I'm gonna need more of that When Jamie Met Claire AU
Dear Anon - I’m so glad you’re enjoying the When Claire Met Jamie AU! Unfortunately, that was originally meant as a one-shot, so I don’t have many ideas for future installments just yet…Until I can whip something up, here is the first chapter of a fic that has been bumbling around my brain for a while now. It’s kind of similar - more angsty, yes - but it does follow Jamie and Claire’s entire relationship throughout modern day. Hope you still like! :) - Liv
[December 24th, 1989]
It is the
beginning of their story, the first time Jamie sees her. The dividing line between
what was and what would be. The setting is a Christmas party: an Edinburgh flat,
roaring on the cusp of a new decade. Champagne bubbles in flutes and greetings. The players: just two university students,
dancing across a stage of shaggy green carpet, garlands of tinsel.
And the opening scene?
Well. It goes something like this:
She is wearing a
holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins. It is the hard-won earnings of an hour’s wade through
mothballs, she says, of a knee-deep dive in the Goodwill bargain bin. All of this she relays to
Jamie with a smirk, a precocious, all-knowing smile that he will come to know so
The lights dim, and her eyes flicker. Lit coals in the flat’s half-dark. She smells of fresh rain,
of flowers just beginning to open, and the scent forms a sweet, perceptible
weight in the air. It settles on him, around him, when she leans forwards,
straining to hear his stuttered -
says, or tries to. He forgets his vowels and it comes as, “Hlllll?”
“Sorry – what
when his hand takes hers, crunches it firmly inside his palm. For
Claire, this moment will never lose its clarity, and in the years that follow she will argue that this is where their story begins: nestled in the slight curl of
Jamie’s lips. His voice, as smooth as the whisky he offers to pour her. Another
ugly sweater, this one boasting a lager-stained Santa and a hem of unraveling wool. The red string hangs there for her to tug, to close the gulf between them, and she does. Twenty one (him) and twenty two (her) years of strangerhood reduced to nothing - and then, so suddenly, transformed into knowing.
They make small
talk in the corner, mentioning the weather (“seasonably cold”) and her biology
exam (“after break”). Eventually Claire asks, “Do you know anyone here?”, and
bracketed inside this question is her secret hope that he does not. She wants to
believe that Jamie is on her side, that it is only the two of them (that it’s only
ever been the two of them) against
the world. She is so used to feeling alone in crowds – but here! Oh, but here in the rainbow glow of tree
lights, she feels a part of Something.
She holds onto it, wishing her hand was as big as his so that his curling lips
and his whisky voice would never seep through her fingers.
anyone,” Jamie confirms, “though I’m no’ sure that’s a bad thing.”
He inclines his
head towards the mass of bodies, all gyrating in a singular, chaotic wave. Music
plays in the background, oppressive and electronic, as a third year belts Bowie
between tokes. Jamie lets it fade away, forgets it all – the noise, how to blink,
how to breathe. Forgets everything except her.
with these people is that they think
they’re interesting.” She is yelling into his ear but even so, it seems
strangely intimate. Every word exchanged is a secret between them, one they
tuck inside their pockets, will place under their pillows when they lay their heads
to sleep. “But they aren’t – not even remotely!”
“Weel, fortunately you’ve met me now.”
“Mmm. But are you truly
interesting or only remotely?”
“That’s for you
to decide, lass. You being the expert on such things.”
Claire grins at
the floor. “You haven’t even told me your name, y’know.”
he says, all too quickly, and he’s unreasonably embarrassed. James, he thinks – what an unremarkable,
commonplace name! How many ‘James’ were in this very room, wearing equally hideous
and soiled sweaters? How many ‘James’ had she met in Scotland? Would she even remember
him, one of 337 (to be precise), after this night? (She would, of course. During
her biology exam, she will think of James Fraser and leave fifteen questions
blank. She will get a C – a grade as average as his name.)
“But you can
call me Jamie,” he adds over the roar.
Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp!”
Jamie laughs – a
beautiful laugh, the best laugh, a laugh Claire will spend the rest of her life
wanting to hear (she will have to work harder on certain days).
“If I call ye
anything, it’ll be ‘Sassenach’. Whereabouts in England are ye from?”
smiles – a beautiful smile, the best smile, a smile Jamie will spend the rest
of his life trying to earn (finding success and failure in turns).
birth,” Claire says. “But from nowhere, really.”
hearing the third-year shout – “Bowie, man! Greatest artist of all time!” – and
swears the kid is wrong. It’s God who
was the greatest artist, and this six-foot deity with his lager-stained knit was His chef d’ouevre.
“Do you want to
make this night interesting, Jamie?”
depends…What d’ye have in mind?”
for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes, she squeezes back. She
leads him through the throng. He follows, licking his lips and at her heels.
(Who knew it
could ever be this easy? Falling in love.)
concept: me reaching into the night sky and picking a star as if it’s a dandelion, making a wish and getting covered in the cosmic dust,smiling each time I see sparkles in the mirror,knowing that everybody i meet is witness to the light of the universe dancing across my skin.
Pairing: Ten/Rose AU Rating: T Warning: n/a Summary: There were hundreds of more dignified ways they could have met but the universe really likes to make things difficult for him
Notes: Just a short little ficlet I had floating around. No beta. Enjoy!
He’s caught glimpses of her before, running across the universe with starlight tangled in her hair and a thousand sunsets reflecting in her eyes. She dances across the universe much like him, while simultaneously moving in entirely her own beat. Civilizations praise her name and whisper breathlessly of the way her smile is more radiant than any sun. He’s always had one eye peeled for her, one heart determined to find this elusive woman, but she always seems to slip out of his grasp. A cat and mouse game, if you will.
He’ll see her in the distance, bathed in light and she’ll wink at him. Give a little wave with her tongue caught between her teeth. The planet already safe and sound by her hand before he’s even touched down. The minx.