In a way, everything was moving in slow motion.

Everyone's speech seemed slower, their actions delayed, their voices muffled. Like the montage in a motion picture or maybe like in a dream.

None of it felt real.

It couldn't be.

Because if it were real then that would mean her entire world was crashing down at her feet, that everything she and Jamie fought for and the sacrifices they'd made had been in vain, that she was about to lose everyone she'd come to love and care for.

More than a year before, she'd promised Jamie that if it ever came to this—to this very moment—she'd go back through the stones to her own time. There'd been a time when that was all she wanted—to return to Frank and the life they were building together—but now, the mere thought of it churns her stomach and makes her heart ache. She can't imagine life without Jamie, she can't picture herself in the time she was born into, and more than that, she doesn't want to. There are a thousand reasons she should go back, yet none of them make sense to her—how could it, given the price she'll pay?

"What?"

She looks between Jamie and Murtagh, her eyes falling to Jamie's hand, stretched out to her.

"What is it?" she hears herself ask.

"A deed of sasine," Murtagh says.

"It conveys the title of Lallybroch to James Jacob Fraser Murray."

Claire nods, trying to focus on their words. "Giving the place over to your nephew."

"Aye."

Her hands trembling, she takes hold of his hand, mustering a smile as he gives her a tight squeeze.

All of this makes sense, given what's about to happen, and it's the safe, responsible thing to do. And yet, the knot in her stomach tightens at the realization that Lallybroch will no longer be theirs. Claire takes a breath, swallowing hard as she steps up to the table, her eyes falling to the document before her. It's selfish, she thinks, to feel like this is something she's losing. Lallybroch had been in Jamie's family for years—it was more than just a house, more than just his legacy. It was always meant to be passed on, and in truth, it's always been more of a home for Jenny, Ian, and their children than it'd been for her and Jamie.

And yet, she had such dreams there for her and Jamie.

She hadn't yet told him that she's pregnant. She's not even absolutely sure of it herself, but nonetheless, she found herself caught up in the dream of raising a family with Jamie at Lallybroch as if the fateful afternoon at Culloden Moor never happened. She imagined lying in bed beside him in her nightgown as Jamie caressed her growing belly, talking to their child and grinning up at her as when it kicked. She imagined Jenny coaching her through birth as Jamie held her hand, and she imagined the way she'd feel when Jamie placed their child in her arms. They'd both be teary as they stared down at their perfect newborn—a boy, she'd imagined, named Brian after Jamie's father and the first of many more.

In spite of knowing better, she'd let herself dream and now, she was cursing herself for allowing it because now that reality was settling in, it was like salt to an already painful wound.

"This protects Lallybroch and keeps the estate in the family, safe from the Crown, to be held in trust by Jenny and Ian until Wee Jamie is old enough," he tells her.

Looking down at it, she nods, her eyes skimming the deed. "But it's dated from a year ago," she murmurs, looking up from it.

Murtagh nods. "Aye, before the rebellion, before…"

"I was a traitor," Jamie interjects, his jaw tightening.

Murtagh looks between them and clears his throat. "I just need the signature of two witnesses."

Claire nods and takes a breath, once more trying to steady her trembling hand.

"Go fetch yer master ink and a quill, lad. Quick about it. Go."

She watches as Fergus dashes across the room and again the knot in her stomach tightens.

Oh, god.

Fergus.

What'll happen to him?

He can't go with her; she can't protect him.

Again, her stomach lurches as Fergus returns to the table with the quill and ink. Reaching out, she runs her fingers through Fergus' messy curls, drawing him close and hugging him into her side as Murtagh signs the deed—and then, he holds the quill out to her.

Tears fill her eyes as her throat tightens as she releases her hold on Fergus to take the quill, suddenly finding that it's difficult to breathe.

Slowly, she signs her name beside Murtagh's, her chest tightening and her stomach churning as tears slip down her cheeks. Drawing in a shaky breath, she blinks, forcing a tear to stray too quickly, falling to the paper and smudging her signature.

Nonetheless, Murtagh lifts the deed, blowing on it to dry the ink and tears. "Will ye have me take it to Jenny?"

"No, I'll have Fergus take it."

Sharply, she looks to her husband.

"Alone?" she murmurs, her brow furrowing as she considers the long ride back to Lallybroch. "You're going to send Fergus alone, on today of all days?"

Jamie looks back at her. "Aye—"

"No," she cuts in, her voice elevating indignantly. "You can't."

Jamie holds her gaze for a moment, then shifts his eyes momentarily to Fergus.

There's a lot that goes unsaid, and as his eyes meet hers again, she knows why he wants to send Fergus.

At eleven, he has a penchant for getting himself into trouble, always wanting to prove himself. Though Fergus French by birth, he's adopted Scotland as his homeland, and he's already proven once to them that he'll defy all orders to fight for her. It was a miracle they hadn't lost him already at Prestonpans—Jamie wouldn't risk the possibility of him following the others to the battlefield at Culloden Moor where he wouldn't be as lucky. By sending him on an errand to Lallybroch, Jamie was trying to protect him and trying to spare him from witnessing the horror of what would soon come.

"I won't allow it." She shakes her head, her arms crossing defiantly over her chest. "I won't!"

"Claire—"

"No! He's a child! Anything could happen to him!"

Jamie grits his teeth. "Aye, and should he stay, the same is true."

"I could go," Murtagh offers, shifting uncomfortably as he looks between them. "I could—"

"Fergus will go," Jamie says, his eyes narrow and his jaw still tense. "And that's final."

"Final," Claire scoffs. "Hardly."

But Jamie ignores her, turning to Fergus. "Ye'll go now."

Fergus nods as his eyes shift to her, looking uneasy. "Me, Milord?"

"Aye, you're to ride to Lallybroch," he says. "Ye'll leave now."

"This must reach Madame Murray without fail," Murtagh adds, eyeing Fergus. "It is worth more than my life or yours."

Tears well in her eyes as she watches Fergus look between them, his eyes shifting uncomfortably. She can tell he's struggling, not just with whose side to take, but with whether or not he should go at all. If he had it his way, he'd gladly follow Jamie onto the battlefield and die beside him.

And the thought of that was too much to bear.

"I don't want to leave you, Milord," he says, his voice quivering as he fights back tears in an effort to seem brave. "I refuse."

"Ye must," Jamie says, reaching out and taking Fergus by the hand. "Not just for the deed," he tells him, his voice softer than it was. "But no matter what happens here today, it's important someone remembers. Ye understand?"

Claire's stomach lurches as Fergus nods. "I'll go, too," she says. "I'll take him back to Lallybroch."

Jamie looks sharply back at her, his eyes widening. "Claire—"

"I know the way and someone should be with him."

Fergus' brow furrows as though he's about to argue, but before he can insist on going alone or remind her that he's not a child and can take care of himself, Jamie speaks. "No, Claire. I won't allow it."

Her shoulders square. "I wasn't asking your permission."

Jamie's jaw tenses again. "Claire. Ye agreed."

"Jamie, what if he runs into a redcoat or—"

"Claire—"

"No! It's too dangerous. He's a child, Jamie, and though he's trying very hard to hide it, he's scared."

Reaching for her wrist, Jamie yanks her across the room. "Ye ken we had a plan," he hisses, his voice just more than a whisper. "Ye're supposed to go back through the stones—"

"I know what we agreed to, Jamie," she says, yanking her wrist out of his grasp. "But that was before I knew you were going to send Fergus—"

"He has to go," Jamie cuts in, his voice still low but harsh. "He canna stay here. He'll try to fight."

"And what makes you think he won't still try?"

"He gave me his word."

Claire nods. "And suppose he gets it in his head that he can have it both ways?" She takes a breath and glances back to Fergus and Murtagh, watching as for a moment as they both pretend not to be trying to hear. "Jamie, he's defied you before—"

"This is different."

"He doesn't know what's going to happen. He has no reason to think the Scots won't win. He idolizes you, he idolizes all of you. In his mind, there's no way you can lose." She sighs, her eyes pressing closed as she considers it. "Jamie, what if he comes back? What if he tries to go and fight and—" She stops, not wanting to even say the words. "What if he thinks he can do both? He'll fight with you and then you can both take the deed to Lallybroch."

"This is no' negotiable, Claire. Ye canna go with him. Ye promised."

She blinks—she also made a promise to care for Fergus. "I don't see how I can't, Jamie. Don't you see—"

"Always so stubborn," he mutters, his jaw tightening as their eyes meet. "And what about the bairn?"

His words nearly knock the wind out of her. "What?"

Suddenly, his features soften and again, he reaches for her hand. "I'd gladly allow you to accompany Fergus back to Lallybroch if you weren't with child, Sassenach."

She blinks. "You… you can't know that. It's too soon. It's—"

"Ye have not been a day late in your courses in... in all the time since ye first took me to yer bed, but it's been two months now."

She smiles, but it doesn't last.

This should be such a happy moment for them— yet it was bittersweet at best, mired in pending grief and loss.

"You kept track? In the middle of this bloody war, you kept track?"

Jamie looks a bit sheepish as he nods. "Aye," he murmurs. "How long have you known?"

"Not long."

For a moment, it seems that he forgets—excitement gleaming in his eyes as he grins at her—then all too quickly reality sets in and his smile fades. "This child," he begins, clearing his throat as he reaches out, touching his fingers to her abdomen. "This one is all that will be left of me... ever."

Tears spill down her cheeks as her shoulders square. "I won't trade one child for another, Jamie, I won't."

He sighs—in ordinary circumstances he'd yell about how stubborn she was, how she wouldn't listen to reason. But now, all he can muster is that exasperated sigh, and it breaks her heart to see that he's already given up.

"Claire, ye must go—" His voice cracks, then halts.

"I won't let him go alone."

"Then after—"

"Jamie—"

"I beg you, Claire. Ye must."

They've been through this a thousand times, it seemed. And she'd agreed to it. But now that the time had come, all the hushed late night conversations they'd had about it, the plan they'd made seemed… unreasonable.

"You come, too," she says, her voice piquing with desperation. "We can all—"

"We canna," Jamie interjects. "I canna. Ye can. I canna."

"We could sail somewhere... anywhere." His eyes press closed and for a split second she thinks he might be considering it, so she continues. "We could take Fergus and sail to the colonies or—"

"The country is roused. The ports are closed," he says, his eyes opening and his voice full of regret. "I'm no' afraid to die, Sassenach. A musket ball, maybe a blade. It's better than the hangman's noose or the wrath of the MacKenzies. I'm a dead man already, so I choose the battlefield."

Her eyes close, once more forcing tears down her cheeks. "I can't lose both of you."

"I ken this is difficult for ye—"

"It's impossible."

"Ye... ye promised me that if it came to this, ye'd go back through the stones, back home."

She nods. "I know. I… I just…" Taking a breath, she looks back to Fergus. "I need to know that he's safe," she tells him, pressing her eyes closed as she turns back to him. "Jamie, he can't go alone. It's too dangerous."

He offers a slight relenting nod. "Jenny and Ian will take good care of him."

"I know—"

"If ye go with him, ye canna stay, Sassenach. It's too dangerous and I will no' have ye and our child pay for my sins."

She knows better than anyone what happens after Culloden. She knew that the Scots would be slaughtered and afterward, the British would ensure there were no survivors. They'd ravish the highlands, weeding out Jacobite sympathizers. They'd seize their homes and farms, they'd take all they had.

Jenny and Ian and their children could survive it—the deed of sasine would ensure it, Jamie would ensure it. They could pretend to be loyal subjects to the king, they could pretend to have disowned their rebel brother. Life would be different—harder—but they'd weather the storm.

Fergus could likely do the same. He could hide in plain sight.

But she couldn't.

She'd been right there with Red Jamie all along, and everyone knew it. She was as much of a traitor as he—perhaps even more so given her British birth. And she doubted the redcoats would spare the traitors' child.

"They will take good care of him," she hears herself say. "And if I'm truly supposed to go back, then… then I just need to know that he's okay. That's he's… safe and… and that he's loved and…"

"Aye, they do love him," Jamie murmurs as he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "Like a nephew."

Claire draws in a breath. "So we're in agreement then?"

Jamie hesitates and her heart beats faster. She doesn't know how else to convince him, how else to make him understand why she needs to do this. Slowly, she starts to pull her hand back, but instead, Jamie tugs her closer. Her eyes open and the back of his hand skims over her cheek—he's trembling, she realizes, grabbing his hand and presses a kiss to it.

"I dinna like it, but I understand it," he tells her. "Take him to Lallybroch, but then promise me, Claire, that ye'll go to Craigh Na Dun and ye'll go through the stones."

Now, it's she who hesitates.

"Claire, please, I—"

"I promise," she says, cutting him off and wondering if she's just lied to him. "I promise."

He smiles before pulling her to him to kiss her forehead. He doesn't say anything and for a moment, they both just linger there, wanting the moment to last—after all, it might be the last time it's just the two of them.

But they can't linger for very long. They're on borrowed time.

Jamie lets go and takes a step back, but doesn't let go of her hand. His eyes shine with tears and his jaw is tight as he fights against himself, struggling to keep his emotions in check—neither of them want this to be the end, and yet they're both so aware that it is.

Bitterly, she swallows back her own tears.

Since her improbable arrival in eighteenth century Inverness, she'd searched for a reason that this had happened to her. It didn't take long for her thinking to shift from how it happened to why, wondering if there was some fateful purpose she served there. Then, she married Jamie, and for a time, she thought perhaps her purpose was a romantic one, that somehow her inexplicable journey was fate correcting itself. How else could it be explained that the man she was destined to love—the man whose soul was connected to hers—was born two-hundred years before her?

Then, there was her crazy idea that somehow she and Jamie could change the course of history, they could stop the Jacobite uprising and themselves along with the whole of Scotland. And that had been a crazy idea. But she was desperate to hang onto the life she and Jamie were building together. For her entire life, she'd waited for a love like the one they shared—a love that made her feel invincible, a love that made her feel like no matter what happened or where they went, she'd always have a home, a love that gave her a family and security, a love that couldn't be taken from her.

But of course, that had been such a silly, romantic dream. For all their attempts, they now knew that Jamie's fate at Culloden Moor could not be changed. Though in spite of that, in spite of ending up at the very place they'd so desperately tried to avoid, she's certain she wouldn't change a thing. She'd hate herself for not trying to save him and if not loving him had never been an option.

"Ye'll leave now," Jamie tells her, his voice hoarse. "There's not a moment to lose."

She nods, but finds it nearly impossible to move. Instead, she clutches his hand until her knuckles turn while, clinging to him as if somehow it might save him—and for a split second, she thinks that it might. "Jamie, please don't—"

"I have to, Claire. Ye ken that."

She nods. She does know—even if Jamie never sets foot on the battlefield, his life will not be spared. He won't be allowed to live, not after all he's done. Tears fall down her cheeks as she takes a step in, still not letting go of his hand, and when she leans up onto the tips of her toes to kiss him, she finds that she can't do it, that she can't accept that this is goodbye.

Then Murtagh clears his throat.

"I, uh… I ken this is difficult," he says, shifting awkwardly on his feet, his hand giving Fergus' shoulder a tight squeeze. "But ye're losin' time if yer to get far enough away from here before the battle's done."

"Should I go, Milord?"

Jamie holds her a little closer, his forehead resting upon hers. "Aye," he says, his voice barely audible. "It's time to go."

"This isn't fair," she tells him. "You're my home."

Jamie nods, forcing a smile. "And you are mine, but this home is lost. And now, you and the bairn… you must go to a safe place." His voice halts in gestation as he takes a half step back. "To a man… a man that could care for you both."

"No," she murmurs, unable to picture returning to the life she once lived, to the man she once loved. "I can't just… forget you. I can't—"

"I'm no' asking that."

"How can I go back?" she asks, her voice full of desperation as her eyes search his for an answer. "How will I explain all this… to Frank?"

Jamie shakes his head. "I'll leave that to you. Tell him what ye will about me… about us. It's likely he'll no' want to hear, but if he does… tell him I'm grateful and tell him I trust him."

She shakes her head. She didn't know what marriage was supposed to be until she married Jamie. She didn't know that she could be herself, that her interests didn't have to be eclipsed by her husband's, that her voice should matter as much as his. Her first marriage hadn't been what she thought it was—but then, how could she have known? She had nothing to compare it to. But now that she did know, how could she go back?

She watches a smirk tugs up at the corner of Jamie's mouth. "And tell him I hate him to the very marrow of his bones."

In spite of it all, a little laugh bubbles out of her. "I… just don't want this to be goodbye."

"Nor do I, Sassenach," he says, his smirk quickly fading. "But it is, for a time."

Tears burn in her eyes, blurring her vision, and angrily, she swipes them away.

"My destiny lies on Culloden Moor," he tells her. "But I'll find you. I promise. If I have to endure two-hundred years of purgatory—two-hundred years without you—then that is my punishment that I have earned for my crimes, for I have lied, killed, stolen, betrayed—"

"Jamie—"

"And broken trust." He takes a breath and again, that smug little smirk of his returns—and it makes her smile through her tears. "But when I stand before God, I'll have one thing to say to weigh against all the rest." Her brow arches as he leans in, just a bit, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Lord… you gave me a rare woman, and God, I loved her well."

Tears spill down her cheeks as she reaches for him, pulling him to her and kissing him with all she has in her. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer and deeper into the kiss, holding him as tight as she possibly can as if trying to imprint herself on him and he onto her.

"I can't say goodbye," she tells him. "I should, but… I just can't."

"Then don't," he replies, reaching out to wipe away her tears, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. "It's not truly the end."

She nods wishing she had the faith that he did.

"Murtagh's right. Ye need to go."

"I know." Her eyes press closed as she draws in a breath and takes a step back. "It's time."

For a moment, Jamie's jaw trembles—and then he puts on a brave face as he turns to Fergus, calling him over and sinking down onto his knees in front of him. "Ye take care of her, ye hear?"

"I will not fail you, Milord."

"I know ye won't," Jamie tells him, taking the boy's hands in his, hesitating for just a moment before tugging him to his chest and wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Claire feels her throat tighten as she brushes away her tears and watches as Jamie presses a kiss to Fergus' hair and whispers something to him that she can't quite here.

Fergus smiles as they break a part, nodding and trying to be brave. She steps up behind him, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him back against her skirt as Jamie stands and he and Murtagh begin to prepare another horse. She grins as Fergus leans back into her, his hand reaching up to hold hers—and for the life of her, she can't figure out how she's supposed to leave him, too.