Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People disappear all the time!
It’d be pretty ironic for me to say that—me, of all people. Someone who’s never really belonged anywhere… disappearing would’ve been the easiest thing. After my parents died young, I was raised by my uncle—an archaeologist with no fixed home. Most of my life, I spent hopping between countries, getting to know cultures and ways of life completely different from my own. I never put down roots or had a place to call home.

After my uncle passed away, I decided to go back to England and finish my studies in archaeology. That’s when everything changed. I got invited by a British government agency to join a secret mission as a consultant—something about 18th-century artifacts, specifically the Jacobite uprising of 1746. Totally not my area, but the offer came from a close friend, so I said yes. And just like that, I moved to Scotland.

Anyway, like I said—people disappear all the time. I just didn’t expect to become one of them.
Seven years of my life are a complete blank. I was declared dead in 2007… and “came back from the dead” in 2014, as everyone likes to say.
My only memory lives in 2007—the last day I spent with the man I love.

My name is Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, and my mission is to find out what happened to me during those seven missing years.

Chapter Text

I was staring at the agency’s memorial wall, where a bronze plaque displayed the names of agents who’d died in the line of duty. My name was there, carved into that cold metal, feeling so distant from the reality I was living now. Those letters screamed in my mind: "In honor of Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, killed in the line of duty."
I felt like a ghost. Just yesterday, I was so happy. The man I loved had asked me to marry him. I really thought I was finally putting down roots. I had a taste of what real love felt like.

For a long time, I had this vague idea of what love meant. My parents gave me love, sure, but the memories are hazy. I remember my mum being sweet and gentle, her voice so soft… and my dad, in my childhood eyes, was a proper gentleman. My uncle Lambert loved me too, in his own way.
Love wasn't a word I used often. I had a few boyfriends, but I didn’t love any of them.
I only truly understood the meaning of love when I moved to Scotland and met the man who completely changed the course of my life.
I’ll admit, I fought it. Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan. I didn’t even plan to stay in Scotland. Once my job was done, I was supposed to head back to London—maybe even finish Uncle Lamb’s last project. They needed archaeologists in Africa, and I knew that excavation site like the back of my hand.

I never should’ve become an agent. I never should’ve gone on that mission. And I definitely shouldn’t have gotten involved with the most wanted woman in Scotland—known as “the Witch.”
Just yesterday, I was coming back from a perfect weekend with Jamie. He’d just dropped me off at my flat with an engagement ring on my finger, a kiss on my lips, and the promise he’d be back soon.
But what was yesterday for me… had been seven years for everyone else.

Seven years just gone from my mind.
I had no idea what happened to me, or where I’d been. Sometimes, I’d get these flashes—like memories from a life that wasn’t mine—usually in nightmares. I’d wake up sweating, gasping, in tears.
There’s a scar on my stomach that brings back strange images—blurred faces, angels, a bright light, and voices. So many voices.
I don’t know if it was all real, or just dreams. Everything feels so real… and yet so far away.

John walked up and stood beside me in silence. For years, he was my best friend, my confidant. But now, standing there next to me, he felt like a stranger.
He finally broke the silence and said,
— I’m gonna ask them to take your name off the plaque.

— Why, John?
The tears were right there, like heavy rainclouds waiting for a shift in the wind.

— I’m sorry, Claire… I don’t know — he said, awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching a bit.

— I’ve never had a real home, John. Never had a place to truly call mine. I spent most of my life traveling—first with my uncle, then on my own. And when I finally thought I’d found a place to belong… when I made Scotland my home… when I found love… — I whispered those last words, full of pain. — It was all taken from me. All I have left are old memories, a blank page to write my present on, and an uncertain future.

— Claire, sweetheart… we’re going to find out what happened to you. I promise. Everything that was stolen from you in those seven years—we’ll get it back.

— Even Jamie? — I asked him, eyes full of tears.
That was the one question John couldn’t answer. And any excuse or kind word would only hurt more, seeing that sadness written all over my face.
At John’s insistence, Jamie had moved to England and built a new life in Helwater. A life without me.

— That… I can’t promise, Claire. That’s something only the two of you can figure out.
But just know—I’m here. Always.

Chapter Text

2014

My reflection stared back at me in the mirror... and I barely recognized myself. My brown hair fell in messy waves over my pale face, heavy on my shoulders. My eyes looked lost. I was trying to make sense of the last few hours... or what felt like just a few hours of sleep... but somehow had turned into seven years. At least, that’s what Jamie kept saying.

Time had passed. Everything around me was different.

I lowered my head and started to cry—and honestly, I didn’t even know exactly why I was crying.

Yesterday... I was happy. I had a completely different life, one I never even dared to dream of. I was settled... I had a home... a new love.

But that’s all in the past now.

Today... looking around... all I have is a blank page to fill. And apparently... I’m going to do that alone.

My mind keeps spinning in a thousand directions, digging for any scrap of memory... trying to figure out what happened during those seven years. But it’s useless.

Jamie looks at me with that same scared, broken expression... a perfect mirror of my own.

I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to look at him.

So I did the only thing I thought was right for both of us... I asked him to leave me alone.

I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

He didn’t want to go. He said he wouldn’t leave me alone. But having him there... it didn’t help. It only made the pain and the confusion worse.

His last words kept echoing in my mind:

*"I buried you, Claire... and I buried myself right along with you for a long time. I needed to move on."*

Part of me wanted to run away.

But another part still believed that this... all of this... was just a nightmare I’m desperately trying to wake up from.

**London, May 2007**

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna beat me.”

I had just finished my last lap on the gym track and turned toward the sound of that smooth, velvet voice. John was standing at the far end of the track, holding a water bottle. I turned to face him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to remind you that the record on this track still belongs to me,” he said, tossing the bottle my way.

I caught it mid-air and ran straight into his arms.

“It’s so good to have you back, John.”

“It’s good to be back, Claire. Honestly... I was not made for tropical islands. You have no idea what I went through there, my dear. Being a field agent has its charm, sure... but I’ve missed commanding a mission from a satellite room with top-notch tech and air-conditioning.”

Claire laughed. John’s latest mission had been to extract an agent kidnapped by pirates in the Caribbean. The agent in question was a personal friend of John’s, so the second the Director handed him the file, he was on the first flight out.

“And how’s Agent Dalrymple doing?” I asked.

“He’s fine, thanks for asking. Though... I’d say his stubbornness has reached new heights after that little adventure,” he replied, raising his hands like he was done with the topic.

“Hector never was much for following rules... if I remember correctly.”

“True... but I think he’s learned his lesson. He never should’ve set foot on that ship... hopefully, it stuck.”

John was the textbook definition of English: lover of long chess games by the fireplace with a good glass of whisky or brandy. The tropics... really didn’t suit him.

We first met in an antique shop. I was cataloging some pieces, and the friendship came easy after that... along with a few unofficial favors for John’s missions. My work as an archaeologist helped him a lot when it came to identifying the age and origin of various artifacts.

“I don’t think you’re ever getting your time back on this track. The tropical air’s made you soft,” I teased.

“You wish,” he grinned, taking off at a sprint and letting his long blond hair fly behind him.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” I shouted, trying to catch up. “You distracted me!”

“Seems like the London air’s making you soft too!” he laughed, already halfway down the track.

I tried... but there was no catching him.

“Okay, okay!” I called out, panting. “I surrender! The record’s still yours... but I want a rematch!”

♤♤♤♤♤

I never had trouble adapting to places. Probably because I never really had a home to begin with.

I never worried about decorating a house... never really thought about starting a family.

I belonged everywhere... and nowhere.

Later that day, I found out the real reason John was back in London. I was introduced to the Director of the British Intelligence Service, Mr. Frank Randall, and invited to take part in an operation focused on identifying some 18th-century artifacts.

“We’ve got excellent references about your work, Miss Beauchamp. And we’re sure your expertise will be valuable for this operation. We don’t know much yet about this sudden interest in the period... or about the people involved.

A group associated with the White Roses has taken credit for a few recent attacks in the area, but we’re not overly convinced by their threat level. They’re part of the Free Scotland movement... it’s political, really... an old grudge that’s lasted centuries.”

Claire listened, still confused as to why she was even in the room.

“Well... where do John and I come into this?” she asked.

“We’re hoping you’ll help us identify the documents and artifacts found. Mostly a desk job.

You’ll be working in partnership with an agency in Scotland, Claire, and trying to gather as much intel as possible.

The only real lead we have... is a signature. A sort of calling card: ‘The Witch.’ The Scots don’t have a single photo, no records... it’s like she doesn’t even exist in this time.

Look... at this point, we’re working with theories. No one knows who this woman really is... or even if she’s actually involved in any of this.

John will prep everything and be your main support. You’ll need to check in with him at least once a week, report progress, and get your next steps.”

Claire hesitated. She’d helped John with Black Ops logistics before... but full-on intelligence work was new territory.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Mr. Randall... I’ve never done anything like this... and my knowledge of history... it’s not exactly specialized.”

“Don’t worry about that. John has full confidence in your skills and your potential.

You won’t be doing fieldwork, just research and analysis. Your main job is to identify and report anything the Scots dig up. John will prep you.

You’re gonna need to dive deep into Scottish history... 18th century to present day.

Your main contact in Scotland will be Agent Fraser. He’s working alongside MI5.

Claire... you’re our best shot at taking this group down. We’re counting on you.”

“I’ll do my best to help, sir.”

“And we appreciate that, Claire.”

♤♤♤♤♤

John handled all the logistics for Claire’s trip to Scotland.

The last month flew by. Claire learned everything she could about the Scottish uprisings since the 18th century. The rest... she’d learn from Agent Fraser once she was on the ground.

“You okay?” John asked as he drove her to the airport. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m fine,” she leaned back and closed her eyes. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Why’s that, Claire?”

“You know, John... what if I mess this up?”

John let out a loud sigh before answering:

“You won’t. You’re more than capable. This mission’s gonna be a success.

All you have to do is track the Witch’s movements and report them back. The hard part... catching her... that’s someone else’s job.

And... you’ll be in good hands. I’ve heard things about Agent Fraser, by the way. The guy you’ll be working with.

He’s a good man.

Just... promise me one thing... don’t take unnecessary risks... and don’t fall in love.”

“What? Don’t fall in love?”

“I’d be heartbroken if you left me for someone else.”

“John!” Claire gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “I’m going to a place where I don’t know a single soul, no connections... and I fully intend to come back to London... and still single!”

“I’m counting on it,” John laughed. “But seriously, Claire... we don’t know anything about the Witch... or whoever she really is.”

“It’s gonna be fine, John.”

“I know it will.”

The rest of the drive to the airport was quiet.

John believed in Claire’s ability to adapt... and deep down... he knew she’d do just fine. He had faith in her.

He handed her the envelope with all her mission details.

They hugged... longer than usual.

“Please... call me the second the plane lands.”

“Okay, John... I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Claire headed to the departure gate... off to the unknown.

On the plane... she opened the envelope. Along with credit cards, a driver’s license, a key to an apartment with an address... and a bar of chocolate... there was a photo of Agent Fraser.

Claire smiled as she looked at it.

Chapter Text

-

I had just arrived at the airport, and from the arrivals gate, I spotted Agent Fraser holding a sign with my name on it. I silently thanked John for giving me a picture of him. I watched him for a while before walking over—he was tall and way more handsome in person. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt that hugged his muscles. The scruff on his jaw gave him a mature look. As I got closer, I could see his eyes—ocean blue. I could get lost in that gaze for hours. I imagined holding on to those muscles like they were my last hope of survival.

“Mr. Fraser?” I called his name and waved, walking toward him. As soon as he saw me, he broke into a wide smile that made my knees weak. He really was beautiful.

He was talking, but I couldn’t focus. His accent was strong—like something out of an old warrior movie.

“Beauchamp, nice to meet you. I’m Agent Fraser, and this is Agent FitzGibbons. Can I grab your bags?”

“Sorry—what was that?” I blinked, snapping back to reality.

“I asked if I can carry your bags.”

I felt my cheeks burn when our hands touched. I don’t even know how long I stood there, lost in thought, feeling the warmth of his hand… those eyes... Get a grip, Beauchamp. I pushed the thoughts away. Now I understood why John warned me not to fall for him—it would be impossible not to. But I wasn’t here to build roots.

“You can, yeah. Sorry. Rough flight.”

“I can imagine. The storms haven’t let up since yesterday. We’ll take you to your new place.”

We walked to the car. I walked beside them as they chatted about something I couldn’t quite catch. The drive was quick—just a few blocks from the airport to the apartment. Fraser told me the Agency was in a building nearby, and until I got used to the city, an agent would pick me up every morning.

“So, where are you from, miss?” the smaller one asked with a grumpy face.

“Well, I was born in England, but I’ve traveled so much I’ve kind of picked up traits from everywhere. My last place was a tent at an archaeological site in Africa. I only just got back to England recently. I’ve always lived kind of a nomadic life,” I shrugged.

“First time in Scotland?”

“Yeah. Seems like a charming country.”

♤♤♤♤♤

Settling into Scotland was easy. Every morning, Agent Fraser would pick me up, which made the commute more enjoyable. I spent most of my time alone in a room, going through documents and recovered artifacts. Jamie explained some of the historical background and what the whole search was about.

For years now, they’d been trying to find the Witch—with no luck. She was like a myth, Jamie said. Her name popped up in old records, usually linked to men who had vanished under strange circumstances. None of them had family to report them missing.

“That’s why we think it’s a woman,” he added.

“Like some kind of Black Widow? Eats the male after mating?” I joked.

Jamie grinned.
“Maybe, Claire. That’s actually a solid codename to run through the system. We’ve found some signs of new activity. Time to check out old bachelors with no next of kin.”

A few weeks later, I made some progress in my research and came across a name: Leoch. I brought the new info straight to Jamie.

♤♤♤♤♤

Jamie’s POV

It was getting harder and harder not to think of her in every good moment. We’d only been working together for a few months, but Claire was everywhere in my life. She had taken over my thoughts—my heart.

“Jamie,” she called my name a few times. She cleared her throat and said it louder. “Jamie?”

I turned to look into her eyes.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”

I was standing in the middle of the briefing room holding the papers Claire had given me earlier, but I wasn’t really reading them. I tried to focus, rolled my shoulders like my shirt was too tight—but truth is, I just couldn’t stop staring at her.

She looked so damn good that morning—casual jeans and knee-high boots that made her long legs even longer. A slightly sheer white blouse showed the soft outline of her lace bra, which had me imagining my hands around her waist, pulling her close… Her hair was up in a loose bun, and a thin chain around her neck made me want to kiss that neck until she melted in my arms.

I tried to snap out of it, to listen, but even her lips were distracting—just begging to be kissed. I clenched my fists when I felt that all-too-familiar tingling in my fingers. I needed to touch her, or I was going to lose it.

“I was saying… based on the info I got over the past weeks, we finally have a name that might be tied to the Witch. Here—Leoch Company.”

She stepped closer and gently touched my arm. It was innocent, totally harmless for her—but for me, it was like a jolt of lightning. If I didn’t get out of that room, I was gonna kiss her right then and there.

“Are you even listening, Jamie? You’re all over the place this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. You said… Leoch.”

“Leoch of the Mackenzies, lass,” Murtagh said, walking into the room. He grabbed the papers from my hand and started reading. “Ah, Dhia. That’s bad news, Jamie—and you know it.”

“At least now we know who we’re dealing with. I think I’ll head to Leoch next week.”

“You know who these people are?” Claire asked, confused.

“They’re my relatives—the Mackenzies of Leoch. My mother’s side.”

“You know, lad, there’s only one person who could be behind this—and you know how dangerous he can be if you try to interfere. You remember your last run-in with Dougal, don’t you?”

I automatically scratched the back of my neck.
“Yeah. I remember.”

“You’re not going alone. One of the guys can go with you—” Murtagh started, but Claire jumped in:

“Okay, wait. Can someone tell me what’s going on here?”

“Dougal tried to kill me a few years ago, Claire. I never managed to prove it, but I was ambushed during a shady mission. I got close to catching Dougal’s gang, but it was an unofficial op. Since I wasn’t technically on duty, it was filed as an accident. But I saw the blade—and his face—right before I got knocked out.”

Claire’s jaw dropped.
“Then Murtagh’s right. You can’t go alone. I’ll go instead. I’m undercover with the Foundation, right? I can pose as someone looking for sponsors for the next event.”

“I like the idea,” Murtagh said, stroking his beard.

“No. I’m not letting you go to Leoch alone.”

“Why not? No one there knows me. I can get close to one of your uncles, maybe get more info.”

“Claire, I said no!”

“You don’t get to make that decision, Jamie. I’ll talk to John. We’ve been trying to crack this case for months. This is our shot—and I’m not letting it slip away. I need a name for this woman. I can’t keep calling her the Witch.”

“You’re so damn stubborn, woman! You’re not a field agent. If something happens—”

“Pretty sure stubbornness is part of the training. You’re not exactly a ray of obedience yourself. Nothing will happen. I can go in purely as a historian. Leoch has a huge collection at the National Gallery. I’ll use the Foundation cover.”

“Murtagh, can you please talk some sense into her?”

Murtagh just raised his brows with a silent “you’re on your own” look.

Jamie growled in frustration as Murtagh chuckled at the whole scene. Claire walked out and went straight to call John. They needed to move fast.

“What just happened here?” Murtagh asked. “Why all this overprotective nonsense about Agent Beauchamp?”

“Nothing happened. You’re imagining things. I care about her like I care about any other agent.”

“Mm-hmm. But the other agents don’t have a fine arse and smell like roses.”

“Jamie, you know you’re in dangerous territory. You can’t get involved with Agent Beauchamp. It’s against the rules.”

“Ah, Dhia, don’t talk rubbish.”

Murtagh saw the look in my eyes and knew it was already too late. I was completely, hopelessly in love with Claire.

And he was right. I’d fallen for her the second I laid eyes on her—my Sassenach. I dreamed about holding her in my arms, loving her body the way she deserved, leaving marks on her skin to remind her of us. I felt the beginning of an erection and tried to push the thoughts away when I heard a knock on the door. I pulled myself together before opening it to find Claire smiling at me, eyes shining with victory.

“John approved the op!” she squealed, throwing herself into my arms, making me stumble.

“Oh, Jamie, I’m so happy! We should celebrate! Do you have plans tonight? We could go out to dinner and—”

I didn’t want to let her go. It felt too good having her so close, breathing her in. But I forced myself to pull back.

“Claire, we can’t. You know that.”

But what I wanted was to take her hand, run out of there, and shout to the world that I was in love. That this was the woman I’d been waiting for.

She stepped back, and I let out a quiet groan. I needed her touch again. I needed her.

“Sorry… I got carried away. Damn, I was just so happy we finally made some progress. Even if it’s just one small win. I wanted to celebrate. I don’t really know anyone here besides the Agency folks. It gets kinda lonely at night…”

I watched her, my throat tight. I couldn’t let this moment go.

“There’s a place we could go. Meet me in the lobby in an hour?”

She gave me a mischievous smile, leaned in, and kissed my cheek.
“See you in an hour then.”

I watched her leave. She was as giddy as a kid who just got candy, and that made my heart melt. It was Friday. I’d take her to dinner… and then, let things happen naturally.

---

Chapter Text

From Jamie

I had a plan in mind. For months, I’d been wanting to ask Claire out, but I never had the courage. With the progress in the investigation and the opening she gave me earlier today, I finally found the nerve to take the first step. I felt like a teenager around her. A smile came easily to my lips every time she entered my line of sight. Claire had been one of the best things to happen to me in months, and the further we got into the investigation, the more I felt my chances with her slipping away.

The Agency discouraged relationships, but she was just a guest—and she had no intention of staying on after this was all over. But if I could win her heart… maybe she’d stay in Scotland.

I grabbed the phone and confirmed our dinner reservation for 9:00 p.m. I wanted tonight to be perfect. I headed to the gym’s locker room and was thankful I had a decent change of clothes there. I took a shower, got dressed, and headed to the Agency’s lobby—Claire and I had agreed to meet there. I checked the time. Ten minutes to spare. Just enough to stop by the tech department and drop off the intel we’d gathered to Geordie. I wanted those names in the system ASAP.

As I reached the elevator, I found Murtagh standing in front of it, arms crossed, with that familiar scowl of his.

" And where do you think you're going all dressed up and smelling fancy?"

" I’m taking Claire out to dinner... and I need your help."

Murtagh raised an eyebrow.
" My help? What for? To play third wheel?"

" Don’t be sarcastic. I just need you to cover for me. I’m turning off the Agency phone, leaving the tracker behind. I’m taking Claire to that restaurant up in the mountains, the one with the cabins. If anything comes up, you know where to find me—but I hope it won’t be necessary. If you know what I mean."

" Oh, lad… this is gonna blow up in your face. You know it’s not right."

" I know. But it’s my only shot. She could leave at any moment, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try."

" You don’t even know if she’s into you."

" I think she is. But I’ll only know for sure after tonight. Wish me luck."

Murtagh rolled his eyes.
" Just don’t lose your head, lad."

" I won’t "— I said, just as the elevator doors closed.

---

From Claire

Wow. He looked amazing. His hair was slicked back, he wore a black shirt and a jacket, and he walked toward me with that smile.

" Ready? Shall we?"

I stared at him for a second before answering.

"Not fair. I thought we were going somewhere nearby—I didn’t have time to get dressed up".

He chuckled.

" Don’t worry. I’ve got everything planned. Just trust me."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

" Okay… I guess I don’t have much of a choice."

" Well, there’s always a choice, Claire. But I think mine’s the better one."

We left the building, and Jamie pointed to a car waiting for us at the curb.

" That’s not your car?"

" Actually, it is. I usually drive the Agency’s during the week, but tonight we’re off duty—and I don’t want Geordie snooping around in my business. So tonight, we’re on our own?.

---

" Claire, do you mind if we make a quick stop?"

He pulled up in front of a small house. A cheerful older woman came out waving at Jamie.

" Claire, this is Mrs. FitzGibbons, a dear friend. She owns this atelier, and I asked her to prepare a dress for you tonight—hope that’s okay."

" So nice to meet you, Mrs. FitzGibbons "— I said, taking her delicate hands.

" Oh, if you're a friend of Jamie’s, you can call me Mrs. Fitz. That’s what everyone around here does. Come on, let’s not waste time."

The studio was charming. Mrs. Fitz left Jamie in the front room and promised not to take long. She called out, and a young woman soon appeared at the doorway.

" This is my granddaughter, Laoghaire. Darling, serve Mr. Fraser a drink, then come help me."

The girl gave me a once-over, unimpressed, and then walked away.

The dress Jamie had chosen was absolutely stunning. Mrs. Fitz had magic hands—the cut hugged my waist and hips perfectly. She braided my hair with such care and precision. When I walked down the stairs, Jamie was sitting with his phone. He looked up, and a slow smile spread across his face. He stood, walked over, took my hand, and brought it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss and a little bow.

" You look absolutely beautiful, Claire. I hope you don’t mind… I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight. I asked Mrs. Fitz to help me out a bit."

" I love it, Jamie. She’s an angel — I said, hugging him. — Shall we?"

---

We were in a more remote area of the city. Jamie told me he chose this place because the mountains reminded him of home. He shared a bit about his family—they owned a small horse farm, run by his sister and brother-in-law.

" I go there sometimes to train with the guys. Being close to nature… it’s something I really love."

" So how did you end up as an intelligence agent?"

" I enlisted right after school. Went to university, and one thing led to another. Murtagh introduced me to the intelligence folks, and before I knew it, I was going on missions across Scotland. I started working along the borders—that’s when we first picked up signs of the Witch’s activity. But… let’s not talk about work. Not tonight."

I won’t lie—I was nervous. Every muscle in my body was on edge. When I asked Jamie out for dinner, I didn’t expect this whole elaborate setup. The place was incredible. He thought of everything: the menu, the wine, the music… every detail was perfect.

We were already on our second bottle of wine when I glanced at the dance floor. A couple swayed to the soft rhythm. I looked over at Jamie, silently inviting him.

" Dance with me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes squinting.

" I’m not much of a dancer, Claire."

"It doesn’t take much — I stood up and held out my hand. — Come on, I’ll teach you."

---

From Jamie

We stepped onto the dance floor. Only one other couple was dancing, slow and close. I watched them for a second—they looked so in love. Claire stopped in front of me and placed my hand on her waist, pulling us closer, then wrapped an arm around my neck. I let out a low whistle at the contact. She brought our joined hands close to our chests, right over our hearts.

For a moment, I thought mine might stop.

We moved slowly, in sync, as if this moment had been waiting for us all along. As if we were already one. I didn’t want the song to end. Claire rested her head against my chest. I closed my eyes and let the music guide us. The rhythm turned sensual. My breath quickened. Claire lifted her head, and I felt her gaze burning into mine—a silent permission. Whether it was the wine, the music, or just her… I kissed her.

It started gentle, like a butterfly’s wings, and quickly grew deeper, more urgent. I placed my other hand on her waist, pulling her even closer. Her fingers tangled in my hair, our mouths moving in rhythm with the song playing:

🎵
Cause I can feel you breathe
It’s washing over me
And suddenly I’m melting into you
There’s nothing left to prove
Baby all we need is just to be
Caught up in the touch
Slow and steady rush
Baby, isn’t that the way that love’s supposed to be?
I can feel you breathe
Just breathe 🎶

I vaguely heard the couple next to us saying something, but I didn’t care. Nothing anyone else had to say mattered. Claire smiled against my lips, breaking the kiss. I pressed our foreheads together and smiled back.

It was magical. Way more than I expected from tonight.

" You okay?" — Claire asked, smiling at me, our eyes locked.

" Everything’s perfect."

We returned to our table. I couldn’t keep my hands off her anymore—light touches, smiles, kisses. We were already on our third bottle of wine.

" Want to go somewhere else, Sassenach?"

She nodded. I signaled the waiter for the bill. The maître d' came over with a small key—compliments of the house. One of the guest cabins was offered for the night.

I looked at Claire. She was hiding a mischievous smile behind her wine glass. A blush rose up my neck.

" Claire, this wasn’t my intention. I want you to know—"

She placed a finger on my lips, silencing me.

" It’s okay, Jamie. I think we may have overdone it a bit tonight… and it wouldn’t be safe to drive down those mountain roads now. Besides, it would be rude to turn down such a lovely offer."

To be continued…

---

Chapter Text

**From Jamie**

I took Claire’s hand, and we climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, our bodies pressed together. My hands were on her waist, my teeth grazing her neck and ear, feeling her skin shiver under the touch of my lips. When we reached the door, I turned her to face me and captured her mouth in a kiss. Our bodies crashed against each other—I was completely turned on. Claire slid her arms down my back and rested her hands on my hips, pulling me closer. She moaned when she felt my erection throb against her center. I felt her melt in my arms like her legs had given out. I pressed her between the door and my body, letting my hands travel down to her breasts, gently cupping them as I returned my mouth to her neck. I wanted her so badly.

"Jamie... Jamie... wait a second," she said, pulling her head back.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" I asked, confused.

"Your pocket’s vibrating," she said, laughing.

"Ah, dhia!" I grinned, fishing my phone out. "Has to be Murtagh."

"Aren’t you gonna answer?"

"No," I said, turning off the phone and shoving it back in my pocket. "He needs to learn to fend for himself."

Jamie paused for a moment. The phone buzzing had snapped a bit of sense into him. Everything was happening too fast, too good. He didn’t want to stop—but he had to ask.

"Claire," my voice was rough, "do you want this? I mean... to sleep with me? We can stop if—"

Claire cut me off with a kiss that felt like it pulled my bones from my flesh.

"You do realize you have to open the door first, right? Unless you actually want to do this out here in the hallway. Tempting, but I prefer a bed," she said with a mischievous smile.

I laughed, quickly shoved the key into the lock, and opened the door to the room waiting for us. My hands roamed her body desperately. We stumbled blindly toward the bed, lips locked the entire way.

♤♤♤♤♤

**From Claire**

Jamie’s kisses were driving me insane, waking feelings I’d buried long ago. I’d always liked sex and had a few partners who made me feel comfortable, but I’d never experienced total surrender. There was always a part of me I held back. But with Jamie, it was different. His kisses, his touch, his words... I barely knew him, and yet, in that moment, I felt like I could trust him. I was letting go of all my walls.

I opened my eyes and saw Jamie standing at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. I sat up quickly and took over. My hands were trembling, my breath uneven. As I undid the buttons one by one, my fingers followed the rhythm of his muscles and abs. I undid the last button and tossed the shirt to the floor. As I kissed down his body, I couldn’t help but tremble at how much we were affecting each other.

Jamie pulled me back up to him, bringing his mouth to mine again, then started to undress me, kissing and biting my neck while I raked my nails down his back. We undressed each other, piece by piece, until we were completely naked. We paused, taking in each other’s bodies. Jamie reached out and cupped my breasts in a hungry touch. I moaned at the contact.

We clung to each other like we were afraid to wake from a dream, but everything felt so real. We fell onto the bed, and Jamie covered me with his body. My skin tingled at the touch of his bare chest. When Jamie finally entered me, it felt like I was bursting open. It had been a while since I’d been with someone, but with Jamie, I felt completely free. He was slow and gentle at first, but soon his movements became faster, deeper. We moved together with pure hunger.

I’ll admit—it hurt a little when he first entered me, but the pleasure quickly erased it. With every thrust, the intensity grew. We held onto each other like time was slipping away. Our tongues explored necks, ears, breasts... I felt like I was going to melt when Jamie’s teeth closed around my nipple. Words spilled from my lips, messy and breathless. A wave built inside me. I grabbed Jamie’s hips and pulled him even closer—if that was even possible. I could feel all of him inside me.

I came with a loud cry, head thrown back. Jamie shuddered and followed right after. We stayed there, locked together in that moment, our bodies one, our release unlocking something new.

He pulled out slowly and lay beside me, breathless and smiling. I kissed him softly and curled into his chest. We stayed like that, quiet, until our breathing slowed. Jamie ran his fingers through my hair, then finally spoke.

"That was a pretty good first date."

"Yeah," I murmured, closing my eyes, happy just to be near him.

"Claire... you know we’ve got some things we need to talk about."

"I know, Jamie," I sighed. "But can it wait until tomorrow? You wore me out," I said, my voice already heavy with sleep.

I felt his chest shake with a laugh before he replied,
"Then rest, *mo chridhe*. We’ve got all the time in the world'

Chapter Text

**The next morning...**

*Claire!*

I kept my eyes shut, trying to hold onto that dreamlike state. I knew I was smiling — I could feel it. When I opened my eyes, I was met with what was probably the most beautiful sight of my life. Jamie raised his head for a moment — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing in that dizzying way that always threatens to tear me in two. My body sank back into the comfort of the mattress as his hands slid over me, kissing his way down with slow, loving reverence. His fingers roamed my skin like every inch of me was sacred, setting off a frantic kind of firestorm straight to my brain.

I was so confused by this man — the one who touched me with such devotion, and still fucked me with the raw intensity of an animal. His hands moved with care, and every bit of tension in my body surged from head to toe. Jamie focused his attention on my breasts, sucking and biting my nipples with a mix of pleasure and pain... while his hand found its way between my legs, right to my clit. He smiled when he felt my reaction to his touch. He knew he had the upper hand. The bloody Scot knew I was coming undone. And I gave in... in that moment, I felt like I lost the last shred of sanity — if I ever had any to begin with.

His fingers slipped through my slickness, spreading it like fire over my skin. He let go of my nipple with a low moan, hot breath branding my sensitive flesh. Jamie knew — I was more than ready. And that set him off all over again. With one swift, deep thrust, he was inside me. All the air fled from my lungs. My back arched, head thrown back, urging him to return his attention to my neck, my chest. I wanted him to leave marks. I wanted to be branded by him.

At first, our moans were just whispers. But Jamie started off strong, no hesitation. I wrapped my legs around him as he kept going, relentless. My arms clung to his shoulders, hands digging into the tight muscles of his back. He didn’t slow down. His bites got sharper, his tender touches turned feral. His tongue circled the bruises he’d left on my neck and chest.

*"Jamie... I can’t take it anymore... not like this..."* — I could feel my strength leaving me.

*"Shhh, mo nighean donn... ye can. Move with me."* — His voice was both gentle and commanding.

His fingers went back to my clit, teasing me, playing with my edge. My body tightened, all the tension narrowing to that one point. I dug my nails into him, scratching, marking him back — like trying to survive the storm of that overwhelming love. It only spurred him on. His pace quickened, breath turning rough, hips slamming into mine. And then it hit — orgasm crashing over me like a broken dam. Our cries mingled with ragged breaths. Desperate kisses tried to muffle the chaos.

We collapsed, sweaty, breathless, branded. What would become of us after this weekend? Could I go on without touching him again? Without feeling the heat of his mouth? He watched me, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling. He smiled and kissed my temple.

*"One penny for your thoughts, Sassenach."*

I turned to face him. He kept looking at me with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through my soul. But words didn’t belong in that moment. We both knew. We’d just had the best sex of our lives. And as crazy and sudden as it sounds, I saw it in his eyes — something I recognized. He loves me. And without a doubt, I know — I love him too.

---

We were back at the Agency. The latest intel had brought some real progress. On Monday, we found Murtagh grumpy and anxious as ever. I asked Jamie what he’d told him about us.

“Told him we’re together," Jamie answered flatly, not leaving room for more questions.
He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and went back to the stack of documents in his hands. I sighed contentedly — Jamie and I were together. Fast and a little terrifying, but we were in this for whatever the future held. A warm feeling spread through my chest.
I watched him for a moment, all serious and focused, and reminded myself I had work to do too. I waved goodbye, and Jamie muttered something in Gaelic as I walked out. I had manuscripts to translate and needed to cross-check the data Geordie had uploaded into the system.

\_\_

Later that same day, Claire stormed into Jamie’s office, excited about a new lead.

"Here’s everything we’ve got on the Witch so far. And we finally have a name and a face. I couldn’t take calling her that anymore."**
She handed over the folder. A photo was on the cover of the report.

Jamie picked up the pages, studying them. Murtagh, beside him, was peering over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

He opened the file: *Confidential Archive – Personal Observations – by Claire Beauchamp*
Codename: “The Witch” – Identified as **Geillis Duncan**

For months, our team had been tracking a figure that had almost become a myth in the world of covert ops. A shadow moving between stolen files, a subtle fingerprint left behind every time chaos erupted. In the underworld, she was called *The Witch*.

Her real name was **Geillis Duncan**.

Charismatic. Smart. Ruthless.
She walks into a room like she already knows how the conversation ends — like everything anyone else says is just confirmation of what she already planned.

A woman with an unusual, almost hypnotic beauty. Red hair, green eyes that look like they can see right through you. There’s something... anachronistic about her. Like she doesn’t really belong to this time — or refuses to leave a past behind.

She was married to Arthur Duncan, a Parliament inspector, much older, no kids, no living relatives.

**"What the hell did she see in that guy..."** Murtagh muttered, frowning. **"Old man."**

**"We believe the marriage gave her access to the records of several companies under investigation. Arthur handled most of those cases."**

**"We should talk to the guy then. I can have Ross reach out first thing tomorrow."**

**"Can’t. He’s dead."** Claire pointed to the second page of the report.

**Geillis Duncan.**
**Wife of Arthur Duncan, inspector at the Scottish Parliament.**
He died a few months ago. Suddenly.
Official cause: *Natural Causes.*
But it happened exactly a week after ultra-confidential files tied to national security vanished. Files that, according to internal records, had crossed his desk. Files that we now know were part of one of the biggest clandestine ops ever exposed.

**“Coincidence?”** Claire asked, fired up. **“I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.”**

Murtagh’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. **“What do you mean?”**

**"I don’t think he died of natural causes, even if he was older. I suggest we talk to the medical examiner or request an exhumation."**

**“You think Geillis had something to do with his death?”**

Claire crossed her arms, gaze steady.
**"I do. Arthur was under investigation for leaking data. He wasn’t exactly innocent, but he was manipulated. He must’ve confronted her — she had ties to the companies that benefitted from shady contracts. But what he didn’t know was that Geillis wasn’t just part of the corruption. She was stealing government secrets. When we tracked those documents and cross-referenced Geordie’s data, it led us straight to her. She’s strategic, obsessive. Look—”** Claire flipped through pages and pointed out key lines to Jamie, **“—she’s a die-hard sympathizer of the 1745 uprising. For her, Charles Stuart’s downfall isn’t history — it’s a wound. She’s set on rewriting it, no matter the cost."**

*"Her sabotage skills, her manipulation of info, her insider access — it all shows a level of infiltration that’s terrifying. She didn’t marry Arthur by accident. That was a calculated move. He was just a pawn. Her ticket into the silent corridors of power. Arthur was her first big sacrifice. And in the end..."* Claire caught her breath, *"...only one company came out as the biggest beneficiary of it all. The..."*

**“Leoch,”** Jamie said, cutting her off for the first time.

Murtagh turned to him, yanking the papers out of Jamie’s hands to read for himself. It was a huge leap in the investigation. For months, they’d been chasing dead ends, but now — with Claire’s findings — they had a clear path forward. And with Leoch involved, only one name filled Jamie and Murtagh’s minds. Jamie had no doubts about Geillis’ connections, and he knew who it led to. It had to be him. A new rush surged through his veins. They were *so close* to a breakthrough. He needed to act fast.

**“Leoch’s involved — you know what that means, lad? We gotta move fast. If he even suspects we’re back on his trail...”** Murtagh was clearly starting to worry.

**"Murtagh, do you remember Laoghaire?"** Jamie had a plan.

**"That girl who keeps throwing herself at you?"** Murtagh asked, forgetting Jamie’s newly upgraded relationship status. **"What about her?"**

Jamie’s ears turned red. He and Claire had run into Laoghaire briefly at Miss Fitz’s shop on Friday. He knew the girl had a crush on him — one he never encouraged — but still. He saw Claire glance away when Murtagh mentioned her. His *Sassenach* was clearly not pleased.

Jamie cleared his throat.
**"Laoghaire works at Leoch. She’s Colum’s executive assistant. If I get close to her, I might get access to the files."**

**"Wait,"** Claire interrupted. **"Can someone explain what the hell is going on? You *knew* about Leoch’s illegal activities? Who’s ‘he’? And this Laoghaire, she’s the same girl we saw at Miss Fitz’s on Friday?"**
She was firing questions non-stop, but Murtagh and Jamie just exchanged looks — a whole plan unfolding silently between their eyes, leaving Claire out of it. And she *hated* that.

**"Yeah. On weekends, she helps her gran at the shop. I just need to get close to her, feel out what’s going on before we make a move."** Jamie dodged every single question.

Claire asked again, **“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I need to file an official request to access the intel I *just* handed you?”**
She was seriously pissed now.

**“Well, lass,”** Murtagh started, **“you know Leoch’s a tech company that supplies systems for the government and industrial sectors.”** Claire nodded.
**“A few years ago, Jamie started investigating a secret ops network — data manipulation, financing radical nationalist groups. We think Leoch was funneling the money, hiding the files, covering political crimes. Dougal took advantage of Colum’s failing health. He was tight with Arthur, and their alliance with Geillis makes perfect sense now. They want to resurrect Scotland’s past glory — through illegal means. Leoch went under investigation, but Arthur scrubbed their records clean. Everything was buried. But make no mistake — Leoch isn’t just a tech supplier. It’s an empire. And Jamie... Jamie’s part of the bloodline.”**

**“Jamie is *what*?”** Claire stared at him in disbelief.

**“They’re my uncles, Sassenach,”** Jamie jumped in before Murtagh said too much. **“Colum and Dougal MacKenzie. My mom’s brothers. I’ve never been involved, but I do have a claim — my grandfather founded the company. But my parents, especially my mom, always kept us away from the business. Thank God for that.”**
He got back to the point. **“Still, I think it’s time to reach out to Laoghaire. Maybe pay my uncles a little visit.”**

**“No, you’re not,”** Claire snapped.

**“What’s the problem, Claire?”** Murtagh asked.

**“Nothing. Except Jamie’s not using that girl. Period.”** Claire stood her ground.
**“You,”** she pointed at Jamie, **“are *not* taking advantage of someone who has feelings for you just to get intel.”**

**“Sassenach, I don’t care about her. But if she has feelings for me — it’s the only way to access Dougal’s files.”**

**“I said no. You’re not using her, and I won’t accept it. *I* can go in. The Foundation is our cover. I’ll plant the bug, and Geordie can access everything remotely. John already approved the mission. You just have to guide me.”**

**“It’s not that simple. I don’t want you involved — you’re not a field agent.”** Jamie’s voice was rising. **“And I *definitely* don’t want you near Dougal.”**

**“And I *definitely* don’t want you near Laoghaire,”** Claire said, arms crossed.

*"Stubborn woman,"* Jamie muttered under his breath.

Murtagh stepped in before it turned into a full-blown fight.

**“Knew this relationship would cause trouble. For one second, drop the drama. Jamie, for now, Claire’s plan makes more sense.”**

Jamie opened his mouth to argue, but Murtagh raised a hand.

**“I’m not done. You’re *not* going near Dougal or Leoch alone. You almost died last time. And Claire’s right — using that girl would be wrong.”**

**“Your uncles tried to kill you?”** Claire asked, shocked.

**“No proof, Sassenach. Car exploded seconds after I got out. They called it a fuel leak. Case closed.”**

**“You think it was Dougal?”**

**“Not think. I *know*. He’s always been power-hungry. I got lucky.”**

**“Even more reason for *you* not to go,”** Claire picked up the discarded file.
**“Look — here it says Leoch has a charity foundation. I can get in through that. They host auctions all the time — I can volunteer, offer my services. I could be their curator. It’s low risk. I could go in, read documents, plant bugs. John already approved it. You two just need to guide me.”**

**“Claire,”** Jamie sighed, **“do you hear yourself? This isn’t like walking into a bookstore and browsing through the fiction section, or whatever it is your overactive brain is imagining. You’re not a field agent, you’re *not even an agent*. You have *no idea* what kind of danger you’d be walking into. And I’m not letting you anywhere near Leoch or Dougal. Not while I’m breathing.”**
He was pissed.

**“Jamie, I’m already involved whether you like it or not. *You* pulled me into this. I’m not sitting behind a desk translating files while you’re out there risking your life. And I’m not just talking about your uncle.”**

Jamie chuckled under his breath. He knew Claire wasn’t jealous — not exactly. His *Sassenach* was protective. But this wasn’t a jealousy thing. It was about keeping her safe. And he *couldn’t* risk losing her.

**"Fine,"** he finally said, lowering his guard — a little. **“But I’m going with you. No way in hell you’re going alone. I’ll stay in the parking lot. You’ll be wired. You follow *every* one of my commands.”**

Claire rolled her eyes and nodded.

**“Perfect. So... guess I’d better get ready.”** She walked out, leaving the two men alone.

**“This is gonna blow up in our faces,”** Jamie muttered, watching her go.

**“Give the lass a bit of credit. She’s got guts,”** Murtagh said, clapping his shoulder before leaving too.

\_\_

Claire took a deep breath, feeling the full weight of her decision. She dressed slowly, fingers trembling just a bit as she zipped up her jacket. This wasn’t just a mission — it was a plunge into a dangerous game where one wrong step could be the last.

Jamie stood beside her, that look in his eyes — pride mixed with fear. He didn’t like the plan, but he knew she was right. The Foundation was their perfect cover, and Geordie would be handling all the tech. Still, doubt hovered in the air.

*"Promise me you’ll be careful,"* Jamie whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Claire smiled, gripping his hand. *“I will. But you have to trust me.”*

He swallowed hard, squeezing her fingers. *“I do. Just... don’t make me regret it.”*

She laughed softly, tension and nerves tangled in the sound. *“You won’t.”*

That night, as she prepped the gear, every minute felt like forever. The real danger wasn’t just inside Leoch — it was the uncertainty. What she might lose. What she might gain. And what would never be the same again.

Chapter Text

---

What could possibly go wrong after a carefully orchestrated visit to Leoch?

Claire and Jamie left the city in silence, carrying more than just memories — they carried secrets. Jamie was on edge, his car parked far away at the far end of Leoch’s massive parking lot. He’d lost the transmission signal not long after Claire said she was going to try and find the server room.

Claire wasn’t trained for field work, and no matter how much she insisted she was the best person to get inside the corporation, Jamie had his doubts. In the few months he’d known Claire, he’d learned she couldn’t lie to save her life.

Officially, she’d been introduced as an art curator, interested in the corporation’s charity projects. Colum was a big supporter of the arts, and Claire, an archaeologist with extensive knowledge of ancient artifacts. Jamie was almost certain that, given how long she was taking, she and Colum had ended up having a long, lively chat.

Colum had no idea that Claire was there with one single purpose — to slip into the company’s shadowy backrooms. It was an operation for Scottish Intelligence. Her goal was simple — and dangerous: plant a bug in the server room so the agency could access confidential, incriminating corporate data. Anything that could link Leoch to Geillis Duncan.

Jamie glanced at his watch again — two hours had passed. The car’s onboard computer still showed Claire inside the building.

“Claire, do you copy?” he tried again over the radio.

Nothing.

Tapping his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, he couldn’t take it anymore. He got out of the car, scanning the people going in and out of the building. None of them, even from a distance, were Claire.

“Ah Dhia… Sassenach, where the hell are you?”

And as if she’d heard him, Claire appeared, smiling, walking toward his car. Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed, and he sent up a quick, silent prayer of thanks.

They still didn’t know if the mission had been successful — if the bug had been found, or if Geordie had managed to access the data. All they knew was that, a few hours later, Claire and Jamie were driving north — toward Lallybroch.

The old Fraser estate was more than an ancestral home — it was a refuge. After days of adrenaline and tension, Jamie just wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to take Claire to his house, his home, his family. A weekend there, among rolling green hills and stone walls steeped in history.

Jamie smiled when Claire spotted the house. He saw the way she caught her breath and squeezed his hand.

“Jamie, this place is beautiful.” Her eyes lit up as they met his.

“Just wait ’til ye see inside, Sassenach.”

Jamie slowed the car and drove under the stone arch proudly bearing the estate’s name and year of founding. Generations of Frasers had passed beneath that arch to begin their stories.

Claire stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, the clean country air filling her lungs. She looked at Jamie and smiled — and that smile warmed his heart.

And in that moment, he knew. He wanted her for the rest of his life. He’d make her his, give her his name, his clan, and, if necessary, the protection of his own body.

But with that happiness came something unexpected…

**Claire**

I was standing on top of a hill, watching a group of women dancing some kind of ancient ritual — to songs I didn’t remember hearing before, yet somehow I knew the words. The day hadn’t even begun yet. They sang and danced around a circle of stones, and that song… it pulled me toward them. I felt something seep into me — something so deeply personal and distant, yet strangely familiar.

One of the women saw me and stretched out her arms, inviting me to join them. I glanced around — there was no one else there. And before I knew it, I was inside the circle. The dance wrapped around me; their movements, so perfectly in sync, felt like a call I couldn’t ignore. And I gave in.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but when I opened my eyes, I was alone in the middle of the stone circle, my head pounding. I could still hear the sound, though now it was more like a low, constant hum. I got to my feet and walked around the stones. One stood out from the rest — I didn’t remember seeing it before. The sound grew louder, sharper, as if someone were calling my name.

I stepped closer to the tallest stone. Gently, I laid my hand on it, and a blinding white light shot through my body. I felt something pulling at my arms, yanking me forward. I couldn’t see — the light was too bright, almost blinding me…

“You’re ready…”

I woke up gasping, startled. Jamie was lying beside me, half sprawled over me. It was a cold morning, but he radiated enough heat to keep us both warm. I gently pushed him to the side; he stirred, muttered something, but didn’t wake up.

I grabbed the first thing I found at the foot of the bed — one of Jamie’s shirts — slipped it on, and got up, thankful for the rush of cold air against my skin. I tried to replay the dream in my mind, but it was already slipping away. Still, there was this strange restlessness crawling under my skin.

I perched on the window sill and let the morning in. It had rained the night before, and the mix of colors in the early light was breathtaking. The house was already waking up, just like any country house would. From my spot, I could see people starting their daily chores — milking cows, collecting eggs from the henhouse.

I opened the window a little, letting the scent of damp earth flood in. The sound of little giggles made me look toward the yard, where wee Jamie was running around with his baby sister — barely more than a year old — toddling after him. The bright yellow rain boots left prints in the soft, wet ground. The boy, far more experienced, zigzagged around the yard while the little girl’s short legs tried, and failed, to keep up.

I glanced back at the bed: Jamie was sleeping sprawled out, a faint smile on his lips. My eyes stung. He looked so happy, so at ease. Was he dreaming of a life for the two of us?

The wind carried more of those children’s giggles into the room — and I saw him smile again in his sleep. He loved kids; they lit him up. When he scooped Maggie and wee Jamie into his arms, my heart skipped a beat. God, he was beautiful holding one — or two — children. Would our own kids ever run around that yard?

The thought hit me harder than I expected. A child with his fiery hair or my brown waves, laughing that infectious laugh… Was I crazy for even thinking about children? We’d only been together a few months, and we’d never talked about it. I didn’t even know if he wanted to be a father. Our relationship was still new, and there were so many things we hadn’t discussed. But the love he gave me — the way he looked at me — made me feel like I belonged to him, and he to me.

Jamie felt like a second skin — part of me now, in places I’d never let anyone touch before. My heart raced as I imagined a life here with him — mornings in Lallybroch, chasing our children through the fields. I wanted kids with him. As many as life would give us.

I closed my eyes and let myself dream.

And as if summoned by those thoughts, his warmth appeared behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“What are ye doing out of bed so early, Sassenach?”

I melted back into his embrace, turning my face just enough to find his lips.

“It’s such a lovely place, Jamie. I really do feel at home here.”

We stood at the window, watching Lallybroch come alive. Jamie pulled me a little closer, that familiar sense of safety anchoring me in the moment. I let go of the thoughts about a future with children — and the dream that had pulled me from bed so early — and simply stayed there, in his arms.
---

Jamie stood there for a moment, just watching.
Claire was perched on the window sill, arms folded loosely across her chest, eyes fixed on the farmyard outside.

Beyond the glass, the morning mist was still slowly lifting from the fields, leaving the grass glistening under the first rays of sunlight.

She looked so peaceful there, bathed in the golden morning light — as if she’d always belonged to that view, to that house, to that stretch of land… to him.

Jamie felt his chest tighten. Not from pain, but from a deep, quiet gratitude. Like he’d been given something rare and powerful, and he still wasn’t sure how he’d been lucky enough to deserve it.

Claire.
With her quiet strength, her sharp attention, her courage, her restless spirit. Everything between them was still new — recent steps, words still being discovered. But the feeling… the feeling was ancient, as if it had been there long before the two of them ever met.

And there, seeing her small against that wide window but so vast inside him, Jamie knew.

Knew he wanted her by his side. Not for a while. Not for a moment.
Forever.

He rose quietly and walked to her, bare feet on the cold wooden floor, hands warmed by the certainty he’d just found. Stopping behind her, he laid his hands gently on her shoulders.

She didn’t startle. She just leaned back into him, letting their bodies settle into that natural fit, like they’d been made for this. Their lips met in a soft kiss, and his heart nearly burst when she told him she felt at home.

“Claire… mo chridhe,” he whispered in the hush of morning. “Aye, ye are home.”

She turned her face toward him and smiled — calm, knowing, grateful. In her eyes, in that silent exchange, there were promises without names yet, but already true.

“Claire.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I want ye to feel that Lallybroch can be your home. You here with me, safe… I’d do anything for ye, Claire. Anything.” His voice caught, eyes fixed on hers like they were his only compass.

“Jamie… I—” Her eyes shone with excitement. But she didn’t get the chance to finish.

He stepped back suddenly, crossed the room without a word, and opened the drawer of the bedside table. His fingers hovered there for just a moment before pulling out a small blue velvet box.

Jamie looked at her, his chest rising and falling slowly. This hadn’t been the plan — not now. He’d imagined a dinner, maybe. Or a night under the stars. Or the top of a hill with the wind in her hair.

But nothing had ever felt more right than this moment.

Her, standing there in the morning light, bare feet on the wooden floor, sexy as hell in one of his shirts, face softened by the calm of the countryside.

Her, in Lallybroch.
Her, being his home.

And him… stripped bare, defenseless, on his knees before the woman who would change everything.

He knelt without haste, the cold floor biting at his knees but not bothering him for a second. Eyes locked on hers, he opened the small box, revealing the ring he’d kept safe — a simple piece, but one that told their love story. Crafted for her. With his soul shaped into every curve.

“It’s not how I pictured it, mo nighean donn,” he said softly, voice trembling. “But you’re here. Home. With me. And nothing has ever felt so right.”

He held out the ring in steady hands.

“Claire, will you be mine… forever?”

Time seemed to freeze between us. Nothing but the soft sound of the wind over the fields, the steady beat of our hearts — and a love that didn’t need anything else to become eternal.

Claire
I couldn’t breathe. Everything happened so fast. One moment Jamie was holding me, whispering in my ear, and the next, he was on one knee in front of me, holding my hand. There were tears in his eyes — and in mine too.
I couldn’t explain my reaction — it was a mix of joy and pure euphoria. He was holding my hand so firmly I thought my knees might give out. And when he opened that little box, revealing a rustic silver ring, all the air seemed to vanish from around me. Was he… proposing?

His voice sounded far away, like I was watching everything play out on some huge, bright screen.
“Claire… from the first time I saw you, I knew it was forever. You’re stubborn, beautiful, smart… and you’ve got the most gorgeous ass I’ve ever seen. Since you came into my life, you’ve made my days better, and I want to make you happy too. Will you be mine, forever? Will you marry me?”

The scene was… honestly kind of funny — but still wildly romantic. Jamie, half-naked, kneeling in front of me, hair deliciously messy, trembling like a leaf, and yes… somehow working a compliment about my backside into a proposal. I couldn’t help laughing before I answered. He looked up, a bit confused — definitely not the reaction he expected — but for me it was a mix of joy, nerves, and absolute certainty.

I knelt down in front of him and said,
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, James Fraser.”

I caught the tear threatening to fall from his eyes. He smiled and brought my hands to his lips, kissing them before slipping the ring onto my finger. Then he scooped me into his arms and carried me back to bed. We spent the rest of the morning wrapped in our own little love bubble, whispering promises to each other.

---

“Do we really have to go back?” I asked Jamie as he packed the last of the bags into the car. He didn’t answer right away — probably because half his body was inside the trunk.

Murtagh had sent him a message, calling him back to the agency. He hadn’t given details, but the tension in Jamie’s shoulders told me it had something to do with Leoch.

A few hours later, Jamie dropped me off at home, promising he wouldn’t be long. I wanted to go with him, but he told me if I came along, we’d never get out of there in time.
“How about you run us a bath, Sassenach? I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Go on, soldier — the sooner you finish your mission, the sooner you’ll be home.” I kissed him and laughed when he groaned in frustration as I pulled away.

After Jamie left, the silence filled the house. The soft crackle of the fireplace was the only sound, and it calmed me. We’d had intense days — missions, close calls, whispered promises under the sheets — and now we were back in the city, with Jamie being called away at the last minute. I was anxious for news, for proof the mission was already moving forward… but there was also an odd chill running down my spine. I tried to push it away. All I wanted was a quiet night, one where he came back to me like he promised — with the world shut out, just for a few hours.

I set the house for his return — candles scattered in the bedroom, the softest scents, the bath filled with hot water and lavender-sandalwood foam. Two glasses and a bottle of chilled white wine waiting. I slipped into a light robe and tried to tame my hair in the mirror, still damp from the morning mist that had followed us home. My eyes still held the weight of the past days… but there was something in me that felt new again. Maybe it was the relief of being home. Or maybe… it was the memory of that man kneeling in front of me this morning.

I let the robe fall and sank into the bath. The foam covered my skin, the heat wrapping around me like an invisible blanket. Eyes closed, I let time slow. And I waited.

Until I heard it.

A sound. Wood creaking. Subtle, like someone trying not to be noticed. It wasn’t a door slamming — more like quiet, deliberate footsteps.
“Jamie?” I called, eyes still shut. My voice was low, almost lazy. “That you?”

Silence answered first.
Then the sound came again — another step, closer.

My eyes snapped open. I turned toward the hallway, expecting his voice, a teasing comment, or the jingle of his keys. But what came was… nothing.
“Jamie?” I tried again, firmer now.

And that’s when I felt it.

It wasn’t just the lack of an answer. It was the presence of *something* — *someone* — that shouldn’t be here. The same feeling I’d had in my dream. The same one I’d felt sneaking through Leoch’s corridors, knowing I was being watched but unable to see the eyes. I had no special training, but something deep in me knew: there was someone in the house. And it wasn’t Jamie.

My heart pounded. I stayed still for a second in the hot water, then slowly reached for the robe I’d left hanging nearby.

Another creak.
Another step.
They were inside.

Whoever it was… they were inside my home.
And me — naked, fresh from the bath, candles burning, a brand-new engagement ring on my finger.

Another sound.
A second step. Firmer. Closer.
“Jamie?” I called again, my voice tight.

I stepped carefully onto the wooden floor, my bare feet leaving wet prints, trying to move quietly — not to look scared. But I was. God, I was.

My eyes tried to focus in the flickering candlelight, until a shadow slid across the wall, making the flames dance.

I knew before I could convince myself.
It wasn’t Jamie.

The air in the room had changed. It wasn’t his scent. Not his presence.
It was something else entirely.

“Who’s there?” I asked, my voice shaking.

No answer — just footsteps, no longer soft, now sure, closer, heavier.

And then they were here.
With me.

…

…

“I heard you’ve been looking for me, Claire?”

…

…

Some time later…

“Jamie, where are you?” Murtagh’s voice was tight over the phone.
“I’m at the agency,” Jamie replied. “Thought I’d find you here — the files are running, and we’ve got news.”
“Is Claire with you?”
“No! I just dropped her off. Why? What’s going on, Murtagh?”

The line went silent for a moment.
“Murtagh — what’s wrong?” Jamie’s voice was sharper now.

Finally, Murtagh spoke again, tension heavy in his words:
“You’d better get here, lad… and see for yourself.”

Chapter Text

The apartment was wrapped in a heavy silence, like every wall was hiding a secret I couldn’t quite make out. The air felt strangely cold, thick with absence. My eyes fluttered open slowly, caught somewhere between the haze of sleep and a dream that still burned in my mind: fire and water clashing, devouring each other, unable to exist together—yet inseparable. And then that voice lingered, deep, low, echoing from somewhere far beyond me: “Heard you’ve been looking for me, Claire?”

“Jamie?” I jerked awake, my chest tight after that strange dream. My hands fumbled blindly over the bed, searching for the warmth I expected to find beside me, but all I touched was cold, empty sheets. Blinking against the blur of sleep, I forced my eyes to focus on the room. Quiet. Empty. Jamie wasn’t there. And judging by the untouched bed, he hadn’t been there the night before either.

I rubbed my face, trying to shake the fog in my head. I couldn’t even remember going to bed last night. My heart gave a nervous skip. Last night… there had been candles flickering, the soft scent of bath oils in the air. But now, the morning light was streaming pale and thin through the window. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Seven a.m. A sigh slipped out as I stretched, but my body felt weird, like it hadn’t been mine in a long while. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, the icy floor bit into my skin, making me flinch. The place was freezing—I’d need to crank the heater before I turned into ice. Still, I stood, shivering as a wave of goosebumps ran through me.

*Where the hell are you, Jamie?* I thought, irritation rising. He never just disappeared without a word. If work had tied him up, he would’ve let me know. I grabbed my phone: nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Weird. The last call was from Jamie—three days ago. The rest of my call log was wiped clean. I’d never delete my history. Unease pricked the back of my neck. I hit Jamie’s number. The phone rang and rang before rolling to voicemail. No greeting, no “leave your message after the beep,” not even the silly impression of his accent I’d recorded for him as a joke. Just… nothing. Strange.

I told myself he’d just gone for a run and would be back soon, coffee and pastries in hand from our favorite bakery, ready to spoil me like always. That had to be it. Soon he’d walk through the door, and all this weirdness would melt away—like the fragments of that dream I couldn’t quite hold on to.

Deciding not to spiral, I headed for a shower while I waited. But the second I stepped into the bathroom, a chill crawled down my spine. My eyes locked on the bathtub, and an icy shiver ran across the back of my neck. The room looked exactly as I remembered it: the candles, burned down and snuffed out; the bottle of wine untouched with two glasses beside it. Jamie hadn’t tucked me into bed. He hadn’t been here at all last night.

I turned on the tap to fill the tub, then paused. That nagging déjà vu crept in, sharp and unsettling—as if I’d lived this moment before but was somehow living it for the first time too. I shut the water off and switched to the shower instead. Passing by the mirror, my breath caught. A thin scar cut across my stomach.

“That… wasn’t there yesterday.”

My fingers traced the line. In the mirror’s reflection, I saw more: faint scratches, and a deep purple bruise blooming on my thigh. Not Jamie’s marks, not the kind of bruises his kisses left. These felt different—like defense, like struggle. My hand skimmed over my skin, mapping the new terrain of my own body, unsettled by each discovery.

How had this all happened in one night? And how the hell couldn’t I remember?

I shut my eyes, trying to gather myself, and flashes surged through me: footsteps, a voice calling my name, flames eating through walls, water trying to smother fire but neither force giving in. And then, a whisper, threading through my mind like it had been planted there: Are you ready, Claire?

Not a dream. Not really. More like a memory, broken and unfinished—of something I’d lived. Or lost.

---

Some time later, I went back to the bedroom and still no sign of Jamie. I grabbed my phone and dialed his number again. After a few rings, a rough, sleepy voice answered.

“Hello.”

“Jamie?”

Silence. Just his breathing—ragged, uneven, growing sharper with every second.

“Jamie, love, can you hear me?”

I heard a curse in Gaelic, heavy with irritation.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. But… where are you?”

A stretch of silence—seconds? Minutes? Just the sound of us breathing. Then his voice came back, confused, tense, and laced with fear.

“Is this a joke? Who the hell is this? If it is, it’s a bloody sick one.”

“Jamie, it’s me. Claire. What’s going on?”

“No… no, it can’t be. You’re not real.”

“James Fraser, is this some kind of joke?”

I was just as shaken—angry, confused, scared. “Jam—” I began, but then a child’s voice came through in the background: *“Daddy, who are you talking to?”*

My heart stopped.

“Daddy…?” I repeated, stunned. I glanced at the phone screen, half-convinced I must’ve dialed the wrong number. But no—the call was to Jamie’s number. His photo was right there, flashing on the display. And that voice… it *was* his. No doubt about it.

So what the hell was happening?

“Hey, lass… you said your name’s Claire?” His voice had gone cold.

“Yes. That’s my name. Can you tell me what’s happening? Who’s there with you? Why are they calling you *Dad*?”

More silence. Then a long, heavy sigh, and his voice again.

“You can’t be real. You can’t be *her*. The Claire I knew… the Claire I met… she’s dead.”

His words cut straight through me, sharp as a blade. I could hear his breathing on the other end—harsh, pained, desperate—and something else I couldn’t place. Dead? He’d said I was *dead*.

The phone slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. My knees buckled and I sank down, my stomach churning, bile rising in my throat. So many things had felt off since I woke up this morning, but hearing Jamie say I was dead—nothing compared to that. Tears welled up, and I pressed my face into my knees, gasping for breath. Was I still asleep? Was this all just a dream? No, it couldn’t be a dream. It felt like a nightmare—one I couldn’t wake from.

The phone lit up again, buzzing against the floor. Jamie’s smile flashed across the screen. If this was some sick joke, it was cruel. Too cruel. I snatched it up, answering with anger in my voice.

“If you’re laughing about this, Jamie, I swear I’ll—”

But there was no laughter. Just silence.

“Where are you, lass?” His voice was cold enough to freeze my blood.

“Where do you think? I’m home!”

“Alright. Don’t move. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“A few hours? Jamie—?” But the line went dead.

I stayed frozen there, still naked, my body trembling as the bathwater chill clung to my skin. Finally, I pulled myself up, opened the wardrobe, and threw on a pair of jeans and Jamie’s old sweatshirt—the one he always swore looked better on me than on him. I paced the apartment, picking things up, putting them down, unable to stay still. The place felt bigger than ever. The clock hands barely crawled forward—only five minutes had passed since I’d last looked. The wait was suffocating.

I made a cup of tea, just to keep my hands busy, to hold onto some warmth. That’s when I heard the knock at the door.

My heart leapt. Why didn’t he use his key?

Holding my breath, I swung the door open.

And there he was.

Jamie. Pale. Changed. Older. His hair shorter. Those blue eyes locked on me, wide with shock—like he was staring at a ghost.

Before I could think, I flung myself into his arms, burying my face in the scent of him, the one thing that still felt like home.

“Sassenach… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me,” I whispered against his neck, clinging to him, breathing him in like air. “Jamie, why didn’t you come last night? Why is everything so strange?”

He pulled me back sharply, his hands firm on my arms, holding me away as his eyes scanned my face. His gaze was wild, stormy, raw.

The way he looked at me made me feel stripped bare—not with longing, but with fear. As if he was terrified to even see me.

“Jamie…?”

His eyes narrowed. He looked at her like she was a ghost. His gaze traced every line of her face—the soft curve of her mouth, the pale tone of her skin, the amber glow of her eyes. There were faint lines now, subtle marks of time that hadn’t been there before, but still… it was her. Just as she had been the last time he saw her. Just as impossible as it was painful.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, every breath a struggle. Confusion, anger, fear—they all burned in the storm of his eyes as he stared at her, unable to look away.

“Claire…” His voice came out raw, almost a groan. “Christ… it *is* you.”

She couldn’t stand the distance he’d put between them and threw herself into his arms again. Jamie stayed rigid, muscles locked, body stiff as stone. She clung to him as if her life depended on it—her hand pressed against his chest, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

“Jamie…” she whispered, desperate, “what’s happening? Why does everything feel so wrong?”

Hearing her like that—fragile, vulnerable—shattered something inside him. He gave in at last. His strong arms wrapped around her, crushing her against him as if to make sure she wouldn’t vanish again.

“God… thank you,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut. “Thank you for bringing her back to me. I prayed for this, night after night… begged for it.”

She tilted her head back, confused, tears streaking her cheeks. “Back…? Jamie, what are you saying? I’ve been here, it’s only been a few hours, I just—”

“Seven years, Claire.” He pulled away just far enough to look at her, those blue eyes blazing with pain. “Seven years. How could you do that? How could you leave me with nothing but your memory? Seven years without you. Why did you make me believe you were dead? Why, Claire?”

I shook my head, stunned. “No, that doesn’t make sense… I didn’t… Jamie, I didn’t die yesterday.”

“Yesterday…? You mean 2007. Claire, it’s 2014.”

“What are you talking about, Jamie? Yesterday you left, said you’d be right back—”

“Do you have any idea what I went through, Sassenach? How much I suffered?” He started pacing, his words tumbling out, sharp and wild. “Dead. Dead! I saw it—I saw the house in flames, I saw there was nothing left. Seven years, Claire. Seven bloody years of guilt, of torment, thinking I left you, thinking I lost you forever. You made me bury you. You made me grieve. You made me suffer every day believing you were gone. And now you’re standing here, saying things that belong to a time that’s long gone. A time that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Jamie, stop,” I begged, my voice breaking. “Please, stop!”

My heart raced, my mind spinning. Seven years. For Jamie, I had been dead. The words echoed in me, hollow and impossible to hold onto.

And then I saw it. His hand. The cruel gleam of a wedding band catching the light.

I barely had time to process it. The floor fell away beneath me, and the only thing left was the heat of Jamie’s arms catching me as I fainted.

---

I woke some time later, my head pounding. Jamie had laid me on the sofa, my head resting on his lap. His fingers threaded gently through my hair. I sat up too quickly, the room spinning, and shut my eyes for a moment.

“Here, drink this.” He guided me upright, pressed a glass of water into my hands. I drank a few sips, our eyes locked in heavy silence.

“Claire…” His voice cracked the quiet. His hand reached out instinctively, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm. I turned my face into his palm, clinging to it. “You don’t know how many times I begged God to give you back to me.”

I sighed at his touch. His words were gentler now, though his eyes still held fear. “I’m here, Jamie. I’ve always been here.” I tried to smile, but it collapsed as the tears ran freely down my cheeks.

“Jamie… that ring… what’s going on? Are you married to someone else? Please, tell me this is a nightmare. Tell me I’ll wake up and everything will be like it was.”

“Claire…” He rose from the sofa, running his hands down his face, the golden band flashing again in the light.

“Jamie, please,” I choked out, “tell me it isn’t true, tell me you didn’t marry someone else… tell me this is just a bad dream…”

“It isn’t, Sassenach. I wish it were. But it’s not. Time passed, and I… I married.”

“Get out.” My body wavered, weak, but I didn’t care if I collapsed at his feet again. I just wanted him gone. He had left me once already—what difference did it make if he left again?

“Claire,” he hovered in front of me, his arms half-raised, as if he wanted to catch me, to hold me.

“You didn’t hear me.” My voice broke into a scream. “I want you to leave.”

---

Seven years had slipped away. Claire had no idea how. Jamie had lived all that time haunted by her absence, tortured by her ghost. And yet, he had gone on. Now, standing face to face again, their reunion was as impossible as it was unbearable.