Her feet creaked on the landing, the wood protesting. She could hear something behind the door, and she was afraid to open it, but she followed an unknown pull that drew her hand to turn the knob.
The sounds were unmistakable. Their bodies writhed and a pillow tumbled to the floor. Warm, sugary-scented candlelight flickered over their faces. She’d seen enough—she turned and ran out of the room.
Her legs didn’t seem to want to obey her. Rushing down the stairs her feet caught on the carpeting and she tripped, falling, falling, falling…
Claire jerked awake, breathing hard. Beside her, Jamie stirred and flung his arm over her. She placed her hand over her heart, willing it to stop hammering.
“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” he asked sleepily.
“Yes. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Bad dream.”
“Weel, no wonder, I took all the blankets. Ye’re cold as ice—that’ll give ye the nightmare. Come here.” Jamie bundled her under the quilt; his own body radiated heat and she curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. Her heart was slowing down, and she closed her eyes, hoping to reclaim sleep.
Jamie’s hand stroked her arm lazily, while pressing small kisses into her hair. Claire was lulled, warm, the fear of her dream fading fast. After a few minutes, Jamie spoke.
“I’ll need to get up soon. I promised Jenny I’d help with the chores to free her up to get some Christmas things ready.”
“What time is it?” Claire mumbled.
“Um… about 5, I think.”
“Oh God. It’s still dark out. It’s too early. You can’t go out there now. Stay. Here. With me.” She clung to him tighter, unwilling to let him out of the bed.
“A promise is a promise, Sassenach.” He extricated himself gently, pausing to run his fingers through her curls. “I like it. Looks like the bramble bush outside.”
Claire swatted him feebly, too tired to really try. She burrowed deeper into the bed, and Jamie kissed her nose. He dressed in the light of the leftover embers while she watched, and wanted.
“I’ll bring ye coffee. You don’t have to come wi’ me, Claire. I ken it’s yer vacation and up early the rest of the time. I’ll go milk the goats and pitch hay for the coos, they’ll be sufferin’ fer it.”
“Highland coos. Beautiful creatures.”
She peered over the quilt. “I’ve never seen one.”
“Dress warmly then. Ye’re about to meet the herd.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh, and Sassenach?”
The mountain air was icy but invigorating. Claire touched her cheeks, the wool mittens warm on her reddened skin. She pulled her scarf up higher around her face.
She and Jamie leaned against the fence, watching Jenny’s merino sheep baa and butt each other. It was only noon, but her body was exhausted; not only from their efforts last night, but from fetching and hauling and working alongside Jamie.
They stood quietly side by side, watching the animals’ antics. Their breath mingled in cloudy puffs, and Claire couldn’t remember when she had last been this happy.
He was in her like a livewire, after only weeks of knowing each other. It was too much, too soon, too fast. Too right. And her heart… the kiss in the alley had given it to Jamie irrevocably.
Claire took his hand in hers and clasped it tight. He smiled down at her, and sang, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful…”
She laughed. “It’s not so bad now.”
“There’s snow coming soon. We’re expecting the band fer Hogmanay. When are ye due back to work, mo nighean donn?”
“January third. And your recording sessions?”
“Few days after that. We can have some time in London.” He kissed her briefly and they started back to the house.
The ancient stones stood grey and silent as they approached. Claire could glimpse Jenny in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the family. At the door, Jamie stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Claire, I have something for you,” he said. With a shy smile, he pulled a gold chain from his coat pocket. Dangling from it, was a gold ring with a ruby set in it. Jamie held it in front of Claire, the weight of the ring causing it to twirl. “It belonged to my da, and his da before him, on and on back. I usually wear it, but it can be a bit troublesome when playing guitar so… I’d left it here in Jenny’s care.”
Claire swallowed thickly, understanding the implications of his gift. This had belonged to his father; it was a tangible memory of family and belonging. By giving her this ring, Jamie made it clear he thought of her as part of him, intrinsic and bone-deep. She reached out to touch the gleaming stone, and smiled in acceptance.
Jamie undid the tiny clasp, the gold links of the chain delicate as filigree. He fastened it behind her neck, fingers lingering on her collarbones. Claire touched the ring, nestled against her sternum.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and he leaned in for a kiss. Then she came to a realization.
“Oh my God, I feel so bad, I didn’t get you anything! What with the shifts and all—”
“It doesna matter. I brought presents for the children, from both of us.” Jamie opened the door and removed his dirty boots before Jenny could protest. Claire imitated him, carefully removing her coat and layers. She was very much aware of the presence of the ring.
“Besides.” He turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her close enough for whispering.
Jamie’s acoustic guitar playing Christmas carols and traditional Scottish songs reverberated with the myriad of voices singing along and laughing riotously. Everyone was absolutely soused, the drams flowing and never-ending.
The rest of The Clan had arrived, Rupert and Willy and Murtagh, to stay and celebrate Hogmanay and welcome the New Year. Rupert had cornered Claire and would not stop talking about Geillis. Claire lent a sympathetic ear and on the whole, rather liked the match between them; from the way Rupert talked about her friend, she suspected they were more serious than she had originally thought—and was glad for them. Willy was there, shy as ever, but joining in the loud choruses and tossing back drink after drink.
Murtagh joined Claire on the sofa by the fire, offering her a tumbler of Macallan. They toasted Christmas and Jamie and the Frasers in general. If he noticed Brian Fraser’s ring on Claire, he said nothing, but regaled her with stories of Jamie as a child and teenager. Every word Murtagh spoke revealed the tenderness involved in practically raising a child not his own. Claire wondered why Murtagh was single—deceiving surliness notwithstanding—when he clearly had so much love to give.
Jenny, however, was not blind. Her eyes had zeroed in on the ring around Claire’s neck the moment they stepped inside the house into her presence. Her eyes had widened but she said nothing outright. As the evening progressed and everyone’s inhibitions lowered significantly, now she approached Claire and sat next to her.
“That was my da’s,” Jenny said quietly, sipping from her own glass.
“Yes, Jamie told me.” Claire felt uncomfortable for a moment – Brian had also been Jenny’s da. Perhaps— “Do you not approve? Would you like me to give it back? Maybe you should have it for your own sons—”
Jenny waved her off. “I have my mam’s pearls and other things, for my daughters as well. This is Jamie’s to give as he will.” She reached out and touched a finger gently to the ruby, warmth on her face and in her voice. “And let me tell you—he could not have chosen someone worthier.”
Claire ground her hips against Jamie’s, one hand holding her steady above him. Firelight cast them into molten gold as each found their completion in the other’s body.
Jamie groaned as Claire rocked to find more friction, more heat, more of him. He kneaded her breasts, traced a finger down to her navel, and settled on the pulsing point of their union. Claire clenched around him, dissolving into a heap of spent limbs and curly hair. Their foreheads touched as Jamie took his pleasure, gasping into her ear.
“Tha gaol agam ort. An-còmhnaidh.” His hands gently traced patterns on her back as she lay spent on top of him, too lazy and sated to shift next to him. Her skin pebbled in goose bumps as she shivered in delight.
“You’ll have to teach me the Gaidhlig,” she said, smiling. She propped her hands under her chin, resting on his chest. “I think I can only translate about 5 words. Not fair.”
“I can teach ye, Sassenach.” Jamie pushed her hair behind her ears, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Repeat after me. Tha gaol agam ort.”
“Tha gaol agam ort.” Claire did her best to imitate his accent.
“An-còmhnaidh.” Jamie caressed her face gently, tenderly.
“But what does it mean?” she insisted, pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand.
Jamie took a deep breath. “It means… I love ye. Always.”
Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she considered bolting. Rising from the bed, giving up the warmth and comfort of his body. Dressing fast in the demi-dark, leaving him behind. And her heart ached at the thought. So she allowed the brief wave of panic to wash over her, and let it go.
Jamie’s eyes were still on her, steadfast and unwavering. Claire met them bravely, whiskey and blue fire, and kissed his honey mouth.
You’ve come to me so often. When I dreamed sometimes. When I lay in fever. When I was so afraid and so lonely I knew I must die. When I needed you, I would always see ye, smiling, with your hair curling up about your face. But ye never spoke. And ye never touched me.
Fiona: grows flowers that Hugh’s bees especially like. Of course, for Hugh she’d give him a painting of them together (I’d imagine her to be an amazing painter and artist)
Hugh: old but gold, he’d shower her in every single chocolate known to man; KitKats, kisses, crunch bars, Hershey’s, boxes of chocolates, those nice raspberry chocolate bars near the cash register at Nordstrom, absolutely everything! He read that chocolate improves moods and makes people happy and all he wants is for his gf to be happy
Enoch: I imagine him to write Horace a nice love letter. Enoch, not being able to fully grasp his emotions tries to write it out instead, but it comes out a bit awkward and confusing if not cute and dorky. Also a nice pillow for Horace to rest on :)
Horace: he’d definitely shower Enoch in pastries! Much like Hugh, but instead of chocolates, mini cakes and all of Enoch’s favorite sweets. Also, some nice clay sculptures that he made secretly. (It absolutely melts Enoch’s heart that Horace tried to make clay sculptures for him even if he can’t tell what they are!)
Millard: decides to make cards for miss peregrine, Bronwyn and Olive and Claire. With his neat, organized handwriting, his calligraphy skills are on point and he makes Miss Peregrine smile as well as make Olive, Bronwyn and Claire smile too
Olive: makes Bronwyn a cute drawing of the two!! Makes Bronwyn tear up as the messy mix of paint and the smiles of the drawings make her day
Bronwyn: Gives the girls boxes of chocolates and gives Millard a nice card. They both don’t have a valentine so they figure it’s best to celebrate their friendship over cards.
Claire: makes Millard a “painting” which is really just a mix of glitter, pink paint, and blue paint “what I think you look like!” Claire says as Millard tears up
Emma: gives Jacob warm kisses and prepares a nice picnic for the two. They’ve wanted some alone time to relax and what better idea than a picnic
Jacob: gets out his favorite camera and phone and takes pictures and selfies of him and Emma!! After the picnic they go to the pharmacy and dispense the film into pictures to make a “Valentine’s day 2017” album!!
after twenty years, they finally laugh together again
Recovering, Jamie slapped my hip. “Get on your knees, Sassenach.”
“If you’ll not let me be spiritual about it, you’ll have to put up wi’ my baser nature. I’m going to be a best.” He bit my neck. “Do ye want me to be a horse, a bear or a dog?”
“A hedgehog? And just how does a hedgehog make love?” he demanded.
No, I though. I won’t. I will not. But I did. “Very carefully.” I replied, giggling helplessly. So now we know just how old that one is, I thought.
“Mind ye, dogs sometimes do look a little trifle sheepish when they’ve done wi’ mating.” he said.
“Mm. And how do sheep look, then?”
“Aye, well, female sheep just go on lookin’ like sheep - not havin’ great deal of choice in the matter, ye ken.”
“Oh? And what do male sheep look like?”
“Oh, they look fair depraved. Let their tongues hang out, drooling, and their eyes roll back, while they make disgusting noises. Like most male animals, aye?” I could feel the curve of his grin against my shoulder.
He squeezed again, and I pulled gently on the ear closest to hand.
“I didn’t notice your tongue hanging out.”
“Ye werena noticing; your eyes were closed.”
“I didn’t hear any disgusting noises, either.”
“Well, I couldna just think of any on the spur of the moment.” he admitted. “Perhaps I’ll do better next time.”
We laughed softly together and then were quiet, listening to each other breathe.
Sam looked hot sitting on the table at the BMOL base
“It’s like our…” “Hogwarts.”
Sam wants to go to BMOL Hogwarts and got way over excited about the prospect
Dean’s stink face in response
Can someone write a fic about how upset/terrified Sam looked when he said ‘we’re in separate rooms’ - he clearly doesn’t like the idea of not sharing a motel/hotel room without his brother. In the next scene he hasn’t slept much but puts it down to having been ‘doing research’
Claire reading Batgirl
The voice Dean does down the phone to Claire
Mick forgetting you can’t drink till you’re 21 in the US
‘like Downton Abbey boring’
‘It’s on…Harry Potter’
‘Explains the whole Wolverine healing factor thing’
‘Allow me your Lordship’
Mention of Madga but no full reveal - still wanna’ see Sam’s reaction
Mirrored Sam going to Stanford and being alone / Claire being alone
Sam and Claire hugging
‘I have a family, and they love me’
Mick saving Claire
Parental Sam and Dean in pain watching their kid in pain
Claire not dying
‘But I’m ready, and I never would have been if it wasn’t for you being my Mother’
headcanon that present day Hugh works at a Bowl Of America because Claire and Olive begged him to have a “fun job like Bronwyn and Fiona,” Hugh pretends to hate it but secretly loves watching all the children fail at bowling miserably (tho Millard has taken a liking to this “sport”) Enochs the best by far and tries to act cool but hes fangirling about how hes really good and if Horace will notice his skill
“I - spoke to you of my wife,” he said, forcing the words out as though they hurt him.
“Yes, you said she was dead.”
“I said that she was gone, Major.” Fraser corrected softly. His eyes were fixed on the pawn. “It is likely she is dead but -” He stoppend and swallowed, then went on more firmly.
“My wife was a healer. What they call in the Highlands a charmer, but more than that. She was a white lady - a wisewoman.” He glanced up briefly. “The word in Gaelic is ban-druidh; it also means witch.”
“The White Witch.” Grey also spoke softly, but excitement was thrumming through his blood. “So the man’s words referred to your wife?”
“I thought they might. And if so -” The wide shoulders stirred in a slight shrug. “I had to go,” he said simply. “To see.”
[…] “I see. And your wife…?” Grey paused delicately.
Fraser shook his head briefly.
“There was nothing there to do with her,” he said softly. “She is truly gone.” His voice was low and controlled, but Grey could hear the undertone of desolation.
Fraser’s voice was normally calm and unreadable; he did not change expression now, but the marks of grief were clear, etched in the lines beside mouth and eyes, thrown into darkness by the flickering fire.