Chapter Text
Claire locked her flat door behind her, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, still tasting toothpaste and the last remnants of her morning toast. She walked through the front entrance of her building— And stopped. Jamie was there. Leaning against his black SUV like he’d stepped out of a daydream, one ankle crossed over the other, a to‑go coffee cup in his hand. The early light caught in his hair, turning the curls copper.
He looked up the moment he sensed her. And the grin that spread across his face was slow, warm, and entirely for her. Claire felt her own smile bloom—wide, unguarded, impossible to hide. It stretched across her face before she could even think to stop it. “Weel, good morning to ye,” Jamie said, pushing off the car with a little nod of greeting.
“You’re here early,” Claire teased, walking toward him with a lightness she hadn’t felt in ages.
“Aye. Thought I’d beat the traffic.” He held out the coffee. “And I brought ye this.”
Claire raised a brow. “Trying to bribe me?”
“Is it workin’?”
She pretended to consider it, arms crossed, lips twitching. “Hmm. I don’t know. I might refuse the ride today.”
Jamie’s eyes sparkled. “Aye? Ye’ll walk all the way to campus then?”
“It’s good exercise,” she said primly.
“It’s uphill.”
“I like a challenge.”
Jamie leaned in just a fraction, voice low and amused. “Ye’re full of shite, Claire.”
She broke—laughing, shaking her head, taking the coffee from his hand. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But only because you brought caffeine.”
“Aye. Whatever helps ye sleep at night.” She climbed into the passenger seat, still smiling. Jamie shut her door gently before circling around to the driver’s side.
The drive wasn’t like so the others. It wasn’t quiet or tense or full of unspoken things. It was… easy. They talked about everything and nothing, Claire’s impossible professor, Jamie’s disastrous attempt at baking bread the night before, a stray dog he’d seen on his morning run and the ridiculous anatomy mnemonic Geillis had taught her. Claire found herself laughing—really laughing—at something Jamie said about the dog stealing someone’s bagel. He kept glancing at her, not in a way that pressured or pushed, but in a way that said he liked seeing her like this. Relaxed. Open. Happy.
When he pulled up to the medical building, Claire wasn’t ready for the ride to end. Jamie put the car in park and turned to her. “Same time tomorrow?”
She pretended to think again, tapping her chin. “Hmm. I’ll let you know.”
Jamie smirked. “Aye. I’ll take that as a yes.”
She stepped out of the car, coffee in hand, heart lighter than it had been in weeks. And as she walked toward the building, she realized she was smiling again. Not because she was trying to. Not because she was pretending. But because Jamie Fraser had become the best part of her morning. And she hadn’t even noticed it happening.
Claire spread her notes across the kitchen table, highlighters lined up like soldiers, textbook open to a chapter she’d already read twice. The flat was clean now — or clean enough — and the evening sun filtered through the blinds in warm stripes.
Jamie sat across from her. Not hovering. Not watching her. Not waiting for her to fall apart. Just… there. His laptop was open, a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose — something she’d never seen before and immediately pretended not to notice. He typed quietly, occasionally pausing to read something on the screen, brow furrowing in concentration.
Claire tried to focus on her notes, but her eyes kept drifting up. He wasn’t doing anything remarkable. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He wasn’t even talking. He was simply existing in her space like he belonged there. And somehow… he did.
Claire reached for her coffee, flipping a page in her textbook. Jamie glanced up at the sound, then back down at his screen. No comment. No interruption. But when she sighed — that long, tired exhale she didn’t even realize she’d made — Jamie slid the mug a little closer to her without looking up. A small gesture. Thoughtless. Natural.
Her chest tightened. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“Aye,” he said, still typing. No fuss. No attention drawn to it. Just… steady.
Minutes passed. Then more. Claire highlighted. Jamie typed. Claire scribbled notes. Jamie adjusted his glasses and muttered something under his breath about formatting. The silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t charged. It was comfortable.
Claire realized, with a start, that she wasn’t bracing for anything. She wasn’t waiting for him to judge her or fix her or pull her into something she wasn’t ready for. He was simply sharing the table with her. Sharing the morning. Sharing the quiet. And she liked it. More than she felt like she should.
At one point, Claire dropped her pen. It rolled across the table and bumped Jamie’s laptop. He caught it without looking up, handed it back to her, and kept typing “Thanks,” she said again, softer this time.
Jamie finally glanced up, eyes warm. “Ye’re welcome, Claire.” Something fluttered low in her stomach. Not panic. Not fear. Not the overwhelming intensity that had scared her before. Something gentler. Safer. Steady.
She looked back down at her notes, cheeks warming. Jamie returned to his laptop, completely unaware of the shift he’d just caused. But Claire felt it. This wasn’t a man who was “too mature” for her. This wasn’t someone who made her feel small or chaotic or unworthy. This was someone who fit.
Someone who made space for her. Someone who didn’t demand anything. Someone who simply… stayed. And for the first time, she let herself wonder what it would feel like to let him stay a little longer.
She flipped another page in her textbook, brow furrowed, highlighter poised. Jamie typed steadily across from her, glasses slipping down his nose again. Without looking up, Claire murmured, “Are you hungry? I can make us lunch.”
Jamie paused mid‑keystroke. “Aye, I could eat.”
She blinked, realizing what she’d said. She hadn’t meant to invite him. It just… slipped out. “Oh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Right. Well. I don’t have much but I’m sure I can find us something.”
Jamie smirked. “I’ve seen your cupboards, Claire. ‘Not much’ is generous.”
She shot him a look. “I have food.”
“Aye? Show me.”
She marched to the kitchen, flinging open the fridge with unnecessary force. “See? Plenty.”
Jamie peered over her shoulder. “Ye’ve got mustard, half a lemon, and… is that a single slice of cheese?”
Claire huffed. “There’s bread.”
“Stale bread.”
“It’s rustic.”
Jamie laughed — a warm, low sound that made her stomach flip. “If ye say so.”
But she dug around, determined, and managed to assemble, two grilled cheese sandwiches, a bowl of slightly questionable fruit and tea. Jamie sat at the table, watching her with amused affection.
“Ye ken,” he said, “this is actually quite good.”
Claire lifted her chin. “Told you. Rustic.”
“Aye. Rustic,” he teased. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. They ate at the table, plates between Claire’s textbooks and Jamie’s spreadsheets, the air warm and easy.
Claire launched into a story about her eccentric pathology professor — the one who wore mismatched socks and insisted the cadavers “had personalities.”
Jamie nearly choked on his sandwich. “He said what?”
“That the one in the corner ‘looked judgmental.’”
Jamie wiped his mouth, laughing. “Claire, that’s no’ a professor. That’s a character in a novel.”
“Tell me about it. He also names them.”
Jamie stared. “Names… the bodies?”
“Yes. Last week we had a ‘Gertrude.’”
Jamie shook his head, grinning. “I dinna ken how ye survive that program.”
“Barely,” she said, sipping her tea. No tension. No pressure. No emotional landmines. Just two people talking. Laughing. Existing together.
The awkwardness that had once felt like a wall between them dissolved into something warm and familiar.
After lunch, they drifted back into their quiet rhythm — Claire studying, Jamie working. Then Claire’s laptop chimed. Low battery. She froze. “No, no, no—where’s my charger?”
She rifled through her bag. Checked under her notes. Looked behind the toaster. Panic rising — not emotional panic, just the frantic, everyday kind. Jamie didn’t flinch.
“Ye left it on the couch,” he said calmly, not even looking up from his laptop.
Claire blinked. “What?”
He nodded toward the living room. “Saw it there earlier.”
She hurried over — and there it was, tangled in a blanket. She grabbed it, relief washing over her. “Thank God.”
Jamie didn’t say I told you so. Didn’t tease her. Didn’t make it a moment. He just kept typing. Practical. Simple. Supportive. And Claire felt something shift — subtle but unmistakable.
He wasn’t here to rescue her. He wasn’t here to fix her life. He wasn’t here to judge her chaos. He was here to support her. To sit beside her. To make the world feel a little less heavy. And she let him.
Without noticing.
Without panicking.
Without pulling away.
She plugged in her charger, sat back down, and opened her laptop. Jamie glanced up, gave her a small smile, then returned to his work. Claire’s heart fluttered — soft and steady. For the first time, she didn’t fight it.