Work Text:
September 1, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England
The door to their flat was tight in its frame, still swollen with damp from the aftermath of the fire. Jamie rested his duffel bag on the hallway floor and gave it a strong nudge with his shoulder. The wood acquiesced with a squeak. Her erstwhile roommate and putative boyfriend ushered her into their home with a polite gesture.
Polite. Since returning from Scotland the previous Monday, politeness had underscored every one of their interactions. Jamie had accompanied her from Euston Station back to her temporary lodging at Joe and Gayle’s before wishing her good luck for the beginning of her second year lectures and kissing her farewell. Politely. His nightly texts were warm and punctual. Yesterday’s phone conversation to make plans to pick up their keys, brief and business-like. It wasn’t that Jamie was typically uncourteous. Quite the opposite. But there had been nothing polite about the way their bodies came together under the canopy of the laird’s bed at Lallybroch, and it was the juxtaposition that was unsettling.
Jamie re-appeared from his bedroom to find her standing in the middle of the barren living space, arms hanging loosely at her sides.
“I... uhh... I’ll leave ye tae settle in, Sassenach. I’ll just jog down tae Tesco an’ grab us some basics. We can do a big shop t’morrow. If ye wish, that is,” he added hastily.
She dug through her purse to find Jamie some money to cover her half of the groceries. When she turned to hand it to him, he had already left.
She wished there was a ceremony for what they were experiencing. Working in healthcare, she had often been struck by the seemingly universal human need to ritualize times of transition. Pregnancy to infancy. Childhood to adulthood. Single to couple. Living to dead. A ceremony delineated the transformation, helping those involved cast aside what was and replace it with what was to be. Sadly, there was no such tradition for the metamorphosis from roommates to lovers. They were just going to have to make it up as they went.
Surprisingly, their flat didn’t reek of smoke. Instead, there was an odour of fresh paint and floor wax, but nothing remained of the whiffs of burnt toast, vetiver and damp running shoes that she first learned to associate with Jamie at home. With a pleasant jolt, she realized that from now on, the apartment would smell of the life they made together.
Unpacking her small travel kit, Claire decided to take a shower. Dripping wet and wrapped in only a towel, she retreated to her former bedroom while Jamie banged away in the kitchen, singing along exuberantly (though tunelessly) to Biffy Clyro as he made his lunch.
As the signatory of their former lease, Jamie had been the sole recipient of the tenant’s insurance settlement. It was a paltry sum that he insisted on sharing equally with her. Her bed furniture had survived intact, and she’d used up most of the money to pay for a new mattress and linens. Standing beside them now, she considered whether replacements for her water-logged textbooks might not have been a better investment. Would she even be sleeping in this room, or would she be sharing Jamie’s king-sized bed every night? Despite the deliberate nature of their courtship, it was another detail they’d yet to address.
“Do ye want mustard on yer sand....” Jamie’s voice tapered off into breath as he entered the room and took in her state of near-nakedness. She watched in amusement as the tops of his ears grew red.
“I’m sorry, Sassenach. I shouldha knocked and no’ barged in.”
“It’s alright. My door wasn’t closed.”
Approaching slowly, he traced the path of a bead of moisture as it escaped her unbound hair. Her skin shivered to life beneath his touch.
“It feels strange tae be allowed tae see ye like this. Tae touch ye like this.”
Her mind was bounding ahead of the scene. Were they going to have sex? Did she want to have sex? She’d just emerged from the shower. But then, sex with Jamie was worth a secondary wash. Living together as they did, if they had sex every time one of them felt the urge, she’d have a UTI in no time. During their brief introduction at Lallybroch, Jamie’s libido had proven to be near indefatigable.
“Good strange or bad strange?” she asked the far wall as her thoughts raced, hesitant to meet his gaze.
“The verra best strange ye can imagine,” he whispered in reply before stepping away deliberately.
“When ye're ready, there’s a sandwich wi’ yer name on it in the kitchen.”
Dressing hastily, Claire joined him at the tiny circular dining table, stealing shy glances between bites.
“Thank you for lunch,” she smiled after her last mouthful.
Unlike her own limited talents, years of bachelorhood had turned Jamie into a decent cook. Twice a month he laboured over a giant pot of beef stew, adjusting the blend of vegetables and spices with near-scientific focus, before lugging it along with copious quantities of dinner rolls to the fire station, where it was devoured by dozens of appreciative co-workers.
“Och, twas nothin’,” he insisted.
“You’ve got a little smear... no, the other side... just there...”
Leaning across the table, she wiped a splotch of mayonnaise from his coppery stubble. Eyes flaring, he grabbed her wrist before she could lean away and deliberately pulled her thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean before releasing his hold. The air between them pulsed with possibilities.
Once again, it was Jamie who broke the impasse, looking around the sun-filled space.
“This room is sae empty it echoes,” he remarked.
Claire glanced over her shoulder and had to agree. Besides the two chairs and table they were currently occupying, the only other furniture that survived the fire and subsequent dousing of water and flame retardant was Jamie’s metal shelving unit, her ergonomic desk chair and the wall bracket that once held a wide-screen TV. It would take them a long time to rebuild.
“We can stream Netflix tae our computers for now, but I reckon we need a sofa, so we’re no’ forced tae sit on the floor when we do so.”
“We could always watch in your bed,” she suggested before thinking it through.
Once again, Jamie’s aqua eyes burned. She could feel herself flushing, but managed to not look away.
“Aye. We could. Tho’ I doubt we’d see sae much as the opening credits. Dinna tempt me, Sassenach.”
He was almost pleading, and his intent suddenly became clear. Whether by instinct or design, Jamie was trying to define a new normality for their lives together. Grocery and furniture shopping were a shared endeavour, but there was still space for privacy and quiet. Two sandwiches instead of one, but they both could decide whether to eat them together.
Their ceremonies would be modest, and gain significance by their sheer number. A dozen funerals for their solitude, and a thousand baptisms of love.
She reached across the table and clasped his hand.
“I saw the perfect sofa in a shop window the other day. I’ll rinse these dishes, and then let’s walk over and see it.”