Chapter Text
When Perseverance Wainwright entered the room, John surprised himself by smiling widely from the bed to which he was still, after all these days, confined. Was he actually happy to see Percy? He supposed he was, though before he’d been shot, the answer would have been quite different. Being shot and nearly killed can make a person either harder or softer, John reflected. Apparently, he was experiencing the latter transformation; the old, familiar pain of betrayal that he had harbored for so many years seemed to have diminished, if it had not entirely dissolved.
Percy sat down in the chair at John’s bedside, concern flickering over his face even as he smiled back. He reached out and clasped John’s hand. “How are you, my dear?”
“Dinna be calling him that,” a gruff voice commanded. Jamie Fraser emerged from the shadows. He had been at John’s side constantly since his near death and subsequent recovery process. About twenty minutes before, he had stepped to the desk in the corner to attend to some sort of correspondence that he told John he shouldn’t worry himself to know. Jamie strode forward now, moving as close to John as he could without actually sitting on the bed. His hardened eyes looked across the bed at Percy.
Percy, for his part, adjusted smoothly. “How are you, my lord?” he asked, bowing his head slightly in subservience, somehow making “my lord” sound profoundly intimate.
John felt himself blushing and diplomatically withdrew his hand. Jamie’s apparent jealousy made no sense, but he wasn’t going to push it.
He also wasn’t going to let Jamie shut down the conversation that needed to happen with Percy.
“I, uh, haven’t yet had the opportunity to thank you for bringing me news of William’s capture,” John told him, feeling Jamie stiffen beside him. He continued speaking. “I cannot fathom a world without my”--our, he thought, glancing fleetingly at Jamie—”son. Whatever your motives, Percy …you gave us the information in time to save him. For that, you have my deepest gratitude.”
Percy nodded, boldly holding out his hand again.
After an instant’s hesitation, John took it. “And to answer your initial inquiry,” he added, “I’m much better already. Expecting a full recovery!”
“I’m glad,” Percy said, bending his head to kiss John’s hand.
Jamie made a sharp sound of disapproval. His imposing figure stood absolutely still, arms crossed, but seemed ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.
A sudden image came to John of Jamie and Percy fighting each other—over him. The thought was so perverse that he burst into laughter, which immediately triggered a fit of coughing.
Jamie narrowed his eyes at Percy. “Dinna be making him laugh!”
“It’s okay, Jamie,” John gasped, composing himself.
Unbothered, Percy squeezed gently. “I’m pleased that you’re recovering,” he said with some finality. “I will be sailing home in a few days. Goodbye, my—lord,” he amended quickly, with the same loaded emphasis.
“Goodbye.” John watched him walk away, letting himself feel sadness over how things had ended with Percy for the first time in a very long while.
Then his attention shifted to Jamie, who was still standing at his bedside, absolutely seething as he watched Percy’s retreating back.
John felt a vague urge to scold Jamie for his rudeness, but he basked instead in his fierce loyalty—and in the way that Jamie’s features softened when he looked at him now. There were times over the years when that happened. When it could happen, when it did happen.
And one of those times was this moment.
John reached out and gently touched Jamie’s forearm as a sort of reassurance, then fell into inner chaos as Jamie suddenly clasped his hand in his own.
“I dinna like that Percy,” he said, glowering.
Jamie Fraser, holding his hand!
John thought it best to change the subject. “I am a bit hungry,” he admitted. He hadn’t been earlier, when Jamie had asked. “So…if you have more of…whatever it is that you made…and you needn’t apologize for your culinary skills,” he added, preempting what he imagined Jamie had opened his mouth to say. “I assure you that I will find your offering far superior to Claire’s soup.”
“Aye, that I believe.” A smile crept across Jamie’s face. “Rest,” he said, releasing John’s hand and touching his shoulder—lightly, as though he might break—before he retreated to the kitchen.