Happy 50th chapter errybody! Here's to 50 more!

Changeling

When you're a parent, everything changes.

I find this out first-hand the minute I open my eyes in the morning, for a pair of wide-awake, warm brown eyes are staring into mine, from barely ten centimeters away.

"I'm hungry, Madame Claire," says Fergus.

"Mmkph. . ." I grunt, trying to work some moisture back into a mouth very dry from a night's snoring, "Morin t' you to."

There is a grunt and a rustling movement on the bed beside me, and then Jamie's voice, also rough with sleep, says, "Mmgo down tae the kitchens, lad. Mmrs. Fitz will see tae ye. 'N when yer done, ask her tae send us up two trays – full spread - she'll ken what that means - an' a pot of tea. Ye c'n help out whoever brings it up too, if ye like, 'n sit wi' us while we eat - an' mebbe even have ye'er wee potatoes from last night, aye?" Jamie yawns hugely, "Now be off wi' ye."

Fergus grins, and scampers out of the room as quickly as his ribs will let him.

I yawn then, a stretch a little, and it is only then that I fully realize I am still lying on my stomach on Jamie's bed, wearing nothing but my trousers. I'm fully covered with a quilt, and there are at least fifty centimeters and who knows how many blankets between us, but I still start to blush. What must Jamie think? What am I thinking? What will everyone else think?

What does Fergus think?

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, what if Fergus tells everyone?

I blink furiously and get a grip on myself. This is 2078, not 1878, and I'm just in bed with my boyfriend. I'm hardly dry-humping a total stranger in the middle of Central Market. No big deal, Beauchamp, calm down.

I twist around and pull myself upright, folding the quilt securely around me. I grunt at the many twinges from my sleep-stiffened shoulders.

"Sorry about the unplanned wake-up call, Jamie," I say, "I'll take him down to the school rooms today – sign him up, get him settled into a steady routine."

"No problem Sassenach – I'm no' annoyed," Jamie says, rolling out of bed and stretching until several of his joints pop, "And ye cannae do that stuff today anyway – it's Saturday."

"Oh. Right." I slouch a little, "I forgot."

He goes over to a chest of drawers and starts pulling out clothes, "Dinnae fash, mo nighean. I'll give ye both a tour of the stables this morning – that's just about the only place ye haven't been over yet, isn't it?"

I nod, "Mm. There and the sheepfolds. But Lily is good about communicating what she needs, and Geordie and Willie keep me up to date with Murtagh – so I haven't needed to visit either place so far – well, at least not nearly as much as I've been needed out in the fields, or in the Manager's barn."

"Aye. But I haven't met a lad yet who didnae love a stable full of horses. It'll keep him occupied – until lunchtime, at least – and it'll give you a chance to meet some of the animals – an' some of the men ye haven't met yet too."

He tosses me a long-sleeved t-shirt, an enormous woolen pullover, and a still-in-the-package pair of boxer-style underwear. Everything looks too big for me, but not so badly that it'll fall off. . . I hope. . .

"I'm goin' tae go get dressed in the bathroom, are ye set tae sort yerself out in heer?"

I nod, "I think so. Thanks."

He grins, comes around the bed, and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, "I'd use this opportunity to prove that I'm a True Scotsman, Sassenach, but, y'see, I'm no' in your bed this mornin', you are in mine." His grin turns mischievous, and he leans down and scrapes his morning stubble across the sensitive underside of my chin. I gasp, chicken flesh rising all over my body, and I roughly but playfully shove him away from me.

"None of that now," I say, my skin still shivering in a most exciting manner, "There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing later."

He pouts, but only briefly, "Ye'ev no idea how good it was tae wake up in the middle the night an' hear ye snoring, mo nighean."

I lift my chin, with flagrant Central Township hauteur, "I, do not snore!"

He knows I'm only playing, and so he smirks at me, amused and unimpressed, "Aye – ye doo – but dinnae fash – et's adorable."

Then he winks, and retreats to the bathroom, whistling as he goes.

I harrumph a little bit, but only in fun, and roll out of bed to get dressed before Fergus returns with our food.

Our breakfast is substantial and cheerful, but not at all chatty, and we are on our way into the stables, Fergus running some way ahead of us, before Jamie says anything of importance to me again.

"I've been wanting tae show ye Donas ever since he arrived twa weeks ago." He points past the first few large wooden stalls to one that's even bigger, and appears to be crowded with animals. Central among them is positively the largest living creature I've ever imagined, let alone seen – an absolute cargo-ship of a horse, all over deep almond-brown, with an ocean of a black mane, a wide white stripe up his nose, and four white legs, like socks up to his knees. "Grand beast, isn't he?"

I nod, half-mesmerized by this wall of an animal, instinctively stepping back to keep myself well away from the wide-open doors of the huge stall. He swings his demolition-crane of a neck around, and stares at me from one malevolently shining, fist-sized eye. I take another step back, running up against the opposite stall's doors – which are closed, thankfully.

"Y-yes, grand. Oh yes," I stammer, "Certainly."

Jamie chuckles darkly, "Ye'ev good instincts, Sassenach. The wee lad is a bit skittish still, but he's getting tae trust me."

"Wee? Skittish?" I say incredulously, still staring at the most menacing set of nostrils I've ever encountered, "That's downplaying it a bit, isn't it? He looks like he'd have someone's arm off as soon as look at them."

"Nah," Jamie grins, "Clydesdale crosses like him just need tae be reassured a bit before they feel safe, is all," he clicks his tongue, "C'mere Clarence."

A slim, silvery brownish-grey creature, with long ears and a straight back, slowly plods out of the stall, and buries its nose affectionately in Jamie's outstretched palm. He digs his other hand into his pocket and pulls out an apple, offering it to the animal. "Y'see? Clarence here kens what's up – tho mules usually do, I have tae say." He scratches Clarence vigorously between the ears, and nudges him away, "Be off, wi' ye, now, an' let me give Penny his treat."

Clarence slowly retreats, and from around the far side of Donas there comes the widest, fattest little pony I think is physically possible. He practically bobs as he trots, and I can't help but chuckle at him, he's so incredibly impish. He even swishes his tail in a sort of coquettish greeting. He's a plain pale brown all over, but a large white spot on his forehead gives his face a charming, playful aspect totally lacking in Donas's steely expression.

Jamie gives Penny an apple as well, then crouches down, and holds out two small carrots, "Jib, Nod?" he calls, and two thin, reedy cries are followed by a pair brindled brown and white goats. They crunch the carrots and nibble the still-attached greens, and then also go back into the stall.

I think all the treat-giving is over now, but then Jamie pulls out the small plastic bag I recognize as the one he put the remnants in of the smoked fish we had for breakfast. He upends it on a cobblestone, and calls out quietly, "Alec?. . . Alec? I ken ye'er here lad."

It takes a minute, but at last Alec's battered grey and black head pops up from the manger, and he gives a sharp, rusty miaow. Seconds later, he's devouring the fish skin and harshly purring as Jamie scratches the root of his tail.

Jamie smiles up at me, "See, mo nighean? All wee Donas needs is the company of his own folk, all of whom ken I wilnae hurt any of them. Another few more days and he'll be as gentle as a lamb."

He stands up then, and another apple appears on his palm. Slowly, he stretches his hand out and moves very cautiously towards Donas. The horse blows explosively out his nose a few times, and rears his head back a time or two, testing the security of the rope on his head, but eventually, his eyes stop rolling, his breathing settles down, and with surprising delicacy, he politely plucks the apple from Jamie's hand. He even seems to nod his head in thanks. Two crunches and a swallow later, he gives a low, rumbling purr of a sound, and lets Jamie pet him between the eyes. "There ye are, laddie. There ye are," Jamie murmurs back, "Ye'er jus' a gurt big softie really, ain't ye? 'Coorse ye are." He musses the fall of black curls over the horse's forehead, gives him one last pat, then retreats, still crooning endearments at the creature, "Tha's right, go an relax, lad, there ye go then. . ."

Jamie comes over and leans on the stall door next to me, "Lovely animal, Donas is. Impressive too. Dougal is no end looking forward tae trotting him out when we go back on campaign after Hogmanay."

"I just bet he is," I agree wholeheartedly. A horse like Donas could impress a battleship. "Are you looking forward to taking care of him during the trip?"

Jamie shrugs, "I'm no' exactly looking forward tae being away from Leoch for two months, that's certain." He gives me a pointed look.

Oh. I haven't actually thought about that yet. Two whole months at Leoch without Jamie. . .

Then again, two whole months at Leoch without Dougal either.

It'll be a painful trade-off, but a fair one, all things considered.

"Well," I smile up at him, slightly forlorn, "There's always instant messaging. I'm pretty sure Dougal still doesn't know I have a comm – we can always text each other about our days – and maybe even view-chat."

"Weel. . ." Jaime tilts his head apprehensively, "I've been meaning tae tell ye about th-"

A pair of giggling, squealing boys come barreling down the passage towards Donas's stall. Jamie urgently leaps out in front of them, catching one up in each arm just before they get in range of the horse's huge swinging head, with its now rolling, wild eyes and growling, snapping teeth.

"Hamish James Edward MacKenzie, haud yer wheesht at once, d'ye hear me?" Jamie carries a suddenly quiet Hamish and Fergus over to a nearby bench and plunks them down on it, "Fergus here I can forgive – seein' as he's never been in this barn afore, and doesnae ken the rules entirely – but ye? Ye ken better than tae make a to-do like that near the new horses – an' even the auld ones dinnae like it – ye ken that!"

Both boys hang their heads.

"Sorry Uncle Jamie," murmurs Hamish.

He ruffles both boys' hair, "Weel now, no harm done, but ye both must learn to be more careful, aye?"

Both boys nod solemnly, and at a gesture from Jamie, tiptoe as fast as they can back out into the yard.

Jamie makes to follow with them, but looks around for me before he does, and raises an arm in my direction.

I go to him, nestling into his side. I sigh happily as his big, warm sleeve drapes across my slightly exposed and chilly neck.

"So, what were you saying about us texting while you're on campaign with Dougal?"

Jamie shakes his head a little, "We have special comms when we're out on campaign, Sassenach. Wi' government trackers and loggers and all manner of watchdog systems an' such. There are limits on all sorts of things – including personal calls and non-campaign related data usage. I dinnae ken how well I'll be able to keep in touch."

"Oh." My stomach sinks.

"So before I go, why don't we both write out a few dozen wee notes to each other? Jus' a word or two on slips of paper – then we'll exchange them, an' each take one slip out every day. That way we can each have a bit of a note from the other whenever we want the whole time I'm gone."

I don't answer just yet, but suddenly everything is warm and rosy. I put my arm around him, and hold him tight to my side. We emerge out into the yard, and go to lean on the high fence, watching Hamish and Fergus play with riding crops, and, of all people, Dougal, tending to a small pony in an open outdoor stall.

"That's the pony Colum promised Hamish for when he graduated Basic Riding," says Jamie, nodding over at them, then looking down at me, "Sae what d'ye think of my wee plan, Sassenach?"

I smile, "I think it's lovely, Jamie." I sigh, and lay my head on his chest, "And if it's the only way to for sure stay in touch, we ought to do it."

"Aye," he nods, watching the boys.

I watch Dougal. He finishes tending to the pony, then leads it into the stables. He is only gone a minute, and when he returns, he also has a riding crop, and he goes over to the boys, joining in on their mock sword-play. I don't know if he sees us, because as soon as he is en-garde with Hamish, every sign of a dignified war-chieftain falls away form him, and he is a little boy himself, playing sword-sticks with his son. Shouts of laughter reach us, and the slap of leather against legs and rear ends. Dougal seems to get the better of it for the most part, but eventually Hamish manages to land a reverberating smack against Dougal's bare skin, up under the skirt of the belted plaid he's wearing.

Jamie and I exchange a glance.

"Weel, what d'ye knoo. . ." he breathes.

"Do you think we could use that?" I ask.

Jamie shrugs, "Maybe. Be a shame tae waste it, regardless."

"True."

"We'll need some setup if it's tae do any good, of course. . . There's a scheduling meeting for the campaign team taenight – I'll try and think of some excuse for you to be there."

"Oh, do you need me there? You know the plan, and what to say."

"Yes, but it's your battle, Sassenach – and only the second one in your wee war. Ye need tae be seen fighting it."

"True enough," I sigh, and shiver, "I'm cold, let's go in."

"Aye." He straightens up, "I'll go to the kitchens an' get us all some lunch. Where d'ye want me to bring yours?" We start walking towards the main house, around by the kitchen gardens next to the guest wing.

"The Manager's Barn office. I'm going to go change into some of my own clothes first, and pick up that manila folder of information I got last night – I mean, I assume you had that sent to my rooms sometime yesterday?"

"Aye, I did – that and all your bags of goodies from your wee shopping spree." He grins sideways at me, "An' best of all – your lunch today will be that pizza Annie an' the girls got ye yesterday."

"Oh that!" I grin back at him, "I'd forgotten all about that."

"Aye, I ken ye did," He leans down and kisses my temple, "See ye in a few minutes, Sassenach."

I drop by my rooms, change, and pick up what I need, then make my way over to the Manager's Barn.

Geordie meets me just outside the lab entrance.

"Dougal's in there waiting for ye, Claire," he says, shifting from foot to foot, nervously.

"What? He was just over by the stables, not a quarter of an hour ago."

"Maybe so, but he's here now."

I shake my head and sigh, then roll up the big lab door and go in to meet him. He's sitting near a chem-test I have going on the lab bench, a large plastic bin on the counter beside him. I toss my manila folder on the other end of the bench, as far from him as it is possible to be, and sit down with a thump on a lab stool.

"What do you want, Dougal?" I say, tiredly.

He doesn't look at me, but he does gesture at the box beside him.

"My team and I will be goin' back on campaign after Hogmanay, did'ye ken?"

"Yes, I did." I nod, slowly.

He opens the bin and turns it on its side. A great pile of comms slide around on the plastic, but none actually fall out – though a few get close.

"These," says Dougal in a low voice, and still not looking at me, "Are the government issued comms we are required tae use while on all campaign related activity."

I nod again, but don't reply.

"The security on them is shite, and they're all bugged like ye wouldnae believe."

I smirk. That's rich coming from Dougal. . .

"However, Davie Beaton found a way tae improve the signal encryption, and at the same time, circumvent the government blocks. He took the guts from newer comms and fit them inta the older cases, added a few chips here and there, and programmed them special – all I ken is that he called them "the changeling protocols"." He dips his hand into the pile of comms, and comes back out with a bag full of small computer chips, "Rupert tells me these have the latest security upgrade available, and should be an easy drop-in replacement for the auld ones. Can ye manage the actual upgrades, lassie?"

I blink furiously for a bit before I answer, "Well. . . I have seen a file folder on the farm database called the Changeling Protocols, but the data was encrypted, and I never seemed to need that information, so I left it alone. I'd need the decrypt code-"

He holds out a small scrap of paper with a string of letters and numbers on it. I take it, and smooth it out.

"Well, depending on just how esoteric this special programming is, and how fiddly the card installations are, I'd say I might be able to get this done for you in. . ." I take a quick count of how many comms there are and do a bit of mental calculation, "Eight days? Maybe ten, if things are more complicated than I anticipate."

He grunts, and shrugs a little, "Acceptable. Oh, and heer." He digs in his pocket, and pulls out yet another comm, handing it to me with a strange little sideways glance that still doesn't meet my eyes, "That one's for ye."

I take it gingerly, "Oh. Okay?"

"Aye. An' ye'll be needed at the meeting taenight – nine o'clock in the conference room off the main hall – dinnae be late."

I wrinkle up my forehead in confusion. This encounter is just too, too strange.

"The. . . meeting?"

"Aye. Ta plan out the next two months of my campaign. Ye ken?"

"Y-yes. I do. But. . ." I sigh, thoroughly fed up, "Why are you telling me all this, Dougal?"

He runs a hand through his beard, and then finally, he brings himself to look at me. I see a strange mixture of very, very distant hope, and a deep, vicious, all too present revenge in his eyes.

"Why lass?" he gives me a leering half-smile, "Well, because ye're goin' with us."