Chapter Seven:
Two hours later, Claire is in a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt from their university that once belonged to Jamie. When he died, she kept a few of his shirts to sleep in, convinced that even after a million washes, they still smelled like him.
She'd made her way down to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. Once he asked to come over, she knew sleep was the last thing on her mind, but she needed something to keep her awake.
When the doorbell goes off, she walks toward the door, swinging it open and hoping the bell didn't wake the girls. She assumes it didn't, because they are both still conked out; even on a normal night they could sleep through a tornado.
Seeing him standing there, her breath is lost to her all over again.
Something about seeing him, here, in Georgia, in her house, really solidifies that this is real. He's truly back.
Claire tears up unexpectedly, wrapping him in a hug and pulling him inside the house. He kicks the door shut softly with his foot, finally disentangling themselves long enough for him to remove his jacket.
"Nice shirt," he smirks, pointing toward the faded University of Edinburgh logo.
Rolling her eyes, she waves him off with a grin, leading the way back into the kitchen. "Did you sleep any on the plane?"
"Barely," he says, settling onto one of the barstools. "Got a few hours near the end."
Nodding, she tells him she got about the same, not wanting to admit she could barely sleep due to her mind raging a war against itself.
They sip their coffee in silence for a moment, Claire watching him as he looks around the kitchen. "This place is sae bonny, Claire," he comments, his eyes connecting back with hers. He gives her a smile, asking if he can have a tour.
This is so strange, she thinks, this feeling of comfort when he's around, yet he's a stranger to this new life she's built.
"Sure." She sets her coffee cup down, knowing they'll end up back in here for a refill if she's going to survive whatever tonight has in store.
He stands, gesturing for her to lead the way.
She points toward the large window in the back of the kitchen, telling him the backyard is out there, then gestures around the kitchen. She'd just had it remodeled a few months ago and tells him so, pointing out the gray wooden floors, the cream walls and the new gray cabinets.
"And yer marble countertops ye always wanted."
Grinning, she nods, saying those were her favorite part.
Taking his hand—and noting that hers still fits perfectly into his larger one—she leads him into the living room, showing him the picture frames on the walls littered with photographs of her and the girls. There's a few with Murtagh and Jocasta, and of course Joe and Geillis, too. On one wall, she has both girls' picture day photographs and Jamie tears up looking at them.
"And look," she says, patting his back. She takes Faith's picture off the wall, removing the backing. "I just stack the new one on top each year so I have them all together."
She pulls out the portraits, kindergarten on the bottom, then first, second, and her most recent one from third grade which is the one showcased in the frame currently.
Jamie shakes his head, looking at them in wonder. "She's braw, as is wee Brianna."
Smiling, Claire takes Bree's picture off the wall, showing him her kindergarten picture from the year before that sits behind her current first grade one.
"They're adorable," she says, "and look just like you."
He grunts, much the same way Murtagh does when something pleases him, and she grins.
She takes him upstairs, both stepping lightly on the wooden stairs. "The girls are asleep," she says lowly, gesturing in the direction of their rooms.
It's one long hallway, so they walk carefully, Jamie peeking into Faith's room, then Brianna's, both times emerging with a look of paternal pride on his face. "'Tis only nine-thirty, Sassenach. They're already that sound asleep?"
Giggling, she nods, showing him the laundry room at the end of the hall, then on their way back down, just after Brianna's room, she motions to hers.
An air of awkwardness looms at the prospect of him seeing her bedroom, for some reason, so she focuses back on his question, saying, "They were exhausted from the flight." She tells him how they fell asleep together in Brianna's bed before the chapter was even finished, and she watches as a strange look comes over his face.
"What is it?" she asks, leading him down the stairs.
"Nah," he breathes, "it's just… ye're so comfortable wi' the lasses, ye all have a routine and a way of doing things that I have no idea about."
Remorse lances through her heart again, and she grimaces. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. This is all so hard, wanting to share their lives with Jamie, but not wanting him to feel bad for missing it all.
"It's alright, mo chridhe," he vows, saying again, "There's nothin' tae be sorry for." With that, he wraps her in his arms, swaying them at the bottom of the steps. "These gray wooden floors look nice, mo nighean donn," he mumbles into her hair, pulling back with a smile.
She's thankful he's trying to change the subject, so she attempts to do the same, saying once they did the kitchen, she couldn't stand the light brown planks in the rest of the house, so she bit the bullet and redid all the floors, save for the plush carpet in their bedrooms and the playroom.
"Playroom?"
"It's downstairs," she states, pointing toward the kitchen. "There's a door in there that leads to the basement. We just decided to throw everything down there. It's the one space I'll let Hurricane Brianna be a mess." She won't mention that the basement had been unfinished, and Frank spent a month redoing it for her on his days off just so the girls could have a place all on their own, and a guest suite down there complete with a small kitchen and full bath.
He chuckles, that beautiful sound that always makes her smile, as he walks back into the kitchen with her following on his heels.
Refilling their coffee cups, she asks Jamie to grab the grapes from the fridge, then joins him at the table.
She goes and grabs some cheese slices leftover from dinner, and some crackers from the pantry, making a makeshift snack for them as they talk.
They spend the next twenty minutes, laughing and talking, reminiscing on years before, memories of university floating to the surface.
"Ye remember when Murtagh found us kissing in the stables?" he asks, laughing as he plops a grape into his mouth.
Biting her lip, she stifles a laugh, never able to forget the way the old man's face paled seeing his godson and fiancé practically rutting like the animals they were surrounded by.
"Oh, god," she snorts, sipping her coffee, "I don't know who was more embarrassed, us or him."
Jamie chortles, saying it had to have been Murtagh.
"I don't know," she remarks with a grin, pointing at him, "your ears were mighty red that day."
"Aye, as were yer wee cheeks," he jests, his eyes shining with mirth as he looks at her across the table.
With another giggle, they remind each other of their funniest moments, eyes meeting, a heat growing between them as they remember a life once lived only for each other.
Along with the memories, they begin carefully filling each other in on their time spent apart, Claire mindful not to mention Frank too much for fear of ruining the happy bubble they've surrounded themselves in thus far.
Jamie tells her of the stables he works at with Hector, regaling her with one tale after another, like the natural storyteller he is. She always loved listening to his stories, can remember countless nights of lying in his arms, listening to him talk of Lallybroch and his mother, his brother, and all the antics they got up to with Jenny as children.
They eat slowly, savoring each other as much as the snacks before them. They were filling each other in, discovering who they each were as people now, both trying to decide if they could, in fact, exist in the same world with the knowledge of everything that's happened between them.
As Jamie talks, telling her about his favorite horse, they both reach for a piece of cheese, hands brushing against one another.
It's nothing new, they've touched plenty since finding each other again, but something about this, here, tonight, feels different. Their eyes meet, almost shocked, and she wonders if he can still feel that spark between them like she always could.
He'd asked her once, years ago, what it was between them, what that connection was he felt every time he touched her, and she had no idea, but she felt it, too. Jamie, ever the romantic, called it their soulmate connection, which she always aptly rolled her eyes at, but, now, she isn't so sure he was wrong.
She has to admit, there's always been something there, and even now, after all this time, she can still feel it. The sensation is overwhelming, and she gives him a small, unsure smile, her lip turning up on one corner as she huffs out a nervous laugh.
Pulling back her hand, she takes the cheese in her mouth, chewing slowly around a coy little smile.
His eyes are on hers, and the way those blue depths are drawing her in, make her feel as if she's drowning in them.
Her golden eyes mist over, too caught up in his stare to even blink, but she draws herself back to reality when he asks what she and the girls did tonight.
He seems just as flustered as she is, and she wonders if he's nervous, too.
This isn't new, isn't sure why it feels so different, but something about not being in Spain, not in the comfort of the hotel room, makes this all just feel so… real.
With a bout of apprehension, she tentatively says, "Uh, well, Frank… drove us home, made us dinner."
Jamie nods, grunting again—this time not in pleasure—and she can't help but chuckle.
Murtagh, too, makes the same sound every single time she brings Frank up, his displeasure at her new beau clearly evident, and the fact that Jamie has the same reaction just reminds her how similar he is to his godfather. Having Murtagh around all these years has truly been a blessing.
"I know you don't want to hear about him," she says, shoulders dropping, "but I feel like I'm going crazy, Jamie." She sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead, that headache growing again. "I'm really struggling," she admits and watches as his face softens.
Jamie reaches across the table, offering his hand to her. She gladly accepts it, his fingers curling around hers as she says, "I want to talk to someone about all of this, want to tell someone, anyone what is happening, but I can't! No one can be involved, and I feel like I can't talk to you openly about it because I don't want to hurt your feelings."
Silence fills the space between them, the feel of his thumb rubbing softly against her skin the only thing keeping her grounded in this moment.
She watches as he breathes slowly, deeply, and she knows from years of experience, that he's processing her words, wanting to form his thoughts clearly before speaking. It was always an attribute of his that she admired.
"I understand, mo nighean donn," he murmurs gently, smiling her way. "I'll talk to John and see if there's anyone ye can talk to, someone who isn't directly involved in this."
She nods, thinking of Geillis and Joe, and wishing more than anything that she could have them over for lunch, cry and scream and ask them what to do about all of this.
Geillis is the loose canon out of her two best friends, knows Claire's dead husband coming back to life would most likely be the first thing Geillis told Dougal when she got home. It would definitely be the talk of the yoga studio and probably the coffee shop right next door within the hour, but Joe, sweet Joe, was her most trusted friend.
He's the most trustworthy man Claire knows, besides Jamie, and tells him so. "Maybe I could at least tell him?" She knows she sounds like a child, but she feels so lost, and doesn't know what else to do.
Jamie smiles sympathetically, saying he'll ask John, but he doubts Joe will be allowed to be informed.
She knew that would be his answer, but her shoulders still fall as she gives him a small smile.
{***************************}
Once they have finished off the grapes and coffee, Claire stands, collecting the cheese and crackers to put them away.
They make their way to the living room, sitting on the couch. There's an awkward feeling between them, and she's not sure what it is.
She looks to Jamie, rubbing her jean-clad thighs nervously, then reaches for the remote, flipping on the television, and letting House Hunters play softly in the background like an accompaniment to their awkwardness.
"Is this as weird for ye as it is for me, Sassenach?"
Oh, thank god.
"Yes," she sighs, turning to face him. "And I'm not sure why. I feel like I can't be myself around you," she confesses without thinking.
Jamie's face pinches momentarily, looking hurt, and she instantly regrets her words.
"Not because of you!" she amends, her hand landing on his shoulder. "Just because everything that's happened. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you're alive." She sighs, sinking into the cushions. One leg bends to rest on the cushion, her knee lightly resting against his thigh. "And with Frank, everything is so much more complicated than it would be if I were single."
As if her boyfriend could hear inside her house, her phone beeps with a text from him. She reaches for it off the coffee table, reading the text quickly.
Miss you. Hope you and the girls are getting plenty of rest now that you've had your bath.
Guilt consumes her, knowing she sent one of her men away so she could spend time with the other. Is she cheating on Jamie with Frank or cheating on Frank with Jamie? Or neither? Her mind is a jumbled mess as she responds back with a simple Thank you and I did. She tells him again that she'll call him tomorrow, then sets her phone down on the arm of the couch.
Looking up, she sees Jamie watching her, and she knows her face is flushed, her emotions clearly dancing on the surface. She smiles nervously, shrugging her shoulders.
"Ye dinna have to be nervous around me, Sassenach," he says, a hint of red creeping up his neck and leading to his ears.
She nods, her face softening. "I know I don't, Jamie."
They stare, moments passing as they both seemingly collect their thoughts and emotions.
"Do you want a drink?" she asks, pointing toward the mini-bar tucked away in the back of the living room.
He grins, saying he'll take some of the whisky he figures she still keeps in the house. "Ye still keep it around, don't ye?"
He knows her so well, she muses.
She snorts, saying, "Always," as she tuts and stands from the sofa. She feels a bit of lightness as their easy banter around one another slowly edges its way back in, and she smiles to herself as she walks to the bar.
She pours them each a dram of their favorite Scottish whisky, Dougal's best selling brand from the distillery, and decides to just bring the whole bottle with her, knowing this night will call for a refill, or three.
They sit and talk for a while, sipping on their libations. The conversation starts to flow again, Jamie refilling their glasses when they get low.
She's feeling loose, not as nervous around him as she was earlier. She inquires more about his life in North Carolina, and he smiles, telling her about the baseball team he and Fergus are on.
"We just had a tournament last month," he says, excitedly telling her how his team won. "Crushed the other team to smithereens," he laughs, his Scottish accent thickening with every word, his R's rolling off his tongue in that way they so often do when he's passionate about a topic.
Smiling, she listens, glad to know he hasn't been miserable this whole time.
"I got Fergus a job at the farm, too," he says, "though he doesn't quite love the horses like Hector and I do." He talks about his favorite horse again, a black stallion named Donas that he claims hates everyone but him. "He's thrown his last four riders, but the wee beastie must like me, ken, because he's as gentle as a lamb when I'm around."
"You were always so good with animals, so I'm not surprised," she says, her body feeling warmer as the whisky settles in her stomach.
He's never sounded this excited over a job before. He'd worked for his Uncle Dougal's whisky distillery when they were married, which was fine enough. He was happy to have a relative in Georgia when Claire got her position at Emory. It had worked out perfectly, but he's never truly loved it the way he did animals, and Claire always felt a sense of guilt that he'd settled for a job he wasn't as passionate about so she could have her dream career.
That was so typically Jamie, though. God, she loves him.
"You seem really happy," she comments, her hand finding its way to his bicep. Her finger trails against the fabric covering his arm, adding softly, "I'm glad."
"Aye, I am," he confesses, his eyes moving to watch her finger rub against his arm, "but happier now that ye ken I'm alive." He looks deeply into her eyes, that feeling of drowning once more taking over, but she finds she doesn't want to be saved. "I dinna care how happy I am there, mo ghraidh, there's no type of happiness like what I have when I'm with ye and the bairns, I hope you ken that."
She doesn't know what to say, too overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions. Her whisky colored eyed hold his blue, and she feels as if her lungs are a balloon that's been popped, slowly deflating with each ragged breath between them.
When she licks her lips, Jamie's eyes dart down, watching the movement, before flickering back up to look at her again.
Without thought, as if drawn to him like a sailor to a beautiful siren, she leans in, inching closer to her long lost husband.
"I want…" he begins, breath shaking out of him in ragged pants as he takes her hands in his, "I would verra much like to kiss you." Her mouth twitches up into the briefest of smiles at his words, nerves twisting her insides. "May I?"
Claire's breath is just as unsteady as his. She smiles, nods, doesn't know what to do with herself as she whispers, "Yes."
His body shifts, edging closer to her as well, their bodies moving in sync. She isn't sure if there are miles between them or if everything is just moving in slow motion, but she feels as if it takes forever for their faces to rest centimeters apart, so close she can feel his warm breath on her, that hint of whisky making her feel dizzy with need.
"I havena done this in a verra long time," he admits, licking his lips.
Breathing out shakily, her heart pounding so loudly she just knows he can hear it, too, she scoots even closer as his lips slowly descend onto hers.
When his lips finally, finally, make contact with hers, all sense of reality leaves her. She forgets about the pain of learning he'd died, forgets the way that police officer held her as she cried in his arms, forgets Jamie's funeral and visiting his grave with the girls, forgets the hardships of being a new mom while also raising a toddler and trying to grieve the loss of her husband… forgets it all. Everything. All the pain, all the tears, all the heartache. Forgets about Frank…
Fuck.
Claire pulls back abruptly, just as Jamie went to deepen the kiss, her breath coming out in heavy, tear-filled pants. She reaches up to touch her lips, her hand shaking. "I'm… I'm sorry," she blubbers out just above a whisper. "I…"
His face falls, just briefly, before he recovers, his eyes shining as he looks at her. He looks down, collecting himself, she thinks, then glances back up, asking on a broken whisper, "Has too much happened?" His head shakes, as if clearing his mind, "Am I no' enough, Claire?" He grimaces at his own words, hands twisting in her grasp. "Do ye no' want me anymore?"
She stares at him, blankly at first, as the feelings all come flooding through her mind like a swarm of bees. She feels awful, tears springing to her eyes, but the images of Frank in her mind killed the moment. Is this cheating? She doesn't know, so she tells Jamie around a lump in her throat, "I can't tell if this is cheating or not…"
His hand pulses in hers, comforting her. "It's okay, mo chridhe," he assures with a twitch of his signature smirk, ever so gentle and loving with her.
"I just don't know if this is wrong or not," she says again, weeping, her shoulders shaking. She takes a calming breath, drawing strength from Jamie's large hand that rests on her knee, letting her work through the storm in her head. "I want you. God, Jamie, I want to be with you, but there's Frank, too," she huffs, frustrated with herself over this whole situation, "and he's a good man. I can't just leave him with no explanation, that wouldn't be right… o-or fair to him. I'm so conflicted."
Jamie, ever the understanding one, pulls her into her chest, letting her cry some more. "We can wait, mo ghraidh," he vows, though she can tell the words pain him to say, can tell from the way his face is pinched tight, like he's holding every emotion in the world back from her. "I ken this is difficult for ye." He kisses the top of her head, swaying them gently, his hand rubbing up and down her back. "Take a few days to sort out yer feeling, okay?"
She nods, her whole body shaking from nerves.
"And if ye decide that ye want tae be with Frank and no' me, then," he smiles softly, "tell him I'm grateful. Grateful that ye were able to find a man good enough to help ye move on. Ye tell him that I trust him… and that I hate him down to the very marrow of his bones." He smirks at that, and she can't help that she does, too.
Her heart is screaming to be with her husband, but her mind knows she needs to break up with Frank first, no matter how bad she feels about doing that. She'll break his heart, and hers a little bit as well, with no good explanation as to why. It will blindside him, and Frank deserves better than that. She needs to take tonight, get some rest, and figure out what exactly to say to him.
Sniffling, she finally calms enough to pull back, looking at him with watery eyes. He smiles so gingerly at her that she thinks her heart might crack in two, so she cuddles back into his chest, embracing the comfort while she can.
His heat envelopes her as he flips through the channel, finally settling back on House Hunters and grumbling that there's never anything good on, just like he always did. Jamie props his feet up on the coffee table, and she smiles to herself. This is just how it used to be, and she loves it. The familiarity of it all makes her want to cry all over again, so instead she snuggles closer, pressing a light kiss just above his heart.
In that moment, cuddling on the couch with her husband, the war inside her heart and mind finally settles, and she knows exactly what she needs to do.
{*****************}
The decision has finally been made, and Claire can move forward. Phew! Thanks to everyone who has supported this story and stuck with it through Claire's internal struggle. Please let me know your thoughts about this chapter! :)