Thank you all SO MUCH for the amazing response to the first chapter… I was blown away, seriously! Y'all are amazing. Like I said before, this story has a special place in my heart, I've been planning it for so long and I finally decided to write it all out, so I hope y'all continue to love it! Please let me know what you think of this one, too! :)

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Chapter Two:

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ..."

Jamie is here. Right in front of her… and she can't believe it, can't fathom what is possibly happening. She blinks, trying to clear her vision. Maybe it's just a stranger that looks like him. If that's the case, she's well aware that she looks like an idiot right about now.

But no, no… this is him. She'd know him anywhere. Her husband. Her Jamie.

"Mama," Bree gasps, tugging on her hand, "that's not Jesus!"

Her little girl's soft exclamation of indignation breaks her trance, pulling her eyes down to her daughter.

She laughs, and she hears Jamie laugh, a sound she never thought she'd hear again, and it brings tears to her eyes. Her head whips back up to stare into his eyes once more, brows scrunching as a myriad of questions come to her mind.

"How…" she chokes on the word, and before she can finish her sentence, his strong arms are around her, pulling her close.

His tears are trickling down to the nape of her neck, and she's well aware that hers are staining his shirt as well.

They stand there, arms twined around each other's bodies, holding the other impossibly closer as they weep together. They must look like fools, but she doesn't care. Can't care. Her husband is in her arms for the first time in years, a feeling she thought she'd buried right along with his body.

"Mo chridhe," he breathes into her neck, a soft whisper against her skin. "Hush now, I'm here. 'Tis alright."

The tears come even harder then, sobs shaking her body against his when she hears his voice. A voice she's only heard in her dreams and on that voicemail she'd never gotten around to deleting. It was stupid, his message, him simply calling her after work one day.

Sassenach, it's me. Dougal let me go early for once, Christ only kens why. But I'm headed home. I'll pick Faith up from daycare on my way home and start a wee bit of dinner for us, okay? I love ye, mo chridhe.

It was just a message to let her know he loved her, something she sometimes took for granted thinking she'd hear it for the rest of her life. He'd left the message three months before he died, and after his funeral she'd discovered it was still there. She'd been too busy back then to delete messages, and for once, she was thankful for the fact. She spent so many nights listening to that voicemail on repeat, willing him to come back to her and vowing to never delete it.

She found herself, more often than not, curling up into bed after tucking Faith in for the night, listening to his voice, his little chuckle as he said he'd cook dinner that night, and clinging to the way he said he loved her.

Now, though, his voice is here, in her ear, and it sends a shiver down her spine, makes her knees buckle as if she's going to faint.

"I never thought I'd hold ye in my arms again, Claire," he murmurs, crying. "I saw ye so many times, ye came to me so often. When I dreamed sometimes…" he trails off, clearing his throat, "I was so lonely but I'd see ye smiling… but ye never touched me."

His forehead is pressed against hers. When their bodies connected, she isn't sure, but his hand reaches up to cup her jaw, and out of reflex, her hand covers his. "Oh god," she chokes out, "you're real."

"Aye," he says with a watery smirk, "and so are you, mo nighean donn." He tucks an errant curl behind her ear, adding, "I can touch ye now."

"I don't understand," she cries, pulling away reluctantly. "I thought you were dead." She shakes her head again, trying to clear her mind that's clouded. It's like trying to see him through a thick mist on the moor they used to sneak off to while in university.

Coming to her senses, she realizes the girls are still standing there, observing this whole interaction. She wipes at her damp cheeks once more, giving Jamie a nervous, confused smile, before her eyes trail down to Faith and Brianna.

Sniffling, she runs her hand over the girls' heads, trying to be brave for them. She glances back up to him, asking, "How?" and then, "Why? Wh… what?" The questions flood her mind, spewing from her mouth faster than he can probably process them.

Shock is one of the largest emotions in her mind right now, not knowing exactly what to ask, but needing answers immediately.

She's overjoyed and beyond relieved at seeing him, but… there's an odd sense of anger, too. Has he been in Spain this whole time? He's been alive this whole time! Why didn't he reach out to her… let her know where he was, or that he wasn't actually dead? Why is he even here and not home with them?

Jamie tries to smile, though it's more of a grimace, and he glances over her shoulder. His eyes focus back on her as he wipes his eyes, mouth opening as if to answer one of her unfinished questions, but Bree bounces by her side, obviously tired of being left out, and tugs on her hand. She's hiding partly behind Claire's leg, shy but giggling when Jamie's blue eyes catch her whisky ones. He looks over to Faith then, who is standing, mouth slightly agape, looking at him with wide, blue eyes.

He smiles at her, softly, almost questioningly, and reaches his arms out as if to beckon their child to him. He looks hesitant, and it breaks her heart, but she understands. He's been gone for most of her life, all of Bree's life. God, this is so damn disorienting. Faith leaps into his embrace, though, giggling as Jamie whispers a leannan into her red hair like he used to do so often.

Faith begins to softly cry then, hugging around his neck tightly, her little hands wrapping in her father's now brown curls. His hair is no longer red, shorter than he used to always keep it, and it strikes her as odd.

"Daddy," Faith murmurs wetly into his neck, "I thought you were in heaven?"

If Claire's heart could physically shatter, it would've done so right here in this moment. Her eyes gloss over yet again, sniffling as she watches Jamie hug Faith even closer, kissing her ear.

"Oh, Claire…" he mumbles, looking to her for guidance.

Shaking her head, she blows out a breath, trying to discern how to explain this to her children. "Faith, baby, we'll explain everything later, okay?" is what she settles on, knowing in the middle of a café with people all around is not the place to do this.

Faith's lips purse, old enough to try and figure this conundrum out, but eventually she just shrugs, hugging around Jamie's neck once more.

Claire smiles softly, rubbing Brianna's back.

Jamie's eyes brim with tears again as he kisses Faith on her temple before setting her back down beside Claire. "And this must be our other bairn?" he gestures toward Bree, who is still holding on tightly to her pant leg.

His voice jolts her out of the way she'd zoned out, watching Faith and Jamie embrace. It hits her that he's barely spoken, but of course, this would be the first question to leave his mouth.

Nodding, she wonders if the tears will ever dissipate as she stammers out, "Y-yes… this is Brianna."

"Bree-ana," he practices the syllables on his Scottish tongue, face scrunching. It brings a smile to her face, watching him say the name again. He leans closer to Claire at that, conspiratorially, and whispers, "Christ, what a terrible name for a wee lass." He tries to wink at her—something he could never truly do, it was always more of an exaggerated blink—adding, "Ye always loved that one, though, despite me wanting to name her Julia."

Images of the two of them sitting in bed, or around the kitchen table, cuddled on the couch, always debating baby names, flash through her mind. He'd been determined to name their newest baby Julia after Claire's mother, a sweet tribute no doubt, but Claire was always partial to Brianna. Brian, Jamie's father, had been the only parent the two of them had known as adults.

She had met Jamie when they were both in university, her a third year and he a first. They were both at the campus coffee shop, and in her haste to get to class, she'd spun too quickly on her heel, bumping into the large Scot that was standing far too close to her.

"Bloody hell," she exclaimed, bending to pick up the fallen coffee cup.

He leaned down at the same time, their heads bumping together.

"Och!" he hissed, grabbing at his head as she grabbed for hers.

Their eyes met, and they began to laugh. He'd apologized, saying he'd been trying to read the menu and didn't realize how close he was standing.

His accent was adorable. Despite being at the University of Edinburgh and being surrounded by Scottish accents, his drew her in, almost wrapping her in an odd sense of warmth, like she'd known him forever.

After that day, they'd begun meeting at the coffee shop before class several times a week, and before she knew it, she was introducing him to her roommate, Geillis.

There was an instant connection between her and Jamie, something she couldn't explain, but it was a feeling she knew she never wanted to let go of.

After just a handful of months dating, Jamie had invited her to Christmas at Lallybroch, his family's estate in the Scottish highlands. She had no family left—her parents had died unexpectedly in a car crash when she was five, leaving her to be raised by her Uncle Lamb. He'd sadly passed during Claire's first year of university, leaving her truly alone for the first time in her life.

The first year after Lamb died, she'd spent Christmas with Geillis' family. It was nice, but it made her sad seeing a big, happy family, knowing that she'd never have that again.

The next one, the Christmas Jamie invited her home with him, she was simply planning on sleeping through as much of the break as possible to catch up on all the sleep she'd lost that semester, but when he'd smiled at her in that boyish way, she knew she couldn't refuse.

While there, she'd also met his sister, Jenny, and her boyfriend, Ian, as well as a family friend, Mrs. Crook, that had helped take care of their family home since Jamie's mother passed away years before.

Brian was amazing. He'd welcomed her with open arms, as if she was a natural part of the family, and over the years, he became the only father figure she'd had since her Uncle Lamb. He was kind, and funny, and he loved to rib Jamie about proposing to Claire whenever he could.

Three years after her graduation, and a year after Jamie's, they'd finally gotten married. They'd wanted to wait until Jamie was done with school so he could find a job while she attended medical school. Claire was twenty-six, and Jamie twenty-four, and Brian had luckily been able to make it. He'd been diagnosed with lung cancer the year before and passed away eight months after their wedding.

She thinks of Brian, and her own parents that orphaned her so young, and poor Uncle Lamb, feeling consumed with all the loss she's had to deal with over the years. Jamie's death was just another one piled onto an already overflowing stack of grief, but his death hit the hardest, crushed her in a way she never thought anything could. Losing a parent is one type of pain, but losing your other half, your better half, knowing that you could have had an entire lifetime together was a type of pain and heartache she wishes on no one.

Seeing him now fuels that anger back up inside of her like gasoline to a flame. He knew how much she'd lost in her life, how could he have left her to think he was dead?

Despite her agitation toward him she snorts at Jamie's distaste for the name, the moment catching her by surprise. "It's a beautiful name. I wanted to name her after your father," she tells him, giving him a pointed look, trying her best to tamp down the smirk tugging at her lips. "And her middle name is Ellen."

His eyes soften at that. His mother, Ellen, had always been a sore spot for him, never quite healing from her sudden death when he was a teenager.

Claire watches as his eyes mist over, and he chokes out, "Aye, 'tis a beautiful name."

She's glad he approves, knowing Faith had been a big argument before she was born. Claire didn't like the name, but Jamie insisted it was adorable. He'd always been more rooted in tradition than she was, and having a religious name made him happy.

She'd rolled her eyes on more than one occasion, never fully agreeing to the name. They'd settled on Elizabeth as her middle name, seeing as it was also Claire's, but they argued up until she went into preterm labor over her first name. When the day of her birth came, however, it was inevitable.

Faith's birth had been a hard one, Claire losing too much blood and almost dying in the process, part of her placenta not being removed correctly caused a slew of complications that the hospital later profusely apologized for, much to Claire and Jamie's chagrin. Due to the complications and being born weeks ahead of schedule, Faith had been sick, not getting enough oxygen.

Claire had never prayed so much in her life, but from the moment she woke up from her own surgery, she and Jamie begged God to let their child live.

In the end, their little miracle had pulled through, and when asked what name to put on the birth certificate, Claire had looked to Jamie with watery eyes and announced, "Faith."

Her breath catches in her throat at the memory, and she bites down on her bottom lip.

She makes a sound, somewhere between a choked scoff and a forceful exhale, shaking her head in disbelief. "You, uh, you look amazing."

Claire fights the urge to roll her eyes at herself, knowing that was the most awkward thing she could have said in this moment, but it just came to her mind and something about seeing Jamie before her has made her go a little dumb.

He's got stubble now, just a bit of scruff. She always loved when he let it grow out, his tiny hairs delicately scratching at her velvet skin when he'd kiss her.

His hair is shorter now, he always wore it a tad longer, but it's clean this way, she thinks, and it looks good. He's also sporting reading glasses, which he promptly removes at her compliment.

She may not know what's going on, but one thing is for sure, he's still the same attractive man she'd vowed twelve years ago to love and cherish for all of her days.

He smirks, a sheepish tilt of his head as his chin ticks against his chest. "Ye don't think I look like an auld man?"

Huffing out a soft chuckle, she shakes her head, promising him that he doesn't. "You look as dashing as ever with those." She notions toward the glasses in his hand, smiling.

She runs a hand through her hair, suddenly self conscious. "I suppose we've both seen a few years. I've got wrinkles I never had before."

Jamie shakes his head, giving her the most gentle of smiles. "Ye're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

The feeling of a weight crushing her would feel better than the way her stomach twists at his words, but she's pulled from the moment like a crack of lightning when Bree giggles again, saying her friend at school just got glasses, too, and they're really cool!

They both snicker, but Claire asks, "Bree, do you know who this is?" pointing toward Jamie.

The youngest red head nods shyly, looking up at Claire wordlessly with wide, doe like eyes. She motions for her mother to come closer, so Claire bends down. Bree cups her hands around her mouth, whispering far too loudly, "That's my daddy."

She smiles, telling her she's correct, hugging her closely to her body.

This is all so strange, standing here, seeing him, talking as if nothing has happened between them. She doesn't know how to feel or even how to act. She can't cry and scream in the middle of this courtyard, but she doesn't want to turn a cold shoulder toward him either. She wants to do a million things to him—kiss the very breath from him, slap him, hold him...—but most of all, she wants answers, and she knows Jamie well enough to know she'll get them in due time.

They all stand there a moment longer, Jamie's eyes darting between the three of them, clearly unsure of who to look at first. There's an awkward silence growing between them, but he takes Faith in his arms again, then reaches out for Brianna.

She's more hesitant than Faith had been, gripping at Claire's pant leg, but Claire encourages her softly. She's only ever seen pictures of her father, so she can only imagine what is going through her little mind. Bree steps over to him, wrapping her tiny arms around Jamie, and as soon as both girls are in his embrace, he chokes out a tiny sob, tears falling onto his cheeks.

He kisses both of their heads reverently, whispering sweet Gaelic words into the space between them, and Claire stands there, unsure of what to do.

She's elated to see him, but confused, hurt, excited… she loves this man, but she's also angry at him. Her head starts to pound from all the conflicting emotions swirling about, and it's frustrating. She just wants answers.

Silent tears descend down her cheeks, knowing deep down, no matter how confused or angry she feels, there has to be a good explanation for his disappearance. There just has to be.

"Jamie…" she states, knowing she can no longer hold back. She's getting more upset by the second, not having answers to what the hell is going on.

This isn't some family reunion with a relative they haven't seen in years. This is her husband back from the dead. Fuck.

She reaches up, tangling a frustrated hand in her brown curls. She looks at him pleadingly, expecting him to still be able to read her mind after all these years apart.

Apparently he can, because he straightens and releases his hold on the girls, nodding. He looks around, and she can't help but notice that he looks nervous, before his eyes land back on the girls. He smiles at them sweetly, then trains his eyes back on her, a serious look on his face. He takes a minuscule step toward her, saying lowly, "We should get out of here. Go somewhere where we can talk." She nods, just as he amends, "Yer wee glass face is giving too much away to all these strangers."

She knows her emotions have always been just under the surface of her face, always showing in an instant, so she nods silently, a pit of dread forming in her stomach like a rock hitting the murky depths in a pond. Something is wrong, she can feel it.

Taking the girls' hands, she leads them back across the courtyard to their table to collect their items.

When she turns around, tucking her cell phone into her back pocket, she jumps. Jamie is standing right there, close behind her, and images of that eighteen year old boy in a coffee shop whizz through her mind momentarily. He was always stealthy like a cat, and it hits her that he's really here, really the same man he always was.

"Where are ye staying, mo nighean donn?"

She tries not to smile at the nickname, but she can feel her lips twitch. Pointing in the right direction, she tells him the name of their hotel, and he nods.

"Let's go there, then, aye?" he questions, "it'll be easier tae talk."

Taking the girls' hands once again, she leads the way. Faith slips out of her grasp, taking Jamie's hand, and Claire thinks that his smile in that moment could rival the sun with its luminosity. As they make their way down the path, across a few streets, and up the small hill their hotel sits upon, Faith and Brianna excitedly tell Jamie about their hotel room the entire time.

She grins, listening to them talk. They'd been so excited when they landed days before, seeing their hotel for the first time. Knowing they would be here for a week, Claire had booked a suite, and it was the best decision she could have made. It had two bedrooms and a living room with a small kitchen space. It was perfect.

The girls had their own room, which five days in was now scattered with toys, and the kitchen was nice to have so they could cook breakfast some mornings.

When they arrive, Claire gets the girls settled in the living room, turning on a movie and letting them play with their Barbies. She kisses each of their heads, running her fingers through their hair, assuring them that, "We'll be just over there in the bedroom if you need us."

Faith nods, mumbling a distracted, "Mmhmm," while Brianna is already tuned into the movie and blocking out the rest of the world.

Jamie stands behind her quietly, observing her actions and every move. She can tell he's uncomfortable, unsure of what to do, which is understandable since he's missed six fucking years of their lives.

She knows she needs to tell the girls more, but what to say, she doesn't know. They'd handled it surprisingly well so far, but they are children, so she's positive they don't really understand the implications of their father being back from the dead. She knows if her parents had shown back up when she was their age, she would have just been excited, not thinking to question everything else.

This is confusing as hell, though, and she needs answers before she can tell them anything more. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing, worries it will upset them. Will they need therapy after this? Will she? Probably…

Clearing her throat, she pushes those thoughts away, and points toward the bedroom. She pushes on his shoulder slightly, urging him to move.

Once inside, she gingerly closes the door, not wanting to disturb the girls, then moves toward the two chairs in front of the window.

They each take a seat, and she can feel her heart trying it's best to leap from her chest. It's beating so loudly that it's pounding in her eardrums, the sound of the air conditioner and Jamie's heavy, nervous breathing all drowned out. She pleads with her own heart to calm down so that she can hear everything he could possibly have to say, so she takes a few deep, calming breaths, licking her lips as she looks back up at him.

Her palms are sweaty, her breathing shaky, but she wills herself to get through this, to listen and be open to whatever he has as a way of an explanation.

In the last half an hour since they've left the café and made their way to the hotel, her mind has been overrun with thoughts, playing out different scenarios in her head of how this happened—maybe he secretly works for the CIA, or he'd simply left her for another woman and didn't have the heart to be honest… perhaps he's just an asshole who was having a midlife crisis at thirty-six years old and decided living out his days as a bachelor in Spain was a better option—whatever his reasoning was, he better tell her soon.

The longer she has to play out all the different plots in her mind, the more infuriated and annoyed she becomes. She can feel the heat creeping up her chest, her skin flushing as she tries to contain her emotions.

He hasn't said anything, looks almost unsure, so before she can lash out, she takes another deep breath, blowing it out shakily as she glances over at him one more time. With watery eyes, she says, "So… start from the beginning."

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Thoughts?