Chapter Rating – M for non-graphic married nookie, kinkiness, and discussion/negotiation of same. (negotiate your kinks, y'all, for serious)

Revelations

Jamie doesn't put me down until we're back at the manse. Then he throws me on our bed, and bends over me, his face shadowed and glowering in the half-light.

"Christ Sorcha, dinnae ye dare turn sleepwalker! Dinnae put that burden on me too. Am I tae have nae rest? Isnae worryin' about ye all day enough? There's only sae much one man can stand, mo chridhe, an' I passed that by three days ago. Have some god damm'ned mercy, Claire."

I am still floating. . . scattered. . . awake, but not aware.

"Wh. . . what happened, Jamie?"

He gives a long, extremely frustrated sigh.

"Ne'er mind. Lay yer heid. We'll talk in the mornin'."

Then his warmth envelops me, and I escape into sleep.

Oblivion may be forever, but that's no matter when Time doesn't exist there either. . .

Slowly. . . very slowly. . . warmth and softness part, and there is a line, a single point of heat. I rise through it, and then there are long, shivering ripples of. . . something. . .

I open my eyes, and Jamie is there, pressed full length to my side, his nose caressing my cheekbone, and his hand. . .

His hand is having its way with me. . .

"Three days without ye, Claire. 'Tis a mighty long time when a man's only just learnt what he's been missin'."

His fingers press, and twist just right. . .

"I might'ha given ye a long string ov pearls, Sassenach. But all I need is one. . ."

I gasp, and moan, and clutch at him, "I. . . I need you inside me, Jamie."

He shakes his head, "I am inside ye, Claire. An' besides. I wantae watch ye. I need tae see ye fall apart."

Except that's not what he's doing to me. He's putting me back together. I don't know how, but he is. I thrum, and whirl, and crackle, and coalesce into a single point of living flame.

And then. . .

Then, somehow. . . I am able to be Claire again.

He gives me one long, slow kiss, and finally, I fall into an actually refreshing sleep.

When I next surface, he's over by the chest of drawers, zipping up his jacket.

"Good," he says, mildly, "I dinnae havetae wake ye before I go."

"Go?"

"Aye. I need a few hours away from this room. I'm goin' tae go care for the horses."

"Oh. Good idea."

He comes over to the bed, and lightly touches my cheek with a one slightly trembling finger, "Promise me, promise me, Claire, that ye'el be here when I get back?"

I smile, "Of course."

His eyes turn very serious, "You, will be here?"

Oh. That.

I gather all my newly reconstituted self together, and nod, "Yes, Jamie."

With several backward glances, and more than a little hesitation, he goes.

As the silence descends, something rises in me.

No matter what it takes, I am going to battle my ghosts.

The sun is setting when Jamie gets back, and he finds me on the couch, reading the only book I've found it relevant to read today. He looks briefly over my shoulder as he goes to wash his hands and put away his jacket.

"Revelations, Sassenach? Strange thing tae be readin' for pleasure."

I put the bible down, and wait until he comes back into the main room to answer him.

"I just. . . wanted to read about someone else who had visions. I read that whole statue passage from Daniel too. And a couple of the other prophetic stories. I thought there might be some. . . guidance."

"Has there been?"

"Not so far. . ."

"Not a lot of lifeless seas an' blood-red skies in the bible, then?"

I smile, "I don't know about that. . ."

There are. And I've read quite a bit about floating mountains and otherworldly beasts today too. . .

"But it hasn't really helped, regardless. I'm not Christian enough, I suppose. . ."

"Or Jewish enough?"

I chuckle, "That too. Or Muslim enough, come to think of it. . ."

He sits down on the couch too, a little further away from me than I'd like. . .

"Weel, Sassenach, mebbe I'm no' man enough, but. . ." he sighs, "I cannae handle ye going out tae fairy circles in the dead ov night. No' wi'out some considerable warning. And especially no' with the Watch about."

"Is the Watch about?"

"We'er right near by where ye were attacked three months ago, Sassenach," he shakes his head, "That's all I need tae ken."

"But-"

He punches a fist into his palm, "I dinnae think ye understand, Claire, just the lengths I'm willin' tae go tae keep ye. The things I'm willin' tae do tae keep ye safe. Marrying ye is nowhere near the half of it. Nor yet the tenth."

He sighs again, and drags a hand across his face.

"An' these past few days, I. . . I havenae understood what's happenin' tae ye, and now. . . now I wantae. . ."

His eyes twist shut and his hands make fists on his knees.

"Christ, I wantae hold ye like a wee chick in my breast pocket, shieldin' ye and giving tae ye from all that I am, an' at the same time I wantae throw ye down and use ye sae hard ye cannae recall aught but the feel of me against ye, inside an' out." He swallows hard, "I wantae throw somethin' at the ground until it breaks, I wantae hit somethin' until I'm bloody – an' I wantae scoop up one palmful of soil, an' feel the tiny movements of an earthworm in it, an' I wantae stand stock-still an' listen tae the wind rustle in a field of flowers. I'm everythin' an' nothin' an' all places an' nowhere, an' I'm bewildered, an' scared, an' relieved, an' confused, an' sae much in love wi' ye I dinnae ken how I c'n hold it all. . ."

I edge a little closer to him, and try to push a fall of curls back behind his ear. He catches my wrist and pushes my hand away, not quite roughly, but forcefully.

"No' now, Claire," he says, voice tense and sorrowful, "Forget all I jus' said. I'm mad. Mad clear through tae the bone. Mad at ye, mad at the world, mad at myself. I'm sae angry I could spit. There's more tae it than jus' that, but that's the main thing. An' hours wi' the horses didnae help. So now I dinnae ken what tae do about it."

He sinks his head into his hands, and makes fists in his hair.

A long-held, long-repressed desire wells in me. I've wanted something for years and years, but never dared even broach the subject with Frank. He would never have understood.

Jamie, on the other hand. . .

I lean over and whisper, "In that case. . . maybe I deserve a spanking."

If there's one thing all my battles with depression have taught me, it's that nothing disrupts a downward slide quite like a new idea.

Jamie lifts his head, and gapes at me, his slide thoroughly disrupted.

"Did. . . did I hear that right, Sassenach?"

"I'm sure you did," I smirk at him, half-close my eyes, and purr, "I've been so naughty, Jamie. You'd better come teach me a lesson."

He blinks hard, "But ye. . . ye can't. . . ye can't want. . ."

I chuckle, and gently touch his cheek, "Why not? We both need a safe place to feel things right now, Jamie. So let's give that to each other."

"But. . . how could. . . that. . . evar be safe, mo nighean?"

"Oxfordshire."

He blinks again.

"Either one of us says that, and the other one stops. At once. No questions, no hesitation, no matter what."

"Either one of us?"

"Of course. That's what safety means."

He takes that in for a minute. Then I scoot up close to him, and kiss his shoulder.

"Lallybroch."

"What about Lallybroch, Sassenach?"

"If we want to check in, want to make sure everything is okay, but don't want to actively stop, we can say Lallybroch."

He takes this in too.

"And come to think of it, this is a good moment to lay down a hard line of my own." I take a deep breath, and speak from my heart, "No matter what we end up doing tonight, or tomorrow, or at any time, there's to be no verbal degradation, Jamie. Diminutives are fine, teasing is fine, and agreed-upon nicknames are fine, but no insults, no slurs, and no dehumanizing language, no matter the context. That's my "do not cross", like you don't want marks on your skin. If there's a question about something, we discuss it first. No free passes, no testing the boundary. If I want anything about this to change, I'll be upfront about it. Understood?"

The declaration of a clear and sturdy rule visibly relaxes him. "Understood," he nods, solemnly, "An' ye only mean us tae explore this one new thing, aye? Nae surprises?"

"No surprises. Only revelations."

He pulls away from me, gets up, and paces a bit. He runs his hands through his hair, and scratches the back of his neck. I watch a mixture of confusion, worry, helpless arousal, and intense curiosity cross his features, all battling for dominance.

After a minute, worry jumps to the forefront, "Sassenach, what if I hurt ye? I mean really, truly hurt ye. I could, ye know. Easily. I'm verrah, verrah aware of that. What's tae stop me?"

I ask, matter-of-factly, "Do you want to really hurt me, Jamie?"

He whirls and grabs me, "No! How. . . how could I. . ." He pauses, and looks down at where his hands are gripping my arms. Too hard.

"Oxfordshire."

Instantly, he releases his hold, and steps back.

I smile, "You see? You will stop you. And when you can't, I will. The words are there for this exact reason."

"But. . ."

"Freedom within limits is what a safe place is for, Jamie," I nudge him back onto the couch, and sit on his lap, "Once we put our limits up, anything left between them is fair game. That includes you feeling your feelings, and giving me a nice hard smack or two on the backside." I lean my head against his, "You've already trusted me with your love, my sweet. Now, trust me with your anger too."

He gives a long, heavy sigh, drapes his arms around me, pulls me close, and kisses me softly on the neck, "But. . . what could ye possibly get out of it, Claire?"

I chuckle delightedly. If that's his objection at this point, this is going to be so good, "Why, the same things you will, my love. The power of self control. The absolute joy of knowing everything is in order. The wild bliss of pure freedom, salted deliciously with the knowledge of perfect safety." I nuzzle his cheek, and kiss his chin, "You may have noticed I've been a bit scattered these past few days."

He gives one flat, extremely mirthless laugh. "Hah."

"Yes, exactly. But you anchored me, Jamie. So easily, you anchored me. You're my grounding-wire. My safe place. My home. Why do you think I was able to wake up feeling like myself again, right before you left?"

He shakes his head, still struggling to understand, "But. . . how does that mean. . . how does such a feeling translate tae. . ."

I stroke my hands up and down his spine, "Do you know how empowering it is to trust someone as much as I trust you? How absolutely ecstatic it is? To give myself to you, a floating, scattered cloud, and have you give me back to myself, whole? A cold, dead soul, suddenly alive again? Because of you? I feel like a queen – no, like god herself – every time you do it Jamie."

"Every time?" he looks quizzically at me, "Ye mean. . . I've. . . done such for ye before this mornin'?"

"Yes Jamie," I nod, eagerly, "You have ever since the very first day we met. It's been half a dozen times so far, at least. More, probably. You've only done it unconsciously up til now, of course. It seems to be your natural response to seeing me in distress. Now, I want you to do it on purpose, and at my request. That's all."

"So. . . it wasnae. . . that is, it doesnae have tae be. . . sexual?"

I shake my head, "Nothing is sexual except sex, Jamie. And everything can be sexual if you want it to be."

He holds me a little closer, and sits and thinks a long time.

"If. . . if we do this. . . I dinnae want tae be me."

I give a short nod, "Alright. Who do you want to be?"

"Alexander MacKenzie. Laird of Balriggan."

"Sounds good."

"But ye'er only allowed tae call me Sir, or my Laird."

"Okay."

There is no hesitation in my answer, but there is a question. But I won't ask it if he doesn't want to answer. . .

But it seems he does -

"I wantae be someone else in my mind, Claire – but I dinnae wantae hear anything new."

"Ah. Okay. That makes perfect sense."

He takes one of my hands in both of his, "An' ye can't be you, either."

I nod, "Fair enough."

I pause and think for a bit.

"I'm Libby – your English maid."

"Alright. An' I'll only call ye woman, or lass."

"Same reason?"

"Same reason."

"Okay."

Slowly, he kisses the hand he has clasped in his, "An' the. . . impetus . . . the ah. . . inciting incident?. . . cannae be ours."

I smile. That one is easy.

"You caught me taking home food that wasn't leftovers."

He chuckles, "Is that all?"

I shrug, "I can have her stealing art supplies to paint her magically superpowered body armor made from genetically-altered shapeshifting alien slugs if you want. . ."

He throws back his head and laughs.

Something hard and very frightened inside my stomach untwists and relaxes. If he can laugh, everything might just be alright. . .

"I shouldha kent bettar than tae question yer powers ov invention. Alright, Sassenach," he puts a hand over my heart, suddenly very solemn again, "But, jus' tae be sure – I need tae be sure, ye ken - ye do want all this from me?"

I put my hand on his, "I do very much want this, Jamie, but not from you. With you. If you don't want this – if you have any objections at all, if you aren't in it one-hundred percent - then we won't do it. I won't be disappointed. In fact, I'll be proud of you for making the judgment call."

He shakes his head, "It's less a mattar of no' wanting it as nevar havin' thought of some particular things as pairs until jus' now, mo Sorcha. Doin' a Laird's duties, an' havin' a husband's advantages. Bein' wild, an' bein' safe. Pretendin', an' living a truth. Bein' in charge, an' bein' under orders. None of 'em are paradoxes. They arenae evan in conflict – or dinnae have tae be. It's a lot tae take in all at once."

I nod, "And that's why we can stop any time, for any reason. No questions asked, no excuses needed. We don't have to do this. We are choosing to do this. Together."

"Aye, together."

Then he pauses, and his lip twists, as if he's thought of half a joke and doesn't know the punchline.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Jus' a strange thought."

I wrap my arms around him, and lean my head on his shoulder, "Well?"

"Knowin' that nothing about this is necessary. . . suddenly. . . it's as though. . . everything is possible."

I smile, and kiss his temple, "That's my Ghillie Dhu."

He gives a tiny little smirk, a lovely glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes, "Now then. Ye wilnae be speakin' tae yer master wi' such disrespect."

Sweet tingles rush though me, to the very tips of my fingers and toes. I scramble to my feet, clasp my arms behind my back, and bow my head a little.

"Yes, my Laird."

His eyes flash at my utterly sincere use of the honourific.

"Have ye been workin' here long, lass?"

I shift my feet awkwardly, "N-no sir."

He stands, and comes over to me, just a little too close, deliberately looming over me, but not touching. Not yet.

"Then mebbe ye dinnae ken the rules, but heer, takin' that which doesnae belong tae ye is called stealin'."

I blink up at him and gasp, just a little theatrically, "Oh. But sir-"

"And there are consequences for such things in this house, lass," he says, bringing his mouth so close to mine I ache for the kiss he isn't giving me.

I whimper, utterly under his power.

And so, so happy to be there. . .

"Have ye evar been tae Lallybroch?" he whispers, a sudden look of concern in his eyes.

I look at him, and shake my head firmly, "No sir. Where is Lallybroch?"

I can actually see the word form on his lips.

Oxfordshire.

But he doesn't say it. He does close his eyes and center himself for a long few seconds.

When he opens them again, he is someone else. Nowhere is my sweet, darling laddie, with gentle fingers and a knowing smile. Gone too is the slightly over-cautious gentleman of the last minute or so, who was clearly just a bit of an experiment. . .

Now, his eyes are hard, and there is a new set to his shoulders, a different tilt to his head. This is Laird Broch Tuarach, fierce and implacable, and so in control of the moment, I am forbidden to even call him by his name.

The mere act of looking at a man has never had me closer to spontaneous combustion. . .

"Please. . . my Laird. . . don't send me away." I look down, meekly, "I promise, I'll never do it again."

His hand wraps firmly around my chin, and lifts my head to meet his eyes.

"Aye. Ye won't."

My breath stutters. By all the gods that may or may not exist, his voice. . . Parts of me start vibrating at the deep, forceful rumble of it.

I already knew the sound of him could do things to me, but god dammit. . .

What have I unleashed here?

"Is. . . that a threat, sir? Or a promise?"

"Aye."

I look at him, as innocently wide-eyed as I can manage, "Both?"

"Aye. Both."

I feign confusion, "But. . ."

He releases my chin, but moves his hand to close like a vise around my upper arm, "I dinnae make idle threats, lass," he pulls hard, until my face is only a whisper from his, "An' I dinnae make frivolous promises, eithar. Now," he shoves me, just hard enough that I stagger back, off-kilter, "Take yer clothes off, an' get in the bed. On yer hands an' knees."

Oh. . .

Bits of me are positively melting. . .

I play up my confusion, drawing out the moment.

"But sir. . ."

He strides forward, and takes my chin again, more roughly this time, "Was I. . . unclear?"

"N-no, my Laird."

His eyes blaze, and he lowers his head, and carefully, deliberately, licks around the edge of my ear.

"Then ye'ed best see, woman, that ye dinnae keep me waitin'."

Then he shoves me towards the bed again, and starts to methodically unbutton his shirt.

Holy hell. I'm practically panting, and he's barely touched me yet. . .

I undress frantically, and am in the bed waiting for him, when he removes his belt with an ostentatious, snapping flourish.

"D'ye want my hands or the strap, lass?"

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. . ." I moan, and completely lose myself into pure sensation. . .

Well. . . maybe not exactly pure. . .

Two hours, two sets of bedsheets, a very brief and extremely apologetic conversation with the landlady awkwardly in the middle of things, and then several more revelatory experiences for both of us later, and I'm cocooned in Jamie's arms, snuggled up and ready to go to sleep.

All in all, an almost ideal first go at this sort of thing, I think. . .

There had been several comfortably placed mentions of Lallybroch, and no mentions of Oxfordshire at all. Afterwards there was a shower, a neck and back massage for each of us, a portion of Welsh rarebit, tomato soup, and mulled ale for each of us too, and a pot of tea, a mug of coffee, a plate of chocolate biscuits, and a lot of lazy, quiet conversation to end on. All of his bewildering, angry confusion is gone, and I haven't felt more solid and alive for days.

The ghosts of the future can't haunt us when the present shines as brightly as this. . .

I cuddle into his skin, reveling in the fact that we both appear to adore sleeping naked.

"Claire?" he asks, softly stroking my hair.

"Yes, my love?"

"Why did ye run?"

I'm so relaxed, I'm having a little trouble keeping up.

"Hmm?"

"Why did ye run?"

"What do you mean?"

He sighs, and meets my questioning look with a very concerned one, "I mean ye. . . went from me. I dinnae mean jus' that fairy circle, I mean all these past few days. Ye'ev been. . . somewhere else. Hidin'. Or. . . I dinnae ken. Ye'ev been somewhere I couldnae follow. Why. . . why did ye go there, wherever it was? Why did ye run from me?"

He sounds aggrieved. Hurt. As if he thinks I was actually trying to get away from him.

Oh, no, my sweet, wonderful, delicious darling. . .

I have kept our promise of truth. Secrets though. . . I still have a few secrets.

One.

One secret.

Only one that really matters. . .

I really, really hadn't planned on doing this now, but, after tonight, keeping any part of myself from him seems utterly absurd.

"Jamie. . . I. . ."

This is it. I might destroy us, right here, right now. If anything can, this will.

Well, at least we'll go out with a bang. . .

I take a deep breath, and look directly into his beautiful, beloved, searching blue eyes.

"I'm from the future."