Chapter Text
For a long moment, Jamie couldn’t speak. He sat there, breath unsteady, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with her — with Claire, with the trust she’d just shown him, with the way she’d looked up at him before anything happened, silently asking if he was with her, if he wanted this too. He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t prepared for it. And it undid him in the gentlest way possible.
Claire shifted beside him, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and searching. “Jamie… are you okay?”
He let out a breath that was half‑laugh, half‑confession. “Aye. I just… give me a moment, lass.”
She blinked, worried. “Did I—?”
“No.” He reached for her hand immediately, threading his fingers through hers. “No, Claire. Ye dinna do anything wrong. I’m just…” He shook his head, overwhelmed. “I’m feelin’ a lot right now.” She squeezed his hand, waiting. Jamie swallowed hard, trying to find words big enough for the feeling in his chest. “I’ve never—” He stopped, tried again. “No one’s ever done THAT for me. No one’s ever looked at me the way ye did. Like I mattered. Like ye wanted me. No' for what I could give ye, or what I could do for ye… but because it was me.” Claire’s breath caught. Jamie cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her skin. “Ye have to understand, Sassenach… I dinna take that lightly. No' for a second.” She leaned into his touch, eyes softening.
“And the way ye checked wit me,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “The way ye made sure I wanted it too… Claire, that meant more than ye ken.” He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. “I’m no’ used to bein’ cared for,” he admitted quietly. “No' like that. No' with such… tenderness.” Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. Jamie closed his eyes, letting the moment settle deep in his bones. “I’m grateful for ye,” he whispered. “More than I can ever say.” Claire’s breath hitched, her hand sliding up to cradle the back of his neck. And Jamie, still a little breathless, still a little undone, pressed a soft kiss to her temple — a promise, a thank‑you, a confession all at once.
They were curled together on the couch, the candles burned low, the room warm and soft around them. Claire rested against his chest, her legs tucked beneath her, his arm draped around her shoulders. The world felt still for the first time in weeks. Jamie’s fingers traced slow, absent‑minded circles along her upper arm — gentle, grounding, almost reverent. Claire could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her cheek. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then Jamie exhaled, a quiet, shaky breath that made her lift her head just enough to look at him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked softly.
He hesitated — not out of fear, but because he wanted to choose the right words. Words big enough for the feeling in his chest. Finally, he met her eyes. “Claire… I dinna think I realized how far I’d fallen for ye until tonight.” Her breath caught. Jamie swallowed, thumb brushing her cheekbone with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “I’ve been fallin’ for months,” he said quietly. “Bit by bit. Every time ye laugh. Every time ye argue wit me. Every time ye push through somethin’ hard and come out stronger.” His voice softened, deepened. “But tonight… seein’ ye happy again, seein’ ye trust me, lettin’ me hold ye… it hit me all at once.” Claire’s fingers curled into his shirt, steadying herself. Jamie continued, voice barely above a whisper. “I love the way ye think. The way ye fight for what ye want. The way ye care, even when ye pretend ye dinna. And I love…” He paused, breath trembling. “I love the way ye look at me. Like I’m someone ye can trust.”
Her eyes shimmered, her throat tight. “Jamie…”
He shook his head gently, brushing a curl behind her ear. “I’m no’ sayin’ this to rush ye. Or to make ye say anything back. I just… needed ye to ken it. Needed ye to hear it from me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “I’ve fallen for ye, Claire Beauchamp. Deeply. Quietly. Completely.”
Claire’s breath caught — not in fear, but from the fierce, unexpected warmth blooming in her chest. She lifted a hand to his face, cupping his jaw, her thumb tracing the rough stubble along his cheek as if memorizing him. “Jamie,” she whispered, her voice trembling with something fragile and real, “you’re someone worth falling for. And I’m… I’m glad I finally let myself see that.” His eyes opened at her words — soft, hopeful, shining in a way that made her heart twist. He looked at her like she was something precious, something chosen.
When she leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, it wasn’t driven by heat or urgency. It was a promise. A truth. A choice. It was her letting go of the fear. It was her letting herself fall too.
Claire woke slowly, the soft morning light warming her face before she even opened her eyes. For the first time in weeks, she felt rested — deeply, deliciously rested. Her muscles were loose, her mind quiet, her body wrapped in the lingering warmth of last night. She stretched under the blankets… and froze. Jamie was there. Not beside her — beneath the covers, his head resting lightly on her stomach, his hand on her hip. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t assuming, wasn’t touching her in any way that crossed a line. He was simply waiting. She felt him lift his head slightly, felt the gentle brush of his breath through the blankets.
“Good morning, Sassenach,” he murmured, voice low and warm.
Claire’s heart fluttered. “Jamie… what are you doing?”
He shifted just enough that she could see the outline of his shoulders beneath the duvet. “Only what ye’ll allow,” he said softly. “Nothing more.” Her breath caught. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t pushing. He was offering. A moment. A choice. A chance to let the tenderness of last night deepen into something new. Jamie slid one hand up to rest on her thigh, gentle, still. “I wanted to take care of ye, mo ghràdh” he said quietly. “But only if ye want that too.”
Claire felt warmth bloom through her chest, her stomach, her whole body. Not from desire alone — but from the trust in his voice. The patience. The reverence. She lifted the edge of the blanket just enough to see his face. His eyes were soft. Hopeful. Waiting for her word. “Jamie,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek, “I want you. More than you know.”
His breath shuddered — a quiet, grateful sound — and he pressed a kiss to her hip, slow and tender. “Then tell me how, mo chridhe,” he murmured. “Tell me what ye want, and I’ll follow yer lead.” The morning light glowed around them. The room felt warm and safe. And Claire felt something inside her settle — a certainty, a trust, a quiet joy. She smiled down at him, her hand sliding into his hair. “Come here,” she whispered. And Jamie rose slowly from beneath the covers, meeting her with a kiss that was soft, reverent, and full of promise. As Claire whispered in his ear exactly what she wanted from him.
Claire lay curled against Jamie’s chest. His arm was draped around her waist, warm and steady, his breathing slow and even. She could feel the rise and fall of it beneath her cheek — a rhythm she’d come to recognize, to rely on, to crave. For a long time, she didn’t move. She just… felt. The quiet. The warmth. The safety. It struck her all at once — how rare this was. How foreign. How precious. She’d spent so much of her life bracing for impact. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Holding herself together with grit and caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Even in past relationships, she’d always kept a part of herself tucked away, protected, unreachable.
But with Jamie… She didn’t feel the need to hide. Not last night. Not this morning. Not now, wrapped in his arms with the world outside forgotten. He had seen her at her worst — spiraling, drunk, ashamed, terrified — and he hadn’t flinched. He hadn’t judged. He hadn’t tried to fix her or rescue her or mold her into something easier. He’d simply stayed. Held her. Listened. Loved her in the quiet, patient way she’d never known she needed.
Claire let her fingers trace small cirlces on his bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. It grounded her. Anchored her. Made her feel… safe. Safe in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child. Safe in a way she’d never felt with anyone else. She thought about the night he found her on the floor. The morning he waited for her to come home. The way he’d held her when she broke. The way he’d looked at her last night — not with expectation, but with reverence. And now, the way he slept beside her, trusting her just as deeply. A soft smile tugged at her lips. She whispered into the quiet room, barely audible even to herself: "I’m safe with you.” Jamie stirred slightly, tightening his arm around her in his sleep, as if he’d heard her anyway. Claire closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him seep into her bones. For the first time in a long, long time, she wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong. She was simply… here. Held. Loved. Safe. And she let herself believe — truly believe — that she deserved it.
Claire woke this time to the feeling of Jamie’s fingers tracing lazy patterns along her spine — slow, absent‑minded, like he was memorizing her all over again. She stretched, a soft sound escaping her before she could stop it. Jamie chuckled. “Good morning again, Sassenach.”
She buried her face in his chest. “Don’t talk to me. I’m not awake.”
“Aye, I can tell,” he teased, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “Ye’re makin’ wee dinosaur noises.”
She swatted his ribs without lifting her head. “I do not make dinosaur noises.”
“Ye do,” he said solemnly. “A wee sleepy velociraptor.”
That earned him another swat — and a reluctant laugh. Claire finally tilted her head up to look at him. His hair was a mess, his eyes soft with sleep, and he was smiling at her like she was the best part of his morning. “Stop being cute,” she muttered.
“Cannae,” he said. “It’s a chronic condition.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “What time is it?”
“Half seven,” he said. “Ye’ve got class at nine.”
Claire groaned and flopped back onto the pillow. “I don’t want to go.”
Jamie shifted onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “I’ll drive ye.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I ken I dinna,” he said, brushing a curl from her cheek. “But I want to.”
She softened at that — the simple sincerity of it. “You’re too good to me.”
Jamie snorted. “Och, I’m no’ that good. I’m just hopin’ ye’ll let me take ye for coffee on the way.”
Claire laughed, nudging him with her foot. “So that’s your angle.”
“Aye. I’m a simple man.”
She stretched again, this time with a little more purpose, and Jamie watched her with that quiet, fond expression that always made her chest feel too full. “You look happy,” he said softly.
“I am,” she admitted. “You?”
“Aye.” He leaned down and kissed her — slow, warm, lingering. “Verra.”
She sighed into the kiss, then pulled back with a grin. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to be late.”
Jamie shrugged. “I’ll write ye a note.”
“You’ll write me a note?” she repeated, laughing.
“Aye. ‘Dear Professor, Claire is late because her boyfriend is irresistible.’”
She shoved him lightly. “Absolutely not.”
“Fine,” he said, pretending to think. “I’ll leave out the irresistible part.”
“Jamie!”
He laughed, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Come on, mo chridhe. Let’s get ye ready.”
Claire settled onto the familiar couch, tucking one leg beneath her. She looked… different today. Not fixed, not magically healed — but steadier. More present. Like she’d finally come up for air. Dr. Patel noticed immediately. “It’s good to see you, Claire. How have things been since our last session?”
Claire let out a slow breath. “Better. I mean… not perfect. But better.”
“That’s all we’re aiming for,” Dr. Patel said with a small smile. “Tell me what’s been going well.”
Claire hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve been… doing things again. Normal things. I went grocery shopping last week. Properly. Not just grabbing a granola bar and pretending it counts as a meal.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Patel said. “How did it feel?”
“Strange,” Claire admitted. “But good. I stocked my cabinets. Bought actual vegetables. I even cleaned my flat. Like… really cleaned it. Not the ‘shove everything into a corner and hope no one notices’ kind of cleaning.”
Dr. Patel nodded. “These are important steps. They’re not small, even if they feel small. They’re signs you’re taking care of yourself.”
Claire’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve also been on time for class. Every day this week.”
“That’s excellent progress.”
“And I’m here,” Claire added, gesturing around the office. “I didn’t cancel. I didn’t talk myself out of it.”
“I’m glad you came,” Dr. Patel said. “Showing up for yourself is one of the hardest parts.”
Claire looked down at her hands. “I’m trying. I really am.”
“I can see that,” Dr. Patel said gently. “And I want you to keep doing these things — keeping your space clean, keeping food in your home, staying on top of your routine. These aren’t chores. They’re acts of self‑respect. They reinforce the idea that you deserve stability. You deserve care.”
Claire swallowed. “It still feels weird sometimes. Like I’m pretending to be someone who has their life together.”
“You’re not pretending,” Dr. Patel said. “You’re practicing.”
Claire let out a soft laugh. “That’s… actually comforting.”
Dr. Patel leaned forward slightly. “And how is work going? You mentioned last time that starting your job was helping you feel more grounded.”
Claire brightened a little. “It’s going well. Better than I expected. I like the routine. I like having somewhere to be that isn’t school. And the paycheck…” She exhaled. “It helps. A lot. I can buy groceries without panicking. I can pay my bills. I can… breathe.”
“That sense of normalcy is important,” Dr. Patel said. “Financial stability can make emotional stability feel more attainable.”
Claire nodded. “It makes me feel like I’m part of the world again. Like I’m not just… surviving.”
“And you deserve that,” Dr. Patel said softly. “You deserve a life that feels manageable. You deserve love. Support. Safety.”
Claire’s eyes flickered, vulnerable. “I’m trying to believe that.”
“Belief takes time,” Dr. Patel said. “But you’re already doing the work. You’re showing up. You’re caring for yourself. You’re letting people in.”
Claire’s breath hitched slightly. “Jamie’s been… steady. He doesn’t try to fix me. He just… stays.”
“That’s what healthy support looks like,” Dr. Patel said. “And you’re allowed to accept it. You’re allowed to let someone love you without assuming it will end in loss.”
Claire blinked hard, her voice soft. “I want to believe I’m worth staying for.”
“You are,” Dr. Patel said firmly. “And the more you care for yourself, the easier it will be to see that.”
Claire nodded, a small, fragile smile tugging at her lips. “I think… I’m starting to.”
“And that,” Dr. Patel said, “is real progress.”
Claire twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers, a nervous habit she hadn’t quite shaken. “There’s something I should probably tell you,” she said quietly.
Dr. Patel nodded, giving her space. “Go on.”
“I haven’t… told anyone I’m coming here.” Claire’s voice was soft, almost embarrassed. “Not Jamie. Not Geillis. Not John. No one.”
Dr. Patel’s expression didn’t shift into judgment or surprise — just calm curiosity. “Can you tell me why?”
Claire exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I want to get better first. I don’t want them thinking I’m… fragile. Or broken. Or that I’m using therapy as some dramatic cry for help.” She swallowed. “I want to be able to say, ‘Look, I’m doing better,’ not ‘Hey, I’m a mess and I’m trying to fix it.’”
Dr. Patel nodded slowly. “It sounds like you’re trying to protect them from your vulnerability.”
Claire winced. “Yeah. And maybe protect myself too.”
“From what?”
“From disappointing them,” Claire whispered. “From them seeing how much I’ve been struggling. From… needing them.”
Dr. Patel let that sit for a moment. “Claire, asking for help isn’t a burden. And letting people see you — really see you — is part of healing. Not something you do after you’re healed.”
Claire looked down at her hands. “I know. I just… I don’t want Jamie to worry.”
“Does he worry now?”
Claire’s breath caught. “Yes.”
“Then honesty won’t create worry,” Dr. Patel said gently. “It will give him clarity.”
Claire blinked hard, her throat tightening. “I don’t know how to tell him. Every time I think about it, I freeze. I feel like I’m going to ruin everything.”
“You won’t,” Dr. Patel said. “But I understand why it feels that way.” She paused, then continued with a soft firmness. “What if you didn’t tell him alone?”
Claire looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Dr. Patel said, “you could bring Jamie to one of your sessions. You can tell him here — in a safe, supported environment. I can help guide the conversation if you’d like.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “You’d… do that?”
“Of course,” Dr. Patel said. “Therapy isn’t just about what happens in this room. It’s about helping you build healthier relationships outside of it. And Jamie is clearly someone important to you.”
Claire’s breath trembled. “He is.”
“Then letting him in is part of your healing,” Dr. Patel said. “Not a setback. Not a burden. A step forward.”
Claire pressed her lips together, overwhelmed but thoughtful. “I… I think I could do that. Maybe. If he came with me.”
Dr. Patel smiled gently. “You don’t have to decide today. But consider it. You’re not meant to do this alone.”
Claire nodded slowly, a small, fragile hope blooming in her chest. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” And for the first time, she meant it.
Jamie knocked softly on her door, the same way he always did — gentle, patient, giving her time to breathe before she opened it. Claire pulled it open with her bag already slung over her shoulder, textbooks stacked inside. She didn’t say much, just gave him a small nod that meant yes, I want to come with you. He took the strap from her shoulder and carried it for her as they walked to his SUV.
The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Claire watched the passing streetlights blur into soft gold streaks, her body slowly unclenching the farther they got from her flat. When they stepped into Jamie’s house, she didn’t freeze this time. Her chest didn’t seize. She didn’t feel like an intruder trespassing in a life too gentle for her. She still hesitated — she always did — but she walked in on her own. Jamie hung her coat on the hook by the door, like it belonged there. “Ye can set up at the table,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ll start supper.” Claire slipped into the chair she always gravitated toward, pulling out her notes and highlighters. The familiar weight of her textbooks grounded her. Studying had always been her safe place — the one thing she could control, the one thing she was still good at.
Jamie moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, chopping vegetables, humming under his breath. The scent of garlic and onions filled the air, warm and comforting. Claire found herself relaxing without meaning to, her shoulders loosening as she underlined a passage in her notes. Every so often, Jamie glanced over at her — not hovering, not checking on her, just… looking. Making sure she was still breathing, still steady. “Ye’re quiet tonight,” he said softly as he stirred something on the stove.
“I’m studying,” she replied, but her voice lacked its usual edge. It was softer. Almost peaceful.
“Aye,” he said with a small smile. “I can see that.” She caught him watching her again, and instead of shrinking, she held his gaze for a moment. Just a moment. But it was more than she’d managed before. When her hand trembled slightly turning a page, Jamie didn’t comment. He didn’t rush to comfort her. He simply slid a mug of tea beside her elbow, the steam curling upward like a small offering. “Thought ye might want that,” he murmured.
Claire swallowed hard. “Thank you.” She meant it. More than he knew. As the evening settled around them — the soft clatter of pans, the rustle of paper, the quiet hum of domestic life — Claire felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not safety. Not yet. But possibility. The possibility that she could exist in a space like this without breaking it. The possibility that she could be someone who deserved warmth, and quiet, and a man who cooked for her while she studied. She wasn’t there yet. But she was closer than she’d been yesterday. And Jamie — steady, patient Jamie — seemed perfectly content to let her find her way at her own pace.
The Black Thistle was loud tonight — clinking glasses, low music, the hum of conversation filling every corner. Claire slid into the booth beside Geillis, her bag tucked at her feet, the familiar scent of fried chips and old wood settling around her like a worn blanket. Geillis lifted her glass the moment Claire sat down. “Drink?”
Claire shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Geillis blinked, surprised but not unkind. “Look at ye. All responsible.” She nudged Claire with her shoulder. “I’m proud of ye, Beauchamp.”
Frank raised an eyebrow from across the table. “You’ve been… different lately. In a good way.”
John leaned back, draping an arm across the booth with theatrical flair. “Aye, she has. Ever since she decided to give Highland Hercules a chance.”
Claire groaned. “Please don’t call him that.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” John said, grinning. “I’m not saying I don’t miss having you in my bed every once in a while—”
“John,” Claire hissed, cheeks burning.
“—but I can see why you’ve upgraded,” he finished, unfazed.
Frank cleared his throat. “He’s twelve years older than you.”
“So?” Geillis shot back immediately. “If a man like Jamie Fraser looked at me the way he looks at Claire, I’d no’ be complaining about a number.”
John nodded emphatically. “Age difference wouldn’t stop me either. I’d climb him like a tree.”
Claire dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my God.”
Geillis cackled. “Och, dinna pretend ye don’t like him. You’re glowing, Claire. Positively radiant.”
Claire managed a small smile, but this time the twist in her stomach didn’t send her spiraling — it just reminded her she was still learning. They were right. She was doing better. She was sleeping more. Drinking less. Studying again. Her flat was stocked, her routines steadier. She felt… softer. More like herself. Like she was gathering up pieces she once believed were gone for good.
And yes, it scared her — but she could name the fear now. She could sit with it instead of letting it swallow her whole. Happiness felt fragile, but she was starting to understand that fragile didn’t mean doomed. Jamie was good. Too good. Kind in a way she was still learning how to accept. Steady in a way that used to terrify her — but now, she could feel the difference. The old thoughts still flickered: What if I ruin this? What if he realizes I’m too much? What if he leaves? But therapy had given her new words to counter them: He hasn’t. He shows up. He stays. I’m allowed to be cared for. Her chest tightened, but she breathed through it — slow, steady, just like Dr. Patel taught her.
Geillis nudged her gently. “Hey. Where’d ye go just now?”
Claire blinked, grounding herself, letting her expression soften instead of shutting down. “Nowhere,” she said, and for once it wasn’t a lie. “Just… thinking.” And she was — but not in the way she used to. Not drowning. Not spiraling. Just thinking. And choosing to stay present.
John snorted. “Dangerous pastime.”
Frank studied her more closely, brow furrowing. “You’re allowed to be happy, Claire.”
She swallowed, the words landing differently than they once would have. “I know,” she said — and this time, she meant it more than she didn’t. The fear was still there, a familiar whisper at the edges of her mind, but therapy had taught her to name it, to breathe through it instead of letting it take over. Letting herself be happy still felt risky. Letting herself love Jamie felt even riskier. But she was learning that fear didn’t mean she had to run. That wanting something — wanting him — wasn’t a mistake. That she didn’t have to punish herself for feeling steady, or cared for, or hopeful.
She glanced down at her untouched water glass, grounding herself the way Dr. Patel had taught her. The pub noise softened, but it didn’t swallow her whole this time. The old instinct to pull back flickered… and faded. She wasn’t going to sabotage this. She wasn’t going to disappear before she could get hurt. She was choosing differently now. She lifted her head, steadier than before. “I’m working on it,” she said quietly. “On letting myself be happy.” And for the first time, it felt true.