Chapter Text
Jamie Fraser had been running his paper route for nearly six months. He was good at it. He knew the streets, knew the shortcuts to take on his second-hand bike and thanks to all the peddling, his calves were coming along quite nicely thank you very much.
He’d grown up in the area, and knew it like the back of his hand. So when he’d asked for a job from Murtagh Fitzgibbons, the grumpy old man that ran the newsagency, he knew he’d get the job. It probably helped that Murtagh was also his godfather but who was counting nepotism on a simple paper route.
It wasn’t a busy route. Only a few older residents of Broch Mordha liked their paper delivered by hand rather than reading the news online like the rest of the modern world. Things always did move slower in this village. “Tradition” they called it. “Because if they didn’t follow the towns traditions, then who would?” That’s what they always said. Jamie figured it was about time for some new traditions but he didn’t dare say that out loud to anyone. He was only 16. He wasn’t meant to have an opinion yet. Not one that would be listened to anyway.
Everyone always knew each other’s business in his village. He often wondered if that was part of the tradition of the town- knowing everyone else’s news. It seemed like the adults only told each other everyone else’s news, nobody ever had news of their own.
“Did you hear that McNully’ tractor broke last week?”
“I heard that Daniel Abels’ was selling the back half of his lot. Canna keep up with the maintenance.”
“Sally Finley got into a bit of strife last week, word is she’s been seeing Arnold Erwin and Johnathon Lackie on the side. Old Arnold was’na to pleased when he got home that night, I can tell ye.”
It was a wonder they even needed the newspaper with the amount of gossip that went on in the town.
Though, it gave Jamie a job and “some responsibility, which was sorely needed” as his older sister Jenny told him, not to mention it was nice to have a little change in his pocket at the end of the day.
“Ye shorted me a paper this morning,” Jamie said as he entered the rundown newsagents to see his godfather reading the paper behind the counter. “I did’na have Walter Stuart’s paper. Now I have to go all the way back out.”
“Ye dinna need to be delivering the paper to Walter’s house anymore,” Murtagh replied gruffly as Jamie picked up a fresh copy ready to deliver.
“Did he cancel?” He asked as he dropped it back onto the pile.
“Somethin’ like that. He died yesterday morn.”
Murtagh didn’t meant to be brusque, it was just how everything came out. Murtagh’s general opinion on life was “if it can be said in five words, say it in one”. Jamie found it endearing, other people called it rude.
“He died?” Jamie repeated in surprise
“Aye. Heart attack.”
“Jesus,” Jamie said under his breath before clearing his throat at the look at he his godfather was giving him. “Well, that’s a shame. He lived alone didn’t he?”
“Aye,” Murtagh grunted- never one to get involved in anyone else’s business.
“Wonder what will happen to his place now.”
“Probably go on the market.” Murtagh shrugged before raising the paper and continuing to read, a clear indication that the conversation was closed.
Jamie bid his godfather farewell picked up his bike and rode home, his mind firmly set on what would become of Walter Stuart’s house.
—
It wasn’t on his route anymore but Jamie couldn’t help riding past Walter Stuart’s house, just to see what would become of it.
The town has been abuzz with the news of his death and a funeral was promptly organised. The older women of the village, like squawking hens, immediately came together to theorise about old Walters death.
“Heard he died in the bath, imagine that, paramedics coming to rescue ye in the altogether.”
“I heard he choked on a chicken bone, was blue in the face when they finally got to him.”
“He had a heart attack,” the wise voice of Douglas McKenzie said over all the chatter, “he was nearing 90, it’s no’ a surprise.”
—
One day a “For Sale” sign went up as Jamie rode past the house. Who would ever choose to move to his small town, Jamie couldn’t think, but a little over a week later a bright red “SOLD” sign was pasted across the front.
Probably another old hen coming for retirement, or an old man looking for a peaceful village in which he could live out his remaining years in solitude- like Walter.
Two weeks after the “SOLD” sign appeared, so did two large moving vans. Jamie stayed to watch a while as the removalists carried in various pieces of furniture. Eventually one of them yelled at Jamie to either “help out or scram” and he peddled away quickly.
Jamie didn’t see any movement in Walter Stuart’s house for another month after the removalists has left. He thought it was strange that someone would move all their possessions into a house, and then not turn up to live there.
Of course, the village gossip’s were having a field day guessing what it could mean.
“Who moves all their furniture but does’na live there?”
“I heard it was some rich philanthropist that wanted a house in the country. He’ll probably only be here once a week.”
“Where did you hear that Dottie? Why would someone buy a house out here? A house that someone died in no less?”
“That’s just what I heard,” Dottie replied defensively.
—
Four months after Walters funeral, the moving trucks had arrived and left and the house sat vacant with no sign of life coming or going, a light was turned on in the hallway, followed by one in the kitchen and then what everyone assumed was the lounge room. It seemed that Walter Stuart’s house had at last received its tenants.
Nobody saw them arrive, there were no new cars on the street, it was as if they had suddenly appeared.
—
Jamie was well into his job as the paperboy now. A few more houses had been added to his route and the village gossip’s (mostly older women) loved to stall him when he delivered his papers to find out any information about their neighbours, especially about those that had moved into Walter Stuart’s house.
No one had seen hide nor hair of them since they had moved in. The lights went on and off and there was the sound of laughter occasionally through an open window, but still nobody in Broch Mordha knew what the new tenants looked like.
—
Jamie had been just as curious as everyone else and stopping by the house on his morning drop off has become second nature to him. It wasn’t that he was trying to see through the curtains, or spy on them for the benefit of the villagers; it was simply curiosity.
He was sure that he had heard a young girls laughter at some point as he rode past and he was curious to know who it belonged to.
—
“Laoghaire, get back inside and make yer bed.” The shrill voice of Mrs MacKenzie sounded from inside the house as Jamie stopped to dig the paper from his satchel.
“Hi Jamie,” the shy high-pitched voice of Laoghaire made him look up in surprise as she bobbed up from behind her fence.
“Alright Laoghaire.”
He saw her blush a deep red as he said hello and he handed her a newspaper. Girls were confusing, she was two years his junior and seemed to be out front every morning ready to take the paper from him.
“Have ye had a busy mornin’?” She asked eagerly.
“I suppose. As busy as any other,” he replied as he steadied his bike again. “See ye later then.”
“Bye Jamie,” she called sweetly as he rode off, he turned to look to see that she was blushing again as she waved him off.
Girls were weird, Jamie thought as he heard Laoghaire’s mother call out her name again, with more impatience.
—-
Once again Jamie stopped by Walter Stuart’s house. His paper route now completed. His satchel empty. It was a habit now; to park across the street, under the shade of a huge tree and watch the house for a minute or two. Jamie dismounted from his bike and took the time to stretch out his arms and legs. It wasn’t backbreaking work but it’s wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either. His body had become accustomed to the ride, and even with the new routes he’d picked up it wasn’t difficult so much as slightly tiring. Some days more than others.
As he bent to try and (unsuccessfully) touch his toes he heard the front door open of Walter Stuart’s house and a young feminine voice call out to someone inside.
“I’ll be back soon, Lamb, I just need to get out of the house for a while.”
Jamie jolted upright so quickly in his surprise that someone was coming out of the house that he lost his balance and fell backward onto his bike with an almighty crash.
The air was forced from Jamie’s lungs as he fell and his shin was throbbing something fierce as he tried to disentangle himself from his bike and bag.
“Are you alright?” A voice from somewhere beside him asked, it was soft, gentle and oh so very, very English.
“I’m...” Jamie turned to look at whoever had asked the question and felt his words catch in his throat.
She was gorgeous, stunning, like the sun had come out from behind the clouds on a rainy day and everything was brighter than before.
“You’ve cut your leg. Hold on a moment.” The girl turned away from him and pulled something out of a bag Jamie didn’t realise she was holding.
Jamie couldn’t look away from her. He still was lying awkwardly on the body of his bike, the pedal digging painfully into his lower back, his satchel somehow twisted around his feet but he couldn’t move. He’d never really thought of any girl as beautiful before.
Sure they were hot and there were a few that did funny things to his insides and one particular part of his anatomy. (A lesson his father had given him at the age of twelve that they had both blushed furiously through and then promptly never spoken of again.)
But this girl was something else. Jamie didn’t even know her name but he was convinced he was in love with her.
“This is it lad. You’ll marry this lass one day.” It was a stupid thought but it was the only clear thing that was running through his head at that moment.
That was of course until she applied pressure to his shin and he yelped in pain.
“Sorry,” she said sounding not even remotely sorry at all. “It’s bleeding quite a lot. Though, shins have a tendency to do that. Much like head wounds. Always bleed much worse than the actual injury. Stay still. I need to check how bad it is.”
She spoke rapidly and Jamie found it was all he could to listen to her talk, study the way that her mouth sounded out the words and the way her curly hair fluttered in the breeze.
“Not nearly as bad as I thought. No stitches needed but you did give yourself a bloody good scrape. Any other injuries, or is it just the leg?”
She looked up at him then and Jamie felt like he’d received another punch to his gut as he looked into her eyes. The colour of whiskey; intelligence of a hawk, and the cunningness of a panther, her eyes were the windows to her mind and he could see that hers were moving quickly over his face.
“Just the leg I think, though the longer I lie on my bike like this, the more I think my ars- my back may need tending to,” Jamie replied, thrilled that he had managed to string together a full sentence and annoyed at himself that he’d nearly asked her to inspect his arse.
“Right yes, of course. I’m Claire by the way,” she said nimbly stepping backwards from him, giving him room to extract himself from his bike and bag.
“Jamie,” he answered as he righted himself. His shin was still bleeding fairly profusely and he could feel the trickle of liquid make its way down into his socks.
“You’d better come inside. Get a plaster on that.” Claire didn’t wait for his response and turned on her heel and headed back towards Walter Stuart’s house.
—
“I’m back,” Claire called out to the seemingly empty house as Jamie followed her through nervously.
Walter Stuart’s house. He’d never been in Walter Stuart’s house. He looked into the living room and felt a shudder as it ran through him, wondering if that was where the old man had died.
“That was quick, Bumblebee.” An older man appeared from the kitchen, a pink flowery apron tied around his waist. “And you’ve brought back someone.”
“Lamb this is Jamie. Jamie this is Lamb,” Claire introduced quickly. “Are there plasters in the bathroom?” Without waiting for an answer Claire bounded off leaving Jamie standing somewhat awkwardly in front of the man Claire had just introduced.
“Jamie is it?” Lamb clarified as Jamie nodded shyly. “Well come in and have a seat. Nasty gash you’ve given yourself there.” Lamb looked down at his leg briefly and without waiting for Jamie to respond, he turned and went back to the kitchen assuming Jamie would follow- which he did.
—
“So Jamie. You’re a local then?” Lamb asked as he went back to whatever he was stirring, which seemed to be a rather large vessel of concrete.
“Ay- Yes sir I am,” Jamie replied politely, now holding the handkerchief that Claire had given him against his leg, trying to staunch the bleeding from his shin as he sat in a chair near a very small dining table.
“No need to call me sir, son. Professor Beauchamp will be just fine.”
“Oh,” Jamie mumbled awkwardly, “so-sorry I didn’t know.”
“I’m joking lad, Lamb is fine. So Jamie, how did you sustain such a ghastly injury?” Lamb said all this very quickly with an odd chuckle that make Jamie question how much of what he had said was actually a joke and what was so funny about it.
“Oh,” Jamie shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn’t very well say that it was the shock of someone actually exiting Walter Stuart’s house that made him fall over in surprise. More-so he then couldn’t say that it was Lamb’s very attractive daughter that had made him lose all sense of rational thought as she sat by him and helped him with his leg.
“I run the paper route in the town and I’d just stopped to take a break and... fell over,” he finished somewhat lamely as Lamb looked over and studied him carefully.
“A paper route? Fascinating.” Lamb looked back to whatever he was stirring and Jamie swallowed heavily. Fascinating wasn’t exactly something that Jamie would use to describe his paper route... or anything in the village for that matter.
“I...err, suppose so,” Jamie replied awkwardly. If any of the old women in town heard that Jamie had met the mysterious residents of Walter Stuart’s house, and furthermore been inside and heaven-forbid have a conversation with them, well Jamie would be the talk of the town.
Lamb seemed to lose himself in whatever he was creating in his kitchen and Jamie couldn’t think of anything further to say to engage the man in conversation, so he sat quietly waiting for Claire, the girl that he had just met (and promptly fallen in love with) to return.
“Well I think that this is just about ready,” Lamb announced in triumph, turning away from the concrete looking substance and donning two industrial strength gloves from the bench beside him. “Be a lad and open that door for me?” Lamb indicated the door leading to the back garden and Jamie jumped up (wincing at the pressure on his shin as he moved) and opened the door as Lamb carried the mysterious concoction outside.
Jamie stood watching as Lamb poured, what he was now sure was concrete, into a perfectly squared off area of the garden with a heaving grunt.
“Found them!” Claire’s voice from behind Jamie made him swing around in surprise. She had tied her hair back now, though there were some loose curls already springing forth around her face.
“Honestly, he leaves things in the oddest places sometimes. You’d think that they would be a bathroom cupboard. But no. They were in his sock drawer. Because where else would you look for a plaster but your sock drawer?” Claire spoke quickly and Jamie found himself nodding dumbly at her.
Christ. She was gorgeous. Jamie felt his cock twitch as she turned away from him and beckoned him to sit down in the chair he had just vacated to help Lamb with the door.
Jamie followed obediently and sat where she indicated.
“I also brought some disinfectant, not bleach, medical stuff. Just to clean it out. It might sting,” Claire explained as she swiped the gash with some brown antiseptic liquid. It stung but Jamie made sure to school his features so that he didn’t flinch.
Claire gave a knowing smile as she cleaned the gash, as if she had seen his thigh clench with the sting but she didn’t say anything.
“Hmm,” She hummed as she applied pressure to his still bleeding shin.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, purposefully avoiding looking where her nimble fingers were touching his calf.
“Well I have a plaster here, which is fine, it’s just that... well, your leg is quite hairy isn’t it?”
Jamie glanced down to see the blonde hairs on his legs, some coated and pasted down with his blood.
“Aye, I suppose,” he tried to shrug nonchalantly.
“It’s just that the adhesive will hurt quite a bit when you have to take the plaster off again. A waxing of sorts,” Claire explained, before biting her bottom lip as she thought.
“Ye want to shave my leg?” Jamie asked in surprise. “Chris- we’ve just met and ye want to shave ma leg?”
“I was just thinking about when you have to pull the plaster off. It will hurt a hell of a lot more,” Claire said patiently.
“Ye are not shavin’ my leg, Sassenach,” Jamie replied stubbornly.
“Sassenach?” Claire quirked an eyebrow at him, “never been called that before.”
“There’s a first for everything,” Jamie grimaced as Claire lifted the cotton ball with the stinging antiseptic from his leg. “And tha’ does’na include shaving ma leg. Just put the plaster on and be done with it. I’ll deal with ripping it off later”
“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Claire snorted with laughter as she applied the large bandage to his shin. Jamie could feel the adhesive already pulling at the hair but he nodded anyway, as if wasn’t a bother.
“Aye- Yes. My sister says my head is harder than rocks; either stubborn or being hit over the head, I’m the same.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Claire smiled as she cleaned up the rubbish.
“Thank ye for yer help. I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a bother. I’ve seen you riding around the streets a few times. You deliver the papers?” Claire asked as she washed her hands and moved to the open door where they could hear Lamb humming to himself.
“I’m going out again,” she called out the door, and without waiting for a response led Jamie back out of the house.
“So the paper. You deliver it?” She asked again as they walked back to Jamie abandoned bike.
“Aye, I mean yes. Just a small route, mind, few of the elderly folk that dinna like to go out too much.”
“Do you have anyone on our street?” Claire asked with her hands on her hips as Jamie picked up his bike and slung his bag across his body.
“Not here, no, but Mrs Duncan round the corner, the Mackenzie’s back a street, the Wakefield’s and Mohr’s,” Jamie pointed back the way he’d come. “Oh and the Randall’s, but they’re a few streets away from here I suppose.”
“But none on this street?” She clarified as Jamie started to wheel his bike in the direction of his own house, Claire keeping pace with him.
“No, not on this street.”
“Hmmph.” Claire made an unimpressed sound and crossed her arms across her chest.
“What?” Jamie asked in confusion.
“So why do you come onto our street, stop under that tree and stare at my house?” Claire asked forcefully.
Jamie felt himself blush as he shook his head. “I just stop to take a break after peddling round all morning. The tree’s got good shade and I canna help it if yer house is across from it.”
Claire didn’t say anything further and Jamie found himself babbling to her to fill the silence.
“It gets hot most mornings. It’s a good place to stop a’fore I have to ride back home and start my chores. I did’na even realise that someone lived in the house till ye came out of it.”
“Is that so?” Claire asked, clearly disbelieving him.
“Aye, why? What did ye think? That I was stalking ye?” Jamie’s voice sounded rough and he knew it was because it was a half truth. He wasn’t stalking perhaps. He was just curious about the residents of Walter Stuart’s house.
“Not exactly no. But you do stop there an awful lot and stare at the house,” Claire said somewhat sheepishly.
“Maybe I should be worried about you stalking me, watching me come and go like that,” Jamie said sarcastically, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Well there’s only so much you can do from within the house without going insane, so you start looking out,” Claire answered quietly, almost in embarrassment.
“Why did’na ye go out before?”
“Reasons.” Claire answered shortly, promptly shutting down Jamie’s line of questions.
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “So where were ye headed to before ye came to patch me up?”
“Nowhere really. Just wanted to get out of the house. Explore the area that I’m supposed to be living in,” Claire said with a shrug.
“Do ye want a tour?” Jamie asked a little too enthusiastically. Anything to spend more time with Claire- he would do it. They would probably attend the same school when the break was over, but the more he could get to know her now, the better.
“Is there even enough to look at for a tour?” Claire asked skeptically.
“When ye ken where to go,” Jamie answered smugly and turned left down the next street without waiting to see if she followed- which she did.