Chapter Text
“You’re waiting out the storm wi’ WHO?”
Jamie cringed, pulling his mobile away from his ear slightly. He had called Jenny to, primarily, inform her that her son was safe and that they would be home rather later than expected… he had felt disingenuous about simply saying he would be with a “friend” in town, but hearing Jenny’s reaction to the idea that he would be with Claire…
He kind of wished he had lied.
Not that he was ashamed of spending time with her — far from it, in fact — it just felt like something too private to let someone like his sister in on. Yet.
Even so, he fielded her demands and soothed her, well, meltdown as well as he could; after all, would she prefer that he try to drive home through the drifts and risk going off the road with the temperature dropping and no way of letting her know?
Her eventual acquiesce — followed by a stern “but dinna think we’re done wi’ this, Jamie Fraser” — was a godsend.
Driving insanely slowly behind Claire’s wee car through the still falling snow had given him time to think — and to realize, of course, exactly how ill prepared he was to spend time with her, particularly when there was no set end time. He could hardly have “just forgotten” an appointment he held when they were snowed in together; he estimated at least a couple hours until the storm stopped, and longer still until the roads were passable.
So he would be alone with Claire, for the first time since their fight.
He had seen her after he walked out, of course; though she was conveniently gone when he retrieved most of his things…
There was that one final trip.
A few odds and ends were all that remained— a ring that he couldn’t bring himself to pawn (and that he secretly almost kind of hoped she had seen: one last opportunity to throw him a life preserver, or maybe to grab one of her own), a few last books and vinyls from their shared collection — and they all fit into one small box.
Her best friend, Gillian — a tall, fair, kind of terrifying red headed woman — had been there that final day; to protect Claire from him, to force her to stay strong, he imagined wearily.
Even so, he couldn’t help but stop in the doorway, turn and choke out over one shoulder —
“I am sorry, Claire,”
And then down the stairs and out of her life.
And now, somehow, against all odds, he was seeing her again.
Spending time with her…
Talking it through with her, maybe.
And —
Loving her. Still.
He knew it, couldn’t deny it. Was afraid that he didn’t want to.
He was afraid of a lot of things, to be honest.
*****
Claire flexed her fingers against the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. It would be fine.
Her insanely impulsive request, met almost instantly with a noticeably shaky “aye, yeah, if we could,” had meant that she’d hastily given him the address and rolled her window back up before she could lose her nerve.
Or come to her senses.
She hadn’t thought he’d say yes — hadn’t thought he’d want to spend time with her, or, mainly, that he didn’t have someone else in town who might be able to help him.
But apparently not, and so they were in their respective vehicles, crawling at a snail's pace back to her rental.
She was grateful that it was a nice sized place, and that she hadn’t just rented a room. There was enough room for some distance between them if this didn’t go well.
Fuck, she wanted this to go well.
The dull ache in her chest for the past three years shifting into directly, acutely, missing him had been an odd feeling; from the sense of resigned absence to a new and sharper sensation, that of stretching towards something that’s only just out of reach.
He probably wasn’t, of course. Within reach, that is... Even though, if she was honest with herself, she desperately wanted him to be.
That last day — the last time she’d seen him — was a bit of a blur; Gillian had seen to a state of absolute, blackout inebriation that night, and Claire only really remembered pieces of that day.
Except one thing — the heartbreak in his voice when he had said he was sorry, right before he walked out of her life.
That had stayed burned into her memory, even all those years later.
Claire bit her lip, glanced quickly in the rear view.
He was turned slightly towards where she knew his nephew to be in the back seat, saying something. The little boy absolutely adored him; that much was clear.
It was… Jenny’s son?
— right, Jamie’s sister was named Jenny. That must be his mother; he must have been born not too long after the breakup, Claire realized… with time to think about it, her initial fear that he was Jamie’s wasn’t entirely possible.
Thank god.
Claire couldn’t help but wonder what other changes had occurred in Jamie’s life over the last few years.
*****
They pulled up the drive in front of Claire’s airBnB; Jamie let out a big exhale as he parked.
No turning back now.
“Do you need any help with anything?” Claire called. She’d done considerably less damage at Tesco — she only held one small bag, as opposed to the several Jamie had left with.
“If I can put these in your fridge, I would appreciate it,” Jamie called, gesturing to his bags. “Some of this shouldna freeze, which I’m worried it’ll do if I leave it out here.”
“That’s fine,” Claire replied. “Um. Do you want me to take wee Jamie…?”
“Aye, yeah, if ye can get him in the house…” Jamie replied, moving to get his nephew from his car seat and bundle him up again.
Claire was at his side before he knew it, and she gently reached out to take the lad from him.
“Thank ye,” Jamie murmured.
To see her with a bairn…
“It’s no problem,” Claire replied. She turned to wee Jamie. “Are you ready to go inside?” She asked him, so sweetly it broke Jamie’s heart.
The lad nodded, and Claire took him inside, leaving the door open for Jamie as she went.
Jamie watched until he couldn’t see her anymore.
He realized, fully, in that moment, that perhaps this: escaping the storm with her, and seeing just a wee glimpse of what could have been…
Might it not be a sign for what still could be? His own personal Christmas Carol in a way.
He wasn’t sure —
But he did believe in miracles, and second chances.
Maybe this was a bit of both.
*****
Claire set to slipping wee Jamie out of his puffy coat as soon as she could; her purchases, left on the kitchen counter to be dealt with later.
The boy was fairly quiet, but observant; occasionally he glanced in the direction from whence they’d come, but otherwise, he seemed to be a fairly trusting little thing.
“Maybe we’ll ask your uncle if you can have a bit of hot chocolate when he gets in,” Claire told the boy as she balanced him on her hip.
“Only if the uncle gets some as well,” Jamie replied, smiling shyly as he made his way into the kitchen.
His expression as he gazed at her made Claire blush.
“That’s only fair, I suppose,” she said, handing his nephew back to him.
This man was going to be the death of her.
Small talk was a blissful distraction as she set to preparing three cups of hot chocolate — learned that he was a semester away from finally completing his Ph.D —
“I always knew you’d get it,” she’d told him smugly —
And he learned about her work as a surgeon, overseeing the trauma decision at the Royal Infirmary.
With a brief pause to put Wee Jamie down for a nap, they danced carefully around the elephant in the room; for a time, they seemed to successfully play at being just old friends catching up.
The old chemistry was mostly back: talking, teasing, flirting a bit...
Claire’s heart almost stopped aching.
And then Jamie referenced his Da.
It was a casual thing; a reference to a Hogamany tradition.
But it was enough.
*****
Jamie could tell the exact moment that Claire shut down.
He’d explained a particular role that his father had taken on for Hogamany as he’d grown up—
And had said that it was his role, now.
He hadn’t meant anything by it, hadn’t wanted to bring up that particular part of their past...
And he saw her retreat; guilt flashing across her expression as she did.
“Excuse me,” she said, and she walked into the living room.
She stared out the window as he approached her.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said softly.
“Why are you the one apologizing?”
“I…” he started. Swallowed, paused. How to begin?
“It’s my bloody fault,” she continued, breaking the silence. “I should be apologizing to you — I was so selfish....”
Her shoulders began to shake, and not knowing what else to do (and also knowing he was possibly about to make a colossal mistake), he softly, as gently as if she was made of glass, rested his hands on her arms, rubbing his hands up and down.
“Claire, dinna blame yourself,” he murmured soothingly, his heart racing as he spoke.
To touch her again —
And she didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.
She turned to face him, wiping tears away as she did. “How can you not blame me?”
“Because I’m at fault, too.”
“But your dad—“ she sniffed.
“Ye didna ken; none of us did, Claire… no one kent how quickly he’d go.” Reaching up with a trembling hand, he wiped away a tear she’d missed.
This was it.
He drew a deep breath, continued. “And it didna have to ruin us — I… I said more than I meant. Back then. I shouldna have spoken to ye so, shouldna have left. I was just… so, so hurt, and lonely, and —“ it was his turn, then, to begin to weep.
“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” Claire breathed; she held onto him for dear life, his heart racing under her cheek as he wrapped his arms around her. “So, so sorry.”
“Can ye ever forgive me, Claire?”
And there it was.
If anyone had told Claire what would happen when she’d arrived again in the Highlands, she would probably have laughed incredulously in their face —
But now that it was happening —
Feeling her heart, healing almost in real time —
It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“Forgiven,” she said, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. “And… me? Can you ever forgive me, Jamie?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he murmured. “Truly, Claire.”
She leaned against him, taking in everything that was so quintessentially Jamie — everything she never thought she would get to hold again.
Impossibly gently, he kissed the top of her head. “I missed you so much,” he whispered.
“I never stopped missing you,” she replied.
And despite the absolute chaos that his Christmas Eve has become — his arms around her, both of them gently illuminated by the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree, he felt at home.