Yakov always hated Father’s Day, and he thought he always would…
He never had much of a father to speak of, and the man that held that title was not worthy of a card or kind words, but he was forced to grin and bear it every year. The card, the family dinner, the hallow words…he had to swallow it all until the day he moved out. He was finally free, at least until he got older.
Then those years haunted him…
Yakov had always wanted children for as long as he could remember, but he was afraid…so terrified that he would turn out like his father. These thoughts plagued him for so long that he never got around to having a child of his own, and the holiday would just be an excuse for guilt and way too many shots of vodka…until Viktor came along.
The boy looked kind of nervous as he held out a card full of colorful scribbles and the juice box Yakov had packed in the boy’s lunch the night before. He went to his office and cried for awhile while he was on the ice, but you could never get him to admit it.
Then there was Georgi, who would always bring him a card and homemade breakfast item. He was unable to stomach the ketchup sandwich he was gifted in the early years, but he loved it anyway.
And Mila, who would always bring him a card and whatever pretty plants she found on her way to the rink, even if they happened to be leaves or spikey weeds.
Yuri with his “old man” cards, that always had something sweet on the inside that no one could see but him, and a note on the bottom that read: “There’s pirozhki on your desk.”
He never hated Father’s Day again…and if you were to search his office you would find a box, stashed in the locked drawer in his desk, that held all his memories. A box that contained cards and dried leaves alike, with a few ketchup packets thrown in just for laughs.
Mortal AU. Nico di Angelo is a firefighter who just so happened to rescue a small girl from a burning school building. Having made sure the kid is safe, he didn’t really ponder that much more about the incident thinking that it’ll be the last time he’ll ever see her again.
That is until he saw her again three days later at the fire station with a box of cupcakes and being accompanied by her dad; single father, Will Solace.
How about Brianna is Brian after all - look like Jamie, behave like Jamie, proud of his mother, respects her … like his father - everything Frank´s not + at the end Brian had some suspicion, he is not Frank´s, of course. F didn´t die and Claire is forced by circumstances to reveal the truth about Jamie. How would those two men react? (Please be mad at Frank for the manipulation and psychical terror against Claire. I would really love to read Jamie (or his son) to smash Frank´s face for his behav
Note from Mod WTT
This is Part 1 of 4!
“Love, you need to calm down.” My mother cajoled in a failing attempt to abate my sudden fury.
“No, Mum, this is one time when I cannot calm down. All this time–” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to not let my anger out on her. “Why?”
“Why did I wait this long to tell you, or why did I not fight Frank on his request?”
“Both. I need to understand why you didn’t even try to go back. Why you left in the first place. Christ, Mum! Does my father have any idea about me? Did you keep me a secret from him before you left him? Am I just as much of a secret as he was to me?”
She crossed the room, grabbing a glass of Scotch before making her way to the couch and gesturing for me to take a seat as well. I refused and began pacing the room.
“He knew about you before even I did,” Mum said looking down into her glass.
“How–?” I started but was stopped with a gesture.
“If you want me to tell you this, you will ask questions later, understood?”
I nodded in agreement.
“Jamie kept track of things most men wouldn’t spare a single thought for, he was always thinking and observing those around him. In part, I think that’s what made him such a good hunter and leader. He knew what was coming and could think quick on his feet to find a solution.” She took a large swallow from the Scotch, swirling the last finger of liquid around nervously.
“You have to understand, that what I’m telling you didn’t take place in the world or country you know. I explained to you earlier that your father is from another time–I had gone back in time–and met him. This world held so many more dangers for everyone: famine, starvation, war, death, even the common cold would kill an entire family given the chance. Nothing was safe in Scotland, especially during the uprising.
Jamie and I… we had been trying to convince Charles Stuart to give up the foolish notion of an uprising, and in the process became the biggest outlaws to the English Crown. When the battle of Culloden was upon us, Jamie knew he was going to die, either by the sword and canon or at the end of an executioner’s noose. I swore to him that I would follow and that he was my home. I didn’t want to leave him or this life I had grown to love more dearly than anything in the world.”
Her eyes stared out unblinkingly, seeing a place, a time that only she could see. As she stared, the middle and ring fingers of her right hand rubbed back and forth over the odd ‘J’ shaped scar in her palm.
“When he told me that you were there, this miracle I hadn’t dared to dream of being real, he wanted to keep us safe. So I foolishly listened and went back.” Her eyes locked with mine, as her hand covered and squeezed mine. “I don’t regret a second of this life that I’ve lived because I’ve had you.”
“But you let… you let Frank pretend to raise me.”
“No, he loved you!”
“NO! He loved the idea of me. I always wondered how I looked the way I did, I chalked it up to latent genetics on yours or fa–Frank’s side. But that didn’t explain the sneers he’d give when he thought I wasn’t looking or the scoffing I heard when he thought I was asleep. Now that you’re telling me I have another father, one that I apparently am the spitting image of,” I protested pulling my hand free and gesturing to myself. “It all makes sense. Did you know that I thought I had a recurring nightmare for years, Mum?”
She shook her head, her hand reaching back out for me. I shook her off and stood up abruptly. “I thought this was a nightmare, a figment of my childish mind because I was the one who didn’t look like they belonged. It always was the same, Frank saying, ‘I’m trying but I can’t love you, you’re too much like him. Your mother can’t expect me to love something I can’t create.’ Then walking away. Now I understand I was hearing him talk to me while I was just on the edges of sleep, but had my eyes closed. This man whom you spent seventeen years beside hated me because I reminded him of someone. Someone he held with so much contempt he couldn’t see beyond the father for the sake of an innocent child.”
In less than a blink of an eye, she was gone. I sprinted the rest of the way to the stone she had touched, the screaming intensified then stopped. The wind had been knocked out of me and I found myself laying on the ground looking up at the orange streaks of dawn.
I groaned and rolled to my side, shakily trying to stand.
“Mum?” I croaked, the roaring in my ears seemed to echo off the stones, drowning my attempt to call out to her.
“Mum!” I tried again. Again nothing but the screaming roar reverberating from the stones. I scrambled to my feet and took off at a run down the hill towards the car, except it wasn’t there. The car was missing, as was any visible sign of a road. Trees grew in sparse patches across the grass of the rolling hills toward the water.
“Mum?” I whispered realizing with a sickening realization, she wasn’t there.
“Christ,” I groaned dragging my hands down my face. “What to do now? Think Brian, think! Where would she have gone?”
The momentary sunshine quickly disappeared behind clouds of gray and white, a storm was brewing. My pacing turned into a single direction run to a small cobbled, dilapidated cottage situated at the base of the hill. I made it inside the shelter of the cottage just as fat raindrops solidified and turned into snow. The air held a wet chill that seemed to seep into every crevice of the room, even the heavy wool of the clothing didn’t seem to be enough to stop a violent shudder from enveloping me.
I searched the room for any source that could be used to create a fire and saw a broken stool crumpled into a corner. Sighing in relief, I scrambled to the roughly hewn fireplace and sent up a prayer in thanks that mum took the time to teach me how to start a fire without modern conveniences. ‘A necessary skill,’ she’d always remarked.
“Where have you gone, mum? We don’t even know where Jamie went, let alone if he was still alive in the time we’ve arrived.”
Staring into the fire a sudden epiphany hit me like a sledgehammer. “Lallybroch.”
I didn’t know how many days ride or walk it would be to get to Inverness, let alone Broch Tuarach, but I wasn’t going to get there freezing in a hovel. Looking through the cracks in the stone, I watched as the snow fell then melted as soon as it touched the ground. I may just have a chance of making it down to the village before nightfall. But how to pay for what I need? My pockets were empty, but I patted them down anyway, as well as the cloak. A small jingling noise came from a hidden inner pocket of the cloak.
“Mum, you think of everything,” I said to the crackling fire as a poured small battered coins from a black leather pouch and a small roll of paper fell on top them.
I understand if you decided not to follow me immediately, but if you do find yourself going back, these will be of use to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t procure you more, but if we find your father and our family, we shouldn’t need to worry overmuch about funds.
I hope you decide to find us, my darling boy.
All my love,
My eyes burned with tears that were threatening to form. Why couldn’t she have waited just a few seconds longer for me to catch up to her?
The walk to Inverness was longer than I anticipated. Dark had fallen and if at all possible, it got colder thanks to the persistent wind. I hobbled into the first establishment I saw, hoping I could find something warm, a place to sleep, and a horse to make this journey easier.
A frail-looking hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, squeezing tighter than I believed possible, “Ain’t ye a wanted man?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”
“Sassenach filth!” The man spat, “Be gone from here!”
“I’m not English if that’s what you mean, I’m from Am–the colonies.”
“Yer as good as ‘em. Crooky won’t serve ye, so be gone!” He threw my arm back hard enough that I stumbled into the door frame.
“Gibbons! What are ye doin’ to my customers?” A menacing man yelled from behind a bar.
“He’s a Sassenach, an’ claims to be from the colonies.” Gibbons spat at my feet, glaring. “It’d be better if he was that bastard of a wanted man. At least then he’d be worth a pretty penny.”
“A sassenach! Is tha’ so? Do ye have coin, lad?”
“Yes,” I said with surprising confidence. “Do you know where I can find something to eat, maybe a place to rest, and procure a horse? I will not be staying long, just ‘til morning.”
“Och, aye. I can help ye wi’ all of these, but it’s no going to come lightly.”
I pulled out a few of the Stirling pieces and handed them over. “Will this due?”
The barman’s eyes widened. “Aye, lad, tha’ll do nicely. What’s yer name, I didna catch it before.”
The man’s eyebrows disappeared beneath shaggy dark hair. “Fraser ye say? O’ Lovat?”
I nodded tersely.
“Yer a ways from Beauly.”
“I’m not headed to Beauly. My family isn’t too far off from here, Broch Tuarach?”
“Ach, yer wi’ the Fraser-Murray clan then. Good folk there.” He said, slapping a tankard down before turning around to snag a bowl of something from a passing barmaid. “Drink, eat. It’s no an easy ride in this weather to Broch Tuarach.”
I coughed at the sting of the whiskey, stronger and more bitter than I was accustomed. The warm burn met my stomach as the rich taste of meat broth met my lips. I wouldn’t be shocked if I fell asleep at the bar for all to see, nor did I care. My legs ached from the walk, my fingers felt as though they were frozen into a curl, and my head pounded from the whirlwind of events from today. Tomorrow would only increase the pain and unease.
The following morning, my head still pounded, but my body didn’t ache from the cold, yet.
“Here ye are lad.” Crook, said holding out a wrapped parcel and the reigns to a gorgeous brown mare. “Sorry I canna give ye my best stallion, but Butternut will get ye where ye need to go. She’s strong and hearty. This weather will no deter her.”
“Thank you, sir. For the hospitality and the horse.”
He let out a bark of a laugh, “Dinna thank me lad! Ye paid for the hospitality as ye say. I’m gaining a mighty better price than ye are wi’ my grub and horse.”
I shook my head and smiled back at the jovial man as I mounted the mare. “Thank you all the same.”
I turned in question.
“If ye see a Gwenalin Crook, tell her Archie sends his love. Can ye do that for me?”
“Of course,” I said puzzled, he nodded then slapped the hindquarters of Butternut and we were off.
As the days wore on, I was struck by the landscape before me. The mountains and the sky, such contrasts to each other were something from the imagination. The size and beauty could not be contained with meager words or thoughts. I felt as though I had stepped into the epics of Tolkien, White, or even Lewis. I could fully understand the magical beliefs and wariness of these people, and the stories that the land inspired.
I was so lost in thought that I missed the sound of hoofbeats and a man’s call until he was right upon me.
“Can I assist ye?” The man, who couldn’t have been much older than I, said as he stared quizzically at me.
“Oh! Yes, do you know if I’m close to the place called Lallybroch or Broch Tuarach?”
The man’s face lit up in a laugh, “Aye, but what business do ye have there?”
“I’m looking for someone and I believe she may have come here.”
“Do I ken ye? Ye look familiar,” He said not acknowledging my statement.
“No, we have never met. Brian Fraser,” I said holding out a hand. The man’s face went pale.
“Brian Fraser has been dead longer than I’ve been born. So who are ye really?”
My eyes went wide this time, of course, he wouldn’t know about me but his knowledge of my grandfather meant he must be family as well. “Are you by chance Young Jamie Murray?”
He went rigid in his saddle. “Aye, and answer me now, who are ye?”
“I’m your cousin, Brian James Lambert Beauchamp Fraser.” I said reaching out my hand, “James Fraser is my father.”
Young Jamie’s mouth fell open as he grasped my hand in a handshake. “Damned if he isn’t! That’s why I thought I knew ye! Christ, ye have the look of him. I’m surprised ye weren’t stopped by the redcoats on your journey here!”
I laughed, “I was accused of being a wanted man at a tavern in Inverness.”
Young Jamie let out a bellow. “That doesna surprise me in the least. Come on, Mam isna going to believe this.”
We rode in companionable silence to the estate, and I gasped in awe. The house, no longer dilapidated and condemned, was full of life and movement.
“Come on,” Young Jamie said, nodding toward the stables. “Ye can leave yer horse there, but I’m sure ye’ll be wanting to ride again soon. Ye said ye were looking for someone, but no one but trouble has been through these doors in a while.”
He cut me off with the shake of his head. “Ye’ll see soon enough. I canna wait to see how this unfolds.”
He leads me through the house to a study where a woman, hair dark and streaked with gray sat beside a man with a wooden leg, pouring over papers on the desk before them.
“Mam? Da?” Jamie said. They turned, eyes wide, and mouth agape, as though they were looking at a ghost.