jamie and clair

10

Outlander  → 1.05 Rent 

“The next morning as I watched them pack, I saw the men in a different light. Not criminals, but rebels. I wished I could tell them that they were on the losing side of history, that it was all a pipe dream. The Stuarts would never unseat the protestant King George II, but how could I tell them that, these proud, passionate men who lived and breathe for a flag of blue and white?”

2

I stood watching him for a moment, filled with an unutterable tenderness. Moving as quietly as I could, I lay down beside him on the narrow settle and nestled close. He turned to me in sleep as he so often did, gathering me spoon-fashion against his chest and resting his cheek against my hair. Half-conscious, he reached to smooth my hair away from his nose; I felt the sudden jerk as he came awake to realize that I was there, and then we overbalanced and crashed together onto the floor, Jamie on top of me. 

I didn’t have the slightest doubt that he was solid flesh. I pushed a knee into his abdomen, grunting. 

“Get off! I can’t breathe!” 

Instead, he aggravated my breathless condition by kissing me thoroughly. I ignored the lack of oxygen temporarily in order to concentrate on more important things. 

We held each other for a long time without speaking. At last he murmured “Why?”— his mouth muffled in my hair.

I kissed his cheek, damp and salty. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air

“I had to,” I said. I laughed, a little shakily. “You don’t know how close it was. The hot baths nearly won.” And I wept then, and shook a little, because the choice was so freshly made, and because my joy for the man I held in my arms was mingled with a tearing grief for the man I would never see again.

Jamie held me tightly, pressing me down with his weight, as though to protect me, to save me from being swept away by the roaring pull of the stone circle. At length my tears were spent, and I lay exhausted, head against his comforting chest. It had grown altogether dark by this time, but still he held me, murmuring softly as though I were a child afraid of the night. We clung to each other, unwilling to let go even long enough to start a fire or light a candle. 

At length Jamie rose, and picking me up, carried me to the settle, where he sat with me cradled on his lap. The door of the cottage still hung open, and we could see the stars beginning to burn over the valley below.

“Do you know,” I said drowsily, “that it takes thousands and thousands of years for the light of those stars to reach us? In fact, some of the stars we see may be dead by now, but we won’t know it, because we still see the light.” 

“Is that so?” he answered, stroking my back. “I didna know that.” 

I must have fallen asleep, head on his shoulder, but roused briefly when he laid me gently on the floor, on a makeshift bed of blankets from the horse’s saddleroll. He lay down beside me, and drew me close again. 

Lay your head, lass,” he whispered. “In the morning, I’ll take ye home.”

1.11 The Devil’s Mark

anonymous asked:

I'll be surprised if anyone hasn't asked Diana why Claire continues to Franks wedding ring after she returns to Jamie in Voyager? If there's an explanation, I'd love to read it, If not any ideas?

Hi Anon - here’s what I wrote in a post on this exact same topic a while back:

I think for a number of reasons:

Guilt - for leaving Frank for Jamie, and not giving Frank all of her heart when Jamie sent her back to him

Love - she *did* love him, when she was younger - and I think even though their marriage was strained after she returned, she still loved him in certain ways. Or at least loved the idea of what their marriage had been

Habit - like any piece of jewelry, it becomes a part of you - and not wearing it makes you feel unsettled

Value - gold is valuable - it’s portable wealth - it’s the ultimate back-up plan (remember when Jamie asked/ordered Claire to give him the ring as collateral in a card game in The Fiery Cross)

It’s Claire’s only physical link to the 20th century - her touchstone, or physical anchor, to that time. In my mind, this is the most important reason - it’s her constant reminder that she really did come from another time - that she really wasn’t meant to be in the 18th century. Just like how Jamie’s ring was her only physical link to the 18th century, in the years after she returned.


And here’s what Diana Gabaldon has said about it (from the first Outlandish Companion, published in 1999):

Claire has history with Frank—a lot of history, and very mixed, in terms of joy and pain. He was her first love, her first husband, and when she married him, she did so with the full intention of being married to him for life. She is, after all, a very loyal and honest person. For her to have “left” him and chosen to stay with Jamie was an act of betrayal, and she knows it. Frank did nothing wrong; his only “crime” was not to be Jamie…

So this is a difficult, complex relationship. The difficulties and guilts don’t mean that there is nothing of value between them. The love they once had for each other is still there, augmented and supported by their united feelings for Brianna…If Claire were capable of simply walking away from this sort of history and feeling, abandoning a huge piece of her life and identity, just because she was now in a different place… well, she wouldn’t be capable of loving Jamie in the whole-hearted way that she does. She wouldn’t be a whole person. As it is, she’s now relieved of the guilt of her flawed relationship with Frank, and free to treasure the memory of its good moments. Jamie, being the whole-hearted person he is, is aware of this, and wants her to know that he’s able to accept the knowledge of what she shared with another man—the one thing Frank couldn’t do.

…For her to refuse Frank’s ring, and essentially reject all he was, to deny the value of thirty years of a complex but valuable relationship—well, that would be both dishonest and petty. And neither Claire nor Jamie is small in mind or heart.

mashable.com
'Outlander' Season 3: 10 burning questions we have about Claire and Jamie's reunion
We're already freaking out.
By Laura Prudom

1. How long will we have to wait for Claire and Jamie’s reunion?

Season 2 ended with Claire, now around 50 years old, deciding to go back through the Standing Stones to try and reunite with Jamie after 20 years apart — but we know that Season 3 will feature flashbacks to catch us up with what the duo got up to during those two decades without each other.

Does that mean we might have to wait several episodes before we see Claire travel back in time to seek out Jamie, or will the Season 3 premiere send her back pretty quickly, and fill in the blanks by jumping between time periods, as the Season 2 premiere and finale did? We know it’ll be worth the wait whenever it happens, but here’s hoping the writers aren’t too cruel when it comes to delaying our gratification.

3. How steamy will Season 3 be?

Season 2 featured plenty of political scheming, palace intrigue and bloody battles, but some fans noted that there were far fewer sex scenes than there were in Season 1 — which makes sense, considering that Jamie was dealing with the trauma of being raped and tortured, while Claire was struggling with her growing sense of isolation from her husband as he tried to recover. (Not to mention the devastating loss of their baby.)

But after 20 years separated from their true love, we’ve got to believe that Claire and Jamie have a lot of lost time to make up for in Season 3. They might have to get to know each other all over again, but all those years of longing will probably add up to some spectacular reunion sex, right?

the rest of the Mashable 10 burning questions about Claire and Jamie’s reunion is here

He closed his eyes then and held on tight, breathing slowly and deeply.

The harsh lines of pain and exhaustion in his face began to soften as the drug took effect. 

“Jamie,” I said softly, after a minute. “I’m sorry about it.” 

He opened his eyes, looked upward, and smiled, giving me a slight squeeze. 

“Aye, well,” he said. His pupils had begun to shrink; his eyes were sea-deep and fathomless, as though he looked into a great distance. 

“Tell me, Sassenach,” he said, a moment later. “If someone stood a man before ye and told ye that if ye were to cut off your finger, the man would live, and if ye did not, he would die— would ye do it?” 

“I don’t know,” I said, slightly startled. “If that was the choice, and no doubt about it, and he was a good man … yes, I suppose I would. I wouldn’t like it a bit, though,” I added practically, and his mouth curved in a smile.

“No,” he said. His expression was growing soft and dreamy. “Did ye know,” he said after a moment, “a colonel came to see me, whilst ye were at work wi’ the wounded? Colonel Johnson; Micah Johnson, his name was.” 

“No; what did he say?” 

His grip on my bottom was beginning to slacken; I put my own hand over his, to hold it in place. 

“It was his company— in the fight. Part of Morgan’s, and the rest of the regiment just over the hill, in the path of the British. If the charge had gone through, they’d ha’ lost the company surely, he said, and God knows what might have become o’ the rest.” His soft Highland burr was growing broader, his eyes fixed on my skirt. 

“So you saved them,” I said gently. “How many men are there in a company?”

“Fifty,” he said. “Though they wouldna all have been killed, I dinna suppose.” His hand slipped; he caught it and took a fresh grip, chuckling slightly. I could feel his breath through my skirt, warm on my thighs. 

“I was thinking it was like the Bible, aye?” 

“Yes?” I pressed his hand against the curve of my hip, keeping it in place. 

“That bit where Abraham is bargaining wi’ the Lord for the Cities of the Plain. ‘Wilt thou not destroy the city,’ ” he quoted, “ ‘for the sake of fifty just men?’ And then Abraham does Him down, a bit at a time, from fifty to forty, and then to thirty, and twenty and ten.” 

His eyes were half closed, and his voice peaceful and unconcerned. 

“I didna have time to inquire into the moral state of any o’ the men in that company. But ye’d think there might be ten just men among them— good men?” 

“I’m sure there are.” His hand was heavy, his arm gone nearly limp. 

“Or five. Or even one. One would be enough.” 

“I’m sure there’s one.” 

“The apple-faced laddie that helped ye wi’ the wounded— he’s one?” 

“Yes, he’s one.” 

He sighed deeply, his eyes nearly shut. 

“Tell him I dinna grudge him the finger, then,” he said. 

I held his good hand tightly for a minute. He was breathing slowly and deeply, his mouth gone slack in utter relaxation. I rolled him gently onto his back and laid the hand across his chest.

“Bloody man,” I whispered. “I knew you’d make me cry.”

- An Echo in the Bone

anonymous asked:

Loved how Jamie gave claire the medical book in the Boston story. Can we maybe see her starting to look at which one she wants to go to? Does she have her sights set on Harvard??

Flood my Mornings: The First Step 

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.
  • Previous installment:  Samhain (Jamie stumbles upon a new community)

November, 1950 


{CEBF}

“Jamie?” I called urgently across the evening-shadowed house, rustling the pages on the rolltop. “Jamie? Did you move my essay?”

Ah yes, My Essay: 

Why should you be admitted to Harvard University’s Program for Correspondent Students?

Well, you see, honorable gentlemen of the admissions committee, my applications for medical school a few years hence—even if not at Ivy League institutions— will need to look as goddamned impressive as can possibly be mustered, since they will almost certainly be reviewed by a panel of elderly male fuddy-duddies like yourselves. 

Thus, having Harvard University on my CV (even if it’s only for these pre-requisite courses), will only serve to impress said fuddy-duddies, and as a female with a spotty-at-best record in formal education, I need all the bloody help I can get. 

The almost-final draft of my personal statement had been more subtle, but it was God’s honest truth. 

I’d been working incessantly on the damned thing for weeks, sleeping little and poorly from the stress. I’d downed more coffee than I’d previously have deemed safe for human beings, and was looking and feeling decidedly the worse for wear for it all. 

Meanwhile, my sainted husband had tirelessly picked up my slack with the house and with Bree night after night as I hunched over the desk, scribbling and scratching out. This last week, in particular, he’d given me more than enough space, bless him, speaking softly, keeping Bree out of my hair, giving kisses, but not initiating sex, nor even the casual touches that were so much a part of our daily rhythm with one another. I knew he meant well by it—to allow me to focus my non-hospital- and non-sleep-hours upon the task at hand… but LORD, another part of me wished that he would just hoist me out of my chair, throw me onto the ground, and give me an hour’s rough relief from my own mind and Harvard blasted University! I didn’t hold it against him, of course, and it would be over soon, in any case, but his walking on eggshells around me was its own breed of stress. 

‘Stress’—such a tiny word for so much inner turmoil. It wasn’t just the essay in front of me or the way my gut had felt all tied in knots for the past week; it was the entire trajectory of which this was only the first step: the prerequisite courses, the MCATs, applications, interviews, medical school, internship, residency, fellowship—the next decade or more of my life! So much would hinge on every single decision I made from here on out. I couldn’t afford any mistakes, starting with this bloody essay. 

I had put the entire packet together last night in the Manila envelope: application, references, ESSAY. Stamps, on. Addresses, penned. Seal…well…left UN-sealed, because I wasn’t bloody ready. And good thing, too, for I’d spent my entire shift that day replaying the words in my mind, every phrase sounding wretched, every choice of words trite or cliché or childish, and screaming for another revision. I’d rushed home, called a ‘hello, darling,’ to Jamie, who was tucking Bree in for the night, and then gone directly to the rolltop, still in my coat and hat, to read it through again and exorcise this demon. Except my packet wasn’t there.

“Jamie??” I called again, louder, my anxiety mounting. I hissed at two sudden papercuts as I rummaged frantically again through the stack. “Darling? Did Penelope say anything about moving my—”

“Sassenach, keep your voice down, for God’s sake—” Jamie whispered loudly as he came around the living room door, looking harried. “Brianna’s only just gotten to sleep, lass!”

I lowered my voice but not my urgency, and I barely even looked up. “The envelope with my application and personal statement? Have you seen it? I swear, it was right on top of the stack with the blue folder here on the desk.”

“Oh, aye, I sent it in.”

“What?” I laughed weakly, still rummaging. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I did,” he said simply, “I mailed it in.” 

I froze. And STARED at him. “What?” 

“It was complete. The deadline was coming up in a few days; so,” he shrugged, ACTUALLY shrugged, “I mailed it in for ye.”

“It was NOT complete.”

The words came out low and lethal, and I could see Jamie’s shirt-too-tight-shrug that indicated he heard the danger in them. “Ye packed it all in the mailing envelope, no? It was ready to be submitted.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t ready to send it yet!”

He made a small sound of carefully-controlled exasperation. “Claire, mo chridhe, how should I have known th–”

“You should have asked! You should have called me at work to ASK!” I threw up my hands. “Not just assumed that I was ready to have it sent off without my permission!” 

He squirmed perceptibly but wasn’t giving in. “Lass, you’ve been slaving over that essay for weeks. You’ve barely slept—You put it in the envelope, wi’ the address and stamps and everything. I read it again last night after ye went to bed and it was perfect.”

“It wasn’t

The truth was that despite my obsessing over it, it HAD probably been as bloody close to perfect as I could get it. I’d double-checked and triple-checked and quadruple-checked; revised and wordsmithed it to within an inch of its life. But I’d wanted to wait ‘til the very last moment to send it in, to feel absolutely certain it was as good as I could make it; and having that control so unexpectedly pulled out from beneath me—

“—Even if it had been, Jamie, you still had no—NO—bloody right—”

He ran his hands back through his hair. “Sassenach, come now, it’s no’ as though—”

“Jamie, this isn’t a recipe I’m sending to a Ladies’ Magazine!” I didn’t know what to do with my hands but they gestured wildly in my livid rage and tears. “This is—was—Harvard!”

“I ken it IS Harvard,” he said pointedly, putting his hands firmly on my shoulders “—and I ken you’re going to be ACCEPTED there when they read your—”

“And what the hell would YOU know about it?” I snapped, perceiving only the hurt flashing across his face before I was down the hallway and into the bathroom, locking the door. I yanked the shower handle and sunk down against the tub, letting the water mask the sounds of my weeping. 

A few minutes later, Jamie was knocking softly on the door. 

“Sassenach?” 

His voice was quiet, and, I thought, abashed.  “Claire…? May I come in?”

I covered my mouth so he couldn’t hear me. I felt tears trickling over my hand but I wouldn’t open my eyes. It’s not the end of the world, Beauchamp. 

Another knock.

A long silence. 

“Lass….I’m sorry…” 

He was leaning against the door, I thought. 

“It was…an impulsive thing I did— I—” he sighed miserably. “—I thought better of it throughout the day, but…Christ, i’m sorry…It was foolish. I was wrong to do it…” 

A long silence. 

A long…long silence. 

“I’m truly…truly sorry, Claire.” 

I took a deep breath. 

Then another. 

Once more. 

It would be alright. I hadn’t been ready, but the essay was fine. Jamie regretted what he’d done. It would be alright. 

But I was too spent and too upset to consider opening the door. 


{JF}

He HAD been wrong to do it—knew not ten minutes after the post had gone that he’d made a grave error in judgement. But the essay had been perfect, BRILLIANT, and Claire had been so plagued by self-doubt over it. It was as if she had placed her entire sense of her own worth upon success in this single endeavor, this single writing. He’d simply wished her to feel as if she had finally accomplished the thing, after such a harrowing period these last few weeks. 

But she was completely right: what he wished her to feel was irrelevant, and he had betrayed her trust. She was well within her rights not to be ready to forgive him. 

He waited more than an hour, until long after he’d heard her enter the bedroom; giving her the space she apparently wanted. At last, though, he entered the darkened room. 

She was already in bed with her back turned to him. Asleep? He couldn’t tell—but even if she were awake, he didn’t expect her to speak until morning. He deserved her fury for at least that long.

He undressed and slipped quietly under the covers, taking care not to jostle her. Without really thinking about it, he mirrored her posture, coming to rest on his side, facing away from her. 

He listened to the clock tick and tried to let it lull him to sleep. 

One minute. 

Two. 

Three.

Four. 

“Can’t you at least bring yourself to have sex with me?”  Sharp. Wide awake. Dangerous. 

Startled, he blurted, bewildered. “Bring myself—?” 

He felt her bolt upright beside him, her hands slamming onto the bedspread. Her voice was still laced with anger, but desperate, forbye, and hurting. “Jamie, you haven’t touched me in a week! I need to—to feel close to

“You’ve never wished me to have ye during your courses before, Sassenach,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face as he rolled onto his back. “Do ye really want to that badly tonight?” His ‘especially when you’re not too keen on me at the moment, in any case,’ was implied. He would serve her, of course, if she wished it, but–

“I’m not on my goddamned ‘courses,’ you absolute bastard!”

Jamie opened his mouth to fire back.

—but then, she gasped— 

—a tiny sound, barely more than a sharp breath, really, but so deeply unlike Claire that—

He was on his knees beside her in an instant.  She was kneeling on the mattress, too, clad in only her underclothes, both hands clapped over her mouth.  “Oh, God,” she croaked between her fingers, her eyes wide and wide and wider.

Mo ghraidh—?” He grappled for her face, pushing back the wildness of her hair to hold her between his hands. “Mo chridhe —?  you're—?”

“Oh—God!” she said again, eyes brimming and hyper-focused upon nothing, her mouth gaping open and shut,  “—I didn’t—I was so busy, I hadn’t been—No—” she moaned softly as he lifted her and gathered her, cradled her to him. Her body was rigid, pushing back, and her head shaking violently back and forth. “No,” she wept, “no, no, it’s—Jamie, it’s too soon.“ He could see her eyes sparkling with life through her tears, even as she tried to resist the truth. “We can’t—can’t know for certain—not yet.”

Six days, Claire—” he gasped, his free hand roaming up her back to cup her cheek, hard. “One day—two days, maybe, but—SIX?”  

She lowered her fingers tentatively to graze the natural curve of her belly. Jamie watched in a trance as her palm slowly came to lay flat against her skin.  “Oh, God,” she whispered, swaying on her knees and leaning her forehead against his shoulder as her arms came around him. “Jamie…Jamie…” 

He held her and rocked her (THEM!) and kissed her, crying, laughing—but then remembered—

“I'm—truly sorry about the application, mo nighean donn,” he choked out, feeling the guilt seize this moment of joy. “It was your task—your choice—It wasna my place at all to—”

Forgiven,” she whispered, putting her fingers to his lips and shaking her head. “Forgiven…. And I’m sorry, too….for what I said—I didn’t mean—”

He kissed her, and she kissed him, and there was nothing except her arms; her fingers cupping the back of his head; the taste of her tears and his; her lips; her sweet voice, breaking. “Jamie...Jamie, I’m so—happy—” 

He couldn’t say a word. He could only nod his head slowly over and over again, completely overcome, his shoulders shaking. His heart felt ready to burst as he watched his wife, her face shining, go softly to her back and reach up for him. “Come to me?

And he came to her, made love to her—the only woman he’d ever had; the only one he would ever have in his lifetime.

And as he lay awake long after, holding her, cupping the bairn that slept within her, he prayed; but unlike the night more than two years ago when he’d held Brianna in this same fashion, heart breaking from despair and fear and the looming specter of death, his prayer this night was hopeful and strong.

Lord…that this child will be safe.


[oh-so-much-more to come]

anonymous asked:

Yup! Sam/Jamie and Caitriona/Claire faces in those books alright. Remember Grant said he started reading Outlander but already knew Sam and Caitriona so he felt weird about it and had to stop reading.

I do not recall him saying this. Really? Isn’t that interesting data.

anonymous asked:

This week's Shifted is something I have always wanted to read. They got out. They decided to step away before everything was taken away from them. It's the AU I always hoped for. Claire's hesitation on whether her pregnancy was good news was so real. I would love to read about their journey back to Lallybroch, filled with hope. I can't wait to read these extra chapters. Am I mistaken or do you have a chapter coming up similar to the opening of By the Pricking of My Thumbs? Frasers, interrupted?

Thank you, anon! In the first or second chapter of Part 1 - The Beginning, I do describe a bit of their journey home (including when Jamie tries to send Claire back through the stones). And yes, in Part 7 - The Visitor there is a similar scene coming up!

anonymous asked:

Hmm. You may be right to a certain degree. I read the books and loved them. The show came and put a face on the characters. So now when I re-read the books I see Sam and Cait imposed on Jamie and Claire. Maybe I'm disappointed because The show does fall short of the books. Then all this arguing amongst fans, Shamuso, and the rest sort of made me wish I would have never seen their faces?

That’s what I think.

All is not lost for you though. You need to start over. Stay away from all things OL on SM. Reread the books. Come back to S3 in Sept with a clean set of eyes.