Hej there, once again!
Yes, I know, I switch between fandoms like a snake renews its skin. But I can't help it. Sometimes I watch something and then it hits me. And that is what caused this short oneshot, too.
It hasn't really got a plot, it's just what came to my mind when watching the scene between Jamie and Claire after she lost the baby and he came back from the Bastille. Don't expect too much, this is far from being great. In fact, I'm not even sure I like it, but I thought sharing it with you guys couldn't hurt.
As always: I'm not a native speaker, so please send me a pm if you find (major) mistakes. I won't be mad at you but grateful for the help, promise!
He had never even had the chance to see her. To hold her. To feel her tiny body in his hands. And he never would. Because she was gone. Dead before she had ever truly been alive. The thought alone broke his heart in a way he knew would never fully heal again. He would forever feel it. The emptiness and despair threatening to overwhelm him whenever he thought of her. His daughter. Faith. Whom he had loved unconditionally without her ever seeing the light of day.
He would have understood if Claire had blamed him. God, he blamed himself. But she didn't. She admitted she had hated him but she said it had been her own fault. Which was what he could hardly bear. If she thought herself was to blame she would never find peace, she would forever tell herself it had been her own actions that had caused their child to die and it would forever haunt her mind. If only she could hold him responsible then she could ban him from her life and move on.
Of course that would shatter the remains of his already broken heart and he wasn't sure if he could keep on living after losing both of them in one day. But he would rather have that than seeing her punish herself every waking minute of every day and her being haunted by it every night in her dreams. He couldn't bear seeing her suffer, he never had. And being forced to while he knew it was because of something she hadn't been responsible for tore at his very core and he didn't know how to handle that.
He didn't dare touching her although it was the only thing he wanted to do and the only thing he could imagine to do. But she was so distant, so far away. Her eyes stared unseeingly into nothingness, dry. All her tears seemed to have been spent, all emotion seemed to have been drained from her once so impulsive self.
In some ways he really had lost her that day. When he had forced her to endure the worst thing possible. When he had challenged Randall and caused her to miscarry their child. But he had seen no other way. When that bastard had touched Fergus, he hadn't been able to keep his promise. The man had had to be punished for his actions. Now. Not in a year. That reprieve was far more than he deserved.
If only he had known at what price his revenge, justice, would come... Maybe he wouldn't have done it. But then again, he knew there was no way his rage and hatred wouldn't have blinded him. There was no way he would have seen reason after being so freshly reminded of what this man was capable of. What unspeakable crimes gave him pleasure. Even now, the thought of it alone made him sick to his stomach. There would never come a day when his hatred for Captain Jonathan Randall wouldn't be stronger than any other emotion he had ever felt, with the only exception of the love for his wife.
Seeing Claire like this, his strong Claire, broken almost beyond recognition, was something he knew he would never forget. Would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. The image was etched into his memory, sharp and painful, laden with both sorrow and love. It was more than he knew how to deal with.
He had no idea what to do, what came next, how to go on with their life. Their life. Because she hadn't rejected him. Hadn't banished him, hadn't done what he had hoped for and at the same time had feared more than anything. He knew, living without him would be better for her, while living without her would be impossible for him. But she had decided to forgive him, had chosen him once more and he was too grateful for that to push her away. It didn't matter he thought it better for her. He was too selfish to endure the pain of losing her again, especially after the last weeks.
Down there, imprisoned in the Bastille, not only had the memories of Wentworth Prison come back but he had feared for his wife's life. There had been no way of knowing if she was still alive, only the picture of her, doubled over in pain, bleeding and calling out his name desperately before finally sinking to the ground.
He had almost lost his balance over the shock he felt when he had heard her voice. What had she done there, how had she come to be there?
When he had caught Randall in the act of trying to rape Fergus, rage had completely taken over, and while he had been dragged away from the man, no thought but the burning desire to kill had managed to penetrate the haze clouding his head. Even his promise to Claire had become secondary. The only thing on his mind had been to find Murthagh and get to the wood where he intended to finally end the life of the man who had once made his whole existence hell on earth.
Later, the guilt had come. Guilt not only because he had tried to duel the bastard but because his own carelessness had led to all this in the first place. If only he had kept a closer eye on Fergus. If only he had kept the boy in sight, he never would have come near Randall. And Randall never could have touched him. The relief he felt over being in time to safe the boy was nothing compared to the guilt for originally letting it happen. But all this had only come when he had sat in the darkness of that wet dungeon. First, there had been nothing but rage.
Only when Claire had called out for him, her voice pure pain and despair, had he climbed out of the pit he had once again fallen into. Only to see her collapsing to the ground. Even the soldiers coming at him had become irrelevant, no matter that their presence meant his arrest for a crime punishable by death. The one and only thing important at that moment had been his wife. Claire. Who should have been his single concern to begin with.
When the armed men had taken him away, he had only stopped shouting her name long after he had lost sight of her limp form, lying there, with the panicking servant fussing over it.
The following days and weeks had only held one thing for him. Worry. Constant and all-consuming worry. But not for himself. He didn't care whether he lived or died as long as Claire was alright. Claire and their unborn child. It had gnawed on him until his sudden release had him practically running back to his cousin Jared's house. He didn't care what he looked like, that his beard covered half his face and that his bones practically pierced through his skin because he had barely gotten anything to eat. He didn't care that he wasn't showing how grateful he was for how the servants had looked after his family when he couldn't. He only cared about their downcast eyes and the oppressive that greeted his arrival. Which could only mean something bad had happened. But when he had asked for Claire, they had pointed him to the drawing room so he knew it couldn't be about her. Which left only one option. The child.
When he had come to the stairs that led up to where Claire was, he had started to hesitate. How was he supposed to face her? She had every reason to hate him and he knew it. He had broken a vital promise and by that had killed their child. He didn't know how to live with himself anymore and neither would she. But while he couldn't escape his own presence, she very well could. And probably would. He didn't know if he had the strength to get rejected by her, but he had no choice but to face her. He owed her as much. And so, Jamie had finally entered the room only for her to let him stay.
So, you made it through, great. I'd be happy if you could take the time to review, even if it's only one word, and tell me, what you think. Although I'd prefer praise (of course, who wouldn't?^^) I take criticism as well :-P