hospital news

New York hospital: Shooting incident in the Bronx

A gunman has opened fire inside a hospital in the Bronx borough of New York.

The man, said to be dressed as a doctor, began shooting at the 1,000-bed Bronx-Lebanon Hospital in the Morris Heights district, reports say.

At least three people are believed to have been shot, although other reports speak of multiple casualties.

A spokesman for the police said that one gunman had now been found dead at the scene.

Messages on social media spoke of doctors and nurses barricading themselves inside the building.

There are also some reports of a fire in the building.

theguardian.com
NHS hospitals across England hit by large-scale cyber-attack
Many hospitals having to divert emergency patients, with doctors reporting messages demanding money
By Alexandra Topping

Today (12/05/17), NHS computer systems in several hospitals have been hacked, forcing entire hospitls to shut down all their systems and driving already struggling hospitals into crisis.

If you do this, then you are the textbook definition of a ‘terrible person’. Instead of using your talents for good, or pointless glory, you’ve decided to attack hospitals. The places people go when they are sick, or dying. You actively compromised emergency care for thousads upon thousands of people. Where doctors and ures are already stuggling to keep people safe and look after patients, you have mae their job much harder and put their patients at risk.

This is affecting real people, people I know. People whose personal details are now also compromised because they work for these hospitals. This is very real, and it may well be having ery serious implications for the patients being cared for at affected hospitals. If you bring down a company, you affect profits but life goes on. If you bring down a hospital, people could die.

If you can’t help save lives, the very least you could do is not get in the bloody way of those of us who do. Yes, I’m absolutely livid. I don’t care if you thought it woul be funny. I don’t are if you wanted to make a point. I dont’t care if you thought the information would be lucrative.

If you are ever involved in something like this, then you have blood on your hands, and there is never any possible justification for this kind of behaviour.


How U.S. Health Care Became Big Business

Health care is a trillion-dollar industry in America, but are we getting what we pay for? Journalist Dr. Elisabeth Rosenthal warns that the existing system too often focuses on financial incentives over health or science.

“We’ve trusted a lot of our health care to for-profit businesses and it’s their job, frankly, to make profit,” Rosenthal says. “You can’ t expect them to act like Mother Teresas.”

Rosenthal’s new book, An American Sickness, examines the deeply rooted problems of the existing health-care system and also offers suggestions for a way forward. She notes that under the current system, it’s far more lucrative to provide a lifetime of treatments instead of a cure.

“One expert in the book joked to me … that if we relied on the current medical market to deal with polio, we would never have a polio vaccine,” Rosenthal says. “Instead we would have iron lungs in seven colors with iPhone apps." 

Bill Diodato/Getty Images

09/27/17 NEWS

Behind the scenes of The Bad Beginning: Part Two. Via Malina Weissman on Instagram.

Behind the scenes of The Miserable Mill: Part One. Via Louis Hynes on Instagram.

Heimlich Hospital from The Hostile Hospital. Via Neil Patrick Harris on Instagram.

theguardian.com
Most of central London hospital to be sold off, plans reveal
Exclusive: Charing Cross hospital to be cut to 13% of current size and services diverted to facilities around the city, documents show
By Diane Taylor

Almost all of a central London hospital is to be sold and its services diverted to already stretched facilities around the capital under plans for NHS modernisation seen by the Guardian.

Charing Cross hospital, a flagship NHS facility in the heart of London, is to be cut to just 13% of its current size under proposals contained in sustainability and transformation plans published last year in 44 areas across England.

NHS chiefs have stated as recently as March that “there have never been any plans to close Charing Cross hospital”, and in March 2015 the then prime minister, David Cameron, said it was “scaremongering” to suggest that the Charing Cross A&E departmentwas earmarked for closure. The health secretary, Jeremy Hunt, echoed the claims.

However, in the internal NHS documents the apparent downgrading of Charing Cross is outlined in great detail.

The plan is to axe 10 major services at Charing Cross – 24/7 A&E, emergency surgery, intensive care and a range of complex emergency and non-emergency medical and surgical treatments. The remaining services would be a series of outpatient and GP clinics, X-ray and CT scans, a pharmacy and an urgent care centre for “minor injuries and illnesses”. Around 300 acute beds will be lost.

The NHS in England is gearing up to start selling off billions of pounds worth of land and property in order to free up cash to tackle what Naylor estimated to be a £10bn backlog of repairs to sometimes crumbling old buildings.

The Health Service Journal disclosed last week that the Department of Health was preparing to create six regional public/private partnerships covering all of England that would oversee such sales. The plan, codenamed Project Phoenix, would see the proceeds from asset sales being shared between NHS organisations and private firms. Under the plan, London and the south-east would comprise one giant, and very valuable, area.

Absolutely disgusting. 

messy situations [j.j.]

Originally posted by burgerheadjones


Just a lil thing that popped into my head bc of season two. It sucks and its rushed but I might continue it as the season progresses.

(this could have a part two if you’d like)

Pairing: Jughead Jones x reader

Summary: You are forced to come back to Riverdale when you hear that tragedy has struck.


Jughead Jones sat alone in his usual booth at Pop’s. To his right sat a half-consumed milkshake while an uneaten tray of fries rested on the table to his left.

With a heavy sigh, the beanie-clad boy leaned forwards, eyes drooping slightly as they read through the words on his laptop screen. It was almost midnight, but Jughead couldn’t sleep. He had been at Pop’s for hours, typing, deleting, & retyping his current project as he tried to find the perfect words to describe the fact that Riverdale wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

The diner was eerily quiet for a Friday. Apart from Jughead, there were only two other people who sat on the other side of the diner, sharing a booth. As Jughead slouched in his seat, he felt his eyelids droop even lower and he leaned his cheek upon his palm. A few minutes of shut-eye couldn’t hurt, could it?

It had seemed like an eternity since Jughead had slipped into unconsciousness when in reality, it was a mere five minutes. Jughead head shot up when the bell over the entrance to Pop’s rung. The quick motion caused his beanie to slide off his head. He proceeded to run his hand through his dark curls as he yawned.

After carefully placing his beanie back where it belonged, Jughead looked back up, allowing his eyes to scan the premises for the source of the bell’s sound.

His eyebrow quirked when his eyes came to rest upon the figure of a girl leaning against the door as she breathed heavily. She looked tired, as if she had been running for quite a while.

She straightened up and walked confidently towards the register whispering a loud “pssst” when she got there. Almost immediately, Pop’s himself came out grinning widely when he noticed the girl.

Jughead’s eyes widened involuntarily. He hadn’t seen anything remotely resembling a smile on the older man’s face ever since Fred Andrews had been shot.

“Sweetheart!” Pop’s cried. “You’re here! You’re actually here!”

Jughead’s eyebrows furrowed as the girl turned and leaned against the counter. He looked her over, her facial features reminding him of someone he knew.

The mystery girl smiled slightly. “Of course I’m here Pop. I couldn’t just not show up at a time like this. You know how he is.”

Jughead kept watching as Pop’s nodded sympathetically before offering her something to eat. He looked back down at his laptop, his mind working at a hundred miles a minute. He knew that voice. He didn’t know from where, but he knew it.

The girl nodded her head, knowing there was no use fighting. She had stayed in the diner for about half an hour, enjoying a burger, onion rings, and a milkshake before standing up, paying, and leaving.

Before exiting the diner, she had turned around and leaned towards Jughead’s table.

“It’s nice to see you again Jughead,” she had chimed. “Glad to see you still wear the exact same beanie. At least not everything has changed.”

Jughead had stared after the girl as she left, walking down the empty road as she zipped up her jacket.

His attention was brought back by a slight chuckle, and he turned his head to find Pop standing next to him, another milkshake in hand.

“Who was that?” Jughead asked the older man.

His question went unanswered as the older man simply chuckled once more and walked back into the kitchen.


Jughead shivered as he got off his motorcycle, making sure not to slip as he made his way towards the hospital entrance. 

He entered quickly, bringing his hands up to his face and breathing into them before locating his friends and making his way over to them. 

“Where’s Archie?” he asked quietly, making Betty and Veronica lean in.

“He’s with his dad,” Betty replied softly.

“Listen, guys,” Jughead began. “I was in Pop’s and there was this girl and-”

“Woah Jughead,” Veronica cut in, a small smirk on her face. “I’m happy for you but I don’t think this is the time to talk to us about your love life.”

Jughead sighed in exasperation as he rolled his eyes. “No Veronica, that’s not what this is about. Anyways, there was this girl at Pop’s and she knew him.”

“This is a small town Jug,” Betty spoke. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows Pop’s.”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. But I had never seen her before. And trust me, she wouldn’t have been easy to miss.”

Veronica hummed slightly. “And why is that beanie-brain?”

Jughead felt his cheeks flush slightly before answering. “Betty said it herself. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”

Veronica shook her head in amusement. “Okay but why is this a big deal?”

“Because she seemed familiar,” Jughead persisted. “She knew me by my name.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t know her?” Betty asked. Jughead shook his head.

Betty opened her mouth to speak, before their attention was caught by something- someone- else.

“Thank you so much for being here,” Cheryl’s voice rang out. “The fire was a terrible tragedy but I know that with my support, mommy will make it through this just fine.” 

She leaned in to embrace the girl she was talking to. 

“Of course Cheryl!” the girl replied. “I hope it all works out for you. I’m really sorry this happened to you guys.”

Jughead nudged Betty almost immediately. “That’s her!”

They continued to watch as Cheryl leaned back before pressing a kiss to the girl’s cheek. “Your dad will be fine. I can feel it. Everything will work itself out.”

With another quick hug and a smirk, Cheryl bounded away, her long locks swinging behind her.

Jughead kept nudging Betty, who was simply ignoring him.

“Betty?” he questioned. In response, the blonde-haired girl simply stood up, making her way over to girl Cheryl had just left.

“(Y/N)?” Betty asked hesitantly, causing the girl to spin around. 

“Yeah?” she asked, confused.

“Oh my god,” Betty breathed. “It’s really you.”

Betty stepped forwards and gathered the girl in her arms, holding her close as the girl gasped out a startled “Elizabeth?”.

By the time the two girls had separated, they both had tears in their eyes.

“Who is that?” Veronica asked, leaning into Jughead. She was met with no response. 

Betty dragged (Y/N) over to them, a wide smile across her face. “Veronica, meet (Y/N).”

“Veronica Lodge, pleasure to meet you,” Veronica greeted, extending her hand.

“(Y/N) Andrews,” the girl replied. “The pleasures all mine. I hear you’re my brother’s new girlfriend.”

“You’re Archie’s sister?” Veronica asked, shocked. (Y/N) nodded in response before turning to Jughead.

“Hey Jug,” she whispered softly. 

The beanie-clad boy didn’t reply, instead standing up and storming out of the building.

(Y/N) looked down, not wanting to see Betty’s sympathetic glance.

“Why are you back (Y/N)?” Betty questioned. She hadn’t seen (Y/N) since she had left with her mom years ago.

“Because of dad,” she replied quietly. “Arch called me, in tears, saying that we had to come. I wasn’t just gonna leave him all alone.”

A stretch of silence had spread before she spoke again. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

Betty grimaced. “No, he doesn’t. Jughead is just bitter because you left so suddenly.”

Veronica glanced at the two girls, frowning at their expressions. “Well I know that I, for one, am bitter. Bitter about the fact that Archie never told me he had a sister. Why would he keep you hidden from us?”

The three girls laughed in response to her comment before settling down on the hospital chairs, awaiting any news to come on Fred Andrews’s condition.


Outside, Jughead Jones mounted his motorcycle. He sped off towards his home, angry. 

He hopped off the motorcycle quickly and made his way inside, groaning in frustration before turning around and punching the wall next to him.

“What’s got you all worked up kid?”

Jughead spun around, finding two Serpents standing around a third person tied up in a chair.

His eyes widened slightly before hardening once more. ‘What’s got you all worked up kid?’

The Serpent’s question rang in his head as he thought back to the hospital.

What’s got you all worked up?’

(Y/N) Andrews was back in town. And things were about to get messy.


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anonymous asked:

Can you write a fix where Betty and Jughead have gone their separate ways but Betty is jugheads emergency contact still and one day jughead gets into a horrible accident and Betty gets a called.

Okay!
***

Walking out of the dark office she spent Most of her time in, Betty waved at Lucy, the older receptionist with the turquoise glasses and bright red lipstick.

“See you tomorrow Lucy.” She tugged her dark blue windbreaker tight around her shoulders as the white haired woman smiled

“See you tomorrow Dr.Cooper.”

Betty made her way through the sliding glass doors of the Paws and Pets Veterinarian clinic. She was an accomplished veterinarian and everyone in the town knew of her and loved her, she had saved countless hamsters from their untimely death and she could work magic on a Pomeranian with a cold. Her life was steady and exactly where she wanted it, she was due to open her own clinic in Riverdale, just a town over. While Pembrooke was beautiful, Riverdale would always be her home. So sure, she was content, happy even, but still.. something was missing.

The familiar rainforest ringtone snapped Betty out of her daze and she dug in her coat pocket in search of the offending cause of noise, the thick wool gloves she had on made answering the unknown number fairly difficult, with a triumphant “HA” she finally brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” The blonde asked confused, she rarely ever got phone calls from unknown numbers, they usually just called the clinic.

“Hello, is this Elizabeth Cooper?” The voice was serious and deep.

“Yes. That’s me , can I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Riverdale Emergency hospital, I’m calling in regards to Jughead Jones, you’re listed as his emergency contact. There’s been an accident, Im going to need..” Betty slammed the phone shut as she hopped in her car, speeding through every red light, that dared come in her way.

After an incredibly anxious fifteen minute ride, Betty slammed through the doors of the hospital, her eyes searching frantically for anyone who seemed to be working at the hospital.

“Hello?!” She called desperately. “Someone please! I need to see Jughead.. Jughead Jones.” She pushed though people, grabbing anyone. Suddenly she felt a warm hand smooth over her shoulder

“You can come with me ms.Cooper.” A middle aged male nurse, tugged her gently towards the waiting area and sat her down, handing her a cup of water and speaking quietly
“Mr.Jones’ doctor will be out very soon, for now, relax here.” He smiled again and walked the opposite way, leaving Betty with shaking hands and wandering thoughts.

Six years. It had been six years since she had heard from Jughead Jones. Six years since they had broken up and promised to keep in touch, but life got in the way, Betty’s schoolwork, Jughead new found popularity after he became a NewYork Times bestselling author. They just drifted apart. That didn’t mean she didn’t own every single copy of every single book he had written, notes scattered in the margins. But here she was, sitting in a hospital waiting for news on her first love, her heart racing in her chest, stomach in knots.

“Elizabeth Cooper?”

She whipped around at the voice and rushed over to the tall man In the doctors scrubs.
“Is he okay? What happened? Can i see him? If you let him die I will sue you for everything, my best friend is Veronica Lodge, best lawyer in all of NewYork.” She threatened, her eyes filling with tears.

“Ms.Cooper, Jughead is fine. He was in a minor motorcycle accident, the extent of his injuries is a broken arm. You can go in and see him.” He stepped aside with a knowing smile and right before Betty breezed past him, she turned around.

“His medical records, are they old? Do you maybe still have his emergency contact from high school?” She questioned, her voice the picture of faux steady and cool.

The doctor smiled softly
“Actually Mr.Jones just came in last month to update his records, he still signed you as his emergency contact.”

Betty stared for a moment longer, her eyes somewhere far away, somewhere colored with leather jackets and strawberry milkshakes, a hidden smile appearing on her face before she raced down the hall.

Slamming the door to his hospital room open, she smiled when she saw him attempting to wrap his flannel over the sling on his arm.

“I hope that’s not your writing hand.” She spoke softly, still causing him to jump and turn quickly, his eyes widening when he saw Betty standing in the doorway.

“Betty?” He asked confused, his eyes wide in awe and looking desperately handsome in his scruffy bearded glory, she was struck by how similar he looked to his father.

“the doctor called. I’m your emergency contact remember?” She smiled and took a seat on the bed beside him.

He groaned and smacked his good hand to his forehead

“This hardly constitutes an emergency, I’m so sorry Betty.” He blushed light pink and looked away.

“Hey.” She brought his attention back to her “ im happy they called me. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you and I didn’t know.. I didn’t..” she trailed off, her fingers moving to dig into her palms, even after all these years she still hadn’t dropped the habit.

Jughead was quick to catch it, just like he always had been, enveloping both of her hands with his.

“I’m okay.” He whispered, eyes burning into hers.

“When they called me I was so scared.. I thought something really bad had happened.. I thought I had lost you and I never even had the Chance…” she trailed off

Jughead brought his fingers to her chin, tilting it up so her eyes met his again

“Had the chance to what?” He urged her to finish, her dark grassy green eyes met his ocean blue and after a second she mumbled something suspiciously similar to
“Oh hell.”
And her lips were on his, his good arm gripping her waist, while her hands buried themselves in his hair. It was like two ships coming to dock. It was one of those lifetime original movie moments. Romeo and Juliet reunited and no one had to die.

When Jughead pulled away he panted, resting his forehead against Betty’s
“I come three times a year to make sure you’re still my emergency contact, I wouldn’t want anyone else but you by my side.” He whispered into the quiet air, his nose nuzzling hers as he breathed in her familiar scent. She was home to him, no matter how long it took he had always known he would come back home.

“Next time you want to see me, just call. You don’t have to get into a motorcycle accident every time. Your insurance will skyrocket.” She giggled and he grinned, pressing his lips to hers again

“You got it Juliet.”

3

Abandoned Tennessee mental hospital

A freelance photographer captured the eerie setting of an abandoned American mental asylum after avoiding security guards at the premises. The 32-year-old, who wishes to remain anonymous, managed to sneak through an unlocked door and gain access to the state-owned asylum, which dates back to the 19th century.

The asylum, Western State Mental Hospital, in Tennessee, was one of the last to be built in the area and became the least funded. The hospital’s population grew from hundreds, in the 1890s, to thousands, in the 1960s, as patients were institutionalized for decades. (Caters News)

See more photos of abandoned hospital and our other slideshows on Yahoo News.

6

“doctor song, can i call you unnie?“

theguardian.com
Half of junior doctors having accidents or near misses after night shifts
Sleep deprivation among trainee doctors and anaesthetists is causing accidents or near misses on way home, report says
By Denis Campbell

More than half of trainee hospital doctors have had an accident or near miss on their way home after a night shift due to sleep deprivation, according to new evidence about fatigue among NHS staff.

Doctors have described swerving across motorways, crashing into other vehicles, being stopped by police and hitting a kerb, verge or roundabout as a result of falling asleep at the wheel on their journey home.

In all, 1,229 (57%) of 2,155 trainee anaesthetists questioned had been involved in an accident, or come close to having one, while driving, motorcycling, cycling or walking home after working all night.

instagram

When you’re bombing a hill for a skateboard competition and a cop shoulder checks you and you get sent to the hospital but the news says “skateboarder attacked a police office” 😅 no wonder people don’t trust cops 👮👎

Made with Instagram

anonymous asked:

Can Claire and Jamie go camping? I think they need a getaway.... :)

Flood my Mornings: Vermont (i)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Late June, 1951

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser was an impressive sight at any time of the day or year. 

Naked, silhouetted against a bright summer moon; the curve of leg and hip and scar all gilded into sharp edges by the glow of the fire behind him… he was positively primordial, ancient man surveying the vast wilderness.

 “God, it’s just…..”

He didn’t finish the sentence, just stood there on the verge of our mountaintop, taking in the sight of the sleeping valley below.

I could have finished the sentence for him, though: …like home.

The Green Mountains of Vermont—or this section of them, anyway— were quite similarly beautiful to those of Scotland. The main difference was the trees, of course: in contrast to the sparse, heathered slopes of Jamie’s birthplace, every inch of these mountains was covered in lush forests that spiced the air with the tangs of evergreen and leaf mold. Still, looking out across the horizon, the ranges had that same rolling and dipping quality, that sense of movement about them that felt so much like the Highlands. One could almost imagine looking down into one of these valleys and seeing the roof of Lallybroch below, enticingly belching smoke from the fires of Mrs. Crook’s promised supper.

and I supposed that Jamie was doing just that. 

I left him to dwell in the serenity of the moment, there at the top of the horizon. My own peace was complete, astonishing in its sensory fullness: 

the beauty of the night, of the rolling valley far below, 

a warm breeze across my naked skin, the same that swelled the forest into a rustling, shushing chorus,

the afterglow of lovemaking pulsing gently through me, there in our nest of blankets by the fire on the mountaintop, 

and Jamie. Always, Jamie. 

Tom and Marian had many times this year offered us the use of their mountain cabin in Vermont. Between work schedules, my schooling, pregnancy, and the general hustle and bustle of normal life, we simply hadn’t made the time for such a lavish treat as a holiday away. At last, though, with the academic term over and with the baby due in just over a month, we’d decided that getting away, just the two of us, was just the thing. Lord knew, once a nursing infant was in the mix, it could be quite some time before we could do so again.

Jamie, true to form, had fretted over me for weeks leading up to our departure, trying to call the whole thing off. ‘Sassenach, what if the bairn comes early?’….”There willna be a hospital for miles and miles. What if something happens?’….‘If ye think I can deliver a child, woman, you’re WRONG.’ 

But at last, he’d had no choice (short of chaining me to the house, that is) but to relent, and the further we drove westward, the higher the elevation rose, the quieter he became. His eyes got wider and wider, the glory of being among mountains soaking into him like sunshine.

After settling our things in the cabin earlier that afternoon (’Rustic,’ the Harpers had warned us)(’Better equipped than any Highland castle,’ Jamie had snorted as we walked in and saw the full kitchen), we’d made a few hasty sandwiches and ventured out for a walk before the light went. The vistas were absolutely spectacular, even more so when the skies were painted with the pinks and scarlets of sunset. 

Jamie had built us a fire a few hundred yards from the house, when we got back, just near the overlook, and we’d spent hours snuggled together before it, toasting marshmallows, sipping hot chocolate heated over the coals, laughing and talking and telling stories as the stars brightened overhead. 

At last, the quiet and beauty of the night had settled around us, and we’d made love there in the clearing, slowly and sweetly. For a very long time after, we’d lain panting and trembling, cocooned together in perfect calm, no demands on our time save enjoyment of one another. 

….and, eventually, pragmatically, those of Jamie’s bladder.

From somewhere in the woods, there came the sound of something large moving about; a deer, I thought, since Jamie was not reaching for an absent knife. He did start, though, the lively night pulling him out of his trance. Assured there was no danger, he turned to me with a slightly-sheepish grin. “Forgive me, mo chridhe, I was lost in fancy.” He began picking his way across the grass back toward the fire. “Feeling alright, Sassenach? All well?”

Very well,” I promised, “as long as you don’t make me move from this spot.” I burrowed further into the blankets in illustration. “Couldn’t budge for all the tea in China.” 

“Dinna fash, lass.” He crouched beside me and provided a very entertaining view as he slid his hands under me, “I’ll carry ye up to bed.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, neatly rolling away. “We’re sleeping out here.”

Certainly we are,” he laughed, rolling me back, “are not.” 

“Why ever not?” 

He gave me a look. “Ye think I’m going to let my eight-months-gone wife sleep like an animal on the cold ground?” 

“It isn’t cold.” I raised an eyebrow. “And you’d not have given it a second thought, back in Scotland, would you?”

He blinked, then laughed. “Christ, you’re right,” he groaned, putting a knee down and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve become quite the pampered popinjay in only a year, aye?”

“Well, you can earn your tough-as-saddle-leather badge back tonight. Come here,” I wheedled, patting the blankets. “Come keep your lady warm for the night.”

He obliged, coming in to settle spoon-fashion behind me. “My lady,” he murmured, precisely as I breathed, “God, a year…

We both laughed and exhaled together.

He kissed my neck. “It’s been a wonderful year, mo ghraidh.”

“To think that this time last year…” I shuddered and kissed his hand. “No, it doesn’t do to think of what life was, last June.”

“No,” he agreed, “it doesna.” 

He’d been close to starvation on the streets of Boston, scouring the streets and hospitals for any news of me, my whereabouts. I’d been—I’d just been. I’d loved my work, adored Bree; but apart from the promise of seeing her grow up happy and loved….I hadn’t much hopeNow…

“I guess that means this could almost be a wedding anniversary trip, couldn’t it?”

“Which one?”

What?” 

“Which wedding?”

I laughed, surprised. “Well, I did mean the one last year, but I guess we’re pretty close to our first as well. When would it have been? June? Late June?” 

“I canna recall the precise date,” he admitted, running his hands up my thigh and onto the huge curve of my belly, “but that seems correct.” 

“And our twentieth-century anniversary is the 8th of July…meaning you found me in July….and little wiggleworm, here, should be born in either July or August…” I snuggled back against him and pulled his arm tighter around me, sighing happily.  “Good things tend to happen to us in the summertime, don’t they?” 

He kissed his way down the curve of my shoulder. “Aye, they certainly do.” 

“I’d like the bairns to know a place like this,” he murmured a while later into my neck. 

“The cabin?” I had very nearly nodded off in the cozy silence that had intervened. My voice was scratchy and sleepy. “Why is that, love?”

Jamie didn’t immediately answer; and when he did, I was surprised to hear a slight hesitation in his voice, a carefulness in his words that bespoke unease. “Ye ken I love our life, Claire, aye?” 

I nodded and squeezed his hand. 

“It’s more than I could ever have dreamed of, let alone have hoped to have for myself, for you, and for them.” He pulled me closer with one hand and spread the other absently over my belly. “I’m so grateful,” he whispered with deep feeling, “for the safety; the plenty; our home; having the income to take care of our family in comfort; that you’re able to pursue your profession; that the bairns will be able to pursue theirs, one day, wi’ nothing like birthplace or station to hold them back…. I wouldna trade our life for anything.”

I reached behind to stroke his hip, waiting. 

“…But I also canna shake some sense in my heart that—that this is how things are meant to be.”

“Naked in the woods?” I teased gently.

“Aye,” he laughed, just what I’d wanted, his unease evaporating in a moment, “exactly so.” He ran his hand across my legs, coming up to cup my breast. “Nothing but my brown-haired lass, naked in my arms…” An intake of breath hissed gently from us in unison as we felt the sudden shifting within me. “And new life, promised to us….”

We lay still, his hand over mine as we gloried in feeling little Ian moving about. I wondered if he was dreaming. 

That they may be sweet, little love. 

“But I suppose I meant, this out-of-door life,” Jamie said at last. “Wild, living things. Animals. Forests and burns. Hunting. Sleeping under the stars, among the hea—among the trees and the grasses. Tracking and tending the land. Mountains,” he said, with quiet intensity. “I want them to know mountains.” 

I pulled him as close as I could. “We will make this part of our life, Jamie, if you wish it.”

“We will?”

“We’ll come on holiday with them as often as we can, just like this. And, eventually—Well, it can’t be all the time, particularly not once I’ve started medical training; but as soon as we can afford it, maybe we’ll have a second home somewhere wild, somewhere like this.”

“A second home?” he asked, dubious. “Folk keep two houses, then?”

“Not all, not even most; but Tom and Marian manage it, don’t they?” 

“Aye,” he said slowly as he glanced up at the house, considering, “Aye, just so….But Tom owns the whole of Fernacre. Will we truly ever have the means to afford such extravagance?” 

“MDs make some of the best money available,” I said, as simply as I could, “and other than being charitable and giving as much away as we can manage, I can’t think of a more worthwhile way to use that financial freedom, than to give you this.”

“….Thank you, Sassenach.” He sounded absolutely gutted with earnest gratitude, like someone that had just been handed an infinite fortune with no caveat. “Truly.” 

“Well, thank me when and if I actually get admitted to medical school.” I groaned with that sudden, familiar wash of visceral anxiety. “If, if, if.”  

When,” he insisted, as he always did. “WHEN.” 

We settled in, held tight together in a warm heap of love, letting sleep wash over us. 

“Somewhere wi’ a mountain?” Jamie murmured just before I slipped completely under. 

“I promise.”