Thanks so much again for all the support on this story! I hope you like this next part and that it answers some of those questions y'all have had… Enjoy!
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Chapter Three:
Jamie is nervous, she can tell.
He may have been gone for six years, but including those six, they've been together for going on nineteen now, and she'd know his tells anywhere.
He clenches his jaw, his fingers tap rhythmically against his thigh, and he breathes heavily… All of which he is doing right now.
She longs to reach over, to place her hand over his that's thumping on his leg, wants to soothe him and tell him everything will be okay. But she can't… not until she has some clarification.
She knows it's unfair, and she feels bad for being angry. She's happy as well, relieved, ecstatic, a whole range of emotions, but she's also barely stopped crying since she found him. It's a perplexing situation, one she was never equipped to deal with in medical school. There was never a "What to do if a patient comes back to life" course, let alone your spouse.
He takes a deep breath, then reaches over to her cautiously, like a caged animal afraid to be set free.
Her eyes sink closed, just briefly, before opening them again and opening her hand up to his. Her arm is propped against the armrest of the chair, and he beams when he realizes she's giving silent permission to him to hold it, to ground himself to her in this way.
His eyes are brimming with tears as they trail down to their hands, his eyes fixated on her wedding ring. His thumb rubs over it reverently, almost as if he's not convinced it's truly there.
"I never took it off."
His lips purse, and she knows he's trying to hold back another sob, but he nods instead, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile.
"Claire," he begins, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "I dinna ken how much I'm allowed to tell ye, alright? But I'll do my best."
Confused, her head tilts, but she nods. What is happening?
"We promised no lies, remember?" she asks, thinking back to almost two decades ago, when they were just young adults falling in love and figuring out what that truly meant. They'd promised each other that they could each have secrets, but no lies, and in the twelve years they were together before his death, they'd each held up their end of the deal, so she has to trust that whatever he's about to tell her will be the truth… no matter how much it may hurt her.
He nods at her question, looking back down to her wedding ring. She notices his is still firmly in place on his left hand as well, and she can't fight the smile that brings to her face.
Clutching her hand gently, his fingers pulse around hers before his gaze finds her again.
With a deep, heavy breath, Jamie tells her about going out to get the ice cream she was craving, and once again she's hit with a wave of remorse. All of this is her own fault. If she hadn't begged him for that stupid frozen treat, none of this would have ever happened.
It's a fact that she's berated herself with for so long, one that she's worked hard to stop convincing herself of. But the truth of the matter is, no matter what anyone else says, it was her fault. He never would've been at that convenience store otherwise.
"There was a scuffle outside the store," he explains, shaking his head. He recounts that fateful night, saying that he was just trying to leave and get home to her and Faith.
His tears cannot be contained anymore at the mention of their eldest daughter, and he reaches up to wipe the tears away. Her heart aches watching him suffer like this, and she longs to reach out and touch him.
Speaking around the lump she can hear in his throat, he goes on, telling her how he was just, "in the wrong place at the wrong time, ye ken?"
There were two groups of men, gangs he now knows they were, and they had guns drawn on one another in the middle of the street. "I heard them talking about a shipment of weapons that was coming in, saw a man shoot another across the way, and then everyone started fighting."
Jamie clears his throat, his eyes scrunching shut. It's obvious he hasn't gone over these details in a while, that night haunting his vision, and she squeezes his hand, realizing where this story is going.
It wasn't his fault.
He tried to turn the corner, to slink away without being detected, but luck was not on his side. "One of the men saw me," he says, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, "an' he pulled his gun on me. Shot me in the shoulder."
She gasps at that, pulling her chair closer to his. He says he remembers falling to the ground, screaming out in pain as he clutched his wound, and then there was another shot to his leg. "That one hurt even worse, I think," he admits, looking at her sheepishly as if he's ashamed of not being able to bear the pain of a gunshot wound. She would never think less of him for that, ever, and she hopes he knows that. She does all she can do in this moment, letting him garner comfort from their joined hands, squeezing his palm to let him know she's there for him. "I didna ken which bullet wound was worse, so I switched to holding my leg as I tried to crawl away." His tears fall, and he sniffles, adding, "I just wanted to get home."
His voice breaks at the admission, and she can no longer hold back her emotions. She lets out a shuddering breath, crying along with him for the accident.
"I wasna fast enough, I'spose," he drawls, his voice coming out in a whimper, clearly trying to reign in his tears.
He continues his account of that night, telling her how one of the men caught up to him before he could make it into the shadows of the alley way. "They dragged me through the streets," he says, his free hand reaching to rub at his neck self consciously.
Jamie is a large man, so she can only imagine the strength of these men. She knows that even with two gunshot wounds, he would've fought for his life. Would've fought to get back to his family.
"It was that road we always joked would blow our tires out, remember?"
She does. That road was always so bumpy and torn up from years of neglect from the city. She used to make Jamie drive over it at the end of her pregnancies, willing labor to start.
Nodding, she whispers that she does, and he tells her he was there. That was the road they dragged him down. She knows that, had been told by the police where her husband lost his life. She's driven down that road countless times, crying silently as the girls chattered on in the backseat, none the wiser to what that spot held for their family, but hearing it from him for some reason feels like a punch to her gut all over again. "Felt like miles," he declares, "though I'm not sure how far they actually took me. I passed out, ye ken?"
He's not sure of all the details after that, just recalls waking up three days later in a small hospital hours away from their home.
Turns out, it was two rivaling gangs, arguing over an arms deal. One of the men dragging him down the pavement ended up being an undercover cop, and he rescued him, taking him to safety and making sure he lived.
"I had to have surgery, they say, to stop all the bleeding, but my back is covered in scars now from the road."
She curses everything, all of this, knowing that if she'd been allowed to know of what happened, then she could have been at that hospital, cataloguing all of his injuries and helping him heal. She would have taken him in her arms, letting him cry through the pain, helping him to feel human once more.
Jamie smiles small, looking back up to her. He's been staring at the ground at her feet, almost ashamed, and she wishes more than anything she could take that shame away from him. He is not to blame here, and it breaks her heart that he somehow feels embarrassed over this whole thing. "I'm lucky, I guess, that Officer Grey was undercover." He squeezes her hand once more, disclosing, "He's the only reason I'm alive."
When he woke up in the hospital, Officer John Grey asked him what he remembered and took his statement.
Jamie says that John informed him he was now under the protection of the US Marshals. Turns out John wasn't just a police officer, but an agent for the federal government. They'd been trying to capture the mob boss, Master Raymond, for years. He'd been buying, selling and trading illegal weapons internationally, and was slippery enough to weasel his way out anytime the feds got close to catching him. Jamie was unfortunately caught up in it now and would need to testify once it was safe.
"So they put me in witness protection, ye see, moved me to North Carolina to a safe house."
"What about my wife? My child?" he demanded, angrily. "My wife is just weeks away from giving birth, damn it!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fraser," Officer Grey said, genuinely sounding apologetic, "there is no other choice."
John Grey told him of Master Raymond's weapons dealing, and how they'd been trying to catch him for some time. "I've been undercover for almost two years trying to set up a bust."
He apologized again, saying he had a husband and child, too, so he understood how hard this was.
"So Claire just… thinks I'm… dead?" He shook his head, enraged. "That's all ye could tell her!?"
John nodded again sadly, spewing another meaningless apology.
"I know it's not an ideal situation," John declared, clasping Jamie on the shoulder, "but this was the only way to keep you from being killed by Master Raymond."
Jamie sighed, taking it all in.
Officer Grey told him that he'd be put in protective custody for a few months here in Wilmington, North Carolina, while he and his team worked on the details of the case and tried to get a trial date set.
"So that's where I am, aye? North Carolina?"
That's hours away from his family in Georgia. He longed to see Claire, to tell her he was okay and not to worry. He wanted nothing more than to hold his girls in his arms.
Claire would be all alone. Sure, they had friends, and a handful of family members, but… it just didn't feel the same knowing she'd be without him. He and Claire had landed in Georgia a month after their wedding six years ago. A month before their wedding, Claire was offered a prestigious residency at Emory University Hospital, and it was too good to pass up. So, after their honeymoon, and with a heavy heart, they'd said goodbye to their family in Scotland and headed for America where he'd work for his Uncle Dougal at his distillery. He wasn't particularly close with his uncle, but it was a job, and that was what he needed.
Claire would have Geillis, he knew that. The woman had ended up marrying his Uncle, oddly enough, and Claire had been beyond thrilled when her friend joined them a while back.
She had Joe, and he knew Murtagh would never leave her side, especially not now. His godfather had moved to the states when Claire was pregnant with Faith, claiming he wanted to witness Jamie becoming a da and vowed to be there for them no matter what, just as he had been for Jamie his whole life. Knowing Murtagh would be there was somewhat of a comfort, but… Fuck, this was awful. His poor Sassenach.
His eyes teared up thinking of his wife, and Faith, and the pain they must be feeling. His heart broke at the knowledge that Claire was not allowed to know he was actually alive. She would have to live with the heartache of being a widow when really he was right here, just two states away, longing for her.
Claire's mind is swarming with thoughts and questions, trying to process all of this information. She wants to be present, wants to take all of it in and support him, but holy hell, this is like something from a movie.
She feels her chin tremble, and she realizes she's weeping far harder than she thought. She sniffles, blinking the tears away to see Jamie is crying just as much. Claire takes his other hand in hers, gripping it tightly as she fully realizes that he didn't choose to leave them.
Deep down, she thinks she's known that all day, but seeing your husband after grieving the loss of him for years, makes you conjure up a whole slew of situations to contemplate.
"By time I woke up in the hospital, they'd already told you I was… dead." He chokes on the last word, bringing one of her hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles and breathing in her scent. "I'm so sorry, mo ghraidh."
Sniffling back the tears, she nods. "I'm just glad you're alive," she whispers, trying to contain her tears. "We have to tell Jenny!"
"No, Sassenach," he says sternly, shaking his head. "We canna do that. No one can know I'm alive. It's already dangerous enough with you knowing."
Closing her eyes, she breathes out slowly, cheeks ballooning out. She knows Jenny will want to hear all about their vacation when it's over, she's already been texting her and asking for pictures of the girls, but hearing her voice will kill Claire. She'll have to avoid calling her sister-in-law, simply in fear that she'll break down in tears and spill the biggest secret of her life.
Her heart is aching, and she feels so conflicted over Jamie's story. She's worked so damn hard over the last few years to grieve, heal, and learn to live life again. She has Frank back home, a man that loves her, and...
Shit. Frank. She feels bad, guilt gnawing at her stomach like hunger pains. She hadn't even thought of him until just now, but she knows she needs to tell Jamie the truth.
"Jamie…" she starts, trailing off again. The look in his eye pains her, those crystal blue eyes staring into the depths of her soul. "I need to tell you something." He studies her face, and bloody Christ, why is this all so hard? She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for what she needs to confess. "I… I have a… a boyfriend." She grimaces at the word, worried how he will react. There was probably a better way to deliver this news, but, oh well, it's out now and there's no taking it back.
She watches as his face falls, crumbles into anger. He drops her hands, standing up abruptly. His hands fly into his hair, tugging at it in obvious anger. She can see the veins protruding in his neck, and she knows from experience that he's about to explode.
Claire wants to feel lousy, but damn it all, he was dead. She had every right to move on, and it's not fair that he gets to be angry but she doesn't.
"A boyfriend," he scoffs, whirling back around to glare at her.
She stands, refusing to be the meek and obedient type who sits by and gets berated. "Yes," she declares heatedly through clenched teeth, trying not to let her voice get too loud with the girls in the next room. "You were dead, Jamie. You left me, what other choice did I have?"
"Left you?" he seethes, stepping closer to her.
And isn't that just so typical of him, trying to intimidate her with his large frame? They'd had their heated moments in the past, this is nothing new to her, though she can't shake the feeling of wanting to smile at how familiar this all feels.
"I didna leave you, Claire," he growls, his eyes growing wide, "I was taken and put into witness protection."
"Yes, I heard you the first time you told me," she spits back. She reminds him that in her world, he was dead, gone and buried. "Was I supposed to stay home and be depressed for the rest of my life? No! I needed to live life again, Jamie."
"Aye, and ye did," he says, his teeth clenched. "Ye healed with yer legs spread for another man!"
The slap to his face was unexpected, but he was just so close, and his words provoked her, enraging her with the accusation. She doesn't care if he's back from the dead, he has no right to speak to her like this.
Thoughts of Frank flash through her mind. They may have been together for seven months, but she hasn't slept with him. It was too much the times they tried to be more intimate—more than just hands roaming beneath belt lines and heated kisses—but she'd always clam up, thoughts of Jamie clouding her mind and making her feel guilty.
Frank had understood, had been so comforting in those moments saying that it was okay, and that they could take all the time in the world. He was there for her, no matter how long it would take her to be ready for sex. He was always so patient and understanding, and she appreciated it more than she could put into words.
She won't tell Jamie that, though, not right now anyway. His words have pissed her off even more; he doesn't deserve the satisfaction of knowing she hasn't slept with anyone since him.
"I would have waited centuries for ye, Claire!" he states, his voice growing louder. "Ye could ha' done the same!"
She scoffs, shaking her head. "Waited!? What was I waiting for Jamie? You were dead."
Her hand lifts again with that, but Jamie grabs her wrist before she can slap him once more, growling for her not to touch him.
"Oh, well, I'm used to that!" she cries, the tears springing to her eyes. "I haven't been able to touch you in six goddamn years because I thought you were buried six feet under the ground!"
He drops her wrist then, tears spilling from his eyes. He takes a few shaky steps away from her, his face a mix of confusion and regret as he sinks to his knees in the middle of the room, covering his face with both hands. "Hearing ye moved on breaks my heart," he croaks, crying, "It's tearing my guts out, Claire, but… I ken ye had a life wi' out me." He looks up to her then, "It would be unfair of me to stay angry over that."
Her shoulders slump, furrowed brow and clenched jaw all relaxing as she kneels beside him, her hand resting on his back. She can feel the scars beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and that knowledge, the feel of his fight to stay alive, jars her.
She sobs into his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of her neck.
They stay like that, arms winding around one another as they cry together. Weeping for all the years lost, for the fact that he missed so much of his children's life, crying over their harsh words spoken in the heat of the moment when they should really be celebrating that by some sheer miracle they've found one another again.
The emotions overwhelm her, and she fears her wracking sobs will draw the girls' attention to them, but she can't help it. She may have been overjoyed but also angry earlier, but now there's nothing but relief.
Jamie is here. Alive. And the sensation washes over her like a shower pouring over her skin after a long, grimmy surgery.
The tears continue to flow as they pull apart, just far enough to see one another, to take the other in once more after all this time. She and Jamie reach up simultaneously, wiping away each other's tears.
"I'm sorry, Jamie," she cries. And she is, for slapping him, for being angry when she should've been listening to him, for moving on when he was actually alive… "Forgive me," she begs on a shaky exhale.
He takes her face in his palm once more, thumb brushing against her skin gingerly. "Forgiven," he breathes, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry, too. I dinna mean the things I said, I was sore and said more than I meant." He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, cupping her jaw as he inquires, "Ye forgive me, too?"
She bites her lip to stop it from trembling and nods. Their foreheads are still pressed together, her eyes almost crossing when she opens her eyes to look at him. Her hand is resting on his cheek, but she moves it enough that her thumb can rub against his chin as she declares, "Forgiven," as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. She says it without thought, without hesitation, knowing there was nothing in this world he could do that she would not forgive him for.
Jamie's thoughts must mirror her own, because he tells her that she needn't ask for forgiveness. "There's nothing ye've ever done or could do that I wouldna forgive ye for, mo chridhe. I love ye too much for that."
He takes her hands in his, gently this time, tugging her up to stand with him. He kisses her wrist where his hand had been holding it moments ago. He hadn't held them tightly, nowhere near being painful, but she can see the guilt in his eyes.
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and Jamie concedes, "I ken ye thought I was dead, mo ghraidh, and I canna fault ye for trying to move on." He pulls her closer, rocking their bodies back and forth. "It's been six years, 'tis good of you to try an' be happy again."
His words flood her with relief, never truly realizing how much weight she'd been carrying on her shoulders as a widow trying to move on.
They pull apart, both wiping at their eyes. Jamie motions back to the chairs they'd vacated, and she nods.
He stands, reaching his hand down to her. She takes it, and he pulls her up, smiling over at her. She smiles back, a bit nervous, and as he makes his way over to the chairs, she cracks the door open, peeking in on the girls to make sure they were okay. She's afraid their argument, no matter how brief it was, may have gotten louder than she thought.
Much to her relief, both girls are on the couch, Faith's little arms wrapped around Bree's as they watch The Little Mermaid, their favorite thanks to Ariel's red hair.
Smiling, she turns back around, heading for Jamie.
"They okay?" he asks softly, and she grins.
Nodding, she assures him they are safely absorbed in the world of Atlantica and none the wiser to what is happening in here.
"So," he starts, clearing his throat. "Tell me… about this boyfriend."
Biting her lip, she keeps it brief. "His name is Frank… Frank Randall." She tells him they met at Geillis' yoga studio, and Jamie chuckles at the knowledge their friend finally opened her own studio.
Claire tells him that Frank is a professor. He's kind and is great with the girls, but when she sees the uneasy look on Jamie's face, quickly ends with, "We've been dating for about seven, almost eight months, but I've known him for years."
He nods, obviously trying his best not to get upset. He changes the subject soon after, asking about the girls instead.
This is a much safer topic, and she sighs a breath of relief.
Claire beams, pulling out her phone and opening her camera roll. She taps the top of the screen, sending it to the very top. The first few are pictures from when he was alive. She'd gotten a new phone just days before they found out she was pregnant with Brianna, so her entire pregnancy is documented.
"These you remember," she giggles, showing him pictures of him laying his head on her belly and trying to take a selfie.
He laughs, scrolling down the page some more.
She stops the scrolling, showing him pictures that Joe had taken of her, Faith and newborn Bree in the hospital. "Joe was there for the birth," she explains, "and Murtagh, of course," and Jamie beams, saying he's glad.
"No' another pair of men in the world I'd rather be there with you than those two."
She smiles right back, showing him some more photos of the girls. There's one she loves, it's of Faith holding Brianna for the first time, and her little pudgy face beaming into the camera.
Then there's Joe and Geillis smiling over the newest addition. She shows him a handful of pictures with Murtagh, Jamie laughing as he says his godfather has aged.
"I'll be sure to tell him that," she laughs, then stops, realizing she won't be able to. No one can know he's alive. Her face falls, but she clears her throat, flipping to the next photo. "Murtagh loves the girls, of course," she smiles, saying he's been their rock all these years.
Jamie nods proudly, saying he expected nothing less. "And Jocasta?"
She chuckles, knowing they always poked fun at Murtagh for moving to Georgia "for them" but really she and Jamie knew it was because he wanted to be closer to Jamie's long lost aunt, Jocasta, that they'd only discovered lived in Georgia months after moving there when Dougal let it slip oh so casually that his sister lived nearby, shocking them all.
"They're married," she tells him, scrolling to a picture of their wedding. "Finally made it official three years ago."
He smiles widely, bringing the phone closer to his face to inspect the picture. "Good for him!"
They spend a few minutes discussing his godfather, but before long, the conversation goes back to their girls when Claire shows him another picture of Brianna, this one of her and Faith in the kiddie pool in their backyard.
Their swollen bellies are poking out of their polka dot bikinis, and Jamie snorts, shaking his head.
"Adorable," he chuckles wetly, his eyes brimming with tears. "Tell me about her. What was her first word?"
"Dog," Claire laughs. "She loves dogs… and horses. And really anything to do with the outdoors." She smirks over to Jamie, knowing he was always the animal lover out of the two of them. "She started Girl Scouts this year."
"Yeah?"
She nods, opening up her Instagram to show him a picture of Bree in her little brownie uniform from a few months ago.
He smiles at it, then switches back to her camera roll, wanting to see more of her as a baby. She knows it's because he wants to see every little thing that he missed, and she loves him for it.
"What about after dog? What did she say?"
"No."
He snickers, stating, "Aye, they always seem to learn that one fast."
She chuckles, too, remembering Faith's first word was Da and then very quickly after that was No.
"Stubborn wee things, the both of 'em."
They laugh and agree that their genes were bound to create hard headed, independent little girls.
They spend the next twenty minutes or so going through pictures, laughing and crying as Claire shares as much history of the girls' lives as she possibly can.
One picture is of Faith in the background clapping as Bree takes her first steps. "Oh, I have a video of this!" Claire exclaims, swiping through to find it.
Pressing play, she hands Jamie the phone, observing him as he watches their youngest take her first steps, gurgling wildly as she walks toward Claire.
"I remember when Faith learned to walk," he says, wiping away his lone tear.
"Claire! Claire, look!" he shouted, gesturing madly toward little Faith. "I think she's going tae walk!"
Claire rushed in from the living room, joining her husband and daughter in the kitchen. He'd been fixing the broken table leg, Faith playing dutifully with a pile of toys next to him.
They watched as Faith stood on wobbly legs, bouncing where she was and grinning up at her parents.
"Ye can do it, a leannan," he encouraged, taking out his phone. He opened the camera, pressing record as he took a few steps back. "Come to Da, come on, sweet girl!"
Faith's chubby hands reached out for him, her head turning to look at Claire.
Claire smiled, biting down on her lip as she gestured her head toward Jamie. "Go to Da, baby, you can do it!"
She stood behind her, ready to catch her if she fell, and Faith took a tentative step toward Jamie. Once her little leg made contact with the floor in its new location, she started making babbling noises, lifting her other leg and moving it forward. "Da!" she gurgled, arms reaching for him.
He kept motioning with one hand for her to come to him, stretching his hand out for her to grab, while his other held tightly to the camera.
She finally made it the four steps it took to get to him, Jamie scooping her up and peppering her chunky cheeks with kisses as she squealed in delight. "That's my girl!"
Claire joined them on the other side of the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Faith's little foot before connecting with Jamie's.
The rest of the afternoon was spent placing Faith down, encouraging her to walk a few steps, and every time being just as excited as the last.
"I canna tell ye how many times I've watched that video, Claire." He tells her that even though John had the police give his phone to Claire, he'd had his photos and videos transferred to another so Jamie had at least a small part of his life to look back at. "It's probably against the rules," he snickers, "but John is no' one to stick to 'em."
Smiling, she wipes furiously at her cheeks, thinking of Jamie being tucked away, alone, in North Carolina, watching videos of their life together.
She knows that's how he must've spent most of his time, because it's exactly how she spent hers. She realizes that just because he didn't die, doesn't mean he didn't have a life to grieve as well.
With that thought, she plasters on a smile, showing him more pictures and videos of the girls over the last six years and recounting all the joyous occasions in their daughters' lives.
"I canna believe I've missed so much," he mumbles, jaw clenching as he swipes through more pictures of them. His finger traces along the lines of Brianna's face in one picture, saying how much she looks like Claire.
"I've always thought she looked like you," she chuckles, "especially now that your hair is cut short; the curls are gone." She pouts a bit at that, always loving his curls, but knows he had to change his appearance to stay safe.
He snorts, saying she's a good mix, whereas Faith is mostly him with those blue eyes and strong jaw.
"They've both got the Fraser cat eyes," she giggles, showing him another picture of the girls from last Christmas. They're sitting in Santa's lap, grinning madly, none the wiser that the grumpy Santa is really their Uncle Murtagh in disguise.
Jamie's laughter erupts from him, his stomach shaking with the force of it as he looks at his godfather scowling behind the excited little girls' heads. "Please tell me ye have this one framed."
She laughs, swatting at his arm.
He goes to speak again, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open, Brianna bounding inside. She hops onto Claire's lap, head almost knocking Claire in the chin as she declares, "We're getting hungry. Can we eat now?"
Laughing softly, Claire kisses the top of her head and wraps her arms around her belly. "Alright then," she says, "let's order something."
Bree hops off her lap, running into the living room with a yayyyy as she tells her sister their plans.
Claire smiles over to Jamie, and they both stand, making their way into the other room.
{************************}
An hour later, their food has been delivered from the hotel's kitchen. They'd decided that ordering in would be better so they could talk freely. Claire isn't sure how safe it is for him to be out in public, hadn't thought to ask, but she'd rather be safe than sorry.
"Why are you in Spain?" she whispers, taking a bite of her pasta.
The girls are sitting around the coffee table, happily dazed out as they eat and watch another movie, so Claire feels okay asking him.
He smirks, saying that he wanted to get away. "John's husband, Hector, is from here. Well, his family is anyway," he tells her, taking a sip of his water. "When they told me they were coming to visit his relatives and let their daughter, Sophia, meet them, I kind of… weel, invited myself along."
She laughs and blushes a bit, but she takes his hand, saying she's glad he ended up coming.
"Aye," he chuckles, saying once he heard they were going, he just had to tag along, seeing as Spain was always their dream destination.
"I guess Spain was calling us to it," she quips, sipping on her water.
Once the movie ends, Claire asks the girls to listen up. They each turn their attention to their parents, Bree nestling into Claire's lap while Faith sits in the chair next to Jamie's.
She and Jamie try to explain as best they can what has happened, how and why daddy is back from the dead.
Jamie tells them that a bad guy hurt him, and since he's not in jail yet, Daddy has to hide.
"Is that why your hair is brown now?" Faith asks, her little button nose scrunching up with a giggle.
He snickers, tapping her on the nose. "Aye, 'tis. D'ye like it this color?"
Faith pretends to think, a dramatic mmmm coming from her.
"I like it!" Bree says, telling him it's the same color as Mama's.
"You've never seen his real hair, though!" Faith laughs, and Bree crosses her arms, declaring with a pout that she's seen pictures.
"I've seen the same pictures as you," she tells her older sister, sticking her tongue out.
Shaking her head, Claire lightly admonishes, "Girls, no need to argue," but she can't help the warm feeling inside her chest as her girls argue over who has seen their daddy the most.
They explain to the girls that since Daddy is still in hiding, no one can know he's alive, not even Uncle Joe, Aunt Geillis and Uncle Dougal, or Uncle Murtagh and Jocasta.
"Woah," Faith breathes, but eventually nods. She equates it to some kid-spy movie that Claire isn't sure she's even seen, but their eldest seems to understand the situation to some degree, while Claire thinks Bree is just nodding when Faith does, not quite grasping the situation.
Claire can barely wrap her mind around what is happening, so she knows this is confusing for their children.
Once they've explained all they can, as best they can, Claire declares they can watch one more movie. The girls bound over to the couch with whoops of excitement. They watch one more all together, Bree cuddles in Jamie's lap, waving her messy-haired Barbie in his face, causing him to laugh as she rambles on, telling him all about the doll and why she's her favorite.
Faith sits between them, her head in Claire's lap, her feet pressed against the side of Jamie's thigh. She throws her two cents in about the movie every now and then, but as Claire twists Faith's curls with her fingers, she can feel her breath evening out and knows she's growing tired.
When the movie ends, both girls are asleep, Bree snoring softly in the crook of Jamie's neck, while Faith tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable in between her parents.
Claire turns the television off, thankful they'd left the light above the sink in the kitchen on so they could see.
She stands, picking up Faith with a practised ease. She whispers, asking Jamie if he has Bree or if she needs to come back for her, and he shakes his head, promising he can do it.
He stands, his big arms holding onto her protectively, and the sight warms her heart.
They pad gently into the girls' room, the moonlight from the window providing enough illumination to help them see. Both girls had changed into pajamas hours before, thankfully, making this process much easier.
Claire lays Faith down in the twin bed closest to the window, pulling the blanket up over her. When she finishes, she watches as Jamie does the same with Bree, bending down to press a feather light kiss to her temple.
Just when she thought she'd cried all the tears possible in her body, her body revolts, bringing a fresh set of tears to her eyes.
Blinking them back away, she kisses Faith's head, stepping over to Bree's to do the same as Jamie places one to Faith's temple, too.
Once they leave the room, Jamie closing the door softly behind him, they make their way over to the couch again.
Claire removes the Barbies stuck in the cushions, Jamie breathing out a laugh through his nose. "Barbies galore, I see."
"You have no idea," she giggles, tossing the last one onto the coffee table before plopping down onto the couch.
She can see that her you have no idea cut deep, the look on his face one of a wounded animal, and she apologizes quickly.
He waves her off, though, promising her it's alright.
"So," she says, slapping her leg, trying her best to change the subject. "I know you're on vacation now, but... are you safe here? I noticed earlier you kept looking around when we were in the courtyard."
Nodding, he explains that it's just a force of habit these days. He's spent the last few years looking over his shoulder anytime he went outside, and even though there's absolutely no way Master Raymond or any of his gang members could find him here, he never wants to let his guard down.
She can understand that and tells him so. "What about North Carolina, though? Are you safe there?"
Smiling, he informs her that he's been well protected there, John and his team still putting the case all together but working around the clock to make sure he's safe. "They don't want to miss a single detail so that all this work isn't in vain."
She asks him about John, noting he'd mentioned him several times, and Jamie says that he and Hector have become his best friends. "He truly saved me, Sassenach."
Her heart lurches at the nickname, eyes misting over at the sound of it rolling off his tongue. It's a name he'd brandished her with just days into meeting, claiming she was the only outlander he'd met at school, and therefore was his sassenach. He hadn't said it yet today, and she has to speak around the lump in her throat when she answers with, "I'm glad you have him."
"Aye," he smiles, recounting what it was like moving to Wilmington. John gave him a new identity, setting him up with a fake ID and all the proper paperwork he'd ever need to prove that he was, in fact, Alexander Malcolm.
She smiles at the name, knowing he got it from two of his middle names.
James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.
She'd made fun of him back in college when she'd learned his full name, saying it was a mouthful, but when he explained all the family meaning behind it, she conceded that it was a beautiful name.
"It's a good name."
He smirks, "Aye, 'tis."
Jamie goes on, telling her that John and Hector came to Spain before the trial begins in a few months, knowing they wouldn't have time to visit Hector's aunt and uncle for a while if they didn't go now. "I dinna want tae tell you in front of the bairns, ye ken, but John's team has finally gotten a date set for trial in June and they're working 'round the clock to get all their ducks in a row so they can put Master Raymond away for good."
Until the trial begins, he'll continue his life in North Carolina. "Hector owns a farm near my house," he says, smiling brightly as he tells her he works there, grooming the horses.
"You love working with horses."
He smiles again, saying, "Ye askin' or purely making an observation?"
"An observation," she grins, biting her lips. "And the distillery?" She knows he took the job with his Uncle Dougal simply because he needed a job in Atlanta once she took her position at Emory. It was easy, seeing as Dougal owned the company, and he was able to get Murtagh a job, too, but she always feared he was never truly happy with his work.
"Och," he grunts, "Canna say I loved it. I was good at it, but," he sighs, "working wi' the wee beasties on the farm just gives me more of a sense of purpose, ye ken?"
She nods, but before she can say anything, he adds that it's peaceful, and he loves it, "but sometimes it gives me too much time to think."
He admits to spending his days imagining her and the bairns. "I've wondered for sae long what Brianna looked like, or even what her name was." He runs a hand through his hair, taking a sip from his glass of water he'd left on the coffee table earlier. "I ken we'd been going back and forth between Brianna and Julia, but I thank ye for honoring my da like that, Claire."
She tears up at his words, knowing in her mind, there was never a question to it. Brian had been such an important part of their lives, and naming a child after him just made sense.
"Oh, and I have a roommate," he chuckles.
Her eyebrows scrunch, trying to imagine a thirty-six year old man with a roommate. "Oh, really?"
Jamie smirks, saying their house is big enough that it wasn't hard to get used to. "His name's Fergus," he explains, "though I ken that's not really his name. Poor lad got stuck with that as an alias."
She snickers, shaking her head at him. He seems happy talking about his new life, and though there's a twinge of something in her stomach that makes her think maybe he prefers his new life, she's glad that he hasn't been miserable all these years.
Jamie goes on, explaining that Fergus was brought to the house a year ago, which took Jamie some getting used to. "Our work hours are pretty different, though, so we rarely see one another, but he's a great guy. Almost feel like he's a long lost son of mine or something."
Fergus is twenty-four, and Claire can't imagine being that young and being put in witness protection.
"Does he have a family?"
Jamie shakes his head, informing her that they're not allowed to discuss their real lives. "It's part of the protection, ken?" he asks. "But I can tell he probably has a wife and a bairn or two based on the way his face changes when little kids are brought up in conversation or we see something on television."
Claire nods, not able to imagine how hard that must be on them. "I'm sorry, Jamie," she murmurs, a lump forming in her throat, and she curses herself for the tears forming in her eyes again.
He shakes his head, taking her hand in his, and promising her that she has nothing to be sorry for.
"It's all my fault, though," she cries, once again telling him that if he hadn't gone to get her that damn ice cream, none of this would have ever happened. "It should've been me, I—"
"—No, Sassenach," he says with so much passion, she would've fallen to her knees if they weren't sitting. "'Tis better this way. I can bear pain myself, and loneliness, but I couldna bear thinking ye had perished." He shakes his head at the though, gathering himself before he says, "That would take more strength than I have, and our girls needed ye."
She rubs her lips together, wondering if she'll ever stop crying. Wiping away the tears, she nods, knowing she'll never win this disagreement, they're both far too selfless when it comes to the other, so she lets it go.
"Christ, I've missed ye so much," he says, sniffling back more tears.
She nods, knowing she's missed him just as much but unable to form the words to describe truly how much. She can't decide who had it worse—Jamie, knowing they were all alive but couldn't contact them, or her, thinking her soulmate had passed away.
"We both got royally screwed over in this situation," she says dryly.
He agrees with a snort, saying he regrets going out that night, has beaten himself up over it for years because he'd been at the grocery store the day before. "If I'd just grabbed that damn ice cream then… I kent ye'd be wanting it at some point soon, I should ha' just grabbed it then." He blinks back more tears, telling her that he's played that day over and over again in his mind. "If only I hadn't been a wee daftie, we would never have been in this situation. I could've been wi' ye through Brianna's birth, could've helped raise our girls." He chokes on his words then, emotion taking over. "I'm so, so sorry, Claire."
She wraps him in her arms, crying and saying again how sorry she is, too.
"I'd like to sit here and play the blame game," he says, "but truly, after all these years, I ken it was Master Raymond's fault and no one elses."
She dabs at her eyes, agreeing that there's no sense in blaming themselves any longer. It's happened now, and all they can do is move forward.
"Jamie," she says, reaching over to take his hand. Their fingers intertwine, resting on the cushion between them, "what do we do now when we go back to America?"
He sighs, saying he'll have to talk to John. He'd text him earlier, saying he would be back at their hotel later, which resulted in a string of texts from John asking for details, and several missed calls that Jamie had ignored. He tells her that he'd text John to say he'd found her and the girls, and John was giving them tonight to talk before he intervened, followed by several texts to be on the lookout, be safe, and to check in every hour even if it was just with a thumbs up emoji.
"So that's what you've been doing," she giggles.
He laughs, saying John is quite protective, for good reason. "But as far as America goes," he says, pausing to think. "Mebbe now that ye ken I'm alive, ye and the girls can move to North Carolina…" he looks timid, shrugging as he admits, "I hate to ask ye to uproot yer lives like that, but…"
"N-no," she says, stumbling over her words as the thought hits her for the first time. "No, that makes sense, I suppose. You're still under the government's protection, so…"
Thoughts of Frank fill her mind, of how she'll tell him. She's conflicted… Frank has been so good to her, she can't just disappear on him, but can't think of what she'd say. He's helped her through her grief and supported her. She can't just leave him… can she?
She thinks of her job, the hospital she loves so much. She thinks of Joe, Geillis, and Murtagh, how they'll be devastated for her to move states away with no explanation… she can just imagine Murtagh now grunting his dissatisfaction at her and asking never ending questions as to what brought the decision on. He'd probably blame Frank somehow, Murtagh has never liked him.
Her life is rooted in Atlanta, though, so are the girls'. They have their school, their friends, their home. Faith has her ballet class and piano lessons, Brianna has Girl Scouts and horseback riding... It would be a lot, but this is Jamie. Her husband.
She bites her lip, unsure of what to do or say.
"What will I tell everyone?"
Jamie bites down on his lip in much the same manner, clearly just as unsure as she is.
He says he can ask John tonight, and she nods.
After an awkward beat of silence, he stands, clearing his throat. "I should be heading back to our hotel," he states, "John will worry if I don't make it back before ten."
Nodding, she stands, smoothing down her shirt. She tucks her hands in her back pockets, rocking on her heels.
The thought of letting him go right now, of sending him away, pains her, but she also wants to be alone to scream and cry in the shower where no one can hear her.
"I don't want you to leave," she whispers, images of the last night she ever saw him coming to the forefront of her mind. Her fear grips her, terrified that if she lets him go right now, she'll never see him again. She could wake up tomorrow and realize this was all just a terribly wonderful dream. He smiles at her, though, leaning in. Her breath catches in her throat as she thinks he's going to kiss her, images of Frank coming to the forefront of her mind.
His lips instead land chastely on her cheek, and when he pulls back, he smiles sadly down at her. "I dinna want tae either, Sassenach, but I ken ye need some time to think about all of this."
Smiling, she goes to apologize, but he holds up a hand, saying, "Dinna fash," before he grabs his phone from the table.
Tucking it in his back pocket, he takes her hand, leading them to the door. He says John has already ordered a car to come pick him up and it's waiting downstairs, so she sighs, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He breathes into her skin, causing goosebumps to flare as she holds back tears.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asks, knowing she sounds like a child, but praying he says yes.
"Aye, of course," he whispers, kissing her cheek once more, his lips lingering there longer than moments before. "I love ye, Claire."
A lump forms in her throat as she feels as if her whole body begins to shake with emotion. "I love you too, Jamie," she states, and she does, no matter how much time has passed or how much of a boyfriend she may have, she does love Jamie. What that means for her, and him, and even Frank, she's not sure, but she'll figure that out.
As she closes the door behind him, her phone vibrates in her back pocket. Too mentally exhausted at the moment, she simply presses her head to the cool wood, wondering what in the hell just happened and what she was going to do.
She pulls out her phone as she steps away from the door, stopping dead in her tracks when she reads the message.
Miss you. Haven't heard from you all day, but I hope you and the girls had a wonderful time exploring. Can't wait until you three are back here with me.
Frank. Fuck.
She needs to tell him, and all her friends, something, but she knows it can't be the truth. As she checks on the girls, seeing that they're still soundly asleep—Bree sprawled out like a starfish, and Faith sleeping straight as a board, save for her one hand resting above her head—only one thought rages through her mind: This is going to be far more complicated than she thought.
{************************)
There we have it! The truth is out… now we have to heal from it and move through this messy situation! lol What did y'all think? :)
(And just a side note for anyone who knows about witness protection: I know that usually with WP, they take the person's family into protection too, but, ya know what? This is a fictional story, and I wanted to write *this* story LOL so… don't come for me hahah)