth phone calls over several days, the meeting with her lawyer had taken one tedious turn after another, and she was proper knackered by the time she got back home. As she opened her door, she was hit by the most incredibly enticing aroma she’d smelled in a long time. Slowly walking in, she was greeted by the sounds of Jamie’s tuneless whistling coming from the kitchen.

“And what have you been up to all day?” she said amused at the sight of him in her blue apron with pictures of herbs all over it.

“Finally, you’re home!” he exclaimed, grinning.

“Matches your bonny eyes,” she teased gesturing to the apron, but then caught sight of the red blotches on his bandage and moved toward him, concerned he’d maybe hurt himself again.

“Dinna fash! It’s no’ but sauce stains. I made lasagna!” He pointed at the oven, where indeed an amazing looking lasagna was slowly baking.

“It. Smells. Incredible, Jamie!” she said, then added without thinking, “I must say, if that’s what you can accomplish relatively one-handed, can’t wait to get that bandage off your hand and see what else you can do.”

She could see the light flush rising up his neck, the tips of his ears going bright pink. Her own cheeks feeling a fraction warmer than usual.

“Aye? Well, seeing as how it’s the night before ye head back to work, I thought it’d be nice to make ye something special. To say thank ye, for all ye’ve had to put up wi’ me.” he said taking off the apron, smiling. She stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making him flush even deeper.

“It’s lovely, thank you! But you really didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

“Och, it’s nay trouble,” he said handing her a glass of wine.


They sat on the sofa in a dozy haze after what turned out to be a perfect dinner. Jamie stretched his legs up onto the coffee table and rested his head back, looking sideways at Claire. She sat, legs tucked up beneath her, her head cradled in her propped up left hand, looking down at him. They sat for a long while, just watching each other.

“What did your lawyer say?” Jamie finally asked softly.

She sighed and stretched her arm then toward him, so she rested her head at eye level with Jamie’s, and lightly brushed his curls behind his ear. “He said it would be a simple matter, seeing as how we’d lived pretty much separate lives and had nothing to divide or whatnot. No joint bank accounts or property and the like. But Ned being Ned, things got… tedious. He wanted to make sure nothing was left to chance, that the break was clean and amicable as possible. I signed the papers today. He’ll send them along to Frank’s lawyer.”

He closed his eyes as she traced his eyebrow with her thumb and her fingers trailed along his temple. “How long?” he spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“Not long. A couple of weeks, maybe.” Her fingers found and traced his bottom lip, the tickle of it sending shivers through him.

He moved, not suddenly, but deliberately, along her outstretched arm till he was an inch from her face. She didn’t shy away. He lightly touched her lips with his own. It wasn’t at all hesitant, but powerful in its extreme gentleness. Will ye have me? it asked. Her other hand came up and slid to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him to her. Yes, she kissed back. Yes, I’ll have you.

It was dreamlike, their tongues languidly jousting. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Shocking in its depth, yet sensually natural. It was a very long time before they broke apart, their foreheads coming together, neither willing to give up any space between them, her left hand having bent and buried itself deep in his auburn hair, holding him in place. She couldn’t have said how her leg had somehow draped itself across his lap, but she wasn’t about to pull it back while his fingers drew delicate patterns along her thigh and hip.

Jamie wanted nothing more than to have her then and there, and could sense she felt the same. “Claire. God, I want ye so,” he breathed, and felt her nod in response. “But, I canna have ye, while you’re still bound to another. I need ye mine and mine alone, before we…” he felt the breath of her laugh against his lips.

“Jamie, I don’t think I can wait that long. I really don’t,” she didn’t hide the longing in her voice. “I haven’t been his for a very long time.” She ran the palm of her hand from his nape down his chest, across his ribs and brought it to rest on the small of his back.

“I ken that, Sassenach. I just want us free of everyone and everything. To just be you and me.” he said almost pleading, cupping her cheek.

She understood. She knew she felt the same as he did, but having him so close, feeling his body come alive under her touch. It took all of her willpower to just kiss him in agreement.

They’d wait.


That night Jamie slept in Claire’s bed, her face burrowed into the side of his neck, his arms securely locked about her delicate body.

“Jamie?” she said so softly, he felt the vibration of her voice, rather than heard her words.

“Aye?” he replied.

Her hand slowly slipped beneath his shirt, running her fingers lightly against the jagged scars that spanned the expanse of his back. His body tensed, but only for a split second, then relaxed under her roaming touch. She’d felt them before and seen glimpses of them since (whenever he wore his tanks); Jamie never hid them from her nor seemed at all self-conscious around her, yet had always donned something that covered the whole of his back around others, save Murtagh. And Claire had never asked. But now, in the dark sanctuary of her bed, she finally had.

He was quiet for a bit, then haltingly began to tell her. “A few years back, when I was moving to Edinburgh. It had been raining hard. I was thrown from the car my father and I were travelling in when it flipped over, breaking my arm. Then slid along the asphalt, scraping the skin off my back. It… was not a pretty sight. I woke up days later and wished I hadn’t. My father, he…” He spoke ruefully, she heard the deep sadness underlining his voice. He tried clearing his throat, but could say no more. She lay the flat of her palm in the centre of his back, her forehead in the hollow of his chest, and just simply held him to her till she felt his body yield, going limp with sleep. Then held him till she too slept.

PCA’s/Sam and other shite

I’m prepared to lose followers for this or even get some hate. But, the truth is, can we not separate real life drama and their job? They both, (all the cast members, actually) do phenomenal work on Outlander. Phenomenal! And Outlander, (and Sam) have been largely ignored by the larger award shows.

They deserve this award for their work. Forget all the other stuff. Be angry.Be hurt. Be in-different. Whatever - To the SM stuff. But for God’s sake, look at the work Sam has put into Jamie. The end of Season 1 - very few actors, (or North American ones anyway) would go there. It was so gut-wrenchingly horrible and beautiful at the same time. We witnessed actors who are truly invested in their characters and the story being told. I’ve seen some of Sam’s earlier work, but he has honed his craft into something exquisite, and I think THAT should be awarded.

If you don’t want to vote - ok. But voting for someone else just to spite Sam is juvenile and petty. Take the higher road. The scenery is nicer and you have the ability to see so far beyond what the low road can offer.

The Night Before

This ficlet is part of the Claire returns early with Bree AU which begins with A Ringing Phone and a Folder.

This ficlet is a direct continuation from Wedding Preparations

My Fanfiction Master List

Available on AO3 as The Nature of Choice.

This Outlander canon divergence AU ficlet alludes to information/events that appear in Dragonfly in Amber and Voyager.

As always, let me know what you think.

Keep reading

Standing Up For What I Believe

I think I’ve read the opinions of most of the Shippers that are still here and that everyone turns to for their insight and opinion and a few like me that just have something to say. All of them have said things that I could stand behind. 

But then I considered my own position in all of this. And I realized why do we have to stand behind anyone. Shouldn’t we stand up for what we believe as individuals? Doesn’t that make a group stronger when we can all articulate our own beliefs. The strength of a group is in the strength of the individuals not in the sameness of them. Do we all have to speak the same words like sycophants? Or do we show that as a group we can accept each other because we do have some commonalities but accept that we do not agree on everything.

I’m not naive enough to think that the well known shippers know who I am or even care that I support them. And that’s fine. But I have to form my own opinion, stand by it and deal with it in a way that I can live with. 

None of us have all the facts …unless, Sam are you lurking and care to share…yeah didn’t think so. 

I spoke to a friend last night about killing others with kindness and sarcasm its can work if you’re so inclined. Its also about picking your battles. I faced it years ago in another fandom that Shippers can never beat the antis or IW with their own weapons of being hateful, vile, vindictive and nasty. I believe many others have already said that so I’m either preaching to the choir or spitting into the wind.

However I see no reason for us to be picking at each other and taking offense when we don’t agree on everything. I thought this was a shippers community that was based on love isn’t that what brought us together and makes us different from others? 

anonymous asked:

So, I was on that moment of Drums where Jamie is crooning Bree on his lap with Claire observing from behind and there this sort of parallel with that moment in Dragonfly when she observes Jamie with baby Kitty

What a beautiful thought, anon!

Here is the scene from Dragonfly in Amber:

The baby’s face was blank and light as the moon’s, her eyes dark pools absorbing his words. He traced the curve of her cheek with one finger, again and again, whispering with heartbreaking gentleness.

He spoke in Gaelic, and so low that I could not have told what he said, even had I known the words. But the whispering voice was thick, and the moonlight from the casement behind him showed the tracks of the tears that slid unregarded down his own cheeks.

It was not a scene that bore intrusion. I came back to the still-warm bed, holding in my mind the picture of the laird of Lallybroch, half-naked in the moonlight, pouring out his heart to an unknown future, holding in his lap the promise of his blood.

By the time that Jamie holds his daughter on his lap in Drums of Autumn - to contemplate *her* challenge this time, rather than his - a few things have changed. Claire can understand the Gaelic words. Jamie speaks Gaelic to the child that he holds - just as he did with Kitty - but Brianna speaks back to him - in Gaelic. And Claire is a known - and welcome - eavesdropper.

I moved quietly around the room, taking down the pewter plates and wooden bowls for supper, coming back to cut bread and spread it with butter.

“Do you know something, Da?” Bree asked softly.

“What’s that?” he said, momentarily suspending his song.

“You can’t sing.”

There was a soft exhalation of laughter and the rustle of cloth as he shifted to make them both more comfortable.

“Aye, that’s true. Shall I stop, then?”

“No.” She snuggled closer, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder.

He resumed his tuneless crooning, only to interrupt himself a few moments later.

“D'ye ken something yourself, a leannan?”

Her eyes were closed, her lashes casting deep shadows on her cheeks, but I saw her lips curve in a smile.

“What’s that, Da?”

“Ye weigh as much as a full-grown deer.”

“Shall I get off, then?” she asked, not moving.

“Of course not.”

She reached up and touched his cheek.

Mi gradhaich a, thu, athair,” she whispered. My love to you, Father.

anonymous asked:

Jamie helping Bree through a nightmare of Bonnet

So, here was the first prompt I got in my ask box the other day. Sorry it took longer than I thought. This was a little out of my comfort zone as I usually don’t write Bree, but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!


The first thing that Jamie became aware of when he roused from sleep was that the breeze from the open window in the cabin was blissfully cool. The tiny house that he had built for Claire had the tendency to grow warm with the extra bodies radiating heat in the warmer weather.

He felt Claire’s warmth beside him in bed, soft and wonderful. He reached out and gently patted her hip where her shift had ridden up a bit. And laughed gently as she grumbled and rolled over, already asleep again.

But there was now another warmth on his right side. Brianna. His lost and found daughter. His and Claire’s miracle. A child had traveled through the veil of time and then back to him again.

 A child no more as she was carrying her own bairn now. His heart throbbed and his stomach dropped as he thought of how she had gotten with that child. A beast of a man who had taken her. He had never wanted so badly to kill someone. The person who had hurt his blessing from god. His pure daughter.

His knuckles ached to beat the blurred face of the man. The was never an urge so strong to kill. Not even Jack Randall. Jamie would go after the man who hurt his daughter above all else. It was only the knowing of her safe now under his roof that slowed his heart.

Jamie squinted in the darkness to see the outline of her as she slept on the pallet near their bed. The moonlight escaping that corner of the house. He smiled gently to himself and sent a quick prayer of thanks- as he did so often now- to god for her.

He was about to curl himself back around Claire when he heard a noise that must have been the thing to wake him in the first place. A whimper from the ground. And then a rustling of blankets as she tossed in her sleep. A nightmare then.

The bed frame creaked as he slowly got out from the covers and walked the few feet to Brianna. His heart clenched as he watcher her toss about, her red brows furrowed together as she dreamt of what must have been the worst moments of her life.

Slowly, he moved close to her, timidly as he knew from experience how it felt when someone touched him after he had been reliving his violation.

He murmured to her quietly in Gaelic as he brushed a lock of sweaty hair back from her forehead. A small part of his heart rejoicing at the small sign that she was indeed the child of his blood as he noticed how much heat she produced as she slept. Something he had done ever since he was a babe himself.

“A nighean. Come, wake now. Dinna be scared, I’m here.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently, trying to wake her slowly and to not start her.

Blue met blue as she snapped her eyes open, painfully aware and awake. Jamie’s heart squeezed again as he realized that that must have been the look Claire had seen every time he woke from a nightmare.

And his face must have looked as Claire’s did when she saw his look when he woke. The look that his daughter must be seeing on his face now. Concern. Pain. Understanding. And comfort. Always comfort.

“Da?” She spoke with a raspy voice while rubbing her eyes hard, hard enough to erase the vision from her mind.

“Aye, mo chuisle. Tis’ me,” he spoke softly into the night while still gently smoothing her messy hair back. A gesture he remembered his mother did to him when he was small and scared.

He placed a reassuring hand on her back and nudged her up into a sitting position. Her chest heaved as she tried to desperately take in air and her shoulders shook from the terror.

“Come. Let’s go outside. The fresh air will help ye,” he saw her eyes close briefly and then nodded to herself as she got up from the ground.

Jamie pulled out his kilt and quickly wrapped it around himself while Brianna grabbed the cloak he had brought her. It gave him pleasure to see her using something he had bought. Perhaps it was because he was never able to provide for any of his children. But now, by some miracle of time, he was allowed to care for his daughter.

Claire was still in the bed, tucked under the blankets. He wasn’t sure if she had woken again, but he suspected that she had.

Brianna opened the door and marched out into the sweet, cool air. He sighed as he watcher her shadow pace in the moonlight.

He moved to Claire’s side of the bed and kissed her forehead, as gently as he would a newborn babe. A flutter of whiskey greeted him as she opened her eyes slightly. She smiled a sad smile as she looked past him towards their distressed daughter.

“Go back to bed now, Sassenach. I’ll tend to her,” he brushed his nose softly against hers and then walked out to share the night with his blood.

“I can’t- I can’t sleep! Every time I close my eyes I see him and I can’t stand it,” she whispered into the quietness of the trees. They sat on a few rocks in front of the small stream a few hundred feet from the house.

She had wanted to walk. To busy her mind until the ghost of her violation was no longer with her. And he had simply followed silently behind her until she was ready to speak.

And now that she spoke, he didn’t have any answers. Or at least any answers he wanted to tell her.

“I ken, lass. I had the same almost every night for a long while and then they started to fade,” he said quietly as he wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders, trying so hard to be her anchor.

Claire was the only reason he had made past those terrible nights. Brianna had no one here, expect for that bastard Wakefield who hadn’t shown his face.

Jamie thought about the things he would do to that face if he ever did decide to grace them with his presence. She huffed, obviously not pleased to know hear that.

“What made them fade?”

He sighed and looked up at the visible stars, watching them shine down. The stars he had looked at so often when he thought of Claire while she was lost to him. “In truth, it was yer mother,” he said slowly, carefully.

She glanced up at him, watching as he was transported back to that abbey where he had almost given up on his life.

“She held me to her breast and cherished me, though I didna deserve it at the time,” he shook his head slightly, “At the time, she was the only thing I could hold onto. The only thing I ken I could believe in.”

Her eyes flickered away and looked deep into the forest in front of her as her eyebrows knitted together. He knew she was thinking of her lad and it pained him a little. As much as he wanted the blasted man to come for her, he also wanted to keep her as his for just a little while longer.

“And if I don’t have that? What you and mama have?”

The tone of her voice was harsh, bitter. But he knew it to be a mask, a mask he had worn many a time before.

“You will have it, Brianna,” his words loud and confident as he gripped her tighter to him. “I ken it.”

He only saw a slight glimmer on her cheek before she collapsed into his chest with muffled sobs. And all he could do was hold her.

“If there was any way I could bear this pain for ye, I would,” he spoke fiercely into her hair while stroking her back in a soothing manner. “I would suffer a thousands deaths to spare ye from it, but I canna do it.”

Her cries grew harder as she clutched him and he desperately whished with all his being and soul that he could cut the pain from her and heal her.

“But it will fade and then ye will ken you can survive anything.”

He placed his head atop hers and kissed the crown where the cowlick he had as well stood up. “But just know now that your mother and I love ye more than life and will make sure you are well taken care of.”

She sniffled and reached up to brush his cheek. The pain and wetness in her eyes cut him to the core, but her words made him feel just the slightest bit of comfort in the mist of the helplessness.

“I love you, too, Da.”

Briste | Chapter 6

Briste | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

His eyes were blue…

It was the first thought that crossed my mind. My heart stuttered and my breathing came short just at the sight. He was different than any man I had ever fantasized about, dated, or looked at amorously.

Jamie gaze darted around, a look of confusion marring his beautiful face. God! Get a grip Beauchamp! He’s your patient! I berated myself. I took a step backward towards the door, my hand groping for the handle.

“I’ll let the two of you catch up,” I said shakily, my sweaty palms slipping off the handle.

“Are you no’ his doctor, Doctor Beauchamp?” Jenny said, squaring her shoulders and setting a glare on me.


“And would you no’ want to look at him and see if anything were wrong before flouncing out that door?” Her face stern, gradually turning red in her anger. A vein just above her left eyebrow began to show as she glared harder at me.

“I am his doctor, but not the one for neurology. As I was explaining before, I repaired his hand. I can do a quick examination, but it would be best if I were to go get Doctor Abernathy who has been monitoring his brain scans. He can—”

“I can hear the two of you just fine, so if you could please include me in this conversation instead of treating me like I’m no’ here, I’d appreciate it,” a scratchy, low, and surprisingly deep voice grumbled from the bed. At the sound, both Jenny and I turned to face him. A small smile creased the corners of his lips.

“Aye, I see I have your attention now. Could one of ye please tell me what is going on.” He looked so desperate, confused, and—oh God, dare I think it—sexy.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a soothing breath.

“You were hurt during the war and brought here for treatment. Your back, hand and head had serious injuries that we were able to help repair, although, and I am truly sorry about it, your ring finger may never bend again. I did the best that I could under the circumstances. We didn’t know if you were allergic to anything and–”

“Doctor!” Jenny stopped me. “You’re rambling.”

My cheeks turned bright red. “Sorry. We weren’t sure what materials you might have been allergic to so we tried the best we could to rebuild without the aid of foreign substance. If you aren’t allergic to anything and wish for me to do the surgery again, we can see if it can be done. However, I don’t recommend it.”

He looked over to where his hand lay and frowned at the gauze and brace wrapped appendage.

“The bones seem to be stitching back together well, the skin on your middle finger healing well also. Your bone had pierced the skin. I—we were worried that you may have gotten a blood infection from it or the shrapnel wounds on your back.”

Just before he closed his eyes, I saw a flicker of pain cross them.

I cleared my throat from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to seep out. “I’m going to go get your other physicians, Doctor’s Abernathy and Hunter. They’ll be able to tell you more information.”

Jamie didn’t speak. His brow was furrowed and his lips pursed in thought.

“Thank you, Doctor Beauchamp.” It was Jenny who spoke up, her voice tender and reverent. “Thank you for looking after my brother when his family couldn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” I nodded and smiled softly. I thought I may have just made an a friend or at the very least, an ally. “I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up while I’ll get the other doctors.”

When I was in the hallway, my breath whooshed out of me as though I had been punched in the gut. My Scot’s eyes and voice—and the intelligence behind them—was something out of a dream. My entire body felt like it was a live-wire, that if I were to touch him, I may electrocute him or myself.


Outlander Filming Locations ~ Honorable Mentions

Interior of Inverness apothecary (2x12) ~ Falkland Palace  

Some Wentworth interiors (1x15) ~  Linlithgow Palace

Scotland coast (1x16) ~ Troon

Comte St. Germain’s warehouse (2x01) ~ Deanston Distillery

Dougal’s Cave (1x14) ~  Limekilns