Chapter Rating – M for non-graphic married nookie, adult themes, and mild kinkiness.

On A Misty Morning

Jamie is in the bathroom when I get back. I can hear him shuffling around, and the water turning on and off.

I smile as I activate the hot plate and start to warm up our breakfast. I've heard his little domestic sounds before. I've heard him burp, and his joints pop when he stretches, and the tiny smack his lips make when he swallows a sip of really good whisky. I know the sound his socks make against the inside of his boots, and the difference between his waking-up yawns and his falling-asleep yawns. But they were all just normal Human noises until now. Common. Unremarkable. Now, they are his noises, filling up our domestic space, and every one of them is important. Cherished. Precious.

The slap of his bare feet against tile, the clink of his water glass, the rattle as he puts his toothbrush back in its travel holder.

They all indicate life. That Jamie is alive. And that he's here.

I've never been in this hotel before, and we are going to leave it in a few short hours – but somehow it feels more like home to me now than any place ever has. Even Skycity 15.

Just because Jamie is here. . .

Love really does change things.

I've always known that, of course, but as I keep telling myself - knowing and experiencing are two very different things. . .

I hear the bathroom door open, and he steps into the main room.

"There ye are, Sassenach, I - "

He sounds happy, but his voice breaks off suddenly.

"Yes?" I turn, and go speechless myself.

Even after last night, the sight of him there, framed in the doorway, tall, strong, and beautifully naked, utterly short-circuits my brain.

My god he's perfect. . .

How?

How have I survived this long knowing him, without having him? And how did I go so long without knowing I loved him?

And that hits even harder right now, because he's currently looking at me like I'm perfect too. . .

"Christ. I kent ye hadtae be wearin' my plaid, but tae see ye in the Fraser tartan, mo chridhe. . ."

In two strides he has me in his arms, kissing me with a sort of reckless urgency that wouldn't be shocking if we'd been apart for months.

But it's been minutes. . .

He reaches behind me and turns off the hot plate. Then he backs up across the room, tugging on the plaid belt, urging me to go with him.

"Come back tae bed, Sassenach."

"But I'm hungry."

"Aye, weel, ye c'n take a bite ov me."

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Jamie's kilt gets left on the floor.

I manage to wrangle us so he gets in bed first, and I push at him until he's flat on his back. He sees the determination in my eyes, shakes his head, and speaks in between our urgent kisses,

"I. . . jus'. . . want ye, Sassenach. . . ye dinnae. . . havetae do annythin'. . . special for me this-"

I put a finger across his lips, and a leg over his thighs, "I'm not doing this for you. Rest assured, this is all for me. . ."

I sigh as I lean over him. It's like coming home. . .

His eyes widen, and he gasps out, "Aye. Aye it is. All for ye. . ."

I don't precisely know what it takes to "break in" a Fraser stallion, but I don't imagine it involves much kissing. Nor moaning. Nor filthy, impassioned whispering. Nor nipping your husband's collarbone so hard you taste metal. Nor white-hot pleasure so deep it literally makes you forget to breathe.

But I am fairly certain these sorts of things are what Rupert meant. . .

I collapse across Jamie's chest, utterly worn out, and helpless for the moment.

He strokes soothingly up and down my spine, and softly kisses my forehead.

"I understand now."

It takes me a second to pull words from the neep and tattie mash that is currently my brain, "Oh? Understand what?

"Last night. How ye could be satisfied wi' jus' watchin'. Christ, tha' was beautiful."

I give him a huge, lopsided grin, "You were hardly "just watching" this time, my lad."

"Neither were ye last night," he smiles back, "But I get it now."

"Mm. Good," I hum, and kiss his chin, "But now I need to have breakfast or I really will take a bite out of you. . ."

"I think ye already did, Sassenach."

"Oh. . ." I lift my head and look down at the blotchy red mark on his shoulder, with a few smears of darker red on its edges. . . "I'm sorry, I-"

"Dinnae fash. I'll go disinfect it jus' as soon as my legs work again. . ."

I chuckle, and sit up to show him my hip, "If it makes you feel any better. . ." I twist to show him the brand-new fingermarks on my other hip, "I have a lovely matched set."

"Ye like 'em?"

"God yes. I wish I could frame them."

"Oh."

I cross my arms, "And what's wrong with that, then?"

"Not a thing, Sassenach," he pushes himself up for a kiss, "No' a single, solitary thing. It's only. . . since ye feel that way about them. . . c'n I show this one?" He brushes his fingers over the darkening purplish blotch.

I blink, utterly baffled, "Show it?"

"Aye."

". . . sure. I don't pretend to understand why you need to ask, though. It's your body, Jamie. And you're being generous enough to let me enjoy it," I wrap my arms around him, and kiss him, nice and slow, "Whatever I leave with you is yours to do with as you will."

"Mmm, ye'er a rare woman, Sorcha."

"Rare?" I scoff a bit, and get up to go put on his dress shirt, "It's basic bodily autonomy, Jamie. I appreciate you caring how I feel about it, but I have no right to tell you what you can or can't do with your own self."

"Mebbe no', but ye c'n have strong opinions."

He gets out of bed, untangles the plaid, and lays it out to start re-pleating it. I go back over to the mini kitchen, now ravenously hungry.

"Well, my opinion is - if it's on a body part you'd show in public anyway, show it whenever you want. Be proud of it. Have fun with it. If sex can't be fun, then what the bloody hell part of life can?"

He smirks, lays down on the prepared plaid, and wraps it around himself, "Ye do have quite a way of expressing yerself, Sorcha."

I load up two plates with steaming leftovers, put them on the table, and dig in without waiting for him. "Ri' now m'spressin' hunger, J'mie," I say around a bite of roast beef, "Did'n eat mush yesserday."

He agrees with a chuckle, and joins me.

We're both loading our plates for thirds before either of us feel like speaking again.

"Claire – when's yer birthday?"

"May first. When's yours?"

"October twentieth. Isn't it funny?"

I blink, in between bites of buttered peas, "October? Not really. . ."

"Nae, no' October. That we're this close an' only jus' now asking about birthdays?"

I shrug, "They haven't been important until now."

"Suppose not. . ."

We make it through most of the food, and Jamie puts the last few slices of beef on the uneaten dinner rolls, and wraps them up for later. Then he goes downstairs to retrieve our baggage, and I start to gather up our things here. He comes back wrangling all our bags, and one big, flat cardboard box.

"The landlady was up, an' gave me this for us," he says, handing me the box, "An' this too," he dumps our luggage on the couch, and unfastens a large pouch from his belt. As he hands it to me, it makes the unmistakable clink of coinage.

I open the box on the bed. The besom broom is set into a large cardboard cutaway on the bottom half of the box, and there are three empty cutaways on the top half. I am confused, but Jamie only grins, and lifts our handfasting ribbon and wedding crowns off the headboard, fitting them into the spaces provided.

"I'll dry-preserve the crowns properly when we get back tae Leoch, Sassenach. What's in the pouch? Weel, I ken what's in the pouch, but I wantae see how much."

"Of course." I upend the bag, and dump a truly surprising amount of money onto the bed.

He starts counting it, and putting it back in, "If this isnae enough tae repay Dougal what he spent on us, I'll get a stall at the market this spring. Sell some soaps an' lotions and things. I wilnae be beholden tae him in this – or annythin' – bu' especially this."

I smile at him fondly, but my voice is sarcastic, "Oh, he'll love to hear that. . ."

"Eh?"

Briefly, I tell him about this morning's confrontation with Dougal. He blinks at me, an almost dazed look in his eyes, "Did ye really give him orders, Sassenach?"

"I did."

"Christ, ye'er terrifying. I keep forgettin' it, 'cause I love ye so much," he gives me a hearty, resounding kiss, "Bu' I mean tae pay him off in any case, aye?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply you shouldn't. I think you absolutely should. And I also think a stall in the market sounds like a grand idea, regardless. I think we should both do that, no matter what."

He looks at me for a long moment, then reaches out and traces a finger under my chin, "D'ye ken, in no' a single one of my fantasies about bein' married t'ye did I dream the mos' arousin' thing about ye would be ye tellin' me I ha' good ideas? Nowhere near close."

"Oh, aye?" I chuckle and kiss him, "But that's marriage, Jamie. It's all about support, and partnership, and building the other up."

"Oh, I ken. S'jus' nevar struck me like this before."

"Well, then welcome to the first day of the rest of our lives."

"Mmm. Sounds lovely," he briefly hugs me close, "Bu' right now we need tae change clothes, an' get ready tae go."

I sigh, but lightly, "We do."

We bustle about, each of us doing our own thing for quite a while. Eventually, I meet him in the dooryard with our luggage, while he brings the Rover around.

As we load up, Jamie going over the day's planned itinerary, Rupert appears, a broad, leering smirk on his face.

"Mornin' Jam. How was yer first time then? Did ye bleed?"

Jamie rolls his eyes, but only so I can see, "Aye," he turns, and pulls his shirt to the side so he can show the dark red and purple mark on his collarbone.

I smirk, understanding his request now.

"But it's nae moor than I expected, lad. When ye bed a vixen, ye'er gonna get bit – et onlay stands tae reason."

"Och, is that what it stands for?" says Rupert, mockingly. But his tone is very clearly jealous.

"Aye. An' when ye wed, ye may learn it isnae manners tae-"

"Did you get anywhere with the girls last night, Rupert?" I interrupt, hearing a danger-note of real anger in Jamie's voice.

"Weel. . . as tae that. . ." Rupert looks around awkwardly, and if I didn't know better, I could almost swear he blushes, "Y'see. . ."

At this moment, a side door opens, and Edina and Morag clatter into the dooryard, chaffing and teasing each other with a great deal of the morning-type of giggling.

Which, as a girl, I know is different than the afternoon, or evening, or middle-of-the-night types of giggling – but I've rarely heard such truly good-morning giggles from anyone, ever.

Then Avota appears in the doorway, Ned on her arm. She gives him a parting, full-tongue kiss, and a fond caress on the cheek. He kisses his fingertips to Morag and Edina, and bows to all three of them, then goes back inside.

The girls start across the dooryard, paying very little attention to us, until I call out - "Now that's what I call a three for one special!"

I ignore the boys' frozen, shocked expressions, and go over to give each of the girls a hug, promising to try and come back for an anniversary some day. . .