The further they traveled from Castle Leoch, the more anxious Molly started to feel. The idea of going home to her real home was now coming to fruition. Though, she couldn't deny her heartfelt heavy knowing she would be saying goodbye to her new friends. Some she would miss more than others. But there was no doubt that this was the best thing she could do for herself. She was living someone else's life. As much as she tried to convince herself that she belonged, she just didn't.

The start of the group's trip went according to plan. The sun was shining, a rarity for the highlands, but offered a sense of comfort for Molly. For her, it was a hopeful sign that this would be successful. Her companions were in equally high spirits, with a lot of laughter and chatter. Eventually, once Dougal found a location that the War Chieftain found suitable, they made camp. To his credit, it was a nice spot to stay for the night, hidden under the protection of trees, with a reliable water source. Making camp went quickly with everyone chipping in. Molly made it a point to stay out of Dougal's way, and he acted as if he didn't notice her at all. However, Angus was more than happy to put her to work in her role as "Den Mother" by having her sew the torn stitching in his jacket. Despite the rudeness in which he asked, Molly was more than happy to assist. If they were going to be collecting payments on the Lairds' behalf, they all needed to look the part.

The fire was roaring, offering a welcoming warmth from the brisk air. The group gathered around enjoying the few hours they had left of sunlight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, so it was pivotal for them to relax before they went to work. Molly sat snugged between Murtagh and Jamie. Her focus was on finishing the sleeve on Angus's jacket but still managed to listen in on the conversation happening around her. Occasionally, glancing up with a little more attention whenever Murtagh contributed.

Dougal, unlike his counterparts, didn't engage at all. The brash male sat the furthest away from everyone, drinking his whiskey while quietly observing everyone else, or more accurately, Molly.

"I'm getting more firewood… Molly join me." Dougal announced suddenly.

The request came as a surprise; the man hadn't spoken a word to her since they left the castle gates. Molly shifted where she sat. She ignored the request. Or at least tried; the way he was staring at her was unsettling.

Silence fell around the entire camp. Awkward glances were shared amongst each other. The hostile tone in his words didn't go ignored by any of them, especially Molly.

"I'll go." Rupert volunteered. He was all ready to his feet, but Dougal wouldn't allow it.

"No. I want, miss St. Claire. We need to talk." It was clear that Dougal wasn't requesting but demanding it.

Reluctantly Molly complied. She was sure there was no escape route either. Giving a glance to Jamie, who shrugged his shoulders, she disappeared with Dougal leading the way. Molly stayed a few feet back, wanting to keep as much distance between them as possible. He was quiet until he felt they were far enough away from the camp.

"Do ye like it here miss St. Claire?" His head turned slightly over his shoulder.

It felt like a loaded question, and one she didn't want to answer. "Yes." Molly finally answered. She did that was true, but she also knew she needed to go home. Slowly, Dougal had turned on his heel to look at her.

"Do ye think you overstayed ye're welcome lass?"

Subtle, wasn't he? It was almost laughable. And she needed to try a little harder? "You know… I'm starting to think you don't like me." She joked. "Why? Because I remind you of someone?"

"No," Dougal stated plainly while closing the distance between himself and the American. Leaning into her ear. "I don't trust you…" For a moment, their eyes locked before he pulled away from her.

It felt like her heart jumped into her throat. She knew she would regret it, but she had to ask."Why?"

The older male smiled as if he knew she would ask. Casually he folded his arms across his chest, ready to unleash his paranoia upon her. "Perhaps it's how ye showed up at the stones exactly as the English. Do you say you have a grandmother in Inverness? yet ye haven't tried writing to her. Wouldn't ye think she would like to know her flesh and blood was okay?" He had raised a question that she was unable to answer. Molly stood there, her mind spinning, trying to come up with a reasonable response, but she froze. Before she even had the chance, Dougal continued with his interrogation. "For the life of me, I can't seem to figure out how everyone is fooled—" his words trailed.

Molly was horrified. She wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock. Molly didn't dare to look at him but felt him peering down at her. Clearing her throat, Molly looked back at him, and she lied. "You're right. I don't have a Grandmother in Inverness." She hesitated. "She had died during my journey to Scotland." It was true, in the sense that currently, she wasn't alive, not if Molly stayed trapped in this time. By his line of questioning, it seemed he thought she was working with the English. Her heart raced, and all Dougal did was stare at her. It was clear he didn't care for her story. "I didn't know of her passing until I arrived in Inverness. The news came so suddenly, that I didn't have any place to go. That's why I have stayed. Running into the English was pure coincidence." She explained frantically, but her efforts were lost.

Only inches from Molly, Dougal stared her down with furrowed brows. "Maybe it's time you go back to yer own country." He expressed coldly.

She couldn't think of a time when she felt more lonely, unwanted, or unwelcomed. And she walked in on her fiancé, screwing another woman. She would be lying if she said Dougal hadn't hurt her feelings, but at the same time, why should she care? Did she want to leave? Molly fought to hold back the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Furrowing her brows, she cleared her throat, "Don't you worry about me. I'll be gone sooner than you think!" She spat. Pushing her way past Dougal, she felt the male gripping his fingers tightly around her forearm.

"Just leave me alone." Pushing him away once more before heading back toward the camp.

September 25, 1980

Wakening to an odd beeping sound. Rory's green eyes slowly opened, meeting the floodlight of florescent lighting igniting his already throbbing head. Messy dark curls fell on his face as the teenage boy shot up in his hospital bed. Beads of nervous sweat rolled down his cheeks. White walls were everywhere; he couldn't explain what it was he was looking at. His head shot towards the box next to him, making strange noises. Little green squiggles moved across the surface. What was this magic? The room had been lit up by electricity; he was sure of it, but how was that even possible. He went to pull the blankets off but was met with resistance by the wires connected to his arm and hand.

His head shot this way and that trying to make sense of it all. But nothing did. Just like any scared Child, he started to cry. "Help! Help me!" He screamed out in desperation.

A response happened quickly. A young woman in her twenties, dressed in a white uniform, came rushing into the room. "I know, I know. You're alright. You're okay." She consoled him. She placed her soft hands along Rory's shoulder, getting him to lay back down.

"Where am I?" Rory whined. He would then learn that this woman was named Amy, and she was his nurse, and he was in the hospital. At the time, he was too worried and afraid to ask what any of those things meant. But it didn't necessarily feel bad. Amy was trying her best to help him.

"You had a nasty fall and hit your head. But don't worry you'll be good as new." He didn't speak another word but continued to stare at her like a deer in headlights. Until."And Rory. Your parents are in the hall waiting. I'm going to send them in. They have been worried about ye."

"My parents?" Rory mumbled, now more confused than ever.

His eyes followed Nurse Amy to the door. The red-headed woman stepped out and walked Rose and Robert St. Claire. A handsome couple in their early forties. Robert was tall, with messy short brown hair and a toothy grin. Rose was blue-eyed, short with long curly blonde hair and a warm smile. Rory's eyes immediately fell on the woman. She had his clothing folded so neatly and pressed securely against her chest. The two moved cautiously across the room to Rory's bedside. He was at a loss of words. His eyes fixed on them as they figured out what to say to the boy. The silence felt like it had lasted an eternity until Rose decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Rory..." She started slowly. "I'm Rose and this is my husband Robert."

"How do ye know my name?"

"It's on yer canteen lad," Robert added with a chuckle.

"Bobbie. Don't laugh." Rose whispered. Causing Robert to give a sympathetic look to the young time-traveling Highlander,

"Where am I? I need to go to Inverness!" Rory frantically yelled out. Pulling at the wires, trying to free himself from what he thought was a prison.

"I know ye're scared, but we can explain everything if you let us!" Rose intervened. Gently, she brushed the mop of curls from Rory's freckled face. The motherly touch seemed to give a calming effect as the boy managed to relax.

Robert offered a look to his wife. Folding his hands together in his lap; his eyes fell to the ground before glancing back up at Rory. Clearing his throat. "You are in Inverness. It's just not the Inverness ye remember." It was at this point Rose got up and moved towards the door to close it for privacy because what they were going to tell him next was unbelievable. Robert waited for Rose to sit back down.

"Rose and I—we—we were—" This was harder than he thought it would be. "We were picnicking at, or well near the stones when you… you know, appeared."

Rose, who remained relatively quiet up to this point, could no longer hold her composer. "It was an absolute miracle! I glanced over at the stone circle and it was empty. I blinked and suddenly there ye were." She began to smile through the tears forming behind her eyes. "I have prayed for so long for a Child and suddenly there you were."

It had been no secret. The St. Claire's were unable to have children of their own. Rose's body was unable to produce eggs. They had spent a lot of time and effort looking into fertility treatments, but treatments were expensive and financially out of reach. The next step was adaption, and, in every aspect, they were the perfect candidates. Rose ran a floral shop. Robert was an accountant; they had a humble country home and respectable members of the community. They were also in the unique position of wanting a child of any age; however, the waitlist was long, and they had been waiting for a few years. Their encounter with Rory, by all accounts, was an astronomical miracle. Being a couple of strong faith, this truly felt like an answer from God.

"How old are ye lad?" Robert asked after studying him.

"Sixteen..." Rory managed to get out, though his attention was on everything else around him and not on Mr. And Mrs. St. Claire. "What happened to my horse? What happened to Roan?" He suddenly asked. It was clear he didn't understand what it is that had happened or that he was doing everything in his power to ignore it.

This scenario was completely unfathomable. Both were more than sympathetic to Rory. But for them, the truth of what happened was right there in their face. They both knew what they had seen. Rory fell from the stones.

"What year is it?" The young Highlander shouted out in desperation but was met with nervous hesitation from both Rose and Robert.

"What year do you think it is Rory?" Rose cautiously asked.

"1709." He looked at them as if they were out of their minds.

The only sound heard was the beeping from the machines in the room. The couple looked at each other, neither one able to find the words to tell him the truth. After a long minute, Rose slowly reached across, grasping Rory's thin hand into her own. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the teenager, their eyes meeting, and she replied as calmly as she could. "1980."

You could see the color draining from Rory's face. His jaw clenched together. His green eyes slowly looked down. His brows furrowed as he pulled away as if he touched fire. Snapping his eyes up to Rose than to Robert. "That's impossible…"