Body over Mind

Disclaimer: I do not own Outlander – all characters and rights belong to their respective creators.

Author's note: I'm very new to the show - haven't even finished the first season yet but I have to say I kind of like it. Plus, I am not familiar with the books. Yet, Jamie and Claire are worth writing about ... and that's what I had to do. I hope to write some more in the future.

Please excuse the fact that I am not an English-native speaker.

Enjoy nonetheless!

Body over Mind

The sun filtered through the small windows on the eastern side of Castle Leoch and into the kitchen. Steam was rising from the iron pots over the enormous hearth and the air was filled with appetising smells while cooking maids were buzzing about, carrying baskets full of ingredients and delicacies.

Life at a normal pace, Claire thought and moved closer, coming up from her surgery. She always came here to find some peace of mind. In a place where life went normal, where she could just watch and keep her mind busy, her own past and story wasn't troubling her as much.

When Mrs Fitz bellowed orders here and there, shared one of her hearty laughs with a clansman and handed freshly baked sweet buns to the children coming by, that was when Claire's mind started to take a welcome rest.

"Morning, lassie. Have ye slept well?," asked Mrs Fitz with one of her heart-warming smiles.

Claire nodded and answered with a similar smile, "Oh yes, I have, Mrs Fitz. The extra blanket you gave me yesterday worked wonders. The bed is just so far away from my fireplace, you know?"

"Aye, it is, Claire," Mrs Fitz said and stuck a great wooden spoon into the pot of porridge before serving Claire a huge heap of their typical morning meal, "and sleeping with icy feet is an unnecessary inconvenience – especially with all the warm wool around here."

Claire nodded, took the wooden bowl and started eating her porridge. She always sat in the same spot, on a wooden bench where the sunlight hit. She could begin to feel the power of the spring sun and couldn't wait for it to drive away the morning chills.

Angus Mhor came down the steps from the courtyard, carrying a feisty chicken by its feet, "Where do ye need it?" His boots were muddy and left chunks of dark mud all over the place.

"Criminy, Angus! Have ye taken a look at yer feet?! Out! Now! And I don't need the chicken alive, ye glogaire! Next time ye come down these steps, bring me something I can work with and now be off!"

"Aye," Angus replied and Claire could have sworn she saw him blushing, yet under the grime and in the dim light it was hard to tell. Claire grinned to herself – it was only Mrs Fitz that could talk to the clansman the way she did.

"Are ye smirking at me?" Asked Angus towards Claire as he turned and left the kitchen with the chicken.

"No, heavens no, sorry," Claire said apologetically and with a stern face. But as Mhor was on his way again her face broke into a smile.

Claire simply loved the kitchen and the ordinary things that happened here. Whenever she had time and nothing to do, she came up here. She loved the atmosphere, the smells, the chatter, the sough – the singsang – of the Scottish talking and picked up a few Gaelic words here and there. A peaceful setting.

It was Mrs Fitz that brought her back from the relaxing timeout of her brains, "So, Claire, what have ye got to do today?" Mrs Fitz asked as Claire stretched her back and went to clean the bowl by the stone sink. Usually the English woman had interesting things to tell and Mrs Fitz liked to listen.

Claire looked back over her shoulder while Mrs Fitz used her apron to pull a huge pot closer towards her, tasting the bubbling broth inside. "Well, not much … I was hoping you have something to do for me here?! So that I could make myself useful?"

"Ye mean in the kitchen? With us?"

"Yes, perhaps," Claire turned around and dried her wet fingers on the woollen fabric of her skirt.

"Well then, let me see," Mrs Fitz's gaze travelled through her realm, over the wooden desk where pots with herbs stood and garlic hung from the ceiling. "We'll be cooking a roast for the supper tomorrow. I could need a hand with the onions," she said and nodded her head towards the basket full of red onions by the door.

"Of course," Claire replied and went over to the basket, heaved it up the worktop just as Mrs Fitz handed her large kitchen knife.

"Here ye go, lass. Cut them in rings, will ye?"

"As you please."

Mrs Fitz smiled back at the English lady and thought once more what a polite and friendly person this lassie was.

Claire sometimes loved work that kept her mind at ease and her fingers busy. Doing easy things with a certain purpose – like cooking, collecting flowers – that was something she enjoyed immensely – and right now it was the perfect thing to keep her busy.

While chatting with Mrs Fitz and the maids, she was able to chop the first five onions without letting the gas affect her eyes. After that, though, it was over and big, glistening tears rolled down Claire's cheeks and she reached up to brush some away with the back of her hand.

"Tell me, if I shall take over, Claire, will ye?" Said Mrs Fitz, kneading a huge lump of dough.

"It'll be alright. I mean, they are just onions – I cannot give in to onions, can I?!" Claire replied and laughed under her tears.

"Aye, ye can't!" Replied Mrs Fitz and laughed back.

That was when Angus traipsed down the stairs again, boots clean and chicken dead. "Gals, are ye crying because ye've missed me?!" The dark-haired man said and winked at Claire, before putting the chicken down on the worktop.

Claire looked up and said, "You wish, Ang…," but couldn't really finish the sentence as the pain sliced through her mind like the blade through the back of her hand, "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," came out instead, as Claire let go off the knife. It fell to the floor with an iron sound ringing back from the kitchen walls. Immediately, she used her right hand to press down on the deep cut.

"Claire!" Mrs Fitz called, "what in God's given name have ye done?"

Angus arched his eyebrows as he saw the blood welling up underneath Claire's right hand, starting to run down her forearm and disappearing into the dark sleeve.

"Damn it, I cut myself," Claire muttered, while pressing down. Is it bad? Claire asked herself, she couldn't quite remember. "I am sorry, Mrs Fitz … seems I am more clumsy in the kitchen than I thought."

Mrs Fitz rushed closer and pushed Angus to the side, "Get me some cloth, Angus or Caitir – we need to do something!" But as she came closer and had a better look at Claire and her hand, the look on her face and the colour of it changed suddenly.

Claire gulped and tried to apply pressure as best as possible, despite the blazing pain in the back of her hand, "Mrs Fitz … you … are you?" It was then that her sentence ended as abruptly as Mrs Fitz grabbed for the worktop and Angus and Claire lunged forward simultaneously, both grabbing the fainting Mrs Fitz.

"Blimey!" Said Angus and tried to steer Mrs Fitz to the nearest stool, "who would have thought that she can't handle blood?!"

Claire had let go off her hand and grabbed Mrs Fitz's sleeve, touching her cheeks and feeling for her pulse as Caitir came back with a white and clean cloth. The lass was startled when she saw that Claire had smeared some of her blood onto Mrs Fitz. In a calm voice she turned around to Caitir and said: "Will you please wet this for me?"

Caitir rushed to a bucket of water, submerged the cloth and came back, handing it to Claire.

"Mrs Fitz! Hello?!" Claire called and gently applied the cloth to Mrs Fitz's ashen cheeks, "can you hear me?"

Mrs Fitz was stirring, eyes open, but mind not yet working.

Claire moaned slightly and grabbed her hand again as she absentmindedly brushed it along her skirt, blood still trickling.

Angus' view went to Claire and he eyed her up and down – her hair was dark and curly as ever, skin clear white and rosy cheeks yet here and there smeared with tears and blood, while her right hand tried to cover the gash. "Take a sip, Mistress!," he ordered and handed his whisky bottle to her and Claire gratefully accepted. "And then I think it's best if ye take care of yerself now. Caitir and I will tend to Mrs Fitz. Ye might do the same for yerself."

Claire looked over to Angus and simply nodded slightly, "Caitir, brew her a basil tea, will you? That should help her to get on her feet again!"

Caitir nodded and went off as Angus took over Claire's spot and she retreated.

I thought I was looking for an ordinary morning?

James Fraser, an apple in hand, came down the steps to the kitchen with jaunty hops that equalled his mood, "Morning!"

Two pairs of eyes landed on him as he took in the scenery. Everything seemed normal in the kitchen: Except for Angus bending over a seated Mrs Fitz and Caitir padding a cloth down on the chef's face. A few other kitchen maids tended to the pots and pans and tried their best to do the rest of the work and prepare the food for a castle full of hungry clansmen.

"What has happened?," Jamie asked and came closer, seeing the specks of blood on Mrs Fitz's clothing and face, worry rising, "maybe I should fetch Mistress Beauchamp?!"

"Nay, Jamie …" Mrs Fitz answered with a calm voice, her cheeks had finally regained a little colour, "It's her ye need to look after … but we've already sent for Geillis."

Jamie's brow furrowed in confusion. Sending for Geillis? Concern crept up his neck and the hairs on his back stood on end. Jamie understood that if you send for a healer although you have one in the castle, probably meant that Claire needed the attention. He gulped and then retreated back into the corridors leading to Claire's vaulted cellar.

Claire was kneeling in front of her fireplace, the sleeve of her dress tied up her arm so that she could see and work properly on her hand. She had been able to stop the bleeding with cold bandages soaked in yarrow extract and had also been successful in cleansing the wound with alcohol.

Assessing the damage done to the back of her hand, she had been grateful that no bones had been injured. The gash had hit a blood vessel and nicked the tendon of her index finger but Claire admitted to herself that she had been very lucky. But you need to stitches anyway …

Her eyes travelled to the medicinal sewing kit she had spread before her: a curved needle and a fine black thread. But how? With only her right hand, Claire was as good as useless.

She sighed and took another gulp from Angus' whisky bottle. She also poured another sip over her hand and hissed as the alcohol burned its way into her wound. A welcome rush of warmth followed the stinging in her hand as the alcohol warmed her belly and flooded her veins.

She set the bottle down and drew her injured hand closer. She could still remember the first time she had seen the insides of the human body – as a nurse in medical training, when a simple procedure such as removing an inflamed appendix had given her an insight into the anatomy of humans. Yet, seeing her own insides felt strangely odd: The wound flaming red and gaping, the little bits of yellow tissue fat and a mix of the white of bones and tendons.

Maybe I could try to make a few stitches myself … she mused and reached down for the bottle of whisky, taking another sip for courage and then reaching for the needle. She bit her teeth together and hissed as she stuck the needle into the first end of her skin.

Jamie heard the hissing as he stepped down into the room and immediately turned right towards the fireplace. There she sat, kneeling in front of it, her hand working with a needle. Her clear eyes met his and for a second he saw them shimmering with hope and Jamie understood, "Sorry … I am not Geillis … if that's who ye were hoping for."

Claire's insides tightened and her right hand stopped dead in its tracks. Of all men in the castle why does it have to be Jamie MacTavish to come down here? Especially when I am like this?! Drunken and wounded... Claire swallowed but managed a careful smile, shifting herself to a more comfortable position.

Jamie MacTavish – the handsome, broad-shouldered lad she had met on her first day here, in Scotland of 1743. Blue eyes like the sky over Scotland on a sunny day and curly, adventurous hair that caressed his striking face. Stop it Claire! Are you now swooning over him?

To tell the truth – she definitely cared for him. He was one of her soft spots. Somehow Jamie MacTavish had a power over her, a way with her that calmed her down and made her feel like she could confide in him. A rare friend that seemed to know and understand her in a strange new world with a lot of insecurities and dangers. Whenever he looked at her she did not feel judged, valued or scrutinized. When it came to him, her barriers went down, if she liked it or not. But he was the only one having that power over her.

Claire swallowed and looked into his eyes again, the fire dancing within them. Look at him, Claire! How can a man like him be a soft spot? Claire mused and attributed her thoughts to the whisky.

The intensity of Jamie's gaze on her body and face was not lost to her and she had to shift her position again. Help me, god!

"As long as you're not going to faint, Mr MacTavish, you're welcome down here," she said through gritted teeth as another sensation of burning wallowed through her hand.

So Mrs Fitz fainted, Jamie made sense of the situation upstairs. He carefully came closer, naturally coming down to her height and sitting down beside her. A deep and open wound spanned the back of her delicate hand. Muscles and ragged skin visible – a bright red wound on ivory skin – and a needle stuck in its edges.

"I will do my very best", Jamie replied, his eyes travelling over to the blood-soaked cloths. He knew she needed stitches – not from seeing the needle in her hand but from having seen the gash. It would not heal without them. We will need Geillis.

"I am afraid, I can't be of very much service today," Claire replied and tried to move the whisky bottle aside as inconspicuously as possible, suddenly feeling embarrassed to have it so close to her although he had been the first Scot on her journey to offer her the drink.

"Everybody needs a day off sometimes," Jamie answered. His warm gaze and light-hearted smile reached his eyes as he watched the fire on her pale face.

Claire chuckled slightly, "Yes, true … but maybe I could have done so without cutting up my hand."

"Maybe," Jamie replied dryly and earned another chuckle and a smile, "would have been easier on ye." And less painful, Jamie thought and swallowed. His breast tightened as he looked over to her, kneeling next to him, arm stretched out, hair dishevelled, sleeve dirty with blood but a smile covering her face that reached her eyes and made him speechless.

"If you tell me what you need, I can tell you where to find it and guide you to it?!" Claire said and felt the need to disrupt the sudden silence between them. Her face grew hot. Maybe you're sitting too close to the fire!

Claire wanted to stand up but Jamie's warm hand rested on her right arm and kept her seated.

"All's well," he searched her eyes for pain but sometimes the blue irises were indecipherable to him. In an instinct he leaned closer and saw the small freckles covering her cheeks and nose, "I just came down to look after ye."

To look after you … Claire's insides tightened pleasantly. Does that mean he cares? For me? She swallowed again and her smile faded slightly as she searched his eyes for confirmation, "You just came down to …," Claire not only sensed the heat of the fire but also the heat of Jamie leaning in. You cannot fall for him, Claire! This will complicate everything! And yet this was not the first time she had felt her body react to his presence. Whatever the mind sometimes told you, the body simply decided for itself.

"… make sure ye're alright, Claire, yes." His hand that hadn't left her forearm just barely touched the skin and Jamie's heart rate quickened at the sight of her large and astonished eyes. Was it so hard for her to believe that she now actually meant something to them? The clansmen? Mrs Fitz? To him?

He couldn't stand the thought that she would think so little of her significance and the role she had taken over in the castle … and also in his life. This had not been easy to accept for him in the first place, his growing affection for this strange, foreign but mesmerising woman whom he knew almost nothing about. But coming to visit her in the castle had become a very welcome diversion for him. He longed for their light and playful chatter, her merry chuckles and simply the looks of the woman sitting next to him. It was something he had gotten used to and looked forward to every day.

You are married, Claire! Her mind screamed once again into the silence and it brought Claire back to reality – forgotten was the heat of the fire and Jamie and wanting to feel him coming closer.

Jamie saw the moment of realisation, a sudden flash of guilt, pain and embarrassment in her eyes. She was quicker on her feet than he could have said something to calm the situation. Here we go again … It was not the first time they had come this close only to have the spell broken by something that frightened her. If only I knew what it was!?

But he couldn't know that it wasn't Jamie who scared her. It was Claire herself – scared of what her body wanted and what a part of her mind couldn't quite accept. That part of her still felt her ties to 1945, to Frank, to her life before. And it was not ready to give up on this memory.

"Claire, I am …," he said and stood up in an athletic and fluid move.

Her heart raced, the blood shot from her head to her core and suddenly she felt light-headed and nauseous. The velocity of her standing up, combined with a few glasses of whisky and the strain of the morning were a little too much and she felt herself grabbing for Jamie.

He saw the sudden helplessness in her eyes and noticed how pale her lips had become a mere second before she bent over towards him. Out of instinct he grabbed her elbows and steadied her with his body. "Hey, hey …," he called and tightened his grip on her arms, feeling her racing pulse and her rapid breathing. He managed to shake her softly so he could look into her face, still pale but her eyes vibrant again, only a little clouded over.

Just when you wanted to remove yourself from the situation, you find yourself even closer to him! Claire swallowed, looked up into Jamie's large eyes over her, framed by his copper locks and rimmed with unspoken concern. Her belly started aching longingly – longing for a touch like this, a close embrace, somebody holding her, human heat. Not just somebody's heat …

"I thought ye said no fainting," Jamie carefully mocked her with his soft and melodic voice, while never loosening his grip on her petite form in his arms – and never wanting to.

She gulped and felt how dry her mouth had become. It was hard for her to even speak due to their proximity, the heaving of his warm chest and the intensity of his eyes. "It seems my body betrays me …," she whispered and the confession slowly settled in. Hearing her say it made it even more clear to her. As if the mind somehow understood that it fought a hopeless battle. The body would win and the mind would follow.

Hearing her whisper to him, so close, shrunk the room and suddenly it was only Jamie and Claire, leaning into each other, watching their faces, taking in their scents, the feel of each other.

And to Jamie's surprise it was Claire who carefully stretched her slender neck and face towards him. He swallowed hard, tightened the hold on her arms and pulled her carefully closer. He forgot all around him, as she closed her eyes, her dark locks tickled his cheeks and his lips lowered down towards hers, her excited breathing in his ears and the intoxicating scent of her hair in his nose.

"I came as fast as I could, ye idiots!" Geillis voice sounded from the top of the stairs and seconds later her steps rushed down.

Claire swallowed hard and felt like she had been punched in the gut. A gush of air left her lungs as she opened her eyes only to find the same expression on Jamie's face - a look of astonishment, longing and frustration. She tried to straighten up, immediately missing the manly and distinctive scent of his skin and clothes.

Her exhalation brought him back to the reality of the cellar, to Geillis coming closer and to Claire moving away from him. He couldn't say why but it felt like a sting to his heart. His mouth slowly opened to say something but it was too late.

"Claire! Are ye alright?" Geillis asked and came closer, her blue eyes assessing the situation with meticulous attentiveness, "Morning, Mr MacTavish – dinna know ye were here, as well."

Jamie nodded and swallowed again, not able to speak just yet. Would she have kissed me? That was all he could think about. Would I have kissed her back? Upon that thought his heart started beating once again and he couldn't help but look at Claire.

Jamie's eyes met hers. She hadn't been able to move hers away from his face. Not since she had seen the look on it after they had nearly kissed. A look that so clearly mirrored her own feelings. Could this really be true? An exciting warmth spread within her and for a second there she wanted to send Geillis away, claiming there was nothing wrong with her hand only to get back to a few minutes ago.

But Jamie cleared his throat and greeted Geillis with a welcomed smile, "Seems Mistress Beauchamp cut her hand in the kitchen ... she won't be able to stitch herself up with just one hand."

Geillis' intelligent and observant eyes travelled from Claire to Jamie and back, "I see."

"Yes, um, ... Mr MacTavish is absolutely right," Claire nodded, trying to shake off the thoughts about Jamie. Everything about him seemed to still invade her senses – his smell, the warmth of his hands, his breathing, his eyes.

With that Jamie nodded, cleared his throat once again and made a first step back towards the stairs. He didn't want to go – not really – but maybe it was for the better. He couldn't help here anyways, "Now that ye're here, Mistress Duncan, I better go – I'm not much help anyway."

Seeing him retreat brought on an overwhelming sense of loss and she couldn't help but search for his eyes, swallowing as their gazes finally met, renewing their bond. Claire opened her mouth to speak.

"I'll come back here later," Jamie said with a soft voice and a nod towards her. The anticipation he saw flaring up in her eyes set his insides aflame once again.

Claire nodded, a joyful smile caressing her blue eyes, "... to look after me."

Jamie smiled and nodded, "Aye." Something in her smile and her eyes was suddenly different. He couldn't quite tell what it was. But the excitement tingled in every fibre of his body and never in his life had he anticipated something as much as returning to a certain English woman to find out.

Tell me if you liked it - or even if you didn't, otherwise I won't get better.

Thanks and take care,

Kat