ninewood: Oh yes he does, he just has trouble admitting it, and he doesn't want to quite yet. Thank you for the review

Emo Naom: Georgia died from TB, which was untreatable in 1753. You were lucky if you died relatively painlessly, which, nine times out of ten, did not happen. Plenty more to come, stay tuned!

A/N: Posted as a thank you to ninewood for the enormous amount of help she gave me with material for a future chapter. You'll still get your usual chapter on Tuesday, but I was feeling generous. Enjoy, and feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.

ooOoo

Trembling, crawling across my skin, feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine. I believe in you, I can show you that, I can see right through, all your empty lies. I won't stay long, in this world so wrong.

Dance with the Devil- Breaking Benjamin

ooOoo

For much longer than she ought, Bridget couldn't help but wonder about the Doctor. After all, he had left with hardly a word. But that was his way, he did not like long goodbyes. They always produced more questions than they did answers, and no one has the time for long lengthy sobbing goodbyes when it will do no good.

It was foolish to believe she'd ever hear anything more than the "you have a good heart, Bridget, and I know you'd never be able to leave when the man you love is in such dire straights" he'd left her with.

And now here she was, stuck in 1753 Scotland with Jamie, who was now a widower, and his young son. Although she knew it would be difficult to adjust to a life that was so different from what she'd grown up with, she hadn't expected it to be this difficult. She'd been used to being able to wear whatever she wanted, be it a skirt or a pair of pants, but now she had to wear a dress lest she be compared to the whore of Babylon. She'd been financially independent and living on her own, but now with no money and no other way to support herself, she was dependant on Jamie. Damn the women's rights movement not coming in for another 200 years.

In any case, she still wondered about what the Doctor was doing. Was he still traveling alone, or had he found another lost soul to join him?

But was that an accurate description? Were all the people the Doctor picked up along the way lost and damaged? She certainly hoped not. How depressing would that be, to travel with someone who had enough emotional baggage to fell a draft horse?

Ah Doctor, if you could see us now, she mused. She wondered if he'd laugh at how silly they all looked. Now at 23 years old (nearly 24, her birthday had passed in the time she'd not been in the TARDIS), she was playing the role of friend, confidant, babysitter, and housekeeper. She had never known just how difficult it would be, to play all those roles and keep herself from going crazy, especially without many of the conveniences and technology she'd become accustomed to.

"Bridet?" Alexander climbed into her lap, breaking her concentration.

"Yes love?"

"How long you stay?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. However long your daddy needs me to."

"Good, cause I like you."

"Well that's good, because I like you too," Bridget stood up and balanced him on her hip. "Now should we go see Daddy? Where did Daddy go?"

"Barn," Alexander's speech and his ability to form a coherent sentence were improving day by day, although they'd had to start over on some phrases and correct certain behaviours. It was altogether too common that toddlers, in stressful situations, regressed. For example, Alexander had started demanding his dummy (which he hadn't wanted for more than 6 months previous, Jamie told her), and throwing tantrums you could hear the next house over, 4 miles down the road.

Georgia had been gone, as they put it, for about 7 months, and Alexander had begun to ask to see where she was. All the while explaining that she'd gone to Heaven, he still wanted to see her. They'd gone, tears had been shed, and after that, nothing. They now had life in general to contend with. They had a fall foal coming thanks to the stallion in the barn. Jamie's beloved mare, Calmen geal, whose name meant "White dove", was fast approaching her due date, and, as with all pregnant females, was irritable and grumpy. She'd actually asked Jamie if he'd need help birthing the foal, but he'd very sullenly asked that she keep Alexander out of the way, since a stall with a mare in labour was not a place for a young toddler.

Truth be told she thought they'd have more problems than the occasion bad mood or curse word thrown at each other, with Jamie being a Jacobite, or former Jacobite as was the case. Many of the Jacobites who had survived Culloden were still on the run, many had been caught, imprisoned, and hanged for treason. She couldn't bare to think of what would happen to any of them if there was still a warrant out on Jamie. Perhaps that was one of the things that kept him up at night.

After the evening's chores, supper, and Alexander's bedtime routine, Jamie and Bridget sat down together, this time in Jamie's bedroom. It still felt strange to her, being in the room Jamie had shared with Georgia. She'd struggled to tell him that she'd be just fine sleeping on the couch, but he'd insisted that she join him. After all, he just wanted to talk to her.

Reluctant at first, she'd agreed. She trusted Jamie with her life. He'd saved her on more than one occasion if she recalled correctly. Of course she'd talk to him, if that would help ease his mind.

They sat together in silence for quite some time, Jamie running his fingers through her hair.

"Why are you playing with my hair?"

"It's soft," he answered, brushing a strand from the side of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"Jamie…"

"Bridget, I'm no gonna lie t' you," he had such a sad look in his eyes she couldn't look away. "I need you. So badly it hurts. I was a fool t' do what I did, and I canna apologize enough."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Aye, it was. I should nae have raised my hand to you."

Bridget placed her hand on Jamie's cheek. His hand over hers, his eyes closed at her touch.

"I missed that," he admitted.

"You had Georgia," Bridget answered. Regardless of what she'd just said, Jamie's eyes told a very different story. He'd had Georgia, yes, he'd married her, but she hadn't loved him. At least, that was the impression she got.

Slowly, and very softly, his lips touched hers.

She found herself unable to pull away. Instead of pushing him off and going back out to sleep on the couch, she pulled him closer.

There was nothing more that needed to be said that night.

ooOoo

The two of them awoke the next morning wrapped in nothing more than a thin sheet. Bridget turned over and stared right back at him.

"Good morning," she yawned and stretched.

He poked her nose in response. "We ought to get up."

"Yes we should, but will we?"

"Milking won't do itself, and I'll not have Alexander trying t' make his own breakfast. He tried once, and we were scrubbin' honey and oats out o' the floor for a week. He'll nae do it again till he's close t' five." Jamie threw the sheet back and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Bridget blinked and sat up, her entire body screaming in protest. She couldn't quite remember what exactly they'd done the night before, but if the marks down Jamie's back and the warm stickiness between her thighs were any indication, no other explanation was needed. And strangely enough, she wanted nothing more than to grab him, pull him back into bed, and do it all over again. Hang the household for a few more hours.

In the seven months since she'd arrived, she'd never once been homesick. Well, once, but once in a seven month period was not a heinous crime at any rate, and even then it was only because she realized how much she missed Alex and Steph. She found herself very isolated, often with only Jamie, Alexander, and Oatmeal the cow for company. That wasn't to say that they didn't see other people from time to time. Cora would drop by with Ben and Maggie, and her husband, Gordon, had become great friends with Jamie.

Bridget could still remember the first time Cora had laid eyes on her since she'd been back. Her face had dropped in complete surprise, and rushed to hug her.

"I thought you gone," she insisted. "Where did you come from?"

"Do you remember the Doctor? The man Jamie and I traveled with?"

"Aye, wee bit strange, but nice enough. Why?"

"He left me here after Georgia died," Bridget explained. "Dragged me here practically kicking and screaming, and we were still here when she died."

Cora nodded. "Go on…"

"I was going to leave with the Doctor once the shock had subsided a little, but I couldn't stand the fact that Jamie and Alexander were going to have little to no help in adjusting to life without her."

"So he, the Doctor, I mean, abandoned ye?"

"No no not at all," she answered. "If anything he convinced me that, by all rights, I'd not be able to leave when they needed me so much, so I stayed."

"Was very nice of you."

"Nothing to do with nice, Cora. I like having someone to take care of. Since I had to get used to wearing skirts all the time, and doing without a washing machine, and sleeping on a couch when I'm used to a bed, I've not wanted to leave."

"I apologize in advance if I'm outta line, but what about your mum and dad?"

"My mum's dead," Bridget bit her lip. She'd not thought about her parents in the longest time, but aside from that one comment, she'd not say anymore, nor would she yell at Cora for asking. She was only curious after all.

"Sorry lassie," Cora turned to see Maggie chasing Alexander in a game of tag. "Has my brother been treating ye right?"

"As a friend and a guest, yes," she answered. "He makes sure I never want for anything. He's introduced me to everything I need to know, and he's the most respectful man I've ever known."

"That's good, cause you were the right girl for him."

"Oh not you too," Bridget groaned.

"What do you mean, not me too?"

"Everyone and his uncle seems to think Jamie was right for me, and me for him."

"Because it's true! Good God, you think Georgia was right for him?"

"You set them up!" Bridget resisted the urge to point an accusing finger at her.

"Yeah, I did, but I knew she dinna love him."

So her suspicion had been correct. Georgia really hadn't loved him, while he'd grown to love her. She'd made do with him. Perhaps she had known she didn't have his heart completely, and had only given him a son only to carry on the family name. Reminded her of her own family, somewhat.

Bridget's parents had only stayed together because of her. One of the things she could remember was her father lamenting that she hadn't been a boy. Well excuse her for living. Was he that stupid that he didn't realize that it was the sperm that decided the sex of the baby? Since the sperm came from the man, it was his fault that she hadn't been born a boy. Well she wouldn't put it past him.

Still, if he hadn't married Georgia there'd not be Alexander running around yelling 'Canna catch me, Maggie!' And when she did, he delighted in shouting and laughing as loud as he could till she stopped tickling him.

As shocked as she'd been at Cora revealing what she'd always thought true, Bridget had done nothing about it. She'd not asked him anything about it, and had kept her distance. Once he was ready, she reasoned, he'd say something.

But what had happened the night before needed no further explanation. They'd danced around each other for the better part of seven or eight months, and it had driven them both crazy. Her nerves were still on fire, and this time, they did not have their rooms in the TARDIS to retreat to if things felt awkward. They would just have to look each other in the eyes and act like adults.

In the real world, pigs would fly before they'd be able to do that. But then again, in 1753, she'd have no choice but to make it work.

All she could do was hope they were doing the right thing.

But really, what was the right thing? How would Alexander react when he realized she was Jamie's lover? Would he start throw whining tantrums? Scream that she wasn't his mum so he didn't have to listen to her? Yell that he hated her and wanted her to leave?

She shook her head. The boy wasn't even three years old, how could he form such thoughts? Three- year- old boys were concerned with eating the last biscuit without getting caught, or playing in the dirt and eating bugs just to see what they tasted like. He couldn't care less who his father was sleeping with, so long as he had a place to sleep, a place to play, and food in his belly with plenty of love and affection.

She bit her lip, willing herself to believe it was true.