show: the prisoner


Wanda Ventham, Number 8 in the Prisoner, and from UFO.

Edit: a few people have pointed out the person in the top image is actually Honor Blackman. To which I say…no, it’s still Wanda Ventham. The two women do look alike, though. Here’s another image in different lighting in the same outfit so you can see the difference: 

Additional Edit: A couple people have pointed out something I didn’t know: Wanda Ventham is Benedict Cumberbatch’s mother. Really.

The Prisoner. Part 2.

Part 1: HERE.

Morning dawned just as the door slammed open, this time jolting Claire awake.

“Up wi’ ye, lass!” Brian barked, his fists knocking rapidly against the thick wood as he waited impatiently. “We dinna have much time, and I will get ye t’ Fort William. Willie, my son, has sent word that yer presence is required.”

He must have ridden hard to make the journey, and get word to his father, Claire thought, dimly. But she didn’t question it, only rose from her temporary dwelling to obey the commands set before her.

To give him his due, Brian didn’t drag Claire straight away, instead he brought her to the breakfast table and sat her down.

“Have a dram, and some bread and honey. I dinna want ye to starve afore we get there, aye?” He *was* joking, but behind his jest lay a very serious concern.

True, she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a while. But she wasn’t likely to fall foul of death just yet.

Sighing, she took a large bite of the fresh bannocks placed in front of her. The warm dough coated her tongue and she closed her eyes as bliss rolled down her throat. From the other side of the table, a feminine cough brought her out of her revelry, causing her to look across the table.

“We’re all worrit, ye ken?” The girl spoke, her eyes wide as she viewed Claire with a sort of apprehensive wonder, “da doesna mean to be short wi’ ye. He kens well enough that yer hurting, that ye’ve been hurt. But we canna leave him, aye?” She explained, worry lacing her words, “he’s our brother. I’m sure ye understand. After all, I did hear yer prayers, and I’m sure father would be grateful fer them.”

Scrapping her chair away from the table, the older girl bowed and exited, her dress sweeping along the floor as she left, “enjoy the honey, Claire. Dinna deprive yerself, ye’ll need yer strength.”

The ride through the Scottish countryside was filled with tension.

Claire rode with Brian as she had done before. He had enough fillies in the stables to accommodate her, but she was a flight risk and he wasn’t about to chance her bolting on him. Not when Jamie’s life was at stake.

The high rise of the east wing tower came into view on the horizon as Claire sought refuge in her mind. Thinking back, she brought to the fore anything of the life she’d had before the garrison had claimed her. She could see her uncle as he collected clams from the beach, he eager eyes intent on locating the biggest and best for her. She remembered the feel of the sand on her feet, the small grains trapping between her toes as she wiggled them in the ocean.

“Claire,” Brian coaxed, his weight shifting as he dismounted and brought her with him, “ye need to come wi’ me now.”

She did as she was bid, opening her eyes as she watched a troop of army men trot towards them. Behind the first group was Jamie. Clad in irons, Randall had him to heel, his shoulder brushing against the horse’s flanks as he tried to keep up with the captain.

Steeling herself, Claire held her hands at her sides, the blood pulsing through them as she stepped forwards.

“I’m glad to see that you are a man of your word, Mr Fraser. Good work.” Randall praised, a dull mockery to his tone.

Claire nearly vomited at the sound of his voice, but she managed –just about– to keep it together as she dipped her chin forwards, looking only at the floor now. She couldn’t –wouldn’t– look *him* in the eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t give him the power.

Tinkling of metal kept her grounded as she imagined the soldiers removing poor Jamie’s bindings. She felt, rather than saw, the breeze as Brian pushed her towards the British. Her ankles almost buckled, but she focused on the feel of the damp long grass as it tickled her bare skin.

Anything to keep her from those dark thoughts. Anything to keep her here, on this hill.

“Claire!” Randall called, the pleasure at her re-capture chilling her to the bone, “five seconds and I take the boy back, you wouldn’t want that –would you?” He cautioned, the warning painfully clear.

Eyes still fixed to the ground, Claire began her steady walk back towards captivity, her legs wobbling as she made her way down the small hill.

Sensing Jamie’s close proximity, she stuck out her pinkie finger, brushing it gently alongside his as they crossed paths, ships passing in the bleak night. Warmth spread through her frozen digits as they met, the silent apology flowing from her to him as she pulled herself together and ended the contact.

Thick fingers gripped her as Randall’s guards attached the irons around her tiny wrists, any larger and they would have slipped clean off. But, unfortunately, they just weren’t big enough, and the solid metal hit her fragile skin, tearing it as the jagged material held her prisoner.

Shutting off everything else, Claire locked herself away. She heard nothing but the soft wisps of the breeze as she was marched, unceremoniously back towards Fort WIlliam, her feet barely touching the floor.

Darkness surrounded her, the inky blackness closing in as every inch of her ached. Her back, shredded as it was, protested as a stray boot came into contact with her much abused skin.

Feeling his wretched touch against her scalp, Claire shied away as the stray locks of her sopping hair were pushed away from her damp forehead.

“I thought of you, you know,” he taunted, his voice cruel and callous, “all the while I had him here. He wouldn’t talk, stupid boy. He wouldn’t give you up…oh, but I knew he’d seen you. I could tell. I saw the spark of recognition behind his eyes as I showed him your portrait.”

Claire baulked at the image, her heart going out to Jamie Fraser. A man she’d hardly even spoken to who had been willing to suffer on her behalf.

“I offered him the same out as you. Same words. Same offer…same response,” he sighed, his words filled with pleasure at the thought of his little game.

He liked to play.

He liked to win.

But he hadn’t with Claire, and he never would. She would rather die first. Even the most brutal death was better than –that.

“But now I don’t think you get the choice anymore,” he sneered.

Claire curled herself up into a smaller ball, her legs crossed and pulled under her chin in a fruitless attempt at hiding from her fate.

“…and when I do it,” he continued, horror and wretchedness dripping from his tongue, “I shall think of him. Trussed up here, at my mercy. And then once I’m done with you, Claire, I will go back for him.”

Scrunching her nose and squeezing her eyes closed, Claire tried to hold back the relentless agony as it tore through her, the manacles at her wrists chaffing as she twisted her arms across her bleeding knees.

“Leave him alone,” she choked, letting the gloom consume her once more, “you have me, leave him be…”

Murky dusk pulled at her vision as she tried to bury herself back into sleep, quietly begging for a reprieve.

“Claire,” the voice spoke, the tone of it wavering from one sound to another as she battled to remain unconscious.

“Claire, it’s time…”

The subtle change in pitch made her ears prick.

“Sassenach? It’s time, breakfast is done, please…come and eat today.”

She still hadn’t let him touch her, only his fingers against hers, but he was getting closer.

“J-Jamie?” She stuttered, her mouth dry as she squinted one eye open, daring not to hope.

“Aye, Claire, it’s me. Jamie.”

“I’m not–”

“No,” he cut in, eager to calm her frayed nerves.

She remembered.

Sitting upright, Claire stretched out her limbs, cracking a few bones in the process.

“But your father–”

“Doesna ken, Claire,” Jamie interrupted again, his cheeks pinking as she turned, pulling the sheets up to cover her chest as she look over at him timidly.

“What did you do, Jamie?”

“Do ye trust me, Claire?” He began, hope burning behind his eyes as he asked the question.

“Is he coming for me, Jamie?” Claire returned, her heart slamming against her ribcage, its jagged rhythm making her breath come in short sharp pants as her fingers gripped the thick blanket.

“Ye understand, mo chidhe, that he couldna be allowed to live, aye? I couldna let him…” wiping his hand across his lips, Jamie stood, his teeth clenched tight at the mere thought, “I *could not* let him take ye to his bed. To *force* ye to lay wi’ him. He told me, ken? What he would do. To me –to you– and he had to be stopped. For everyone’s sake.”

Claire nodded, her bright blue eyes wide at the implication of his words.

“Will they know it was you?”

“It’s been nigh on a month now, Claire. There has been reports, as always, word travels fast in the highlands –it has too– but no, I havena been implicated. And they think ye deid too.”

“Oh goodness,” she exhaled, her hand hovering over her heart as she tried to breath normally and failed. “But your father still doesn’t know?”

Seeing her distress, Jamie fell at her feet, forgetting his dislike of his touch in an instant as he laid his palms against her covered knees and shaking his head as he did so.


She didn’t even so much as flinch, for which he was grateful.

“Jamie, what will he say?”

“You leave that to me, aye? But I needed ye to ken that no matter what, ye willna be returning to that man. Ever.”

Claire raised her head, meeting him eye to eye as she took her first clean lungful of air in a while, untainted by the knowledge of Captain Randall and his merciless rampage.

“B-but…you *killed* him?”

“I set the tower alight as he lay in his bed, aye. I made sure he wasna likely to wake either –after I had ye in a safe place, of course.”

Taking his hands in hers, Claire brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them over and over. Slowly, the sorrow diminished, leaving only a great sense of awe and loyalty.

“You took a man’s life, though. For me. I’m n–”

“Nay!” he returned, raising his voice a little too high.

Claire jumped, but didn’t let go as Jamie righted himself, shaking off the rage at the dismissal of her own worth.

“Dinna ever say that again, sassenach. Do ye hear?”

Claire nodded, fresh tears falling as she slipped forwards into Jamie’s arms.

Wrapping himself around her, he let her sob openly against him, his shirt and chest soaking up the moisture as she cried.

“Ye are no’ nothing, Claire. Ye hear? Nay, mo Sorcha. You are *everything*.”


anonymous asked:

Imagine Brian had been delayed going to the funeral when the redcoats arrived at Lallybroch on that fateful day.

The Prisoner: Part 1 -

The words swirled around her, a haze swirling behind her closed lids as she tried to stave away the nightmares.

She could hear his voice battling through the darkness; but only in intermittent bursts. Like light, it would shine and burst before dying out again, allowing the inky black to consume her.

“Ye should ha’ left me there, da,” Jamie whispered, his fingers entwined with Claire’s as she lay curled by his side. This was the only contact she would allow, and he would take anything she gave to him. “I ken why, but she didna deserve this…”

“Neither did you, Jamie. You,” Brain returned, a feral hint to his voice as he stepped out of the shadows and into the dim candlelit room, “are *my* son. My responsibility. No’ a…”

“No’ a *sassenach*?” Jamie spat back, his voice low –dangerous.

Claire felt Jamie tense, his hand clenching against hers as he tried to stem his anger.

“Don’t fight,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jamie sat bolt upright, his ire forgotten.

She’d been completely silent since the rescue, not so much as a sigh.

He’d worried for her, of course, but Jenny had assured him that she wasn’t in any immediate danger from her wounds. No swelling or fever. Simply put; she would wake when she was ready to and not a moment before.

Certain that they’d settled, the sense of anger in the room dispelling at her words, Claire sighed and unfolded her legs.

Blood rushed through her veins, sending tiny shockwaves through her underused limbs as the pins and needles took over. Wincing, she kept her eyes closed as she allowed the feeling of discomfort to dissipate.

“Please don’t–”

“Claire, are ye feeling well?” Jamie interjected, too eager to be at her disposal in any way he could.

Brian folded his arms and leaned against the door watching as Jamie assessed Claire, his eyes darting over her cowering form without withdrawing his hand from hers.

Before giving her the chance to respond, Brian cut in, his cheeks flushing as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. He kent the look on Jamie’s face well. He had worn it all those years ago in the presence of a pretty wee slip of a lassie.

The Mackenzie brothers had been a formidable pair, however it was nothing in comparison.

No, he could not –would not– allow Jamie to embroil himself in this. Not if he could help it.

“She’ll stay until she’s well. Do ye hear, Claire? Jamie?”

Standing, Jamie turned on his father, a look of frustrated anger igniting behind his eyes.

Brian paid him no mind.

“She’s his, Jamie. Dinna be sae foolish. His by law, and he will come for her. Ye ken it well!”

Claire kept silent, knowing full well that Brian Fraser meant business. Gripping the thick bed sheets between her throbbing fingers she took a deep breath, holding back the tears as she nodded into the pillow.

She understood.

But Jamie didn’t.

Reeling, he wiped the spittle from his lips, rage filling him from head to toe.


“No, I said, Jamie!” Brian bellowed, the walls rattling as he thumped his hand against the open door, “she’s Randall’s wife, his property and I willna have ye tried and hung under the charge of treason.”

Tears of anguish and anger built in Jamie’s eyes as he clenched his jaw shut, his heart pounding as he held his father’s gaze.

“Do ye understand me, son?”

Assuming his forced acquiescence, Claire swallowed back the bile had risen steadily along her throat. Reality slipped away once more as she fell into unconsciousness, the fear pummelling her under –no longer could she resist its powerful pull.

Memories swirled behind her eyes, taunting her into a panic induced slumber as she remembered the moments that had led her here, to the sanctuary of Broch Tuarach and Lallybroch.

“Stay wi’ me Claire, please…” she heard him beg, his voice sounding muted and far away, as if she were listening him talk under water.

She wished she could obey, but she was too far gone to pull herself back.

“…you can’t ever leave me, Claire. I’m here. Always…” –a voice returned. A different voice. Not Jamie’s voice.

Her heart stuttered as the cruel lines of his face came into view, the glint of horror alight behind his eyes as he slapped his belt against his open palms, a smirk appearing across his lips as the resulting slap made her twitch and shake.

“No matter where you are, I -will- find you…Claire *Randall*”

The wind whipped through her hair as she stumbled and fell, pushing herself up, her fingers getting lost in the detritus on the forest floor.

She had to escape.

She *had* to get away.

Forcing herself to continue, she ignored the constant throb of her lungs as they struggled to pull in enough air. Her legs ached, but she couldn’t stop now. She mustn’t.

Black dots prickled in the corners of her eyes, making it hard to see as she ran and ran, the green and brown swirling around her in a strange heady mix. It smelt of bark and freedom. Suddenly scents she hadn’t smelt for years invaded her senses and she almost stopped to take it in.


She didn’t notice the great hulk of a man in front of her until it was too late. With an almighty ‘oof’, Claire smacked into his chest and nearly fell to the floor.

“Easy there, lassie,” he mumbled, keeping his voice low –for which she was grateful–, “where are ye off to in such a rush?”

Pulling her arms free with a strength she didn’t know she had left in her, Claire escaped his grasp, flitting to the side in order to get away.

‘He won’t be far behind you…’ she told herself, shaking her head as she tried to dispel the images of her pursuer.

But the stranger wouldn’t let her pass. Dodging to the side, he had hold of her again before she knew it and this time he kept a firm grip.

She would have to beg.

The thought made her stomach retch and she had to swallow back the acrid taste of acid as it rose up her throat.

“Please, just let me pass. I’m nothing, nobody…*please*”

Looking her up and down, the tall highlander appraised her, his lips twitching into a small smile as he checked her over, making sure she wasn’t a threat no doubt.

“Naybody, ye say?” He teased, licking his lips as he gently let her free.

Claire, taking no time to think, shot off, leaving the poor boy in the dust as she fled the scene.

If she’d turned to watch, she’d have noticed the small group of redcoats close on her heels. She might have even seen as they harassed the poor lad and dragged him off. As it was, she didn’t. Too consumed with putting as much distance as she could between her and that wretched fort.

As night fell, Claire busied herself with finding shelter for the evening. Not wishing to spend it out in the open, she quickly discovered a small logging shed and bust open the door. The faint whiff of wood rose up to greet her as she hunkered down, letting the mass of logs surround her, coating her in an odd sort of natural warmth.

Yawning, she closed her eyes. Leaning her head against the softest of the logs, she slept, her dreams invaded by Fort William and the horrors that had been thrust upon her behind those walls.

“Oi!” A soft masculine voice called, pulling Claire from her slumber. She jolted awake at the last second, remembering, only vaguely, how she’d come to be here.

Scrambling to her feet, she wiped the sleep from her eyes as she steadily grew accustomed to the dim light. Stepping backwards in an attempt to put some distance between herself and the man in the doorway, Claire tripped on a stray plank of wood, toppling the precariously balanced bulk to her side. Jumping forwards, she leapt free just in time for the heap of firewood to collapse.

The man, sensing a good opportunity, took her in his arms and forced her outside.

“Who are ye? And what are ye doing in my shed?” He barked, his whole demeanour reeking of fury.

“I’m n–” she began, her eyes watering as he dug his fingers into her forearms.

“Yer the lass they’re after, aren’t ye?” He shouted, clearly in no mood for her lies. “Did ye ken he took my lad, eh? ‘Perverting the course of justice’, or some such nonsense.”

“I…” Claire stuttered, her heart sinking at the image of the gentleman in the forest at the mercy of *him*. She couldn’t find the words.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to form an explanation, one that wasn’t going to be brushed aside as fibs and slander.

How many times had she tried to tell people? How many times had she been shot down, led away by the same guards who were under *his* payroll? Locked away in some squalid dungeon, she had whiled away the hours grateful of the loneliness that accompanied her. If she wasn’t alone, *he* was with her, and that was worse than anything solidarity could throw her way.

“Don’t take me back,” she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to find something –anything– to use as a bargaining tool, “j-just go there…tell him he d-didn’t see me, please, sir?”

Even as she said the words, she knew he wasn’t buying it. She knew herself how merciless *he* was. If he wanted something, he was going to get it, and right now, he wanted Claire back in his clutches. For why, she didn’t know.

“Dinna make false wi’ me, sassenach,” he spat, tugging her in the direction of his stationary horse, “we both ken that isna an option! He willna let Jamie go wi’out ye back, and I am no’ about to gi’ ye a free pass and let my boy be locked away for treason!”

Letting her whole body go numb, Claire lost her will to fight. All she could picture was that poor man, bound and gagged, kneeling at *his* feet as he begged a reprieve. Something she’d been privy to way too many times to count.

His father was right, she couldn’t let an innocent man suffer for her.

“But nor shall I trust his word.”

Breathing in a jagged breath, Claire’s heart rose at his words. “H-he came to you, asking for me?”

“O’ course,” he returned, the anger fading now, “he said if I brought ye to him, he’d let Jamie free –wi’ a warning.” Continuing his diatribe in a foreign tongue, her new captor muttered as he readied them for the journey. Claire went willingly now, allowing herself to be tossed astride the horse. “But if he thinks I’m about to march ye to Fort William wi’ no further promise, he’s another thing coming. First, I’ll take ye home and send my eldest off wi’ word of yer capture. Then I’ll take ye.”

Gripping the pommel, Claire felt the cold prickle at her spine, the frigid sweat dripping down her back as she tried to remain calm.

They rode towards his home in silence, Claire clenching and unclenching her toes the entire way.

As the big house came into view, the sun peaked in the sky, it’s bright yellow glow blinding the pair as they rode.

“I’m Brian Fraser, and I’d say pleased to meet ye –but I amne, and I dinna lie.”

“Claire,” she murmured, tipping her head forwards and allowing her loose curls to cover her tear stained face.

“I ken.” He replied, with a grim sense of finality.

Hauling her through the front door, Brian thrust Claire up the wide staircase and into a tiny bedroom before closing the door and locking it behind him.

The fire was roaring in the small, intricate fireplace, making the room instantly like a furnace.

Wrapping her shaky hands in the soft ruffles of her skirt, Claire padded over to the tiny cot and knelt on the floor, letting her head fall forward against the heated sheets.

Sobbing, she clasped her hands together in sombre prayer as she whispered her apologies to the poor boy she’d led to the slaughter, tears trickling down her warm face and dripping onto her linked fingers.

“D-dear Lord,” she hiccuped, “forgive me, and k-keep Jamie safe –please…”

Curling up, she lifted the blanket a little, simply hiding her toes and leaving the rest of her to the elements, unwilling –whilst Jamie Fraser lay in a frozen cell– to allow herself any comfort.

Her fault, the voices mocked as she dozed, her fault an innocent boy had fallen into Randall’s hands. Her fault and she should never be forgiven.

Soft voices woke her as the door creaked open. Twisting her head to the side, Claire peeked her eyes open to survey her visitors. Twin sets of eyes stared back, neither of which seemed particularly unfriendly. Jamie’s siblings, probably.

Turning herself over properly, Claire waved. A small gentle thing that barely registered on the faces of the two people currently stood in front of her.

“I’m sorry…” she mumbled, closing her eyes once more, “I’m sorry he took your brother.”





EURUS - THE EAST WIND  ___________________________

MYCROFT: There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government. …  She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorist attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter.


MYCROFT: Now listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear. Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.

SHERLOCK ON THE WAY INTO EXILE - IN EASTERN EUROPE  _________________________________________

MYCROFT’s VOICE: Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?
SHERLOCK: I’ve only been gone four minutes.
MYCROFT: Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson. As it turns out, you’re needed.
SHERLOCK: Oh, for God’s sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?
MYCROFT: England.



I leave you to your own deductions.    Thanks @callie-ariane  for the scripts.

@gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @isitandwonder @monikakrasnorada @yan-yae @tjlcisthenewsexy @sarahthecoat @sianbrooke @sagestreet @shadow3214 @just-sort-of-happened @justshadethings @longsnowsmoon5