Fanfiction – Sirius Supernova (Constellations series)



I was completely honest when I said that for me the Sirius story was done after The Second Sighting of Sirius. I was happy with it. But the response to that particular ficlet was just overwhelming, as were the people asking for a sequel. So I thought “Yeah, someday, far far away from now, I’ll maybe writing something more”. I had other things I wanted to write first. But as we know, the fanfiction writer plans and the muse laughs. 

This is the end of the story. I hope you won’t live to regret asking for it. It contains feels. It will stay inside the Constellations series because…well, you’ll understand why. I do love you guys, so…see you on the other side.

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Sirius Supernova

“So, do ye intend to wake up the bairns?” Jamie panted in her ear, watching fascinated as she melted underneath him.

“And whose fault do you think that is?” She replied eventually, opening one eye, a blissful smile frozen on her lips.

“As I recall it, ye were there as well, Sassenach.” He brushed her naked hip with his fingers, rolling to lie next to her on his back.

“To be completely fair…” Claire brushed the ruddy hairs on his chest. “You did most of the heavy work.”

He snorted.

“Always a pleasure to serve ye, Sassenach.”

“Oh, so you are under my command, is it?” She said playfully, lightly biting one of his nipples. He yelped. “To do as I wish?”

He cocked an eyebrow, a lazy and somewhat smug smile dawning in his mouth.

“Aye. Give me five minutes and I’ll show ye.” His hand cupped her breast. “I might even foresee some things ye never thought ye desired.”

“Hmmm.” She moaned softly, as his skilled fingers stroked her tender nipples. “I’m intrigued. But you are an old man now, Fraser. I think you may need more than five minutes.”

“Dinna hear ye complaining of my auld age just ten minutes ago, when I was on my knees between yer legs.” He gave her a lopsided smile, making her blush.

“I’ll say this.” She caressed his flaming hair, still barely touched by the passing years. “You are still very flexible for a forty year old.”

They kissed, time flowing around them, immersed in a bubble where their connection was the only existing thing.

“I presume this was my birthday present?” He eventually asked, peeking to the scandalous lingerie on the floor beneath the bed.

“Yes, it was.” She entwined her fingers with his. “Not sure you enjoyed it enough, though. You unwrapped it pretty quickly.”

“Dinna fash, Tousled Sheep.” He traced her full bottom lip with his finger. “That will show ye just how much I loved it. I really did.”

“Good.” She said, satisfied. “I’m expecting something equally astounding on my next birthday.”

“What’s wrong with my letters?” He asked indignantly, slowly massaging her shoulder. “I thought ye liked them!”

“I do.” She hurried to kiss him for comfort. “I expect by the time we are eighty there won’t be enough space in the house to keep them. But I do love them, Jamie. They tell our story. I wouldn’t trade them for all the diamonds and perfumes in the world.”

“Maybe I can write something more creative the next time.” Jamie said, while his hand travelled along the slopes of her body. “And we can reenact it afterwards. Ye ken, when the kids are asleep.”

“Make sure you hide that one well enough.” She laughed. “We wouldn’t want another incident with the children asking us difficult questions. Faith already knows enough as it is.”

“Hmpf.” He made a noise with his throat, Scottish to the bone. “Perhaps I’ll write it in the Gaedlig, then.”

Jamie’s touch was becoming more difficult to ignore, as he applied all his considerable enthusiasm.

“It’s quite the risk.” Claire said, her voice caught in her throat. “You know I’m terrible at it. If you ask me to kiss your navel I’ll probably end up sucking your big toe, or something.”

“Will ye ever learn to speak the Gaedlig?” He asked, looking intently at her, as she straddled him.

“I already know how to say the only thing that matters, really.” She smiled at him, the fading light glowing around her, as she made her body home to him again. “Tha gaol agam ort.”


He heard her moan his name, as she had then, in lust. He had always loved to watch her lose herself at the very end, and the noises that she made when she surrendered to him.

“Jamie.” She repeated, calling him.

But this was different. No pleasure or elation in her voice. There wasn’t a trace of the breathless laugh that usually colored her voice. No tenderness.


He came awake instantly, the dream of a memory bursting like a soap bubble, his body mimicking the impact of falling. He rolled over in bed, searching for his wife. She had her eyes closed and strained, her breathing coming fast and laboriously.

“What is it, mo nighean airgead?”

“It hurts.” She whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “My chest.”

“Did ye take yer medication?” He asked anxiously, groping to hold her hand. She nodded affirmatively in reply. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Claire answered shortly.

Her heart condition was not a novelty. It had started when she turned sixty – first she would get tired after a long walk, humorously calling herself “An old hag”. Then she became fatigued after climbing the stairs to the house. Her lips became blue as wild blackberries, her beautiful eyes always surrounded by dark circles. Eventually, even the short distance between their room and the kitchen seemed like a challenge, enough to leave her panting and her chest constricted in pain.

The doctor had been clear – she had congestive heart failure. Even with a rigorous regime of medication and tight vigilance, the prognosis was daunting.

But she remained good humored and calm, tolerating Jamie’s concern and gentle prodding. He almost never left her side, always available to fulfill her every need. He nursed and cherished her with a care that left her smiling, speechless.

“Do ye want me to call the ambulance?” He questioned, trying to access her breathing.

“No.” She said, slowly, shaking her head. Their eyes locked and Jamie saw only tenderness there. Tranquility. Love. “I want to be here. With you.”

“But Sassenach…” He tried to say, squeezing her hand.

“Jamie…” Claire sighed, closing her eyes again. And suddenly, as effortlessly as a feather scattered in the wind, she stopped breathing.

For a moment Jamie had no language. No way to articulate the void that crushed every sense and rational thought.

It was beyond loss – it was pain, cursing through his body, demanding to be felt. Grief roared on, like a storm that battered him with mighty winds that he couldn’t escape. It was unbearable.

The pain receded momentarily, like a wave in low tide, only so he could be plunged into a whirl of memories. A kiss stolen while she slept, her body naked in the dim light of their room. The look on her face as she had called him “Boy”. Claire running in a beach, laughing. Her belly swollen with their first child. The white dress she wore at their wedding. The kiss he gave her that first night together, which he had craved for years – a perfect kiss, that would last a lifetime. Dear Jamie. The stack of letters tied with a white ribbon in the cherry-wood box. Her body so close to his under a tree in the Highlands. Tousled sheep. “Tha gaol agam ort.”

“Claire.” He cried out, the word escaping his brutalized soul. But he had no breath to shout it, as he would have; he gasped it out, tentatively touching her cheek. “Claire.”

Claire, the keeper of his heart since he was a boy, had gone where he could not reach her. She ended; and nothing else could ever begin.

Jamie had no wish to be in a world empty of her. No desire to prolong a life where she was not walking by his side. That her heart – so loving and fully committed – had betrayed her so, seemed like the utmost injustice.

He knew there were paths to death inside oneself - usually forgotten after birth, when we came into this world crying in joy or regret – he had felt them, so many years ago, during the war. A mechanism to self-destruction, built to preserve the mind in the darkest places. Yes, there had been times when he had felt tempted to follow them through and let go of fear and degradation.

But Claire was his living flame. Had been then; and had stayed that way for the best part of forty years together. She had held on to him and prevented his end, when life itself seemed pointless.

She was gone.

He could still feel it, though – the soft burning of the flame inside him, fed not by her presence, but by the memories of a lifetime together. It would be so easy to smother it, to blow it out and go gently into the unknown.

Jamie was afraid. Not of death – he had no fear of pain and had faith enough to believe something else followed this existence. What he feared was eternal separation. Oblivion. That his memories of Claire would be erased in the afterlife. Doomed to never meet again the person that set his fire ablaze. He had no interest in lonesome eternity.

Could he carry on for a time without her? Delay the expected reunion out of fear?

He looked at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees outside dancing there. Solace deserted him. He thought of their children, how they would feel with them gone – but they were fully grown now and raised right. Claire’s absence was just greater than anyone’s presence.

No, he couldn’t do this. To carry on. He must be reunited with her. Half a heart couldn’t make for an acceptable life, to someone who knew what it felt like to be whole.

Her hands were cold now, warmth slipping away, like his heart had slipped away with her. He looked at her and saw all the women he had loved – the girl, the woman, the healer, the lover, the friend, the mother, the companion. He touched the streaks of silver hair and felt the echo of life still there; caressed her lips and heard her crystalline laugh; kissed her closed eyes and saw the whiskey that always made him drunk in love.

Jamie softly kissed her sweet mouth and nuzzled her curly hair one final time. His arms embraced her body, sheltering her once more.

He closed his eyes, finally seeking her. The flame gone out.

His heart stopped beating.

What he saw then was not what he expected.

They were lying together in a hill under the stars, their hands almost touching. She was smiling and his heart soared seeing her lips so alive again. She was different somehow – young again, her brown hair combed in a slightly different way, a scar in her forearm that he knew nothing of -, but still her in all the ways that mattered.

Jamie heard the distant whispers of their voices, far away enough that he couldn’t understand their words. But they spoke the language of the heart – and for that he needed no words to comprehend.

Their lips were almost touching now. Stars kept falling from the sky above, heedless of the creation of a supernova between them.

And Jamie knew he would always find his way back to her.

I’m busy being conflicted about whether I hate or love @kalendraashtar. Please hold.

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