Wordless meetings of lips and tongue, brushes of palms, fortuitous
like lovers evading reality. For the next couple of weeks, Jamie and Claire
would meet inside a kiss, that always came unannounced and unplanned, finding
them while they climbed the stairs of her apartment or in the proximity of
folding laundry. Everything about such moments was inebriating, tasting of the
tang of unlawfulness. A breach on their tacit agreement that they had ceased to
be two who became one.
They seldom speak, before or after such moments, knowing that words
would give meaning to their actions. They would have to discuss what,
why, how.
And while Claire couldn’t resist the pull of Jamie, there was still
a significant space between them; a crack where she could still fall in the
process of reaching out to him, deep into a precipice that would definitively
break her. There was reluctancy and sometimes almost anger, red-rimmed and rich, beckoning her to scrape her teeth
against his lips, to hurt him in the
only way she could.
Jamie was finally back at the Royal
Infirmary, although they had agreed to keep his workload fairly small, and
any surgeries supervised by another fully-trained surgeon. He still went to
therapy most days of the week and paled at any mention of his time away, even
if brought up in jest by another colleague.
“Chief Beauchamp, dearie.
There’s a lass here to see ye.” Glenna FitzGibbons, the new secretary
overseeing the surgical department, peeked from the half-closed door of Claire’s
office one afternoon.
She was matronly and unapologetically Scot; her practicality rivalled with that of a general and her
shrewdness with the sharpness of a ruling queen. Claire almost wept tears of
joy when the short woman magically reduced her pile of delayed work by half,
within two ours of starting in her new position. The fact that she stubbornly
insisted in calling her by a title instead of her own name – even if preceded
or followed by an endearment in her soothing brogue – was thoroughly overlooked
in favour of her effectiveness.
“She doesna have an appointment but says it’s verra important. Maybe she’s a patient in need of yer help?” The
plump woman tried to guess, looking expectantly at the female surgeon.
“You can let her in, Mrs. Fitz.” Claire sighed, pushing away a sufferable Morbidity & Mortality report, and
adjusting her slightly dishevelled white lab coat. “I was about to take a break
from this anyway.”
The woman allowed in had chestnut hair and Claire immediately
recognized her gentle brown eyes – she had been haunted by the memory of her face
for weeks.
“Hello.” The newly-arrived greeted her, with uncertainty – apprehensiveness – in her tone. Her
voice was smooth and musical, filled with a Highland lilt that Claire had come
to know so well. “I’m Mary – Mary MacNab.”
“Yes.” Claire answered
coldly, not giving her the courtesy of a formal introduction. She could feel
heat rising on her cheeks and neck, her hands clenching into painful fists. “Why
are you here?”
“Ye know – about me.” Mary
realized, observing the surgeon’s demeanour. Her skin, slightly golden from sun
exposure, looked clammy. “I wasna sure if ye –“
“I know everything.”
Claire bit down on every word, pursing her lips in distaste. “And you’re not welcome in my hospital. Say whatever
you came here to say and leave.”
Mrs. Fitz peeped again from the door, a pleasant smile plastered on
her generous lips, as a hostess of a dinner party ready to offer refreshments
before the first course. “Do ye want some coffee or tea, lasses?” Noticing
Claire’s aggravated stance and her crossed arms, her smile dwindled. “Perhaps
something stronger?”
“I don’t think we have something quite
strong enough.” Claire blinked. “Besides, there’s no need.” She tilted her
chin, attempting to reassure Glena with a gentle smirk. “Mary won’t be staying
long. Thank you, Mrs. Fitz.” And with
a significant eyebrow raise and a nod, the secretary was dismissed. Claire
wondered if she would be listening behind the door, ready to intervene at the
first sounds of a kerfuffle.
“Perhaps I shouldna have come.” Mary licked her lips, clearly
nervous. “But I was concerned – I needed to make sure Jamie was alright.”
“How generous of you.”
Claire snorted, throwing her a venomous look. “I think you’ve done quite enough for him – don’t you?”
The woman swallowed hard,
opening her mouth as if to say something, but rapidly decided against it. Her
hands – slender and calloused, Claire noticed – sought the support of the back
of the chair in front of her.
“I’ll forever regret whatever role I played in hurting ye, Claire. I
knew well enough what was between the two of ye, how deeply Jamie loved ye. The
night it happened, I –“ Mary shook
her head, biting down on her bottom lip. “Jamie had been recovering from the
knife wound on his back, from defending a young woman on the streets. He was
still awfully weak – from the wound, but mainly from constantly giving away his
meals to civilians in town – but refused to rest while we worked.”
A knife wound. Jamie giving
away his food. Still so much Claire didn’t know
about that period of his life; still so much he wasn’t able to share with her.
“It was a bloodshed.” Mary’s voice quivered, but she pushed on. Her
words sounded mechanic, but not in the way of a practiced speech – in the way
of someone who was hiding from a surge of unbearable emotion. “Our efforts
barely made a difference. I came to Jamie when our shift ended – I couldn’t
stop crying. He held me, told me I shouldn’t be alone.” The nurse’s breath
itched, as if a sob had lodged in her throat. “There was nothing romantic or
sexual about it. I knew he didna want me – I
felt it then.”
“But you did want him.”
Claire placed her palms on her desk, staring defiantly at Mary. “Jamie is
convinced that you only wanted to feel connected; to feel what it is to be
touched in kindness. But I think that
you were in love with him.”
“I won’t lie.” The nurse held her gaze, sorrow dancing in her
chocolate eyes. “I could have loved
him. There aren’t many men like Jamie and certainly not many I’ve met. But his heart only held your
name – I wasna trying to stand between ye two. I respect him too much to stand
on his way to true happiness.”
“You made advances on a committed man – a broken man.” The Chief of Surgery hissed, aghast. Mary flinched,
as if Claire had physically hit her. “Where was your respect then?”
“I was broken too. Ye
dinna understand what it was like there!” Mary answered vehemently.
“Oh, believe me, I do.”
Claire said softly. “Knowing what you went through there is the only reason why I haven’t kicked you out
of my office yet.”
“Afterwards, Jamie became a shell.” Mary whispered, fidgeting with
her hands. She seemed to have aged years within the last few minutes. “Distanced
himself from any comfort and became increasingly more reckless with his own life.
If his mission hadn’t ended, he would have seen himself to a grave there.”
Claire glanced at her, a cold sweat blooming on the back of her
neck. How close had he truly been from
never returning?
They were three broken people, united by the dark side of being
human. Fallible, flawed, aching. The
woman had come searching for news, perhaps as part of her own road to healing –
could Claire really deny her such a small solace? “Jamie is…healing. He is getting the help he
needs.”
“Good.” Mary nodded, her
mouth relaxing slightly. She straightened her shoulders, preparing to leave.
“Again, I apologize for the pain I’ve unwillingly caused ye. Please, dinna tell
Jamie I was here. Some people are best left only as memories.”
****
The door leading to Jamie’s room was opened, the soft sounds of his deep
breathing inviting her in. Clearly, he had felt strong enough – whole enough – to sleep in a proper bed
for the night, relinquishing the comfort and wisdom of the celestial bodies.
The night felt precious around her, as if the air itself had been dipped in
silver, making a treasure trove of her lungs.
Jamie was sleeping, curled on his side. There was a time when he
would sleep sprawled on the bed, like a smug conqueror, seeking to hold the
entire world during the night. That had changed after his return; he slept
encased in himself, protecting the fragile thing within, no longer reaching
out. But there – in the arch of his
slim body, turned inwards – there was still a space where she could fit. There
was still a place for her.
Forgiveness didn’t come as a lightening. If anything, it was like
the raging sea – occasionally the waves receded enough for her to breathe
again, to see clearly; sometimes the
knowledge of what had passed came crashing into her, leaving her a hairsbreadth
away from drowning, from being taken away into the mass of water that was
resentment.
There was a choice for her to make going forward – allow herself moments
underwater, submerged, all the while
experiencing the blueness of the sky in his eyes, in those instants of clarity;
or to walk away, uncursed from the tide, but uncapable of feeling love again.
Unhurriedly, Claire laid down beside Jamie, fully dressed in her day
clothes.
His eyes opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for
her in his dreams. They stared into each other for a long time, quietly content
to do so. Eventually, Jamie’s thumb traced her face, from temple to jaw. Claire
closed her hand around his wrist, his tattoo etched on her palm.
“God, ye’re beautiful. So beautiful.” Jamie whispered, and his
voice resounded with wonder and something akin to surprise. He looked like a
newborn, opening his eyes for the first time, colours flickering into place. “I forgot – I tried so hard not to, but
there was a time over there when I
couldn’t remember the exact shade of yer eyes. Close enough, but not the
same. It was then when I knew I was truly
lost.”
“Will you forget again?” Claire asked, her voice almost inaudible.
But in such closeness, he could read it on her lips, in her eyes. The fear,
kept at bay once by the force of their closeness, now threatening to install
itself fully again.
“I ken that I almost lost ye.” Jamie’s thumb caressed her cheekbone,
where small freckles appeared when her skin was sun-kissed. They had never had a summer together.
“That I can lose ye still. That is
only by the grace ye had chosen to give me that I may yet touch ye so.” His
eyes were fierce, devouring her face with unmitigated hunger. “I gave away the
right to love ye – so hardly won – without truly fighting for it. I’ll regret
it for as long as I live – so no, I
won’t forget again. Never again.”
“You betrayed me. You
allowed me to believe I had been replaced in your heart. You never called. You held back.” Claire listed his offenses,
but no fury descended over her. Everything – outside and inside her heart – felt peaceful. The ground zero after
a blast, levelled, where green weeds might be allowed to flourish in due time.
“You said you loved me. I believed it. Now you start to show me
again.”
“I do love ye. With everything that I am, little as it might be now.” He framed her face with his hands, his
palms very warm and slightly moist from sleep. “But I want to give ye enough –
and I’m still not sure that I can.” Jamie gulped down, his eyes wide with
tormented fear. “Claire – will ye
risk the man that I am for the sake of the man ye once knew?”
“I already know you.”
Claire tenderly brushed his yet too-short hair, prickly under her fingers, and
smiled softly. “And since you are in my
guest room, I think the answer is plain enough to see.” Her fingers sought the
tattoo on his chest, as they had so often before. She felt the goosebumps
awakened by her touch, like blowing a candle to life. “Promise me you will
never leave me again.”
“I promise. I promise I’ll never leave ye, unless ye ask me too.” Jamie’s
fingers brushed the long slope of her neck, admiring her marble skin, so
perfectly carved. Claire promptly opened the fist few buttons of her blouse,
exposing the curve of her ivory breasts.
Noticing how his breathing became more laboured with the sight of
her, Claire slid an audacious hand over his abdomen, eliciting an even sharper
intake of breath. “I once asked you if you were afraid. You said you weren’t – not around me. Are you afraid now?”
“Aye.” Jamie closed his eyes for a second, lost in the sensation of
her hand over the waistband of his sleeping pants. When he grew accustomed with
her boldness, his hot lips found the corner of her mouth and he sucked
slightly, flicking his tongue to erase the previous harshness.
“Why? We have been intimate after you came back.” Claire pointed,
her nails grazing the side of his nipples. Jamie’s thumb found her navel,
pressing down on her bellybutton, a queer sensation that left her thoroughly
breathless.
“I’m ashamed to admit that I
wasna really here.” He cupped her
breast reverently, his index finger circling her breastbone, along the edge of
her ribcage. “I was profoundly detached. Couldna allow ye to see me for what I was, then. I wanted so badly to
find a way to ye – and couldn’t.”
“Are you here now?” She
questioned softly, palming the hardness of him. He moaned then with abandon, his
face twisted in a pleasure that bordered on pain. But his eyes never left her,
never escaped towards the unseen – he was there,
there, there. Broken, scared,
bruised, battered, haunted, hers.
“I am.” Jamie kissed her
mouth, his tongue darting to taste Claire’s every word, allowing her to taste
his own truth. His hand roamed across the expanse of her body, with a hesitance
and tenderness that brought tears to her eyes, until his touch found her need.
She was slick and ready, and his fingers pointed inside her, skilful and
gentle, pushing as if he was trying to reach her heart from the inside.
Claire moved her hips, mindlessly seeking contact, giving him more access
to her body. They touched each other unhurriedly, limbs twisted together, clawing
and caressing with an unspoken need for possession, for connection.
Tell me again. Each touch screamed. Tell me
why you are mine and why I can’t let go.
Got most of her pictures through Cait (IG & Twitter) and Simon (IG). Haven’t seen a photo of her in 2017 and for 2018 we have one video on Cait’s IG. ☺️ If anyone would want to add, feel free to do so.
Tori