Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

anonymous said:
Imagine while out on rent collection the group gets attacked by thieves. In the chaos Claire gets shot with an arrow (in the shoulder maybe?) and the men now have to tend to her - remove the arrow [bullet] and patch her up.

There was a reason a soldier should never turn his back on a battle. Claire had seen more than one soldier who’d been shot in the back, during her own war. Cowards, everyone had called them. She’d certainly never thought it’d happen to her, though, for she wasn’t meant to be in the bloody thick of things.

She’d been half asleep up against a log when the battle had broken out, and Dougal had hauled her up off the ground to shove her in the direction of the wood, shouting for her to hide. Whether the clansman hadn’t realized she was a woman or what, Claire never found out, for he’d been run through just after he’d

She’d dropped to the ground like a sack of flour and lay cradling her arm against her chest, a long string of curses drifting from her lips. Thus, it wasn’t hard for the men to find her when the battle had ended.

“All right, Sassenach?” Jamie called out as he headed toward her, and his eyes widened when he saw the dark bloom of fresh blood in the fabric of her dress. “Oh, Christ, Claire!” He lifted her up to carry her back toward the fire, and she cursed him, too.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t you bloody touch it!” Claire hissed as Dougal moved in for a better look.

He ignored her, pulling aside the layers of fabric covering her shoulder as best he could. “The bullet hasna gone all the way through, lass. We’ll have to find it and pull it out. Where’s yer wee medicine box, then?” Willie quickly volunteered to get it and hurried off toward Claire’s belongings. Dougal’s gaze trailed over her face, then flicked up to Jamie, who stood behind where he’d placed her on a log, his own hand on her good shoulder, steadying her. “Someone get her a drink and something t’bite down on. Jamie, ye’ll hold her; keep her steady. We’ll have t’turn ye round, lass. The light from the fire will guide the way.”

She whined softly and squeezed her eyes shut. The last thing Claire wanted was for these men to be digging around between muscle and bone in the flickering light of the fire. She couldn’t reach it on her own, though. There was no choice but to allow them to search for it, lest she risk infection leaving the bullet in while she looked for someone better qualified. She allowed Jamie to help her turn on the log, and accepted a flask from Rupert. Claire tipped her head back, throat bobbing as she swallowed down several gulps of the buring whiskey. She paused, frowning, though, when she heard Dougal rummaging through her medical kit.

“Oh, give me the bloody thing,” she huffed, turning and reaching for it with her right arm, only to feel a fresh wave of pain wash over her. “Fucking bastards. Shoot me in the back, I’ll cut off your balls when I’m through here, so help me God,” she snarled viciously, closing her eyes against a wave of nausea.

A look passed between the men and unnoticed still as she threw her head back to swallow down more of the drink. At last, Dougal seemed to have found the little tweezers that served as her forceps, but Claire quickly lifted the flask over her good shoulder before he could get to work.

“Pour this over the wound, and over the forceps,” she ordered. She glanced back at him when he took the flask, the both of them ignoring the murmurs of protest at such a waste of good whiskey. Only when she was content that Dougal was doing her bidding did Claire turn forward once more to accept the end of the belt that Jamie was offering her to bite down on.

Jamie knelt before Claire, pressed in close so that his hard stomach was against her knees, then reached out to gently take hold of her upper arms. “Ye’ll be just fine, Sassenach. Strongest woman I’ve ever met. Ye’ll push that ball out by sheer force of will,” he assured her with a warm smile that belied the flash of worry in his dark eyes.

Slowly, unsure, she put the leather between her teeth and brought her own hands up to grip at Jamie’s arms in return. She stared at him, watching the reflection of the flames as they danced in his eyes. For a moment, she thought she could lose herself in that gaze and forget everything that was about to happen. But then she felt the sting of whiskey on the bullet wound, followed by a swipe of cloth and, a moment later, the press of the tweezers into her flesh. She cried out around the belt and bit down hard into the bitter taste of worn leather as stars flickered across her vision. Claire’s nails bit into Jamie’s arms but he didn’t protest as he held her. He moved closer still and let her lay her head against his shoulder.

Dougal dug around for what felt like hours. Her tears were hot where they soaked through Jamie’s cravat, though the wet fabric cooled quickly in the night air. Claire held on, pained noises muffled against the curve of Jamie’s neck, her entire body tense against his. He clutched tightly at her, keeping her arms still and holding her body through that desire to flee that she no doubt had.

At last, Dougal had extracted the ball, leaving Claire panting against Jamie. Her grip on him loosened somewhat, but she didn’t let go, and she didn’t try to move away. She spit out the belt and tilted her head enough so she could give orders in a rasping voice.

“The bandages- and I- I’ll need a sl- a sling.”

Between Dougal and Jamie, she was bandaged and her arm wrapped in a sling in no time. Only when they’d finished did she seem to melt off the log and right into Jamie’s lap, body trembling slightly and too weak to fight it through her exhaustion. She still held onto him, her free hand fisted in his waistcoat.

“Aye, then. Put her to bed,” Dougal murmured.

The sound of the men shuffling away drifted through her mind, but Claire didn’t move. She kept a hold of Jamie, head resting against his shoulder, her forehead warm where it tucked up under his jaw. They were both still for a while, then he began to shift so he might sit more comfortably. But Claire stiffened and pressed more tightly against him.

“Don’t- don’t leave me, Jamie, please,” she whispered.

“I’ll no’ go anywhere, Sassenach. Lay your head and sleep,” he responded softly, his voice a comforting rumble beneath her ear. He reached up to smooth her hair down, so very tempted to press a kiss into those lovely wild locks. Jamie shifted so he could stretch his legs out and lean back against the log while she still sat curled up in his lap, then he wrapped his plaid around them both.

He was up all night, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing, content to hold her tight until the sun rose and her need for him faded away with the stars.