With Claire, everything has been touch and go. Their fight - the worst in their marriage - has shaken him to his core. He'd promised her everything she could ever do is forgiven, and it is, but the hurt takes time to go away. Jamie doesn't care whether Frank Randall lives or dies or is ever born, but he cares about Claire above everything else.
She never expressed the concern over Frank after Wentworth, something he tries not to dwell over.
He can't stand the tension of an argument between them, and so he's forged on and ahead, doting on her, rubbing where things need to be rubbed and thank Christ, loving her when she needs to be held and loved. The life she's carrying, their child, is his hope and answered prayer, and Claire is a miracle in his mind. He's careful and always asks questions, fusses over her doing top much once she's home and quietly worries about her on her feet at the hospital.
Jamie's on the couch, legs stretched out on an ottoman in front of him, fire going in the hearth. On his lap is Claire's head, and he plays with her hair as he reads aloud from a book quietly, one of his favorite things to spend time doing with her. She's seemed to hold herself differently the last few days, is less inclined to move. There was a quiet tension to her, and he's been afraid to ask her what's wrong, sure that she would tell him. But he's anxious in return, trying to anticipate anything that might happen.
This, though, this he could do this forever he thinks; simply sitting with his wife and child with nothing else happening around him. No war, no fall of Scotland, no time travel.
Claire was thankful that things seemed to be settling down between them. She hated arguing, hated being at odds with her husband, and yet...it wasn't rational, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she owed Frank. Too late, she was beginning to realize what she had asked of Jamie had been too much.
But now wasn't the time to revisit that argument. Things had become easier between them the past week or so, with him doting on her and Claire tending to his hand and fussing over him, keeping him updated with what went on at the hospital and the gossip from the ladies.
Her favorite time of the day was evening: the evenings belonged only to them as of late, and she was grateful for that fact. Dressed in her night shift and robe, she laid on her side on the couch, eyes closed, head on Jamie's lap. He idly played with her hair as he read aloud from a book. The sound of his deep voice combined with the crackling of the fire in the background was soothing -- and soothing was just what she needed.
The past few days, Claire had felt a sense of unease. She didn't know why -- work at the hospital was fine, her relationship with Jamie was mending, and there had been little news lately. However, her back pain had worsened greatly, and she was feeling much more tired than usual. Even the baby was moving less, as if he or she was not getting enough rest. The last time Mother Hildegarde had examined them -- three days ago -- all was well. Still...
Claire had taken the day off from volunteering, just to be on the safe side. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, she was paler than usual, and had a strained look about her. When not resting protectively on her stomach, her hands were rubbing her lower back, trying to get some relief. She kept reminding herself that this was normal. It was the third trimester, so of course she wouldn't be bursting with energy and running all over the place. Her body needed more rest than usual. That was all.
There was no room in her mind for any other alternative.
Claire felt a sudden, sharp cramp and flinched, a small groan of pain escaping. That was another thing she had been experiencing recently. It wasn't completely unusual, but Mother Hildegarde had told her to be mindful of it, and keep track.
She shifted on the couch, both hands on her lower abdomen. "Jamie," she said, "do you think you could make us some tea? I'm parched." Her tone of voice sounded oddly listless.
Jamie hears the small groan and it has him on alert immediately, sliding out from under her carefully and gently laying her head on the pillow. His hand moves to her belly protectively, other hand against her cheek.
"Is it the bairn, Sassenach?" he asks quietly. She's told him there are still weeks to go before they can expect their child, and his eyes move over her face. He can't explain it, but there's a hollowness in his gut, a feeling of something beginning to slowly make its way up to wrap around his heart.
"I...I don't know," Claire said, sounding rather distant. It was partly the truth, for in her mind, their baby being in danger simply wasn't a possibility.
She managed to push herself up into a sitting position, and could sense the baby move along with her. For a few moments she felt okay. "What time is it? Maybe, just to be sure, I should see Mother Hildegarde..." Her voice sounded oddly distant, even to her own ears.
Claire tried to stand up. Another wrenching pain in her abdomen, this one far worse, made her cry out in a way she never had before. She fell to her knees onto the hard floor at Jamie's feet, one hand cradling her belly, the other keeping her from collapsing.
On the couch behind her was a bright red puddle of blood. It clung to the back and side of her shift, and she could feel something warm and sticky running down her thighs.
The sound that Claire makes is unlike anything he's ever heard before, and she's on his knees before he can catch her. But he's there immediately, and when he sees the blood, his own runs cold. "Sassenach..." His voice is hoarse, but when he lifts her in his arms and shouts for Magnus, he's loud and it makes everyone in the household rush into action.
An hour ago, they were talking quietly and reading, and now, his wife is bleeding in his arms. As soon as the carriage comes to a halt at the front door, Jamie carefully climbs in, awkwardly but quickly. The entire carriage ride, he cradles Claire in his arms, choking back tears.
"Ye cannae leave me, Sassenach. Claire, do ye hear me? Tell me what to do," he pleads, even as they head toward the hospital and Mother Hildegarde.
"Jamie..." Her voice shook with fear, pain, and blood loss. She could see part of her blood-stained shift, feel the blood on her thighs, and was too scared to turn around and look. Before she could make up her mind, Jamie picked her up off the floor, and shouted for help.
Everything began to happen slowly: the walk to the front of the house, the servants rushing about, Jamie giving orders. She could hear them talking, but it felt as if she were underwater, listening to others speak above her while she held her breath. I'm going into shock, she thought to herself.
Jamie climbed into the carriage with her, cradling her body in his arms. Claire was shaking, both hands cradling her stomach, as if she could shield the baby from all that was happening. Yet even though she felt oddly detached from it all, hearing her husband cry wasn't something she could ignore.
I'm dying. Claire didn't know if they would reach the hospital in time, or if their baby...
Their child...
One hand reached out, grasping the front of his shirt, knuckles white. "I love you," she managed to say, voice hoarse and barely audible. It took a great deal of effort, but he had to know. They had to know.
"The baby..." It was becoming harder to speak. Claire should have told him before: if it came down between her and the baby, to save their child. There were so many things she should have told him...it just never felt like the right time. And she had been so sure she would have more time. Foolish...what a foolish thing, to simply assume you had more time...!
But Jamie knew her best, and she was confident he would know what she wanted. Claire stared up at his face, eyes wide, tears slowly falling down her temples and into her hair. "Jamie...love..." She could no longer speak, or move, and darkness began to eat away at her vision.
No! She wanted to keep looking into his eyes, just a while longer. Just a few more minutes. It's not fair...!
And then she could no longer do anything except listen to her husband cry, hear the sound of the carriage rattling as they raced for the hospital. Was she dead yet, or only mostly dead?
Jamie yells to Magnus up front to go faster because he doesn't know what else to do. He's completely helpless to do anything but watch his wife go from pale, to gray, to waxen, and he cradles her as close to his body as possible, his lips pressing to her forehead. She's already so cold, and when she speaks, he shakes his head.
"No. No, Sassenach, you're no' dying, do ye understand me? I'll no' let ye." As if he can do anything about it at all. But he knows that if she goes, he'll follow. There is no life for him without Claire. The sun that rose when they wed would permanently go set for him. But he'd fight Death itself for her soul, for her to stay, and he clings to her.
It feels like it takes an eternity to get to the hospital but as soon as the carriage stops, he hefts her up again and carries her - runs with her - up the stairs with Magnus throwing the door open in front of him. His voice is loud and booms above the quiet murmurings and low moans of pain.
"Mother Hildegarde!"
He's covered in her blood and simply takes her to the first empty bed. There's a rush of activity - Claire is well-liked here and it seems as though everyone surrounds her at once, pushing Jamie outside of a circle.
"Claire!" he yells, trying to see, but for just a moment, Mother Hildegarde turns to him, sharp and short.
"There is nothing you can do now. To the Chapel, out of the way. Go. Pray for your wife and child."
Jamie can't form thoughts, can't make a decision on what to do, and so he goes on auto-pilot, doing what he's told. In the chapel, he sinks to his knees in front of the alter, looking at a bloody handprint he leaves on the marble floor. He's shaking, and all he can do is plead with God.
"Dinna take her," he chokes out, remembering his mother, the way Murtagh had taken him far from the house. "Please. Please, I cannae live wi' out her. I need her." There's nothing else he can say or do, and he stays there on his knees, unsure how much time is passing, wondering if the longer it takes for Mother Hildegarde to get him, the better. If she isn't here, she's helping Claire, and that means she's still alive.
Claire was placed onto a bed, and Jamie yelled for help. She was hemorrhaging blood -- the lower half of her body was covered in it, and there was a trail from the carriage to the bed. Several of the volunteers immediately rushed over, pushing her husband aside. They knew she was pregnant, and that she may very well die from blood loss if they couldn't get it under control.
She slipped in and out of consciousness as she went into early labor. The only fragments she could remember was the pain, the cold that came with all that blood loss, and her need for Jamie by her side. The rest was black and silent.
Silent -- that also described the small baby girl she gave birth to. A small, perfect babe...lifeless.
Hours later, Claire slowly regained consciousness. The first thing she did, even before opening her eyes, was reach for her stomach. It wasn't as full and round as before, which meant that she had given birth. Her eyes opened, and with what little strength she had, tried to push herself up.
The volunteers had cleaned her body up -- she was no longer sticky with blood, and had been moved to a new bed. Her gown had been cut away and replaced with a clean, loose garment. Fresh sheets and a blanket covered her, yet she was still cold.
Cold, weak, lightheaded, and in pain, she didn't notice Jamie by her side. There was only one thing on her mind:
"Where's my baby?" she called out, voice raspy and weak. "Where's my baby?"
They'd only brought Jamie back to her when all of the blood was cleaned away and the baby was taken away.
Their baby, born already gone. He couldn't bear to look at her, his tiny lass, so she's been taken away after a plea to have her baptized, no matter what it took. He's been sitting by Claire's side ever since, shaking, terrified at how pale she still is. When she finally begins to wake, Jamie can't help but let out a sob of relief, wrapping one of her hands with both of his.
"A nighean," he begins, making sure she stays lying down. "Sorca, ye must lie back and rest, dinna move."
He's delaying the inevitable he knows, but the stall gives him time to figure out how to tell her that their baby is dead. Words that want to come up as bile from his throat.
Something kept her from sitting up, and it was only when she looked over that she realized Jamie was there, holding her hand. It was trembling, but warming up thanks to his own hands. "Jamie..." his name was spoken with a sigh of relief and a weary smile.
Claire was too disoriented to realize yet that he was crying from fear and grief, not from joy. And right then she had only one thing on her mind: their child.
"Where's our baby, Jamie?" she asked, trying to sit up again. It hurt, and she gasped from pain. "I want to see our baby."
It was then that she began to recall how they had arrived at the hospital. Claire remembered the blood, and the mad dash to the carriage, and a sense of panic gripped her.
"Where is my baby?" she demanded, fear beginning to shine in her eyes. She looked desperately around her, ready to drag herself out of bed if necessary. Her free hand moved to her abdomen again: it didn't feel right. "I want to see my baby!"
Jamie feels his heart shatter, which is a feat considering its already been blown to shreds. She's happy for a few brief seconds and he destroys it in the same amount of time.
"Claire," he whispers, unable to use an affectionate name right now. "Claire, I'm sorry. I'm sae sorry." His voice breaks, reaching out to try and cradle her cheek.
"She's gone, Claire, she was no' breathing, she..." He'd had a daughter, and then he didn't.
The pain and grief feel insurmountable, but he has to be strong for Claire, and Jamie's determined.
Claire could hear the careful way he said her name, and saw the tears on his cheeks. He reached out to touch her face, but she moved, not letting him.
"Why -- why would you say that?" she asked, the words hard to get out. "That's not possible! You're mistaken, and need to find our baby right now!"
Though her mind wasn't ready to accept the reality, she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes. "I want my child!" she tried to yell. It took too much effort to make it truly carry. She then began pulling herself out of bed. Her breathing was erratic, face frighteningly pale, and her body obviously weak.
If someone ripped his own heart out of his chest and squeezed it dry, it would never hurt as much as this. Reaching out, Jamie holds onto her arms and holds onto her, knowing she's too weak to fight him. It's only then that he feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tries to keep his stomach from rising out of his throat.
"Claire, please. Please, lie back." He tries to talk to her, soothe her even as he fights his emotions.
"I can get her for ye," he finally hears himself saying. Anything to get his wife to be calm.
"Damn you, James Fraser! Let me go!" she said, weakly fighting against him. Her baby needed her, she was probably scared, and Claire had to comfort her and --
It was only when Jamie said he would go get the baby that she stopped, breathing hard from even that small amount of exertion. "We have a girl?" she said, eyes shining bright from temporary wonder. Wonder, and fever as well. "Oh, please...please bring me our baby, I want to see her." Claire was smiling, but her lips trembled: deep down she knew, and was scared.
Jamie's been marched off to his own death, he's walked to the gallows and walked into Wentworth knowing that at the very least, his death wouldn't be slow.
No walk he's ever taken has felt this heavy, and with each step, he wants to collapse. But he makes it to the Reverend Mother and tells her what Claire is requesting, though there's protests that Claire shouldn't see her dead child in this state, but he knows she'll never rest until she does.
He can't look, though. He's a coward, he knows, but he can't, and walks back to Claire holding the small bundle in his arms, staring straight ahead. It feels like he's carrying absolutely nothing, which guts him even further. Their lass, born too soon. When Jamie returns to Claire, he swallows heavily, a tear sliding down his cheek before he sits on the bed beside her.
"Sassenach," he says quietly, alarmed by the fact that she seems to be sweating just lying there. "I have her, Claire." He waits to put the baby into her arms, not knowing what to expect.
Even the small bit she struggled started some of the bleeding again, but Claire didn't care. A distant voice, her tenuous hold on logic and reason, told her: your baby is dead. You've lost too much blood. You have an infection, and you're dying.
Yet she couldn't accept any of those facts. If she ignored that voice, then things would be alright. Her baby was alive, and she was healthy, and Jamie had been crying tears of joy.
When he returned to her, he was walking slowly, stiffly. As if he had to tell himself to put one foot in front of the other. Why wasn't he looking down at their baby girl? She would ask him soon, but first, she had to hold her.
Claire sat up quickly, wincing from the pain, and held out her arms with a bright smile. "Let me see her."
The first sign that all was not well was how light she felt: more like a bundle of feathers than a healthy infant. And when she pushed the blanket back to see her face...oh. Oh. "N-no..."
Her tiny features looked as if they had been frozen in time: at peace, but pale, far too pale. With one finger, she shakily caressed their daughter's cheek. It was cold. "Baby girl," she said, her voice breaking. "Why don't you wake for me? Sweetie, please...mama wants to see your eyes..."
Claire gently jostled her, cradling her a different way, allowing Jamie to see. There was no movement. "Jamie..." With one shaking hand she unwrapped swaddling, allowing her to see the tiny chest...and the way it did not move up and down. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her face. One, then two landed on their little girl.
"Jamie...she's so c-cold, and n-not moving...why isn't she...?"
She was like a small porcelain doll. Claire ran her finger along the bow of her baby's lips to the corner of her mouth, then stroked the palm of her tiny hand, then traced along the bottom of one foot. All newborns had reflexes, and each of those touches should have coaxed a reaction out of her baby.
But nothing happened.
"Jamie...!" She cried out his name so suddenly and with such anguish, it startled the volunteers in the corridor outside the room. She clutched her child to her chest, and a wail from the very depths of her soul finally escaped.
Jamie hasn't broken down and wept since the monastery, but he knows right away that he would go through all of it again, all of the pain and torture to take this away from Claire, to make their daughter breathe in her arms.
And then a sound comes out of his wife that sounds so primal that it makes him shake, swallowing back bile as he simply gets onto the bed with her, blood and sweat and all, and wraps around her from behind, cradling both her and their baby as he rocks them back and forth.
"I'm sorry. I'm sae sorry, Claire." He's weeping, pressing his face against her burning skin and terrified that he's going to lose her, too. "Please, dinna leave me."
It's such a greedy, selfish time to ask, but if he doesn't plead now while she can hear him, he's afraid it will be too late. "Ye have to fight now, mo nighean donn. Fight to stay wi' me or I'll follow ye both," he promises. "Ye'll no' be alone."
He'll find someone to do it for him so that he doesn't commit a mortal sin and delay his time with her.
Claire cried out in pain, holding her dead child right near her heart, wishing she could exchange her own heartbeat and breath with her baby. Jamie climbed onto the bed with them, holding her close, weeping against her back. She knew his heart was just as shattered as her own. Both their bodies shook as they cried, grieving the loss of their child.
"I d-don't want to fight," she gasped, words hard to get out. "She needs m-me...she's all alone." The thought of their child in the afterlife, both motherless and fatherless, was too much to bear. "What if she's scared...?"
It only took one arm to hold her. With her other hand, she took Jamie's hand, squeezing it. Her grip was frighteningly weak. "I'm s-sorry," she cried, voice full of agony. Claire had given him hope, but had failed to give him the child he had always wanted, and had let him down. "I'm so sorry..."
Hearing his wife essentially tell him that she would rather die now cuts him to his core. He understands her fevered logic, but now he's terrified for an entirely new reason.
"She has our parents, Sassenach," he pleads. "Your uncle, my brother. She'll be safe. She's wi' people who love her." It's all Jamie has outside of outright begging, which he'll continue to do if need be.
"You did nothing wrong, Claire, ye have to believe that, believe me. When I told ye about my mam, ye said sometimes things happen and 'tis no fault but biology." He doesn't even quite understand what all of that entails, but she said it, ands he's the smartest person he's ever known, so it has to be true.
"What would I do wi' out ye?" he whispers right against her ear, voice breaking.
Claire continued to sob, face wet with tears, hair damp with tendrils clinging to her forehead and cheeks, skin hot. She prayed this was a nightmare she would wake up from, or that her child would suddenly begin to cry and come to life.
"But she's not with me," she said, full of pain. "It all hurts so much, Jamie, I-- I can't stand it --"
Not only was her body in pain, but her heart and soul as well. The only thing keeping her tethered to this world was her husband. She had no answer for his question -- had their roles been reversed, she wouldn't know what to do, either.
Claire let go of his hand, carefully wrapping their little girl back up. She held the baby in her arms, rocking her back and forth, looking at her precious face through blurry eyes. That was when she took in the slanted eyes, the reddish hair, and the delicate ears.
Jamie still hasn't looked, but her words finally make him let out a sob that he didn't want to burden her with as his forehead presses against her back and he simply weeps, hating himself for not being strong enough to wait until she was resting.
When he's able to compose himself, he realizes the least he can do is not be a coward. If his wife can look at their child, then so can he. And so, he finally does look, moving away from behind Claire to sit on the edge of the bed. Jamie takes in the impossibly small features, the hair that's light but obviously copper. She's nearly translucent, and his heart beats so fast and so hard in his chest that he has to press his hand there.
"Whatever the pain," he finally says, voice raspy. "We must face it together. I cannae bear it alone."
Hearing Jamie sob like that made her cry harder. She would have given anything at all to take away the pain she knew he must be feeling. This child had been their hope, had seemingly come at just the right time. How many kisses had ber husband showered onto her belly, with his eyes wide and full of joy and wonder? How many times had he talked to their baby, words of love and promises of protection and all the plans he had for their family? All the things he wished to teach her and show her and --
And she had never drawn even a single breath. Never had a chance.
Claire felt him move, shifting from behind her back to sitting on the edge of the bed. She struggled to sit up beside him, feeling lightheaded, and held out her arms to show him their baby girl. He pressed a hand to his heart, looking as if he had just been shot, and his raspy voice was full of fear and pain.
She knew what he wanted: for her to promise that she would stay, and not join their child. But it was something she couldn't guarantee. The voice of logic and reason in her mind told her that the fever she had was dangerously high, and the infection in her body was deadly. Right now, it was out of her hands.
So instead she asked him, "do you want to hold her again? She is so perfect...ten fingers, and ten toes, and already a bit of hair..." Claire felt fresh tears well up. "She looks just like you, Jamie." Had she already said that? She couldn't remember.
If he refuses, he won't be able to explain why to his fevered wife. And he knows, on some level, she may need to see it. He doesn't want to, for reasons he can't explain. He already has, bringing the baby to Claire, but to actually hold his dead child and gaze at her, to feel a weight that will never grow heavier with time, he thinks it will break him. In ways he isn't sure he can put back together.
And if he loses his wife, he won't bother.
Swallowing back tears and rage and apologies, Jamie nods slowly, stiffly reaching out to receive their daughter and only able to look at Claire's face, fear and despair the only present emotions on his own features. But finally, he looks down.
Their daughter isn't perfect, she's dead, and he doesn't see anything beautiful here yet, he can't. His child is blue and still and cold, and it goes against everything that should be. But he doesn't say any of that, he simply nods. Afraid to open his mouth.
Claire would not have been able to comprehend Jamie's reaction in her current state, or understand why he might feel differently. She thought she was doing him a kindness by handing their stillborn daughter over to him so that he could look at her. Had she not been feverish and mad with grief, she would have picked up on his discomfort.
Not now, though.
She couldn't be parted from her baby for long, so after several long, agonizing minutes, she very carefully took her child back into her arms. Her tears had dried up, burned away by the fever, and she stared down at the tiny, still face with a mixture of love and heartbreak.
"Hello, sweetie," she said softly, voice trembling with emotion. "Your Mama and Daddy love you so very much -- do you know that?"
Claire began rocking her gently in her arms. "I will love you forever, angel," she said. Her voice was beginning to grow weaker, but she didn't even notice.
"Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside," she sang, voice shaking. "I do like to be beside the sea..."
Jamie doesn't know what to do with himself, standing to pace a little as he rubs a hand over his face. The day had started with laughter over breakfast and trading names back and forth, and now...
He reaches out to brace his hand against the wall, and Mother Hildegarde approaches him, explaining that they need to take the baby. How does he do that to Claire? How does he get her to let go? He doesn't know and doesn't move for a few long minutes before finally going back to the bed and crouching so that he's eye level with his wife.
"A nighean, may I hold her again?" he asks quietly, hating himself for what he's about to do.
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seventeenfortythree) wrote2021-06-17 03:58 pm
no subject
She never expressed the concern over Frank after Wentworth, something he tries not to dwell over.
He can't stand the tension of an argument between them, and so he's forged on and ahead, doting on her, rubbing where things need to be rubbed and thank Christ, loving her when she needs to be held and loved. The life she's carrying, their child, is his hope and answered prayer, and Claire is a miracle in his mind. He's careful and always asks questions, fusses over her doing top much once she's home and quietly worries about her on her feet at the hospital.
Jamie's on the couch, legs stretched out on an ottoman in front of him, fire going in the hearth. On his lap is Claire's head, and he plays with her hair as he reads aloud from a book quietly, one of his favorite things to spend time doing with her. She's seemed to hold herself differently the last few days, is less inclined to move. There was a quiet tension to her, and he's been afraid to ask her what's wrong, sure that she would tell him. But he's anxious in return, trying to anticipate anything that might happen.
This, though, this he could do this forever he thinks; simply sitting with his wife and child with nothing else happening around him. No war, no fall of Scotland, no time travel.
Just the three of them against the world.
no subject
But now wasn't the time to revisit that argument. Things had become easier between them the past week or so, with him doting on her and Claire tending to his hand and fussing over him, keeping him updated with what went on at the hospital and the gossip from the ladies.
Her favorite time of the day was evening: the evenings belonged only to them as of late, and she was grateful for that fact. Dressed in her night shift and robe, she laid on her side on the couch, eyes closed, head on Jamie's lap. He idly played with her hair as he read aloud from a book. The sound of his deep voice combined with the crackling of the fire in the background was soothing -- and soothing was just what she needed.
The past few days, Claire had felt a sense of unease. She didn't know why -- work at the hospital was fine, her relationship with Jamie was mending, and there had been little news lately. However, her back pain had worsened greatly, and she was feeling much more tired than usual. Even the baby was moving less, as if he or she was not getting enough rest. The last time Mother Hildegarde had examined them -- three days ago -- all was well. Still...
Claire had taken the day off from volunteering, just to be on the safe side. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, she was paler than usual, and had a strained look about her. When not resting protectively on her stomach, her hands were rubbing her lower back, trying to get some relief. She kept reminding herself that this was normal. It was the third trimester, so of course she wouldn't be bursting with energy and running all over the place. Her body needed more rest than usual. That was all.
There was no room in her mind for any other alternative.
Claire felt a sudden, sharp cramp and flinched, a small groan of pain escaping. That was another thing she had been experiencing recently. It wasn't completely unusual, but Mother Hildegarde had told her to be mindful of it, and keep track.
She shifted on the couch, both hands on her lower abdomen. "Jamie," she said, "do you think you could make us some tea? I'm parched." Her tone of voice sounded oddly listless.
no subject
"Is it the bairn, Sassenach?" he asks quietly. She's told him there are still weeks to go before they can expect their child, and his eyes move over her face. He can't explain it, but there's a hollowness in his gut, a feeling of something beginning to slowly make its way up to wrap around his heart.
no subject
She managed to push herself up into a sitting position, and could sense the baby move along with her. For a few moments she felt okay. "What time is it? Maybe, just to be sure, I should see Mother Hildegarde..." Her voice sounded oddly distant, even to her own ears.
Claire tried to stand up. Another wrenching pain in her abdomen, this one far worse, made her cry out in a way she never had before. She fell to her knees onto the hard floor at Jamie's feet, one hand cradling her belly, the other keeping her from collapsing.
On the couch behind her was a bright red puddle of blood. It clung to the back and side of her shift, and she could feel something warm and sticky running down her thighs.
no subject
An hour ago, they were talking quietly and reading, and now, his wife is bleeding in his arms. As soon as the carriage comes to a halt at the front door, Jamie carefully climbs in, awkwardly but quickly. The entire carriage ride, he cradles Claire in his arms, choking back tears.
"Ye cannae leave me, Sassenach. Claire, do ye hear me? Tell me what to do," he pleads, even as they head toward the hospital and Mother Hildegarde.
no subject
Everything began to happen slowly: the walk to the front of the house, the servants rushing about, Jamie giving orders. She could hear them talking, but it felt as if she were underwater, listening to others speak above her while she held her breath. I'm going into shock, she thought to herself.
Jamie climbed into the carriage with her, cradling her body in his arms. Claire was shaking, both hands cradling her stomach, as if she could shield the baby from all that was happening. Yet even though she felt oddly detached from it all, hearing her husband cry wasn't something she could ignore.
I'm dying. Claire didn't know if they would reach the hospital in time, or if their baby...
Their child...
One hand reached out, grasping the front of his shirt, knuckles white. "I love you," she managed to say, voice hoarse and barely audible. It took a great deal of effort, but he had to know. They had to know.
"The baby..." It was becoming harder to speak. Claire should have told him before: if it came down between her and the baby, to save their child. There were so many things she should have told him...it just never felt like the right time. And she had been so sure she would have more time. Foolish...what a foolish thing, to simply assume you had more time...!
But Jamie knew her best, and she was confident he would know what she wanted. Claire stared up at his face, eyes wide, tears slowly falling down her temples and into her hair. "Jamie...love..." She could no longer speak, or move, and darkness began to eat away at her vision.
No! She wanted to keep looking into his eyes, just a while longer. Just a few more minutes. It's not fair...!
And then she could no longer do anything except listen to her husband cry, hear the sound of the carriage rattling as they raced for the hospital. Was she dead yet, or only mostly dead?
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"No. No, Sassenach, you're no' dying, do ye understand me? I'll no' let ye." As if he can do anything about it at all. But he knows that if she goes, he'll follow. There is no life for him without Claire. The sun that rose when they wed would permanently go set for him. But he'd fight Death itself for her soul, for her to stay, and he clings to her.
It feels like it takes an eternity to get to the hospital but as soon as the carriage stops, he hefts her up again and carries her - runs with her - up the stairs with Magnus throwing the door open in front of him. His voice is loud and booms above the quiet murmurings and low moans of pain.
"Mother Hildegarde!"
He's covered in her blood and simply takes her to the first empty bed. There's a rush of activity - Claire is well-liked here and it seems as though everyone surrounds her at once, pushing Jamie outside of a circle.
"Claire!" he yells, trying to see, but for just a moment, Mother Hildegarde turns to him, sharp and short.
"There is nothing you can do now. To the Chapel, out of the way. Go. Pray for your wife and child."
Jamie can't form thoughts, can't make a decision on what to do, and so he goes on auto-pilot, doing what he's told. In the chapel, he sinks to his knees in front of the alter, looking at a bloody handprint he leaves on the marble floor. He's shaking, and all he can do is plead with God.
"Dinna take her," he chokes out, remembering his mother, the way Murtagh had taken him far from the house. "Please. Please, I cannae live wi' out her. I need her." There's nothing else he can say or do, and he stays there on his knees, unsure how much time is passing, wondering if the longer it takes for Mother Hildegarde to get him, the better. If she isn't here, she's helping Claire, and that means she's still alive.
Please let her still be alive.
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She slipped in and out of consciousness as she went into early labor. The only fragments she could remember was the pain, the cold that came with all that blood loss, and her need for Jamie by her side. The rest was black and silent.
Silent -- that also described the small baby girl she gave birth to. A small, perfect babe...lifeless.
Hours later, Claire slowly regained consciousness. The first thing she did, even before opening her eyes, was reach for her stomach. It wasn't as full and round as before, which meant that she had given birth. Her eyes opened, and with what little strength she had, tried to push herself up.
The volunteers had cleaned her body up -- she was no longer sticky with blood, and had been moved to a new bed. Her gown had been cut away and replaced with a clean, loose garment. Fresh sheets and a blanket covered her, yet she was still cold.
Cold, weak, lightheaded, and in pain, she didn't notice Jamie by her side. There was only one thing on her mind:
"Where's my baby?" she called out, voice raspy and weak. "Where's my baby?"
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Their baby, born already gone. He couldn't bear to look at her, his tiny lass, so she's been taken away after a plea to have her baptized, no matter what it took. He's been sitting by Claire's side ever since, shaking, terrified at how pale she still is. When she finally begins to wake, Jamie can't help but let out a sob of relief, wrapping one of her hands with both of his.
"A nighean," he begins, making sure she stays lying down. "Sorca, ye must lie back and rest, dinna move."
He's delaying the inevitable he knows, but the stall gives him time to figure out how to tell her that their baby is dead. Words that want to come up as bile from his throat.
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Claire was too disoriented to realize yet that he was crying from fear and grief, not from joy. And right then she had only one thing on her mind: their child.
"Where's our baby, Jamie?" she asked, trying to sit up again. It hurt, and she gasped from pain. "I want to see our baby."
It was then that she began to recall how they had arrived at the hospital. Claire remembered the blood, and the mad dash to the carriage, and a sense of panic gripped her.
"Where is my baby?" she demanded, fear beginning to shine in her eyes. She looked desperately around her, ready to drag herself out of bed if necessary. Her free hand moved to her abdomen again: it didn't feel right. "I want to see my baby!"
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"Claire," he whispers, unable to use an affectionate name right now. "Claire, I'm sorry. I'm sae sorry." His voice breaks, reaching out to try and cradle her cheek.
"She's gone, Claire, she was no' breathing, she..." He'd had a daughter, and then he didn't.
The pain and grief feel insurmountable, but he has to be strong for Claire, and Jamie's determined.
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"Why -- why would you say that?" she asked, the words hard to get out. "That's not possible! You're mistaken, and need to find our baby right now!"
Though her mind wasn't ready to accept the reality, she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes. "I want my child!" she tried to yell. It took too much effort to make it truly carry. She then began pulling herself out of bed. Her breathing was erratic, face frighteningly pale, and her body obviously weak.
"Please, all I want is my baby...!"
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"Claire, please. Please, lie back." He tries to talk to her, soothe her even as he fights his emotions.
"I can get her for ye," he finally hears himself saying. Anything to get his wife to be calm.
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It was only when Jamie said he would go get the baby that she stopped, breathing hard from even that small amount of exertion. "We have a girl?" she said, eyes shining bright from temporary wonder. Wonder, and fever as well. "Oh, please...please bring me our baby, I want to see her." Claire was smiling, but her lips trembled: deep down she knew, and was scared.
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No walk he's ever taken has felt this heavy, and with each step, he wants to collapse. But he makes it to the Reverend Mother and tells her what Claire is requesting, though there's protests that Claire shouldn't see her dead child in this state, but he knows she'll never rest until she does.
He can't look, though. He's a coward, he knows, but he can't, and walks back to Claire holding the small bundle in his arms, staring straight ahead. It feels like he's carrying absolutely nothing, which guts him even further. Their lass, born too soon. When Jamie returns to Claire, he swallows heavily, a tear sliding down his cheek before he sits on the bed beside her.
"Sassenach," he says quietly, alarmed by the fact that she seems to be sweating just lying there. "I have her, Claire." He waits to put the baby into her arms, not knowing what to expect.
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Yet she couldn't accept any of those facts. If she ignored that voice, then things would be alright. Her baby was alive, and she was healthy, and Jamie had been crying tears of joy.
When he returned to her, he was walking slowly, stiffly. As if he had to tell himself to put one foot in front of the other. Why wasn't he looking down at their baby girl? She would ask him soon, but first, she had to hold her.
Claire sat up quickly, wincing from the pain, and held out her arms with a bright smile. "Let me see her."
The first sign that all was not well was how light she felt: more like a bundle of feathers than a healthy infant. And when she pushed the blanket back to see her face...oh. Oh. "N-no..."
Her tiny features looked as if they had been frozen in time: at peace, but pale, far too pale. With one finger, she shakily caressed their daughter's cheek. It was cold. "Baby girl," she said, her voice breaking. "Why don't you wake for me? Sweetie, please...mama wants to see your eyes..."
Claire gently jostled her, cradling her a different way, allowing Jamie to see. There was no movement. "Jamie..." With one shaking hand she unwrapped swaddling, allowing her to see the tiny chest...and the way it did not move up and down. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her face. One, then two landed on their little girl.
"Jamie...she's so c-cold, and n-not moving...why isn't she...?"
She was like a small porcelain doll. Claire ran her finger along the bow of her baby's lips to the corner of her mouth, then stroked the palm of her tiny hand, then traced along the bottom of one foot. All newborns had reflexes, and each of those touches should have coaxed a reaction out of her baby.
But nothing happened.
"Jamie...!" She cried out his name so suddenly and with such anguish, it startled the volunteers in the corridor outside the room. She clutched her child to her chest, and a wail from the very depths of her soul finally escaped.
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And then a sound comes out of his wife that sounds so primal that it makes him shake, swallowing back bile as he simply gets onto the bed with her, blood and sweat and all, and wraps around her from behind, cradling both her and their baby as he rocks them back and forth.
"I'm sorry. I'm sae sorry, Claire." He's weeping, pressing his face against her burning skin and terrified that he's going to lose her, too. "Please, dinna leave me."
It's such a greedy, selfish time to ask, but if he doesn't plead now while she can hear him, he's afraid it will be too late. "Ye have to fight now, mo nighean donn. Fight to stay wi' me or I'll follow ye both," he promises. "Ye'll no' be alone."
He'll find someone to do it for him so that he doesn't commit a mortal sin and delay his time with her.
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"I d-don't want to fight," she gasped, words hard to get out. "She needs m-me...she's all alone." The thought of their child in the afterlife, both motherless and fatherless, was too much to bear. "What if she's scared...?"
It only took one arm to hold her. With her other hand, she took Jamie's hand, squeezing it. Her grip was frighteningly weak. "I'm s-sorry," she cried, voice full of agony. Claire had given him hope, but had failed to give him the child he had always wanted, and had let him down. "I'm so sorry..."
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"She has our parents, Sassenach," he pleads. "Your uncle, my brother. She'll be safe. She's wi' people who love her." It's all Jamie has outside of outright begging, which he'll continue to do if need be.
"You did nothing wrong, Claire, ye have to believe that, believe me. When I told ye about my mam, ye said sometimes things happen and 'tis no fault but biology." He doesn't even quite understand what all of that entails, but she said it, ands he's the smartest person he's ever known, so it has to be true.
"What would I do wi' out ye?" he whispers right against her ear, voice breaking.
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"But she's not with me," she said, full of pain. "It all hurts so much, Jamie, I-- I can't stand it --"
Not only was her body in pain, but her heart and soul as well. The only thing keeping her tethered to this world was her husband. She had no answer for his question -- had their roles been reversed, she wouldn't know what to do, either.
Claire let go of his hand, carefully wrapping their little girl back up. She held the baby in her arms, rocking her back and forth, looking at her precious face through blurry eyes. That was when she took in the slanted eyes, the reddish hair, and the delicate ears.
"She...she looks like you..."
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When he's able to compose himself, he realizes the least he can do is not be a coward. If his wife can look at their child, then so can he. And so, he finally does look, moving away from behind Claire to sit on the edge of the bed. Jamie takes in the impossibly small features, the hair that's light but obviously copper. She's nearly translucent, and his heart beats so fast and so hard in his chest that he has to press his hand there.
"Whatever the pain," he finally says, voice raspy. "We must face it together. I cannae bear it alone."
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And she had never drawn even a single breath. Never had a chance.
Claire felt him move, shifting from behind her back to sitting on the edge of the bed. She struggled to sit up beside him, feeling lightheaded, and held out her arms to show him their baby girl. He pressed a hand to his heart, looking as if he had just been shot, and his raspy voice was full of fear and pain.
She knew what he wanted: for her to promise that she would stay, and not join their child. But it was something she couldn't guarantee. The voice of logic and reason in her mind told her that the fever she had was dangerously high, and the infection in her body was deadly. Right now, it was out of her hands.
So instead she asked him, "do you want to hold her again? She is so perfect...ten fingers, and ten toes, and already a bit of hair..." Claire felt fresh tears well up. "She looks just like you, Jamie." Had she already said that? She couldn't remember.
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And if he loses his wife, he won't bother.
Swallowing back tears and rage and apologies, Jamie nods slowly, stiffly reaching out to receive their daughter and only able to look at Claire's face, fear and despair the only present emotions on his own features. But finally, he looks down.
Their daughter isn't perfect, she's dead, and he doesn't see anything beautiful here yet, he can't. His child is blue and still and cold, and it goes against everything that should be. But he doesn't say any of that, he simply nods. Afraid to open his mouth.
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Not now, though.
She couldn't be parted from her baby for long, so after several long, agonizing minutes, she very carefully took her child back into her arms. Her tears had dried up, burned away by the fever, and she stared down at the tiny, still face with a mixture of love and heartbreak.
"Hello, sweetie," she said softly, voice trembling with emotion. "Your Mama and Daddy love you so very much -- do you know that?"
Claire began rocking her gently in her arms. "I will love you forever, angel," she said. Her voice was beginning to grow weaker, but she didn't even notice.
"Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside," she sang, voice shaking. "I do like to be beside the sea..."
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He reaches out to brace his hand against the wall, and Mother Hildegarde approaches him, explaining that they need to take the baby. How does he do that to Claire? How does he get her to let go? He doesn't know and doesn't move for a few long minutes before finally going back to the bed and crouching so that he's eye level with his wife.
"A nighean, may I hold her again?" he asks quietly, hating himself for what he's about to do.
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