Out of the Clear Blue Sky: Milestones, Part 1


A/N: Aggh, forgot to put this up on tumblr last night when I put it on AO3. Better late than never, right? 😬😘 Thought the world could use some fluffy Pilot!Frasers right about now. This is part 1 of a 2-shot, set in my Out of the Clear Blue Sky universe in the early days of Jamie and Claire’s relationship.

PART ONE: Vancouver

Twenty-eight days.

It had been twenty-eight days since I’d last laid eyes on Jamie Fraser — since I’d left him half-asleep and smiling in a rumpled hotel bed in Tel Aviv. I’d whispered a promise to see him again soon, and his hand had snaked out from under the covers to find mine, drawing me down to him for a parting kiss.

“Til we meet again, Sassenach,” he’d murmured, his voice groggy with sleep and tender enough to warm me to my bones. I’d left the hotel room smiling, touching my lips and daydreaming about the next place we’d meet, and what we’d do with and to one another when we got there.

Anxious to expedite the process, I began lingering at restaurants and coffee shops in the Delta terminals, scanning the crowds for him in every airport where I had a layover long enough to do so. It was only a matter of time, I reasoned; since our first night together at Heathrow, we’d never gone longer than eleven days without bumping into one another by sheer coincidence. I thought that surely choosing central locations near Jamie’s potential gates would shorten that duration significantly.

Of course, I came to find out much later that Jamie had been doing the exact same thing — hovering near the Virgin Atlantic gates, hoping to bump into me. 

And so we missed each other, every time. 

For twenty-eight days.

The night I finally saw him again was an unremarkable Tuesday in Vancouver. I was sat on a metal barstool in the international terminal, nursing a rum and Coke, half-watching a football match on the telly. I’d flown in from London an hour ago, and my return flight didn’t leave until morning. It had been a bloody long day, and I was knackered; at that moment, the idea of curling up at the hotel with a book, some room service, and a few bottles of liquor from the mini-bar sounded like bliss. 

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to turn in without at least trying. Not on a night like this, when we could actually have time together if I did find him. 

But after so many fruitless days spent doing exactly this — waiting and watching, hoping for a glimpse of him in the crowd — my hopes of actually spotting Jamie were at an all-time low. I had just about decided to pack it in, call it a night as soon as I finished the last of my drink.

So, naturally, that was the moment he finally reappeared, out of the clear blue sky. 

I’d glanced up at the telly to watch Spain score a goal, taken a deep drink of my rum and Coke. When I looked back down again, I choked on the burning mouthful.

There he was. Standing just across the hallway, not twenty feet away, waiting in line at Starbucks. His back was to me, but even without the glimpse of soft red curls peeking out from beneath his pilot’s cap, I would have known that silhouette anywhere.

For a moment I simply stared at him, completely dumbfounded, unable to believe my eyes. I must have stopped breathing, because I could feel the blood rushing to my head, and the world suddenly began to swim precariously around me. I forced two quick, shallow breaths through lungs that felt like a vise, and then I was moving, my heart hammering frantically against my sternum.


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