Archives for the Date March 11th, 2020

Crash Course Love

magnoliasinbloom:

Infinite thanks to @anna-swims and @lcbeauchampoftarth for being awesome betas.

To @but-little-she-is-fierce, how can I refuse? Please enjoy!

AO3 :: Previously

8: Coffee [Jamie]

This is not a date, not a date, not a date, I kept chanting in my head.

I walked through the door of the Costa Coffee, the aroma of roasted coffee beans sharp in my nose. It was mildly busy, a few customers milling around tables and a few others queued up for their evening caffeine fix. I scanned the tables, but she wasn’t here yet.

Of course, I was fifteen minutes early. One could say I was a bit overeager. I was also willing to admit (but only to myself) that I had spent close to an hour deciding what to wear.

I couldn’t believe I had said the words, “it’s a date” to her when we hung up last Sunday. I felt the strong urge to wipe the grin off Janet’s face as we bid each other goodbye after our lunch, except I was pretty sure she’d give back as good as she got, the wee meddling besom. So now I waited for Claire, coffee cup in hand, fingers tapping on the table.

I felt much better than I had in months. Not only was my ex-girlfiend mortified at the idea of me being happy and dating someone, but the lass I was supposed to be going out with was Claire: beautiful, witty, strong. And in turn, I was to accompany her to a wedding. As her date. We could also pretend to be dating there; I’d hold her hand, sit very close to her, maybe even slow dance again with her body pressed against mine—

With the chime of bells above the door, Claire’s appearance in the coffee shop distracted me from my increasingly lascivious thoughts. She shook off the light rain from her tangled curls, and then she spotted me. A smile lit up her face. Well. My memory had not done her justice. Granted, we had both been a bit pissed when we met, and then afflicted with massive hangovers, but now beautiful did not seem an apt enough description. She wore jeans, boots, a green sweater, and a thick black parka.

Claire strolled over to the small table and slid in front of me. She shrugged off her coat, with a simple, “Hi, Jamie,” and ducked her head shyly. I realized then that I hadn’t said a word, and I was still staring.

“Jamie?” Claire folded her hands in front of her, looking back quizzically.

“Oh, aye, lass. Sorry. How are ye?” I managed a crooked smile. A light blush colored her cheeks. Was it overwarm in here?

“I’m fine. Just closed down the shop. Could I have sip of that?” She gestured towards my coffee cup and I pushed it towards her, amused.

“I can get ye a coffee, if ye’d like. I just didna know what ye would fancy.”

“No, it’s alright. It would keep me up all night.” Her pale pink lipstick left an imprint on the rim, and I immediately thought about putting my own lips there. Focus, man!

“So, Sassenach. We have Sunday lunch coming up, and then a wedding to attend. As… a couple.” I could feel the tips of my ears burn. They’d almost match my hair. “Is that the way of it?”

Claire grinned sheepishly. “I guess so. We can always break up right after. No harm done.” She fiddled with the edge of her sweater. “How do you want to do this?”

“Do what?”

“This. Us. You know. On Sunday. For instance, how should we tell them we met? I doubt ‘blind drunk at a pub and wound up in bed together’ is ideal.”

“Guess not,” I laughed. “How about if we say we met here, at a coffee shop?”

“A little boring, but it works. We can say you spilled my coffee—”

“I’ve seen ye dance, Sassenach. More like you spilled the coffee.”

“Fine. And then I offered to buy you another one.”

“I asked ye out to dinner, since ye were so bonny and clumsy,” I said, trying to play it off.

“Or I asked you. This is the 21st century, you know.”

“They’ll probably find that more believable, since I’ve not been out with a lass in—a year.” I gulped, and took a swig of my coffee to cover it up.

“Okay. That’s sorted then. What other questions should we expect from your family?”

“Och, the usual, I’d say. Where ye grew up, yer parents, yer job.”

“Alright. It’s simple enough. I was born and raised in Oxford, until the age of five. I already mentioned what happened to my parents, and that I was taken in by my Uncle Lamb.” My breath caught at her recitation of the facts and I instinctively reached out to touch her hand in sympathy.

“And how did ye get involved with botany and flowers?”

“My uncle taught archaeology at Oxford. After I arrived, Lamb stopped traveling and focused on his teaching career. He kept a garden and tended it every free second he had. I used to help him and grew to love flowers. Lamb helped with the money to open the shop.”

“It sounds… peaceful.” My fingers were unconsciously tracing patterns on the back of her hand; she accepted the gesture, moving her fingers gently under my touch.

“It was. He’s still back in Oxford, retired, devoted to growing things.” Claire smiled fondly before turning her attention to me. “Was growing up on a farm peaceful too?”

“Sometimes.” I laughed. “Whenever Willie and I were not causin’ mayhem. Janet was easier, I suppose, but she never refused to play wi’ us unruly lads. She’s actually an artist – she designs the labels and paints in her spare time. Not a lot of that, with a son and daughter.”

“And the distillery?”

“That’s the Fraser family business. My uncles Dougal and Colum MacKenzie were the investors, my mam’s brothers. But the whisky we produce carries my father’s name – Fraser Fire. I run the business end, distribution and such. Jenny and Ian help with that, since they live close to Lallybroch. Willie lives in Edinburgh with his own lass, Mary MacNab.”

“That sounds lovely,” Claire sighed. “To have such a large, tight-knit family.”

“I canna say it’s easy sometimes, Sassenach, but we love each other. For the most part.” I grinned. “I wanted to murder Jenny last time, for what she said.”

“I don’t mind. I like her. She looks out for you. She wants you to be happy.”

We spent the next hour trading tidbits of our lives. We learned each other’s favorite color, favorite food, favorite place to travel. How she took her coffee (cream and sugar), if she liked movies (historical romances), how much her tattoo had hurt (a lot). I filed away all of this information for future consideration.

A comfortable silence fell between us, once we had exhausted topics. Our hands were still intertwined, and I marveled at the normalcy and ease of touching Claire. It did not feel forced or awkward, but utterly right.

“Sunday then,” she said, breaking the spell. She removed her hand gently from mine, to check the time on her phone. “Should we meet somewhere beforehand?”

“I’ll pick ye up at eleven, yes? I ken fine were ye live, after all.” I smiled. “‘Tis a bit of a journey and we’ll need the four-wheel drive on my Jeep for a stretch of it.” The thought of a long road trip with Claire lifted my spirits immensely. “Do ye have to go?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll be doing a wedding in a few weeks and have to get the centerpieces designed, seasonal flowers ordered in, meeting with the bride to review all the details.”

“Would that be the wedding?” I raised my eyebrows and she laughed.

“That’s the one. We have a few weeks, though, so I’ll let you know about it later. We’ll tackle your family first.” We stood up and headed for the exit.

“My mam’s a good cook. If nothing else, ye can look forward to a great meal,” I offered, pulling the door open for her.

“I can look forward to so much more than that, Jamie.” Her honey-hued eyes held mine, piercing, suddenly bright and intimate in the middle of the coffee shop. I stopped breathing, the world grinding to a halt.

For a minute, I thought she would kiss me. We stared each other down, seeming to get closer and closer; our gaze flickered between meeting and tracing our mouths until all I wanted to do was close my eyes and lose myself in her.

Claire was suddenly stumbling, nearly falling into a slushy puddle. I caught her around the waist while an angry customer pushed past us, muttering about inconsiderate time-wasters.

“Are ye alright?”

“I am now,” she managed, our eyes locking again.

I held Claire close to steady her, fine strong fingers gripping my arms. We stood there in the misty cold rain, holding on to each other. I tried to recapture the intensity of the moment we had just lost.

But it was gone.

Can you possibly do a follow up to the fic you did where Jamie and Claire’s roles were reversed? He was the time traveller and she was the highlander.

Follow-up to this

Mrs. FitzGibbons had helped Claire undress down to her shift, and she sat now before the fire with a blanket wrapped tightly around herself, feeling terribly exposed to this strange man they’d brought back. Her amber gaze watched him closely, noting the herbs he used, the fascinating way he boiled the strips of cloth he was using. Germs, he’d said. Whatever those were. Either way, she enjoyed watching him work. His hands were so big, they didn’t seem like they should have the kind of softness that they had. Never before had Claire met a man who could heal like Jamie could. She felt drawn to him, and she couldn’t deny it to herself, though she absolutely would deny it should anyone else mention her fascination. 

“Ye’re a different sort of woman than most, aren’t ye, Claire?” Jamie asked as he moved behind her to examine the wound. Very gently, he pulled the blanket aside and his fingers brushed over her skin as he slid the shift down off her shoulder. Goosebumps bubbled up over her skin and he found himself watching them with a sort of wonder. He twirled a few dark strands of hair around his finger and tucked them up behind her ear to keep them out of the way.

She snorted at his question. “Aye, ye could say that, I suppose. Tend to find myself in more trouble than no’. Dougal says I take after my mother, ken.” Claire hissed softly as he dabbed at the wound, carefully cleaning it and inspecting the work he’d hastily done on the roadside. 

“Oh? And what is she like?”

She sighed and tipped her head to the side a little, wincing at the strain on both the bullet wound and her aching shoulder joint. She stared into the fire for a bit, remembering the woman who had loved her- despite everything that had happened to bring about Claire’s own existence. “She was headstrong,” she began, a smile playing on her lips. “And she loved like no other.”

Jamie was silent as Claire spoke of her mother, his hands continuing their gentle work, though he paused often to ask a question or to listen more closely to some part of those stories that she shared with him. He was always close, a blazing warmth all but pressed against her back, and Claire found herself wanting to lean back against him. He could wrap his arms around her and warm her far better than the blanket she wore ever could.

“She sounds like she was an amazing woman. And your father, is he alive?”

A shadow crossed Claire’s features and she dropped her head a little, dark memories flitting across her vision. She still remembered his face, the last time she’d seen him in the halls of Fort William. He’d been so pale with worry then, and she’d blamed herself for being imprisoned, for not being around to see that he got enough rest, to see that he was cared for properly when he fell ill. Word reached Lallybroch that ye were dead, lass. It was the loss of ye broke his heart, they say. 

Brian Fraser had not been her sire, but he had been her father in every way that had mattered, and Claire’s own heart ached to think of the loss of him. “He is not,” she said simply. Then, she added softly, “But he was a very good man.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Jamie murmured, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he gently pressed a fresh bandage to her shoulder. He moved around to kneel before her so he could tie the bandage across her chest and was startled to find tears running down her cheeks. He made a distressed noise and reached for a clean, dry bandage to dab at her tears, gently pulling her into his arms. She sobbed into his shoulder for for a while and he stroked her hair, murmuring soothingly to her. 

It seemed to work well enough, for eventually, she pulled back a little and lifted a hand to swipe at her wet cheeks. Claire reached with her bad arm, though, and made a pained noise when her shoulder protested the movement. It was growing stiff and painful, swollen from misuse. Jamie jumped at the sound and moved to gently tuck her elbow in against her side.

“Aye, I’ll just be wrapping this back up, too, then ye can be on your way. You’ll be needing a good night’s rest in your own bed tonight.” Before he began to wrap her arm, though, he reached up to thumb away a stray tear from her face, his own eyes glittering with unspoken emotion as he gazed at her.

“I suspect ye will be needin’ the same,” she mused quietly, blinking a few times to clear her eyes. Her lips twitched a little toward a smile. “Ye dinna seem much used to ridin’ all night, for a man on the run.”

Something else flashed across his gaze before he lowered it to pay attention to his work. Jamie wrapped the bandage round Claire’s slim waist then tied it off, checking to ensure her arm was secure against her side. “Well, I tend to go on foot. Dinna have the money for a horse, ken. Anyway, it’s easier to hide a single man in the heather than it is a man and a horse,” he explained quickly before standing. “All finished, Miss MacTavish. Will I walk ye to your room, then?”

She stood, ran her good hand over her wild curls, then quickly tugged the blanket in around herself as she shook her head. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Fraser. I thank ye for yer help,” she said softly as she stepped toward the door.

Jamie hurried over to open the door for her, then watched with bright eyes as she stepped out into the dimly lit hall. “Sleep well, Claire,” he breathed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a small smile, then dipped her head and turned to stride away.

tasha-vick: daenerys-targaryen: flowercrownimpala: i wonder if actors ever get their scripts and…

tasha-vick:

daenerys-targaryen:
flowercrownimpala:

i wonder if actors ever get their scripts and are like
well this is fucking stupid

I feel like Lena is trying so hard not to scream her guts out.

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