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“Are you certain you don’t want me to come with you?” John yawned, then smiled softly. He rolled onto his side, and the bed linens draped around his bare thighs. “For moral support? Or as a bodyguard, perhaps?” He raised an eyebrow.
Jamie chuckled and shook his head, stooping to collect his breeches from the floor. "Nay, she's no' the type to…" He was about to say she isn't the type to get unreasonably violent, but then he recalled the feel of his own dirk to his throat, Claire’s furious eyes promising bloodshed and chaos. He'd been so proud of her in that moment, and frightened for the day her wild courage got her killed.
Fastening his flies, Jamie picked up both shirts from the pile. It took a moment for his occupied mind to work out which was his and which belonged to John. Jamie's was longer and John’s didn't have ink stains on the left cuff. He laid John's shirt on the foot of the bed, just out of John's reach to give him an excuse not to dress just yet. "Aye, weel. I think it would be worse for her if ye were there." Jamie pulled his shirt over his head and started tucking it in, cursing himself for buttoning his flies first. "I'm sure I'll need ye after. I dinnae think this will be pretty." He sat on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into his boots. Leaning over, he kissed John on the mouth. "But I love ye for offering."
John looked at him, his expression growing serious. “And you’re certain this is what you want? I would understand if you couldn’t, even if it means…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to because they both knew how it ended. Claire had made it very clear. When Jamie had admitted his feelings for John to her, he’d rarely felt so vulnerable, and the way she had reacted had pierced him to his very core.
You won’t see him again, she’d ordered.
“I love you,” John continued, pulling Jamie from his thoughts. “You don’t know how sorry I am that it has come to this.”
Jamie buckled his second boot and sighed. It was a devil of a situation. So much of him rebelled against the idea of it, that even after twenty years, he still felt this protectiveness for Claire, and a chunk of his heart outright rejected the idea of hurting her. But she was his past and John… Their eyes met, and Jamie's heart skipped a beat.
"This isnae yer doing, John." Jamie found John's hand in the bedclothes and squeezed it. "I dinnae think it would have been like it was before between us. Claire and I aren't the same people we were then. I dinnae want to hurt her… but this isnae a hurt that would be less with time, even if you and I were no' together."
John gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “Still, I know this won’t be easy, and I’ll be here for you when it’s over. Whatever you need. Comfort, time, space. Anything.”
Jamie had put Claire up in an inn off the Royal Mile. It wasn't precisely the Ritz Carlton, but it was clean and relatively comfortable. She'd stayed in worse accommodations after all, here and in the twentieth century. Jamie had left more than two hours ago to break it off with John. It must not have gone well. Maybe this Lord John Grey was the violent, jealous type.
About the time Claire considered that her husband might come back requiring medical attention, there was a knock at the door, and Jamie walked in. He was… completely unscathed, but troubled. She expected him to come to her, take her in his arms, but he didn't. He went instead to the little table and pulled one of the chairs out for her. "Sit ye down, Claire."
Her insides turned cold, like writhing, icy snakes. She hesitated, but then gave in and took what seemed like a very long walk over to the chair. She started to sit, but why would she need to sit? There couldn't possibly be a reason that she would need to sit. Instead, she bracketed her hand on the back of the chair. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m fine standing. Tell me. How did he take it?”
Jamie gave a twitch of his shoulders, approximating a shrug, and let go of the chair, standing up straight. For a very long stretch of distressing heartbeats, he just stared at her. As the silence grew unbearable, he said, "I didnae end it with John."
A flash of anger shot through Claire like lightning. The chair wobbled under her hand. “What?” she spat. “What did he say? Did he threaten you somehow? Bastard!” she snarled under her breath. Plots and calculations swirled in her head. They would deal with Lord John. She’d figure out how.
"There's no need for insults, first of all. John would never threaten me." Jamie arched one ruddy brow, a clear indication of skepticism. "And even if he did…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Nay, it was my choice. John was prepared to do whatever I thought the honorable thing was. Are ye sure ye dinna want that seat, Sassenach?"
“Quite sure,” Claire said, though her jaw was clenched shut. “And what precisely do you think the honorable thing to do is?”
"Ye’ve been back how long? A month or so? Since ye found me here. And how many of those days have we gone wi'out an argument or some petty squabble? Do ye even recognize us anymore?"
“Exactly! It’s been a month, Jamie. It’s going to take time for us to get to know each other again. To figure out how this works now after so long. I know that you were lonely and I know that man was there. And you’re a good man. He’s probably making you feel guilty, but I’m your wife, Jamie. You don’t owe him anything.” Whatever Lord John had said to Jamie had clearly gotten to him, confused him in some way, even if he didn’t realize it yet.
She saw it the moment it happened, the instant that Jamie made his face impassable and unreadable, even to her. "Aye. Ye were my wife. For three of the best years of my life, and I've no regrets. It wasnae safe for ye and the bairn here." A wave of haunted sadness passed over his features, then disappeared again. "John has been my lover—Christ, more than that—for nearly seven years. I owe him everything."
“Is that what he said to you? That you had to stay because you owed him. Well you don’t. You shouldn’t be with someone out of duty.” Claire stepped closer to Jamie and laid a hand on his forearm. He looked so distraught. She’d wished John had just let him go instead of preying on Jamie’s sense of honor. “Or because you owe them. Life is far too short to be with someone for any other reason than that you love them, that you want to be with them.”
"Aye, ye're right, life is too short." Jamie gave her something like a sad smile. "I love John, Claire. I want to be with John. Do ye understand?"
She stepped back, blinking, that anger rising up again inside her. “No. I already told you. I’m not going to sit at home like a pathetic, dutiful wife while you shag some man, and you can’t just expect me to.”
Jamie shook his head. "And I dinnae expect ye to. Ye were never pathetic. I wouldnae want that for ye. Besides all that, my home is wi' John now."
“Wait.” Claire stumbled back. “Oh my God! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. You don’t want me here. I came all the way… I came two hundred years in the past. For you. And this is what I get! I love you, Jamie. I never stopped loving you.” She shoved him hard. A barely conscious wave of rage poured over her and she just wanted to hurt him. Make him feel an ounce of the pain she was feeling. “Did you ever even love me?” It was cruel for cruelty’s sake. She knew he had. “Or were you just trying to cover the fact that you’re a sodomite?”
Jamie's face turned a furious red and he clenched his fists till the knuckles turned white, arms trembling. She knew that look. He wanted to hit her. But he kept his hands at his sides. "You selfish—" He cut himself off, his insults dying into a growl of frustration. "Everything, from the moment I first saw ye, to the day ye left. Absolutely everything I did was for you!" His voice rose to a hurt, angry shout. "I mourned ye every day. I would have rather died than be without ye. But we said our goodbye. You were supposed to live on and I wasnae. But I did. I had to let ye go, do ye no' see? There were still people here, people I care about, who needed me. And now John needs me and I need him. So I'll thank ye to hold that wicked tongue, madam."
“Is that it then?” she asked, surprised at the quietness of her voice. Shock, she thought idly, this is shock. “You’re done with me. You’re choosing him over me?”
Jamie blew out a long breath through his nose like a bull. When he spoke again it was softer, more reasonable. Well, that was a new trick, for Jamie Fraser to calm down after an outburst. "Ye said it yerself, Claire. Life's too short not to be with the person ye love. But I do have a duty to ye. Ye're still the mother of my child and my first great love. Now, I'll help ye. We can set ye up with yer own surgery and a safe place to live. I will still see to yer welfare, but what it was between us…" He shook his head. "That ended."
“Fuck you,” she spat. Her world was splintering to pieces all around her and she could tell now there was no chance of keeping it all from turning to dust. “All I want is to go back to Craigh Na Dun and never bloody see you ever again.” That was if she didn’t manage to die from embarrassment and shame before she got the chance. How had she been so foolish? And Christ, how would she ever explain this to Bree? “Go,” she said. “Just leave me be. I’ll pack my things and go. Pretend this never happened.” If only she could.
There were tears in Jamie's eyes but he held them in check. "Shall I see ye safely there?" His voice was little more than a whisper. "Ye dinna need to travel alone."
“No.” Claire shook her head. “I should start getting used to being alone.”
"I am sorry," he said, and it sounded sincere. "To have wounded ye so. But… thank you. For bringing me news of our daughter. Give her my love, aye?" Jamie's voice broke on the last two words, and then he slipped out the door and pulled it gently closed behind him.
It had taken every ounce of strength Jamie possessed to make it back to the flat he shared with John without breaking down. He kept his head down, and gave off very clear signals that he was not to be trifled with. People gave him a wider berth than usual.
He stepped inside and leaned heavily against the closed door. He'd been holding his emotions in check for too long and now they were stuck in the bottle. His head fell back against the door with a dull thunk.
“Jamie.” John was already standing. He’d been by the window, pacing. Had he been up this whole time? He rushed to Jamie’s side, taking his hand. “How are you feeling? Do you want to talk?”
Jamie shook his head, but said, "Aye." The world was suddenly very heavy on his shoulders and he didn't manage to elaborate further. "Did I fail her? Surely I failed her. And yet…" Everything fell apart and Jamie slid down the door and collapsed on the floor, keeping a desperate grip on John's hand. "But I had to do it, did I no'? I love you, and I dinna love her that way anymore, so it wouldnae been fair to anyone if I hadn't." He covered his eyes with his free hand and his tears fell through his fingers. "I broke her heart, John."
John knelt down in front of Jamie and took his hands. He brought them up to his mouth to kiss them. “I cannot even imagine your pain. I know how deeply you care and how much you hated having to do it, even if you knew it wouldn’t be fair to her, to pretend to feel what you do not. I remember a time when I believed that to be true for us. That you did not love me as I loved you, and it would have been a far greater cruelty to feign those feelings than to have been honest.”
He met John's eyes then, and the love that passed between them was overwhelming. Jamie had done the right thing, no matter how much it hurt. "Ye're right. It's cruel enough that we have to hide our love from the world. I cannae bare the thought of giving it up altogether to live a wretched, unhappy lie." He looked at his palm, at the C-shaped scar that had mostly faded or been overcome by various and sundry other injuries. "Claire has her closure. She's strong. Christ, she's so strong. She'll be alright."