A/N – Sorry there has been such a delay in updates from me. Burnout is real, folks – seriously, find a self-care routine and then DO it – it may save your life one day.

Ghillie Dhu

Tea in the dining room is well over by the time Jamie and I leave the infirmary. Fortunately, tea in the kitchens is just beginning. I commandeer a small side table in a mostly isolated corner, while Jamie goes over to the big pots and pans laid out on the counters.

"First time I've had tea here in the kitchen since I were a lad of sixteen," he says, joining me a minute later, "An' I came in from the woods muddier than a boar and twice as hungry – an' too impatient ta shower before I ate!" He puts down two bowls of baked beans, a plate of hot stuffed tomatoes, a small jug of cheese sauce, and a big plateful of potato wedges fried in butter, "Weel, the dining room was quite out of the question, an' the kitchen verry nearly was too – Mrs. Fitz made me eat standin' up!"

I look dreamily at him, as he sits down and enthusiastically addresses his food. I must be more tired than I am willing to admit, even to myself, because all I can think of is what he must have been like all those years ago. He'd have been skinnier then – shorter too, most likely – his voice not yet fully deepened, his skin still unruly, and with the disjointed, rangy, all-arms-and-legs effect of most teenage boys. I can see him, playing and adventuring all over Leoch, getting into all manner of mischief, and sailing through it all with the same sweet, boyish smile he has today, but before it was tempered with the serious, caring look in his eyes I so often see there. My exhaustion is such that I can even half-imagine I see that boy now, at the kitchen door, dirty from head to foot, being told not to mess up anything while he eats, and him gobbling up his supper while still standing.

The vision fades, and fortunately these possible images from his past make for quite a charming contrast with who he is now. I am inexpressibly glad that I don't have that boy to work with - but I am willing to concede that his experiences as a boy here at Leoch probably were a benefit to him.

Just as I am sure they will be for another young boy we both know. . .

He smiles softly at me over his baked beans, and I wonder, not for the first time - what kind of father is he going to make?

This time, I also wonder what kind of mother am I going to make.

I only have the briefest of seconds to start to be terrified before a voice calls from across the room - "Madame Claire? Mon amie? Monsieur Jamie? Sir?"

Beyond the crowded main table, I see a mop of glossy, wavy brown curls weaving back and forth, clearly searching.

I jump up to collect Fergus. He smiles when he sees me, and leans heavily on my arm as I guide him back to our table. He moves slowly, clearly still in pain from this afternoon, and though he is doing his best to hide it, I can see his motions are still restricted from his taped-up ribs. My own shoulders twinge in sympathy. On the positive side, he has the glowing look of just having had a bath, and the clean, MacKenzie tartan pajamas he's wearing suit him beautifully. I seat him at the third chair at our table, and give him a quick peck on the top of the head.

He smiles shyly up at me, his expression one of sweet, delighted openness.

"I like that, Madame."

My heart swoops. I've always wanted to be a mother, but this isn't like anything I've ever imagined. . .

"You do?"

"Yes. When you do it that way the kiss is not sticky – so that I do not wish to wipe it off, you see."

Being dropped into the middle of a child's life – and such a child - without warning or even a plan, and then being hit in the face with such beautiful, unthinking trust. . .

My hands start to shake a little. I peck him lightly on the head again, and then sit back down, slowly.

"All settled in, lad?" Jamie asks him.

"Oui," Fergus nods, side-eyeing the plate of fried potatoes, "Hamish said the room next to his had an empty bunk – he has claimed it for me, and told everyone I was his new friend, coming to stay with him." He grins proudly, "There are four other boys sleeping there, but I have the bed near the door!"

I smile as I dish him up a few potatoes, "Oh? Is that a good thing?"

"I think it is. It has the best view of the axolotl tank."

He states this as though it explains everything, and he reaches matter-of-factly for the potatoes I've put in front of him. But Jamie puts a gentle hand over his.

"Wait, lad. Have ye brushed your teeth?"

Fergus nods.

"Mmm. Weel, then I'll get these packed up and re-heat them for ye tomorrow. House rules is ye canna eat anything after ye'ev brushed your teeth."

"Oh," says Fergus, faintly, drawing back his hand, and looking suddenly shy.

I blink. That's ridiculous. I open my mouth to protest, but then pause. It's probably a good idea to make sure Jamie maintains authority in front of the boy. I'll talk to him about it later. Besides, a different technicality is bothering me much more at this precise moment - "So, tell me, Fergus, why is it so good to have a view of the. . . axle-hotels?"

Both Fergus and Jamie grin at my obviously uninformed mispronunciation. "They belong to David and Eli, Hamish says," Fergus scrambles to explain, "And they are better than the geckos the other boys have, because you can watch them swim, and feed them tiny fish, or worms, or tadpoles, and then watch those squirm as they are eaten. He says it is fun to lay in bed and watch, and be comfortable, and not have to get up to look. But not all beds have a good view."

Jamie smiles indulgently, "Is tonight a feeding night, then?"

Fergus shakes his head, "Non. Tonight is Story Night."

The way he says it, I can hear the capital letters.

Jamie hums nonchalantly, like he knows what it means. My lip twists. He probably does, curse him. . . the bloody Scot might give me some help and explain.

If we're going to be parents, we need to have some serious discussions about what that is going to mean. And soon, too. . .

"What's story night?" I ask, my voice bland, but sending a pointed look at the man across from me.

As Fergus answers, Jamie at least has the grace to look abashed.

"Parents come to our rooms and sit on the beds and read, or tell stories, or sing, or even play a game, Hamish says. Sometimes they only do so with their own boy, but sometimes they include the whole room," he pauses for a long second, "Eli and David's older brother and sister come to them, because their parents are in New Zealand still, and Hamish says his uncle comes to read to him sometimes." He blinks and looks wide-eyed at Jamie, "And that you do too, sometimes, Monsieur."

Jamie nods, and then Fergus takes a deep breath, "And some boys have step-fathers, or aunts, or older cousins. . ." he trails off, a look of uncertainty coming into his eyes.

"Sounds like a lovely family tradition," I say, filling the awkward silence. Jamie and I share a slightly baffled look.

"And I wondered. . ." Fergus says, almost whispering, "If you would, for me."

It falls quite a ways short of a request. He sounds as though he fully expects us both to refuse.

Jamie's brow knits up in a confusion that mirrors my own, "Of course, lad, why wouldn't we?"

For the first time, I see Fergus taken aback. "It. . . it was. . . I mean. . ." he stammers, surprised for once into awkwardness, "It was not. . . not une certitude, Monsieur. . ." A bit of a blush comes up on his face, "To. . . to share a home, yes, that I know, a kind man and his lady would do – but. . . but. . ."

Jamie's stern look softens, "Ahhh, but it is ceartain lad. Wi' us, it is." He gently swipes a hand across the boy's shoulder, in lieu of giving him the hearty shove I can tell he wants to give him, but is too mindful of his cracked ribs and still fragile emotional state to give in to the impulse, "But we're still gitting tae know each other, soo it's no surprise ye didnae ken that yet." Jamie looks conspiratorially over at me, "We'd bettar take turns at it, lass – d'ye mind if I have a go first?"

"Of course," I say, smiling with understanding and relief, "But I had better come along just the same – I want to see these famous. . . not-geckos!"

"Axe-el-oh-tells," Fergus says, giggling, all his cares suddenly resolved, for the moment at least, and his unfettered boyish charm back in the ascendant.

"Ax-hel-ooh-tels," I repeat, carefully, my Central accent shaping the sounds distinctly differently than Fergus's 21st century Parisian accent, no matter how hard I try. But he only grins at my attempt this time, and turns to chat to Jamie in his easy, high-pitched, rapid French.

I finish the last few bites of my tea, then I get up to find Mrs. Fitz, suddenly remembering I need to retrieve my mail. I take Fergus's fried potatoes with me, which she packages up without me even needing to ask. House rules indeed. I wonder if she was the one who instituted them. It wouldn't surprise me. She hands them back to me along with a large and bulky manila envelope stamped all over with disconcertingly official-looking symbols. It must be my IdenTcard information and other official paperwork, at last. I tuck it casually under my arm, strangely uninterested in it at the moment. So much has happened today, it is difficult for me to care much about these things I've been living quite well without for weeks now. Ah well. They'll keep.

When I return to our little table, I find my two young men engrossed in an earnest, low-voiced conversation. I can only pick up a word here and there, speaking French as they are, and with their voices so quiet. . .

They both switch back to English as soon as they see me.

"An' that's how things stand, lad," says Jamie, conversationally, "It's all up to you, but that's what we want – have a good long think on it before ye make any response about it, aye?"

"Oui," says Fergus quietly, nodding.

"An' ye'er sure ye don' mind the name Fergus?"

"Non Monsieur. . ."

The negative sounds very certain, but the boy still pauses and looks up, attention oscillating rapidly between the two of us, "B-but. . . might I still be called Claudel, from time to time?"

Jamie grins, half sheepish and half indulgent, "But of course, lad. 'Fergus Claudel Henri Fraser' – We'll make sure it's official. Aye?"

"Aye," says the boy, in a soft, satisfied whisper.

"And now," I say, dumping my packages on the table and perching my hands lightly on my hips, "It's bedtime for you, young man."

"Yes, Madame Claire."

And with that, we march right out of the kitchen, Fergus leading us unerringly to somewhere in the middle of the family wing, where a substantial stretch of the hallway is given over to boys' and girls' dormitories.

There are already an impressive number of parents and other caretakers drifting back and forth throughout the hallway, and the three of us blend right in. Fergus takes us to a large corner room, not far from the sweeping staircase at this end of the corridor.

All in all it is a typical boy's room, I think, as he shows us around. I am not entirely certain, not having been in many boy's rooms – but the sprawling scatter of toys and clothes, mixed freely with sticks and rocks and clumps of moss and handfuls of pebbles, not to mention the several large glass tanks against one wall containing mysteriously squirming amphibious and lizard-y things, lead me to believe that this room is, if not exactly ordinary for all boys in Scotland, is at least fairly run-of-the-mill for most boys here at Leoch.

"And there are the axolotls," Fergus winds up triumphantly, pointing to the nearest tank in the row, "Eli says I can help feed them tomorrow."

"Tha's brilliant," says Jamie, grinning, "An' heer comes Eli now, I see. . ."

Four boys, all about the same age as Fergus, and their attendant guardians file in, and everyone starts the business of getting tucked in to bed. There are murmured words, and hugs, and several pecked kisses accepted with the half-shy, half-defiant attitude of most young boys. Two of them, obviously brothers, settle into the bunk beds opposite Fergus, and one into the single bed set against the long side wall, beyond the large reinforced table that holds the axolotls and their friends.

The fourth boy climbs up the ladder at the foot of Fergus's bunk bed, and plunks himself down on the top bunk, cross-legged, right at the same level with my head.

"Ahm Danny," he says without preamble, "Whoo'r yoo?"

I smile at such open, boyish speaking, "I'm Claire. Fergus's. . ." I quickly look at Fergus for confirmation. He nods, infinitesimally, but encouragingly, "Fergus's mother."

"Ooh," says Danny, "Aye. T'new boy." He reaches behind himself and picks up an improbably fluffy dinosaur toy. Then, with a sharp, matter-of-fact throw, he fires it directly at Fergus's head, "Tha's fer ye, new boy. Soo's ye dinnae get the hoomsickness, aye?" He snickers a bit, and the obvious teasing in his voice draws titters from all the other boys in the room.

Fergus fends off the ostensibly friendly missile with his good hand, "I do thank you, Danny. But I will not be homesick. Leoch is my home now." Nevertheless, he sets the plush toy upright next to his pillow.

There are a few more titters at this, but they go quiet quickly. A slender, dark-eyed man who, considering all I've seen in the past five minutes, I think is fairly safe to assume is Danny's father, turns the knob near the door, lowering the overhead light by about half. In the new dimness, he goes over to the small but heavy table in the middle of the room, and switches on a night light set prominently there. It is made of a large, elaborately decorated paper cylinder perforated with tiny pinpricks, and larger, star-shaped cutouts. There are ribbons, and feathers, and glitter, and crystals, and it is all surrounded by a large cloud of cotton wool. When activated, a bar of tiny coloured lights turn on inside it, and the cylinder begins to rotate, slowly.

Instantly, the ordinary boys' room is turned into a glittering, magical galaxy, each bed an island, floating in the middle of deep space.

"Weel then, Wee Jamie," says Danny's father, with a quiet, mildly teasing voice that is still somehow very respectful, "Taenight is many years before I evar expected ye tae have a wean ov ye'er oon heerabouts."

Jamie smiles, "Oh, aye Matt – nae doubt." He sits down proudly beside Fergus on his bed, "But what would ye have me do instead?"

Matt chuckles softly, "Nae nae – ye and yourn are as welcome heer as ye are in any other part of Leoch, nae fear ov that. We'er only surprised, ye ken."

Jamie shakes his head, "We cannae all have eight bairns – oor start havin' 'em at nineteen, like ye did – oor have twins twice, come tae that."

"Oh, aye, fair enough," Matt waves a hand expansively, "But since it's yer lad's furst time heer, would ye like tae start us off this e'en?" He silently looks at each of the other parents in the room. I feel more than see them all give their consent.

Jamie shrugs, "Aye, if ye like."

The parents all sit on their children's beds, and all the boys lean forward, waiting eagerly for Jamie to begin. I sit down at Fergus's other side, just as eager myself.

After a long, very expectant pause, Jamie's voice begins, much lower and more self-consciously Scottish than normal, with very broad vowels and tremendously rolling r's.

"Oonce upon a time, a verra long time ago – bu' no' so verra far away from heer - doon in a dell, beyont a gurt glassy pond, atop a wee granite hill, under a spraeding rowan tree, thear met all the many an' mightiest folk of Faieryland, fer thear grand Spring dance unnder t'stars. Thear were Brownies, an' Khoulies, an' Greenies, an' Meanies - an' Howlers, an' Yowlers, and gurt nameless birds that goo "Kee-kee-dee-kee!"

All the boys give tiny, subdued giggles.

"An' thean thear were the Oogles, an' the Woggles, an' the Wamblies – an' the Billy-Bye-Boos - the Booters, an' the Sneakers, an' the Crowlie-wowlie-woos. An' all the sprites of mud splashes, an' of leaky bottles, an' of grass stains, an' of pebbles in yer shoo, an' of sandwich crusts, an' of burnt toast, an' of sour milk – an' of coorse the wee goblins tha' gi' en yer mouth an' make yer baby teeth waggle."

Jamie taps his teeth with his fingernails, and all the boys giggle again.

"An' thean, a'coorse, thear were the Pixies an' the Trixies, an' the Will-o-the-Wisps, the Shivers and the Quivers, an' the Jhonny-Jump-Ups. No' forgettin' the Dryads, an' the Naiads, an' the Mermaids, an' the Selkies, an' the Kelpies, an' the Whelkies, an' awl t'wee faieries tha' bring us icicles, an' turn the leaves broon, an' mek them sprout again i' th' spring, an' whoo mek flowers bud, an' berds sing, an' worms wriggle, an' crabapples taste soor and strawberries taste sweet, an' mek blackberries stain yer fingers purple. An' a'coorse the bees were there too – an' wee laday bugs, an' awl t'dragonflies, an' moths, an' snails, an' spiders from a hunnert moils aroond."

The lowered light mutes the bright colours of Jamie's hair and eyes, letting the slow slide of multi-coloured stars from the night-light highlight the expressions that cross his face as he talks, and giving him a perfect otherworldly aspect. We are all experiencing everything he says, no matter how nonsensical or weird. It fits in. He fits in. He's got us all under his spell – we can not only see whatever he tells us, we can practically smell it.

Fergus stirs beside me, snuggling lightly into my side. My heart leaps, suddenly threatening to stick in my throat. The soft scent of his freshly shampooed hair twangs heartstrings I didn't know I had. My throat thickens, and my visions starts to blur.

A son.

Jamie and I have a son.

He may be unlooked-for, but he is far, far more than welcome.

It's going to take me some time before I can actually believe it. . .

I put a cautious but delighted arm around him, careful of his ribs, and then we both re-focus on Jamie's story.

"The King was thear – a gurt, fat, froggy creetur, all ower greenish broon, wi' warts the size a' yer fist, an' t'tiniest useless wee wings upoon his big auld shoolders, an' huge rollin' eyes, an' a swellin' stomach oot tae heer." He curves his arms out wide, and puffs out his cheeks in illustration, and all the boys laugh at the gesture.

"An' beyont him was the Queen of Faieryland, waitin' aloon in her pavilion of cobwebs frosted wi' dew." A soft, dreamy look enters Jamie's eyes, "Oh, an' shee was a queenly creetur indeed – awl tall an' pale like a waxen candle, her hair streamin' oot awl puffy an' white like a clood ov mist up from a burn on fine Spring morn, an' awl kinked up an' wild like dried goose grass frozen silver in the midwintar snoows - her eyes were golden-pale like sunshine, her great, wide wings were pale an' crackly like birch bark, an' her voice was pale like frost. Her laugh tinkled and crinkled like the soond of cold river watar, flowing fast and sharp under the brittle furst ice ov wintar. Her nails were like the claws ov a golden eagle, her dress like the stem of a mushroom, awl white velvet an' graceful curves. Her feet were bare, an' wee white snowdrops grew wherever she tred."

A small hand goes up.

"Yes, Davie boy, what is it?"

"How could she bear ta kiss the King?"

Jamie smiles broadly, "Ooh, evary princess kens how ta kiss a frog, lad – et's what turns them inta Queens ta begin wi'!"

This is apparently satisfactory, and Jamie plunges on, "T'was such a meeting of faieries, an' t'wee hill was sae full, right doon tae the banks ov t'grand pool, tha' naeun evan noticed there was an unusual guest there – until he announced himself, a'coorse."

Jamie deepens his voice even further, and thumps his chest as he booms -

"Tae t'Pale Laday!" shouted one large, broad-shooldered faiery, sae covered in moss and green leaves tha' no' even t'Dryads could tell whoo he was at furst, "Tae t'Queen ov Faieryland!"

A quiet, fascinated titter runs around the room.

"Now a'coorse evaryun had tae take up the cheer at this – because as they cleared a path for 'im, awl at'unce they awl kent – evaryune ov them – jus' whoo this newcomer was."

The pause he takes is terrible.

"T'was. . . The Ghillie Dhu!"

The whole room catches its breath.

"Aye! The Ghillie Dhu! Himself! Ye may have heard ov him – ye might! He has manay names, a'coourse – T'Green Man, Auld Man Willow, Soul of T'Forest, T'Man of T'Mountains, Fathar Earth, an' soo on, but, best ov awl, there are soome that say the Ghillie Dhu started his life as a Human baby."

The boys all say "oooh," very softly.

Jamie nods solemnly, "Aye, a changeling, as the tales say. An' some say too tha' et's wheere we might'ha got the story of Peter Pan, an' his like – Mowgli an' Lost Boys an' such, ye ken – a wee bairn taken bye t'faieries, t'grow up in their ways, an' forget he evar was Human. But thear are soom whoo say the Ghillie Dhu nevar forgot, an' tha's why soometimes hee'l be kind tae a lost wean, wanderin' in his woods, an' shoow him t'way hoom again, but bye t'same toaken, t'other Good Folk dinnae exactly ken what oor whoo the Ghillie Dhu is – is he one ov them, oor one ov us? They ken he doesnae show at most meetin's ov thears, but whean he does?" Jamie whistles, "*wheew* Et's like the wind, the sky – the very stars themsealves comin' doon tae dance wi' theam by twilight!"

Jamie gestures out into the room, as though his hands can catch the stars from the night-light, "An' as they awl stood gawpin' at 'im, the Ghillie Dhu shouted, "Beware! Beware! For the Time is changin'!"

There is a subdued rustling among all the parents and children present.

"Weel, the hosts of faieryland were awl baffled. They look't 'round, and saw nothin' but what they'd allus seen – trees an' grass, an' lakes, an' rivars, an' t'sky, cold stone an' the good warrum ground, wi' t'light jus' fading and the best time fer dancin' just tae begin.

"Change? We see no change," they murmurred quietly, "Are ye daft?"

Jamie leans back, and lowers his voice to a growl, "Nae!" boomed the Ghillie Dhu, "But I have seen t'future – an' no verry long future it be, for some of ye! Too long, too long we have hid - in wells an' caves, in high branches an' deep roots, under rocks an' stiles an' fenceposts, an' behint th' chimny pots! T'chealdren ov Men only ken us as t'wind, an' dinnae fear us as th' storm! Too often we have mischiefed Men, wi' thier deep eyes an' clevar fingers! They hav learnt the ways of ov wind an' watar, ov earth an' stone an' sky. Soon, soon they will hunt us awl – fer sport an' fer mear honour, no' fer need or fear, as thay hav' allus done befoor – hunt us tae th'death, an' beyont the bordars ov oor oon lands. Et's driven oot we will be – driven inta the Wide World, inta lands and ways we dinnae ken and cannae survive, until awl we are is a memory." He raised his arms, an' his gurt green cloak spraed oot wide, like wings of the enfolding forest, "Ye came heer taenight fer a dance – sae dance, dance Good Folk! Dance unnder th'moon an' beyont t'stars, an' forget this thin world of earth and air! Aye, dance on t'edge ov our verry destruction! Stay, doom'd sprites, an' proove me troo, be it upoon ye'r oon miserable heids!"

Jamie sweeps his arms in front of his face, "An' then he threw his cloak ovar his head, an' a sharp, skirlin' wee wind blew a flutter ov leaves across th'spot, an', ov a sudden, he was gone."

"Weel, thear was a gurt murmurin' from awl t'hosts of Faieryland, as ye may weel imagine! Evary sprite, goblin, brownie an' pixie lifted up thear voices in dismay – chatterin', screechin', an' bawlin' t'like ov which ye'ev nevar seen oor heard befoor."

"An' then – what d'ye think?"

For a minute, there is no sound in the room but the small purr of the nightlight motor.

"Then, in her pretty wee pavillion, the Queen stood up."

Jamie flashes a wide smile, "Ohch, aye – t'Queen herself stood up, an' came oot ov her little sanctuary, an' spread her wings wide befoor t' assembly. Weel, evaryune ov them settled doon in a wink – since et's a verry rare thing foor the Queen ov Faieryland Herself tae speak at a dance.

"My Good Folk an' my Kin", she said – an' her voice was far lower an' richer than ye might ixpect from sich a wee slender creeture, "A warning we have been given, an' a warning we have heard."

"She paused, an' took up the staff ov rowan that lay on two ov t'faiery stones atop t'wee hill, as it always does upoon these occasions. She lifted it high, an' then waved it slow – "But a warning we have not yet taken!" she said, an' drove t'staff sae deep inta the ground, it stood thear aloon, quiverin'."

"An' thean sumthin' happened that had nevar happened at a dance befoor – the Queen came doon the hill - the crowd slowly partin' befoor her - an' she passed through t'midst ov theam, dissapearin' inta t'trees, befoor a single dance had begun."

"It isnae knoon if that dance in Faeiryland was ever danced – but 'tis knoon that t'wintar came earlay an' fierce that year – like t'verry sprites ov Wintar had come doon oot ov t'sky, an' up oot ov t'stones an' pools an t'deep sea, an' awl made a hoom heer oon earth. Thay say t'was like t'souls ov t'earth theamselves left thear places, an' came inta the real world, ta plague an' worry it."

"But we ken t'wasn't anny sich thing – we ken t'was only the puir Queen of the Faieries, oot in t' Wide World, saccrificin' herself fer awl ov her kind."

"Thay say she wandered for years an' years beyont count – until she near forgot who she was, oor whear she'd come from, oor that any like her still existed in Faieryland – in dark woods, oor deep caves, oor oon t'crags of mountains, oor in nooks at th' back of canyons, oor at t'bottom of wells. She drifted like t'wind, from oon place tae another, no' stayin' annywhear long."

"An' thean one day a laday awl in white came a-wanderin' through a fair Spring wood, wi' t'ice jus' meltin' an' wee snowdrops springin' up evarywhear, an' at a stone beside a wee gurglin' spring she sat, an' wept, foor she was lost, an' couldnae find her way hoom."

"Why do you cry, my Lady?" said a tall man, whose eyes an' coat were ov dark green, "Heer in t'bonnie woods, oon a warrum and fair Spring day?"

"I am lost – sae lost!" she cried, as her tears fell on t'stone, "Sae verry, verry lost."

"The man smiled softly at her, an' stooped ta kiss her cheek, "But how can ye be lost, whean t'woods themselves ken ye?" An' he pointed tae the trees beyont t'spring, whear a young rowan stood, slim an' straight, quiverin' in a breeze only it could feel. An' ferns an' leaves an' flowers unfurled, an' a spider's web caught t'last ov the mornin' dew jus' as t'sun peeked through t'rustlin' branches ovarhead, an' wee glitterin' darts ov light filled t'glade. The weepin' white lady lifted her head then, an' looked inta the man's green eyes, an' he held oot his hand, an' she took it."

"An' it isnae knoon how much either ov theam remembered oor kent from then on, oor whear thay went, oor what thay did, oor evan if thay are still alive – but it is knoon that it is because of them that thear are still magics in the world – still sith an' fae an' myth an' faun. Thanks tae one man's warnin' and one woman's bravery, Faeiryland still survives."

Jamie lets these words hang in the star-glittered air for a long, long minute.

The room continues to be quiet for several long seconds after it is clear Jamie has finished. Then the rest of the parents move on, with David and Eli's older sister singing us a folk song, Matt reading short funny story about cows and sheep and chickens, and the other three adults playing a pretty pirate-theme sort of song on a recorder and a hurdy-gurdy.

I listen to it all, my arm still around Fergus, but my mind still far, far away, in an impossible land full of impossible beings, and Jamie's voice still ringing in my ears.

When everyone is done, there is one last round of kisses and hugs, and tuckings-in, and arrangements of pillows and blankets, and a few final whispered good-nights. Matt turns the overhead light off, but leaves the night-light on, as it still slowly spins its colorful stars, and he leads us all out of the room, leaving the door half-open behind us.

I follow Jamie then, not knowing or caring where he's taking me, my mind still drifting on the strange words of that fairy story. . .

I come back to myself quite suddenly, looking at a wide open doorway, and Jamie gesturing me through.

"Where are we?" I ask, faintly.

"My rooms," he grins, "If ye'ed do me the honor."

I nod somewhat absently as I step in, and take a look around.

The main room is a little larger than my front sitting room, but here the bed is central, and it shares the space with the couch, table and chairs. There are two doors off to other rooms on the side, and a tiny kitchen set up in one corner. A large fireplace stands across from the bed, with two big bookcases flanking it. The ceiling is much higher than in my rooms, and the carpeting much thicker and nicer.

"Lie there," says Jamie, gesturing at the near side of the bed, "On yer stomach, an' take off yer shirt – I need tae put some bruise ointment on yer shoulders."

Entirely too tired to protest, I obey.

He leaves me waiting no more than a minute or two, but I am still half asleep when he sits down next to me, and I jerk awake when he touches the clasp of my bra.

"Is this alright, Sassenach? The bruise goes down yer ribs a good way. . ."

"Oh, mmm. . . yes," I mumble, "Jus wassn't expecting. . ."

"Mmm," he hums, warmly, "Heer we are again, aye? Seems I'm always patchin' ye up." Gently, a cool, sweet-smelling substance finds its way across my twinging shoulders.

"How's it look then?" I ask, a little afraid of the answer.

"Not too bad," Jamie says, promptly, "All things considered, of course."

"Mph," I grunt, "Considering that the other victim has cracked ribs, you mean?"

I wince as he goes over a particularly sore spot.

"Yes," he says, grimly, "Tha's exactly what I mean. . ."

He trails off, and says nothing more for a quite a few minutes.

I'm almost asleep again when he speaks up, "Claire?"

"Mmm?"

"Would ye go out to dinner with me next week?"

"Mmph, I dunno," I say, with the best deadpan I can muster, "An ordinary dinner date with my boyfriend? Sounds a bit extreme." I turn my head to look up at him, and see his eyes crinkle up in a smile.

"I wantae take ye to Hunan Tasty Pot – even as it is now – and maybe afterwards it would be a good time tae introduce you to Iona MacTavish."

It takes several long seconds for his words to seep into my fuzzy brain.

"Iona MacTavish?" I murmur.

"Aye – ye remember? Ye asked if taeday would be a good time tae go see her, an' I said it wasnae a very good idea tae go an' see a lady wi' the Sight in the middle of what was supposed tae be a brisk girls day out. No' the right moving spirit tae be goin' an' doing that sort of thing – no' at all. Murtagh agreed wi' me. Remember?"

"I. . . remember," I say, slowly working past my shock, "But. . . um. . ."

"Yes?"

"That. . . that's not how I remember it."

He blinks and frowns.

Slowly, I explain to him, going over everything, from the night at the concert, to the conversation between Jamie, Murtagh and me in the garage office. The only thing I leave out is what I learned from Geillis this afternoon.

She's a time traveler. . .

Wait. . .

That ought to make everything clear to me, shouldn't it?

Shouldn't it?

I force my tired brain to go over everything Geillis and I talked about again. It strikes me suddenly just how little she actually told me.

But wasn't there something?

Something. . . right before the whole thing with Fergus. . .

A. . . gift?

I give up trying to remember for now, and wrap up my story to Jamie, "I don't know what's happening, I really don't, but. . ." A feeling gets past the fog in my head, and I catch my breath, "I'm scared Jamie."

Tears start up in my eyes. He runs the backs of his fingers across my cheek, soothingly, "I ken, lass."

He kisses my forehead softly, and then looks up and down, hesitating to tell me something. "D'ye. . . d'ye ken why it was I told that particular wee fairy tale tae Fergus and the boys taenight?"

I shake my head.

"It was because. . . weel, after that fetch came tae ye taeday, I. . . I'm no' exactly certain, mind, but I think. . . that is. . . it might be. . ."

He pauses, gets himself in hand, and looks me full in the eyes, "Mo ghràidh. . . I think ye might be an Auld One."

"An Old One?"

"Yes. Adrift in the world so long ye'ev forgot who ye are, or where ye come from. A soul at sea, alive tae every wild, Fairy thing, wi'out knowin' why."

That mad, hellish red vision comes back to me, and the magic of the twilit town, and the strange, disorienting conversation with Geillis, and even my sudden, soul-shaking connection with Fergus, and it's all quite, quite too much. I can't stop the tears that fall from my eyes, nor the quaver that enters my voice.

"I. . . I don't know what's going on Jamie. I don't know what's real."

He scoops up my hand, and holds it tight, fiercely kissing my knuckles.

"This, Sassensch. This is real."

I desperately try to believe him, and slide gratefully into sleep.