jamie * *

10

“Love actually” + 13 years later

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VII)

Part VII – “You bleed just to know you’re alive”

Twenty-eight

Why do sirens cry in blue and red?

Are they calling for help, for the crushing urgency, the need to rob time of time itself? Or are they warning us to look away, to prepare ourselves because tragedy is upon us – we might as well be next?

Even after many years, I’d recall their grieving sound. The way my hands pressed upon Claire’s belly, blocking the exit of her life with my palms. The screams around me, senseless, enhancing my growing despair. How her eyes never left mine – daring me to stay with her, to keep death at bay.

The paramedics came. They could have taken from seconds to a lifetime to reach us – I wouldn’t be able to say. Time skipped and jumped, a leaf on the fury of wind, fragile at the thought of flying.

“I need you to step aside, sir.” A small man told me with assertiveness, trying to dislodge me from my position, kneeled next to Claire on the ground. His gloved hands were already evaluating her pulse, placing an oxygen mask on her face.

“I will not leave her side!” I growled, ferocious. He gave me a serious look, but didn’t make any further attempts to take me away from her, certain I would strike and maim any man foolish enough to try. He was right.

They quickly bandaged her abdomen with a pile of snow white compresses, held tight against her body by a bandage skilfully applied. Claire tried not to moan, but I could see her pain in every ragged breath, in the sweat that dripped from her brow.

The ambulance flew across the roads of Edinburgh, transporting us to the closest trauma centre. The driver had opened his mouth – about to object my presence – but was shortly discouraged by my menacing glance and a shook of head from the short paramedic.

“Hold on.” I repeated to Claire, like a mantra, holding her band – being almost thrown to the opposite side of the ambulance as the vehicle raced to the hospital, jumping on speed bumps and sliding on the curves like a car in hot pursuit. “Dinna die on me, mo nighean donn. I won’t let ye, do ye hear me?”

“I’m… not… too keen…. on the idea… either.” She puffed haltingly, making a weak attempt of a smile, which almost broke my heart.

“Woman of thirty, victim of an armed robbery, gunshot wound to the upper right quadrant with no exit wound – she’s losing blood fast.” The paramedic announced, as they erupted through the emergency doors, a team standing by to receive them. “Glasgow fifteen, she has been responsive during transport. Her blood pressure kept dropping, the saline is wide open but ineffective fluid challenge.” He informed to a man with brown hair and olive eyes, who nodded in acquiescence, leading the gurney carrying Claire to a trauma room as I followed closely.

“Denzel.” Claire whispered to the young surgeon, as he started to unpack her abdomen to access her injuries. “Is that you?” He looked at her face, surprised at hearing his name, and his eyes opened in shock.

“Claire!” He touched her face in greeting, as nurses hurried around, preparing trays and drugs that might be necessary. “Dear God! What happened?”

“Do ye know her?” I asked, grabbing her hand in spite of a nurse’s protest, prepared to shoo me away from the secluded room.

“Of course.” He looked at me with concern in his calm eyes, as he started to palpate her belly. Claire hissed in pain and he pursed his worried lips. “I met Claire during medical school in Boston and was very pleased when she decided to return to Scotland and be a resident here, as I am. You really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“Please…” Claire pleaded, closing her eyes for a second and licking her chapped lips. “Let Jamie stay…just a while longer.”

“Alright.” Denzel Hunter patted her hand in reassurance. “As long as he doesn’t faint on me.”

“How… bad… is it, Denny?” She asked, her eyes more unfocused and glassy. “I’m…fairly…sure…it went through…my liver.”

“And I’m sure you’re right - brilliant even in this situation, my dear. I’ll ask Doctor Myers to come in to operate.” Denny smiled, skilfully inserting a catheter on her jugular vein.

“I’ll be dead…before…he gets here.” Claire said sheepishly, raising her brow. Her face was hazardously pale, her whiskey eyes shining even brighter, her orbs dilated from pain and blood loss. “It has…to be you. I trust…you.”

Denny nodded, solemn, checking her pupils with a small flashlight, as she suddenly became unconscious – the monitors around them going crazy with alarms. “She’s bleeding out! Let’s move people, hang that saline wide open and two units of blood on the rapid infuser!” He commanded, concentrated in the wound’s trajectory. “Do you know her blood type, by any chance?”

I didn’t know her blood type – never had the chance to ask her, that information amongst a million other precious details of her that I knew nothing about. I didn’t know her birthday, even though I knew the position she slept in. I didn’t know her favourite dish – even if I was aware she preferred sneakers than high heels. I almost choked at the realization of the lifetime of things I could be robbed of, so devastatingly – left wondering, forever, because the time we had been offered hadn’t been enough. Knowing how much I loved her – and yet knowing so little of the one I loved.

“I dinna ken.” I admitted, gripping my fists, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and weep on the floor, stained with her blood.

“That’s alright.” Denzel assured me, throwing away compresses soaked in blood. “Let’s go with O-negative! I need a blood gas test as soon as possible and someone call the OR, let them know we’re coming! I want to be doing the first cut in less than five minutes!”

“Is she going to be alright?” I fearfully asked him, reluctantly letting go of her hand as a nurse took blood from her wrist with a fine syringe.

“She’s going into shock from the blood loss.” He explained in a steady voice. “I need to repair the damage right away, before she’s too unstable to endure the procedure. We’ll take her away now.”

I approached her, feeling numb as if my own blood had been turned to ice in my veins. I kissed her forehead, my lips hot against her perspired skin.

“Don’t leave me, Claire. This time I’ll beg.” I whispered in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me.”

****

I roamed the strikingly white corridors, incapable of sitting any longer in the waiting room outside the OR, where other husbands, daughters and mothers gathered, hope and fear lurking inside their eyes.

I came upon the small chapel, whispering of shelter and tranquillity in the half-light. I sat on the wooden bench, my hands entwined in prayer – I was ready to surrender to His will well enough, but was intent on offering a bargain.

“Lord, ye gave her to me.” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the cross where he had been martyr, symbol of the most loyal of loves. “I canna make sense of it in any other way. When my need was greatest ye set her upon my path so she could heal my soul. All along I was meant for her.” A warm tear streamed down my check, too raw to be contained. “And I intend to love her well the rest of my days – to care for her and make a home of her heart. I shall repay the gifts bestowed upon me by loving her to the best of my abilities. So I ask ye now – dinna take her away.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting against the sobs that threaten to wreck my body. “For if ye ever loved, ye know this – there’s this place inside me that only exists as long as she walks the earth. Once she’s gone, the part of me that lived in her light – the best, the one that makes me myself and no one else - will die with her.” My voice was unhinged, resounding in the naked walls, pulsing as the chambers of His heart. “I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” I added very softly. “Not brave enough to live without her anymore.”

I heard footsteps approaching the door – I didn’t bother to clean away the tear tracks on my cheeks. I didn’t turn either – I knew who had come to bring me news.

“Does she live?” I asked aloud – the hint of pain, of shaped glass an inch away from shattering, creeped into my voice.

“She lives.” Denzel Hunter sat next to me, sighing in tiredness as his bones found comfort in transient rest. “It was touch and go for a while, but I was able to retrieve the bullet and repair the vessels – she lost a bit of her liver, but it will regenerate itself with time.” His outline was sharp, softness mixed with edges, akin to a bust of an angel descending from grace to speak of hope to the lost crowd. “It will be a slow recovery – but she lives.”

“Thank ye.” I closed my eyes and bent my head, my body shaking from supressed grief, as I let go of the leash I had been using to keep myself together. “Thank ye.” I repeated. I didn’t know if I was thanking Denzel Hunter or God – but to me, in that moment, they were one and the same.

He squeezed my shoulder in silent acknowledgment and left me alone – to cry for joy and gratitude, for my heart had been saved.

****

I sat by her side as soon as she went to a room in recovery. I jumped each time a monitor bleeped, startled to the point of panic – but she slept peacefully, her lips still hauntingly pale.

I knew sleep wouldn’t touch me – my task was to watch over her. To guard her. To will her back to me.

I marvelled with each heartbeat – found terror in the infinitesimal space between each and every one of them. I talked to her in the Gaidhlig, the language of my dreams, in which I could best tell her all my heart. I brushed her hand with inquiring fingers, learning the lines of her to make sure they were still the same. I kissed her lips softly, remembering the promise of her laugh.

And as the moon rose outside, I watched the circuit of air inside her lungs, the tiny movements of flesh and bone, adjusting to the challenging rhythms of life. I watched her breathe again and again, until she opened her eyes to look at me – and I discovered that I too could breathe again.  

Originally posted by sassenach4life

The previous night…

I put my mouth on Jamie’s nipple, flicking it lightly with my tongue. He made a small sound deep in his throat and pulled me nearer. “Open your legs,” he whispered. “I mean to be sure you’ll remember me while I’m gone.”

Sometime later, I woke feeling cold. Groping sleepily for the quilt, I couldn’t find it. Suddenly it came up over me of its own accord. Surprised, I raised up on one elbow to look. “I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I didna mean to wake ye, lass.” “What are you doing? Why are you awake?” I squinted over my shoulder at him.

It was still dark, but my eyes were so accustomed that I could see the faintly sheepish expression on his face. He was wide awake, sitting on a stool by the side of the bed, his plaid flung around him for warmth. “It’s only…well, I dreamed you were lost, and I couldna find ye. It woke me, and…I wanted to look at ye, is all. To fix ye in my mind, to remember while I’m gone. I turned back the quilt; I’m sorry you were chilled.”

“It’s all right.”

The night was cold, and very quiet, as though we were the only two souls in the world. “Come into bed. You must be chilled too.” He slid in next to me and curled himself against my back. His hands stroked me from neck to shoulder, waist to hip, tracing the lines of my back, the curves of my body. “Mo duinne,” he said softly. “But now I should say mo airgeadach. My silver one. Your hair is silver-gilt and your skin is white velvet. Calman geal. White dove.”

I pressed my hips back against him, inviting, and settled against him with a sigh as his solid hardness filled me. He held me against his chest and moved with me, slowly, deeply. I gasped a little and he slackened his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didna mean to hurt ye. But I do want to be in you, to stay in you, so deep. I want to leave the feel of me deep inside ye with my seed. I want to hold ye so and stay wi’ you ’til dawn, and leave you sleeping and go, with the shapes of you warm in my hands.”

I pressed firmly back against him. “You won’t hurt me.”

J/C Fic - 

Set right at the close of this scene in S02E12

Personal Disclaimer: If you want to follow me after reading this, know that I am a shipper, and proud to be here. The only time I jump ship, is for a quick skinny dip into the warm waters. I mostly write S/C - very smutty - fic, which can be found: 

http://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze


To Grieve for that Which Has Yet to be Lost


“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Sassenach.”

I sighed heavily, the weight of our world consuming me, “You be careful.”

He kissed me then, his lips, warm and cracked from the wind, lingered longer than he intended. I felt the pain and anger, the hurt and fear, all melt into Jamie’s palm as he held my face, his smile against my lips, warming my tired and achy body.  I felt my arms float up, to wrap around his neck, my feet, high on their toes, pulled him in close. Jamie made a soft sound, low in his throat. A mix of apprehensive, with so much going on, but a desire to seize the moment. This one glimmer of a second we had to ourselves. To feel like husband and wife. Man, and woman.

Thought gave way to desire, and desire succumbed to need, falling to its knees in submission. Jamie lifted me to the table in the centre of the room. My legs, too heavy and thick from my clothes to circle his thighs, simply dangled above the wooden floor, as he ushered us over. He rested me atop the table, our lips never parting. I struggled to remove his clothes, desperate for his skin on mine. With the weather, all the men around us, and this bloody war, the moments we had, were always stolen. Never given to us freely, but pulled out from under the noses of those in the night, like thieves. When the pressure got too intense to ignore, he would pull me aside, ducking into the forest, or roll over top me in our barely hidden tent. His time inside my body, my body yielding to his, were so rushed and exposed that our minds had little time to catch up to our actions, only acknowledging the passionate kiss, or hard thrust hitting my cervix and stifled cry of pleasure, when it had long since been over.

But now, I didn’t care if the whole damn British army knocked down our door. Whether they stood and watched, or ran us through. My only hope in that case, was that if their sword penetrated Jamie’s back, to pierce his heart, the sword was long enough to strike me through as well. I lived for him, and he for me, and I bloody well planned on taking that trip to heaven or hell, right alongside him.

Our lips divided as I struggled to unknot his neck kerchief. His fingers aided me, our joint efforts fruitful as we flung the small piece of fabric aside. I felt Jamie’s lips touch my neck, sucking and biting, the craving for flesh, instinctive, deep in the marrow of our bones. We shed him of his clothes, the sound of weapons hitting the ground as his kilt fell to the floor.

The moment naked skin exposed itself to the dampness of the room, lips were quick to burn away the chill. My butting body shook the table, the complaints against the wooden floor, drowned in our passionate cries and grunting possession.

I wanted to fall from the table. I wanted to kneel at his feet and worship his manhood, as it stood proud, raised high from his groin, but Jamie stopped me. He pushed me back against the table, my body lying flat, as he shimmied the last of my skirts out from under my bum. He quickly grabbed my arms, hauling me forward, and pulling my shift above my head.

We were free.

Jamie grabbed my behind, his knuckles scraping the wood. I could see his face wince in pain, before he took my lips in his, and pulled me up against him, his cock finding home. Gasps of pleasure parted our lips as we stilled. I cried, out of anger, out of fear and pleasure, and out of a love for the man that belonged nowhere but in my arms and in my body. I rocked forward, urging him deeper, but pulled my head back to watch the emotions play across his face. He felt everything I did. Felt it as deep in his soul as I did mine.

I placed each hand on his cheeks, his eyes opening slowly, fixing on me as he made love to my body.

Jamie wiped my tears, “Please, dinna cry. I canna bear it.”

“I’m not sad, Jamie. Just stay in my arms forever, and I will never be sad.”

He smiled, but his eyes betrayed him. They weakened, and I could see the guards rise up from their restful sleep, holding the tears at bay. “Ah, mo nighean donn, even if you’re no with me, I always feel yer arms around my body.”

He continued his slow movement, sheathing himself with my body.

“If, in my final moment, a man charges toward me, pistol aimed to my breast, he will no bear a red coat and pistol for long. For I will know that is the end, and my eyes will close, and it will be you comin for me, to take me in yer arms. And when they find my body on that soggy moor,” he kissed me softly, his pulse jolting through my lips, before pulling away, “they will find me with the greatest of smiles upon my face.”

I shook my head out of disbelief, then nodded. “I will be there.”

“Good,” he smiled, genuinely. “Now, can I move quicker inside ya, Sassenach, my balls ache somethin fierce.”

I laughed a laugh that carried throughout my whole body, clenching my insides, that saw the most exquisite of looks crease Jamie’s features, before he sped up his movements inside me.

Jamie grunted with each thrust, his eyes, tight in concentration, would flutter open for the briefest of moments, smile at me, then they’d shut again. I grasped at his back, surely adding more scars with my nails to his skin. Jamie bent forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, pulling the flesh of my breast in to join, as much as he could, before he set them free with a pop and moved on to the other. I cried out, holding his face to my body. All thought escaped my mind as he drank from my dried well, but my nipples ached in the most stimulating of ways. A way I thought I had all but forgotten, but the memory flooded my body and I could feel my breast fill with the very thought and hope.

Jamie’s hands rounded my buttocks, pulling me tight against him as he picked me up, carrying me to the wall, pushing my fiery flesh against the cool frame, the burning fireplace next to us, doing little to fill the room. I arched at the shock, wrapping my legs around his waist, but he paid no attention to my gasp.  He pushed fiercely into my centre, his testicles slapping my body, like a palm hitting still water. He pushed up inside me, each time, my body rising higher and higher against the wall, cutting into my skin. Jamie’s position reached the parts of me that only he had the skill of reaching each time, with our lovemaking.

I reached between our bodies, tickling and tugging the wiry bits of hair I could feel above his cock. I jutted a finger out, grazing his pink flesh each time he pulled free of my body. Jamie gasped, his head falling to my shoulder.

“Do tha again, Sassenach,” he sighed urgently.

I could feel his saliva against my shoulder as his pace quickened. I did it again. Scraped my nail along his penis. He groaned, and pushed back in. Then out. I scraped it once more. We sang the song a few times before finally, he pulled out, lingering in the open air, with only the tip keeping my lips open for him. My fingers wrapping around him completely. I held his head close to my shoulder with my free hand, and with a sudden squeeze, I let go of his penis, and he plunged back in me with finality, calling out words in Gaelic I had never heard him say before. He filled my body, his warm semen splashing my insides and coating me in all he had to give. I was right behind him, my orgasm coursing through me angrily as Jamie moved a hand to my breast, pinching a nipple.

Our labored breath was the only proof of life, as we curled into each other against the wall. The dank room emerged around us once more, letting its cool air spear our skin, leaving gooseflesh in its violent wake.  I felt him shiver, and pulled him in closer.

“We should get dressed.” I loathed saying the words. I wanted my vocal chords ripped from my body before they could escape my mouth, but some things cannot be put off.

Jamie pulled back, but stayed protected within my embrace. His forehead fell to mine.

“See, Sassenach. It doesna matter what tomorrow brings. I’ll always be here. In your arms. You’ll always be a part of me, and I, you.”

Jamie kissed my forehead, then pulled free, making for our scattered clothes tossed about the floor. I watched him pick up my garments first. It was always his way. It didn’t matter if chills racked his body, he’d make sure I was safe and warm first. I was always first in his mind.

“Always with me,” I whispered back, as my abandoned arms fell, my hand falling to my stomach,palm pressed hard to my belly, knowing, and weeping inside.

4

Mo duinne?” I asked […]

“It means ‘my brown one.’ ” He raised a lock of hair to his lips and smiled, with a look in his eyes that started all the drops of my own blood chasing each other through my veins. “Mo duinne,” he repeated, softly. “I have been longing to say that to you.”

“Rather a dull color, brown, I’ve always thought,” I said practically, trying to delay things a bit. I kept having the feeling of being whirled along much faster than I intended. 

Jamie shook his head, still smiling

“No, I’d not say that, Sassenach. Not dull at all.” He lifted the mass of my hair with both hands and fanned it out. “It’s like the water in a burn, where it ruffles over the stones. Dark in the wavy spots, with bits of silver on the surface where the sun catches it.”

Nervous and a little breathless, I pulled away in order to pick up the comb I had dropped on the floor. I came up to find Jamie eyeing me steadily.

1.07 The Wedding

2

“I know there are things ye’d not wish to tell me, Claire. Perhaps things that ye can’t tell me.” 

You don’t know just how right you are, I thought. 

“I’ll not press you, ever, or insist on knowin’ things that are your own concern,” he said seriously. He looked down at his hands, now pressed together, palm to palm.

“There are things that I canna tell you, at least not yet. And I’ll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask of ye— when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save— respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye agree?” He spread his hands out, palms up, inviting me. I could see the dark line of the blood vow across his wrist. I placed my own hands lightly on his palms. 

“Yes, I agree. I’ll give you honesty.” His fingers closed lightly about mine.

“And I shall give ye the same. Now,” he drew a deep breath, “you asked why I wed ye.”

“I am just the slightest bit curious,” I said. 

He smiled, the wide mouth taking up the humor that lurked in his eyes. “Well, I canna say I blame ye. I had several reasons. And in fact, there’s one— maybe two— that I canna tell ye yet, though I will in time. The main reason, though, is the same reason you wed me, I imagine; to keep ye safe from the hands of Jack Randall.” 

I shuddered a bit, at the memory of the Captain, and Jamie’s hands tightened on mine. 

“You are safe,” he said firmly. “You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.” 

“Thank you,” I said. Looking at that strong, young, determined face, with its broad cheekbones and solid jaw, I felt for the first time that this preposterous scheme of Dougal’s might actually have been a reasonable suggestion. 

The protection of my body. The phrase struck with particular impact, looking at him— the resolute set of the wide shoulders and the memory of his graceful ferocity, “showing off” at swordplay in the moonlight. He meant it; and young as he was, he knew what he meant, and bore the scars to prove it. He was no older than many of the pilots and the infantrymen I had nursed, and he knew as well as they the price of commitment. It was no romantic pledge he had made me, but the blunt promise to guard my safety at the cost of his own. I hoped only that I could offer him something in return.

1.07 The Wedding

STORY TIME: PAPA BENN ESCAPADES PART 2!

http://babyseguin.tumblr.com/post/158691581089/whats-this-about-papa-benn-now

Since @babyseguin and I are the worst™, we saw Papa Benn was at the game last night again. Skylar really wanted to talk to him about her jersey and tell him how proud she is of Jordie. I finally dragged her down to him and waited for the game to be over and start clearing out around him. I said “Excuse me sir, we recognized you from the dads trip” and he turned around and immediately started smiling. He had a hard time hearing but he was super nice about it. We introduced ourselves and skylar told him how she’s worn the habs jersey to every game and how many compliments and support she gets. He said “Oh I saw you the other day. I sent it Jordie and Jamie saw it in warm ups. It’s too cool!” (After she came back to life) Skylar said she had hard time with the trade but she’s super happy that he’s in a place he can contend and hopefully win a cup. He said “Oh yeah! That could be something over his brother”. Again we told him we’re happy he’s getting the recognition and appreciation he deserves. Skylar complimented Jordies attitude and work ethic and thanked him for raising two great guys. He thanked us and thought it was too cool that people were complimenting Skylar on the jersey.
Moral of the story: ​JORDIE BENN HAS A PHOTO OF SKYLAR ON HIS PHONE