James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seventeenfortythree) wrote2020-03-29 12:08 am
seventeenfortythree) wrote2020-03-29 12:08 am
IT'S AN OPEN POST
tag me with shit here
She means to follow Jamie, but the shock slows her thinking and her steps. By the time she makes it to the entrance of the tent, even just those few steps, she can hear him. Anger. Grief. Nothing Tyron could begin to understand. Today is a wonderful day for him. He won, after all. But Jamie's worst fear has been realized and once she hears him throw down his coat, and the men part ways, she waits for a moment. Makes sure her face is dry. Makes sure her hands aren't shaking.
No one can ever know what Murtagh was to them.
Stepping out into the daylight, she easily finds Jamie, kneeling by a fire. She walks right to him, stopping behind him, unsure of what to say.
At least he looks like himself.
No one can ever know what Murtagh was to them.
Stepping out into the daylight, she easily finds Jamie, kneeling by a fire. She walks right to him, stopping behind him, unsure of what to say.
At least he looks like himself.
He's never been so separate from his body before, and he feels as though he's watching himself address Tryon, knowing that he's risking his entire family's welfare, but he can't stop it. And then it's over and by some form of automatic movement, he finds himself by the fire.
Jamie looks like himself, but he isn't even there.
He's somewhere else completely, completely unaware of the presence of his wife for the first time in their marriage.
Jamie looks like himself, but he isn't even there.
He's somewhere else completely, completely unaware of the presence of his wife for the first time in their marriage.
After realizing he's not going to see her, she steps forward and bends down to put a hand on his shoulder. What she wants to do is hold him. Give him comfort. Let him weep. But none of that can be done out here.
"Let's go to our tent, Jamie. Please."
They both need a moment.
"Let's go to our tent, Jamie. Please."
They both need a moment.
He hears her, at least, at slowly stands un unsteady legs before reaching out a hand to her.
They're in the tent before he even realizes he was walking, and he looks around for a moment in confusion before finally letting himself fall to the ground again. He should be doing something, there are things to do - but he can't.
They're in the tent before he even realizes he was walking, and he looks around for a moment in confusion before finally letting himself fall to the ground again. He should be doing something, there are things to do - but he can't.
She goes down with him, kneeling in front of him to take his face in her hands.
"Jamie. Jamie, darling."
She doesn't know what else to say.
"Jamie. Jamie, darling."
She doesn't know what else to say.
He doesn't know what to do or say, but the moment his face is in her hands he breaks. It isn't pretty; an ugly deep sob cracking from his chest like thunder before the storm. He alone knows the last time he broke wide open this way, and it was the moment she disappeared through the stones.
And then he went to die.
But now the battle is already over and all that he can do is try to reconcile that his godfather was shot right in front of him and there was nothing - nothing for it. He was a broken man in Paris, but the pieces were still there. Murtagh is gone, and Jamie feels gutted in a way he never had the chance to feel over his own father. His sobs taper off only after Claire's top and neck are soaked through his tears and likely snot, but he's so depleted he can't do anything about it.
And then he went to die.
But now the battle is already over and all that he can do is try to reconcile that his godfather was shot right in front of him and there was nothing - nothing for it. He was a broken man in Paris, but the pieces were still there. Murtagh is gone, and Jamie feels gutted in a way he never had the chance to feel over his own father. His sobs taper off only after Claire's top and neck are soaked through his tears and likely snot, but he's so depleted he can't do anything about it.
There it is. She loves that Jamie is a man that feels his emotions, that cries with her when he needs to, and thank god that he allows himself to weep now. She doesn't know what all happened out there, but she'll never ask. She'll listen, if he chooses to speak of it, but like Culloden it's a pain she doesn't want him to relive.
Claire rubs his back, letting him take his time. Never has she rushed his tears.
"Oh, Jamie. I'm so sorry."
Claire rubs his back, letting him take his time. Never has she rushed his tears.
"Oh, Jamie. I'm so sorry."
He hears her and sniffles, sitting up and a hand across his face.
But the tears mix with the dried blood on his hands - Murtagh's - and it smears across his skin. It makes him blanch when he realizes, and looks ready to vomit as he stares at his hand as if a betrayer.
But the tears mix with the dried blood on his hands - Murtagh's - and it smears across his skin. It makes him blanch when he realizes, and looks ready to vomit as he stares at his hand as if a betrayer.
She's never seen him like this before. She's seen him in terrible, dark places. Broken. But there are many ways to break a man, and this is one they've yet to experience together. He's been hurt down to his very core. His heart.
Claire takes his hand with both of hers, covering it, and pulling it to her chest.
"Look at me."
Not the blood.
Claire takes his hand with both of hers, covering it, and pulling it to her chest.
"Look at me."
Not the blood.
Slowly, Jamie raises his gaze to hers. The release of emotion has changed him from looking hardened and ready to destroy a man, to smaller looking than he ever has. He feels exhausted and empty.
But he looks at her, desperately needing her to tell him what to do.
But he looks at her, desperately needing her to tell him what to do.
What she wouldn't do to take this day away from him.
"Take off your shirt. I'm going to clean you up." Get the blood of his godfather off his skin. He can stay there, on the ground. She doesn't expect him to do much more than undress.
She won't move to get the bowl and pitcher of water they keep until she knows he's doing what she said.
"Take off your shirt. I'm going to clean you up." Get the blood of his godfather off his skin. He can stay there, on the ground. She doesn't expect him to do much more than undress.
She won't move to get the bowl and pitcher of water they keep until she knows he's doing what she said.
For a moment, it's as if he doesn't hear her, but then his shirt comes off and he drops it on the ground.
Finally, he speaks, and when he does, his voice is a broken thing.
"I'm done, Claire."
Finally, he speaks, and when he does, his voice is a broken thing.
"I'm done, Claire."
With a bowl of clean water and a cloth, Claire sits again, taking his hands to scrub them. She's not gentle. The blood needs to go.
"Good. We need to go home, Jamie."
He did his part.
"Good. We need to go home, Jamie."
He did his part.
She could rub his hands raw, he'd never feel it.
"I cannae do this, I cannae fight, anymore, I-"
He cuts himself off as his chest tightens and he holds his breath for a moment, exhaling as he tries to just get a grip for a moment.
"I cannae do this, I cannae fight, anymore, I-"
He cuts himself off as his chest tightens and he holds his breath for a moment, exhaling as he tries to just get a grip for a moment.
She moves the bowl over so that she can soak his hands in it, wets the cloth again, wrings it out, and then wipes his face. She knows that's where she needs to be right now, touching, keeping him grounded.
"It's over." Not the war. Just his role in it. "It's done, Jamie. No more fighting. That's right."
"It's over." Not the war. Just his role in it. "It's done, Jamie. No more fighting. That's right."
He closes his eyes and focuses on her touch, nodding. She's bringing him back, pulling him away from the point of no return.
Somewhere, he knows that Claire will be grieving too, and his eyes open again to look at her.
"I'm sorry, mo chridhe." For the friend she lost as well.
Somewhere, he knows that Claire will be grieving too, and his eyes open again to look at her.
"I'm sorry, mo chridhe." For the friend she lost as well.
She falters, the reminder enough to make her chest ache when she's done a good job of simply focusing on Jamie. Murtagh saved her from Jack Randall, that first day. Brought her to Dougal. To Jamie. They grew close over the years, the two people that loved Jamie most in all the world. She'd been so happy to see him stroll up to their cabin, a piece of Scotland and home that felt right.
And then the politics got in the way.
"I don't think he suffered, with that wound," she says, wiping away the rest of the blood and soot from his face so that she can return to his hands. She intends to get him clean, down to his fingernails.
"The blood loss would have been rapid. It would induce shock. He wouldn't have hurt for long."
And then the politics got in the way.
"I don't think he suffered, with that wound," she says, wiping away the rest of the blood and soot from his face so that she can return to his hands. She intends to get him clean, down to his fingernails.
"The blood loss would have been rapid. It would induce shock. He wouldn't have hurt for long."
"He said..." Jamie inhales, shakily.
"He said as much. That it didna hurt."
It's good to know, though. He needed to know it, and as soon as her hands are back at his, Jamie looks at her.
"I'm going to kill Tryon. I only thought ye should ken it."
"He said as much. That it didna hurt."
It's good to know, though. He needed to know it, and as soon as her hands are back at his, Jamie looks at her.
"I'm going to kill Tryon. I only thought ye should ken it."
"Bonnet, Tyron. The list is getting long," Claire says, scrubbing a little harder.
"Ye mean of people who have hurt my family? Aye. It is."
His jaw is tense, headache forming quickly.
His jaw is tense, headache forming quickly.
"You need rest," she says, using her own nails to clean around the edges of his. She doesn't want him looking down and finding Murtagh's blood there.
He can't imagine what sleeping will look like.
"I was standing...we were face to face, I thought...I accidentally shot him at first. I turned - it was a boy. A child. One I told before the battle to no' ever hesitate. He sounded sae proud, I..."
That brings his tears once more to the surface and once more he feels as though he's struggling to take the next breath. His godfather had been killed by a child trying to make Jamie proud.
"I was standing...we were face to face, I thought...I accidentally shot him at first. I turned - it was a boy. A child. One I told before the battle to no' ever hesitate. He sounded sae proud, I..."
That brings his tears once more to the surface and once more he feels as though he's struggling to take the next breath. His godfather had been killed by a child trying to make Jamie proud.
Jamie always did have a way of inspiring young boys. Claire squeezes her eyes shut, taking Jamie's hand out of the bowl of water to dry them on her skirt.
"Easy," she whispers, putting a hand on his chest, reminding him to breathe. "Easy, soldier."
"Easy," she whispers, putting a hand on his chest, reminding him to breathe. "Easy, soldier."
The sound that comes out of him is just a quiet whimper, a wounded sound.
His wife grounds him and he closes his eyes, covering her hand with his, needing to anchor to her desperately. His mind keeps going back and forth from feeling nothing, to feeling nothing but rage. All of it is depleting, and in that moment, all of the fight goes out of him.
"I'm sae tired, Sassenach," he whispers brokenly.
His wife grounds him and he closes his eyes, covering her hand with his, needing to anchor to her desperately. His mind keeps going back and forth from feeling nothing, to feeling nothing but rage. All of it is depleting, and in that moment, all of the fight goes out of him.
"I'm sae tired, Sassenach," he whispers brokenly.
She leans forward to press their foreheads together, a damp hand on his neck.
"Do you think you can get into the bed?"
"Do you think you can get into the bed?"
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