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Chapter Text

1968

“Claire? There’s something I need to tell you,” Frank said. His demeanor was serious, and he gestured for her to have a seat at the kitchen table beside him.

For a moment, Claire felt cold, remembering Frank’s late nights at the office. Was he having an affair with his archeology student? He had sworn he wasn’t, but she’d been particularly busy at the hospital of late, and no matter the point they had turned in their relationship some years ago, the promises both of them had made, anything might happen in a moment of weakness.

“What is it?” she asked tentatively, sitting down despite herself.

“It’s about your Highlander,” he said.

“What?” Claire’s heart beat a little harder. This was utterly unexpected. “What have you found?”

“He survived,” Frank said, handing her a pamphlet. As he tended to, when he feared his own emotions, he entered what Brianna called “historian mode.” “He went to prison for a time, and later, he began a printing press in Edinburgh. There’s more, but from what you told me, time runs parallel from when you left, and I thought you might wish to limit yourself to…contemporary knowledge.”

Claire stared at the pamphlet, her heart beating wildly, barely processing anything beyond “survived.” Jamie. Alive.

*

1766

She had felt odd going through the stones, yet it had felt entirely natural. And although this time felt foreign, she was prepared, outfitted appropriately and carrying a number of resources: tools, maps, money.

Still, by the time she approached the print shop, she felt almost sick with anticipation. The door was cracked, so rather than knocking, she just entered. People entered businesses without knocking, right?

There was a man sitting with a book on a stool, impeccably dressed in a ruffled shirt, his dark hair bound neatly at his neck. He glanced up when he heard her enter. “Hello,” he said pleasantly. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for James Fraser?” she said, feeling a bit uncertain as the man’s eyes widened upon hearing her speak.

“Yes, this is his shop,” he said. “He’s stepped out on an errand. He should be back shortly. Would you care for some wine? Do sit down, Miss…?”

“Um, Randall,” she fumbled, out of familiarity, and because she didn’t want to give herself away so quickly. She smoothed her skirt, knowing that no matter what, she would come off as a foreigner. She couldn’t even remember how to properly introduce herself. “And you’re Mr…?”

*
1968

“Did he…marry again?” Claire asked gingerly.

“No…but…”

“Yes?”

“I believe he did…fall in love again.”

“In love?” A jolt to the heart despite herself. She was with Frank, she reminded herself. She had forgotten him for a time during her marriage with Jamie, but then they had come together again, however imperfectly. He hadn’t abandoned her, despite Claire’s having willingly abandoned him. They had built a life together around Brianna, and at some point over the years, she had found that their love had been reignited.

Yet, she couldn’t help but want to think of Jamie as only hers. And she had to admit, though she was suppressing it, she wanted to see him again. “You’re sure?”

Frank nodded cautiously, watching carefully to see how she was feeling. “I found in some obscure archives…a series of love letters. Between Jamie and another.”

*
1766

She accepted the glass of wine and sipped it slowly. She wanted to ask for something to eat as well but didn’t want to appear rude. She was concerned about drinking without eating, though. She wasn’t accustomed to drinking, and her stomach was too empty to imagined anything other than making a tipsy fool of herself if she drank too much. “Do you work here?” she asked the man. What had he said his name was? She felt so preoccupied that she’d missed a good deal of what he’d told her when she’d tried to make small talk by asking about the press.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I’m a friend of the printer’s.” He had an English accent, she realized suddenly. She had been so self conscious about her own accent and dialect, avoiding speaking to others except when absolutely necessary, yet she hadn’t noticed until now. “Are you…a relative of his?” he asked.

Her mother had told her that she resembled him… “Um…yes,” she admitted, because she would be admitting as much shortly. She took a deep breath. “I’m his daughter.”

“His…daughter?!” Apparently, this man knew her father well enough to be as shocked as she imagined he might be himself.

“Yes,” she said. “I…my name is Brianna. I grew up in Boston…in the colonies. I…we thought Jamie Fraser had died in battle. But we learned he was still alive, and I wanted to meet him.”

The man seemed struck by shock for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Who is your mother, if I may ask?”

“Um, her name’s Claire,” she said. “She was married to Jamie a while back—”

“Claire?” The man had paled, his eyes growing so wide that she thought he might faint. “Did you say Claire?”

He’d heard of her, she realized suddenly. He knew Jamie’s history. “Yes. They were married twenty years ago,” she said, though he suspected that she didn’t need to share this detail. “But she…she was convinced he had died in battle and wound up taking a ship overseas…” Brianna paused. This man was in a state of despair. Why?

*
1968

“Do you…know the identity of this…lover?”

A head shake. “No. The letters were cryptic, often in code. The greetings generally contained only terms of endearment, and they were signed only with initials or not at all.

“Why?” She felt irrationally jealous. Why should she? It had been years, years that she had spent happily married. Mostly happily.

“Well. It seems that they were…having an affair.”

“An affair?” Claire gasped. “Jamie would never!” At least not the Jamie she knew. But after years in prison and who knows what other experiences…

“I read the letters quite thoroughly, and there were some allusions to the complications of marriage and the need for discretion…you could read them yourself if—”

“No!” Claire shook her head. “I don’t want to read anything that Jamie wrote to this woman…or not right now,” she amended, brushing a hand over one of the letters. She grew teary as she saw his familiar handwriting for the first time in years. He had lived. She could be happy knowing, after so many years.

Frank nodded. “I know this all must be quite a shock.”

“What else?” Claire asked, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly standing on end. “There’s more. Don’t hold back. I’m going to read these letters myself, you know. Eventually.” Not yet. Not for a long time.

“There’s a child.”

“A child?!”

“Yes. I gather he was born outside wedlock. They appeared to be keeping his identity in the strictest of confidence…from the child himself and virtually everyone else, to protect the illusion of his legitimacy. Though it seems they did create circumstances under which he could meet Jamie from time to time.”

“A boy!” Claire’s heart was racing. Bree had a brother? “Jamie had a son?”

*
1766

“Lord John Grey,” he said, bowing slightly. “Let me properly introduce myself now that I know your true identity, Miss…it’s Miss Randall? Not Mrs.?”

“No, I’m not married. But you can call me Brianna,” she offered. “And…my name should technically be Fraser, but my mother, believing my father to be dead…”

“She remarried?”

Brianna nodded, because it was the closest she could come to the truth. “I’ve always believed he was my father. I mean, he is my father, but…”

“Now, you learned you have two fathers.” Lord John Grey’s tone was thoughtful, but he still seemed awfully emotional.

"I shouldn’t be telling you all this,” Brianna said, flustered. “I should wait until—Lord Grey?”

“Lord John,” he said, and it sounded more like a correction than an invitation of intimacy.

“Lord John. You said Jamie would be back soon? Can you tell me about him? What’s his life like? His…family?” She had heard a little bit from her parents about the letters and that she had a brother. She knew she shouldn’t probe so strongly, but she was so curious.

“Forgive me, my dear—may I call you my dear?---but I do not believe I am at liberty to speak of Jamie’s life.”

Jamie, then. Not Mr. Fraser, though he spoke so formally. They must be close, which meant he was probably in on some of his secrets.

Before Brianna could think of a way to continue the conversation, a tall man strode into the room, looking grim. Brianna had never seen him, but she recognized him instantly.

“Well, that meeting went about as well as…well, you ken what happened last time. I could use a drink after—” He stopped abruptly, seeing Brianna, who hadn’t been in his line of sight when he entered. He frowned, as if trying to place her. “My apologies, miss. You are…””

She took a deep breath. “My name is Brianna. Brianna Ellen Randall…Fraser. I’m your daughter.”

“My…daughter?” he echoed. His eyes widened in shock, but at the same time, he leaned forward, studying her more closely.

Brianna nodded, feeling her eyes well with tears. “With Claire,” she choked out.

“Claire…”

“Yes. She…made it.” She hadn’t expected to feel so emotional. She could see it, though, the resemblance. Something in the cheeks and the eyes. And his hair was fading, but that’s where her red came from…

But before she could continue, Jamie fell into a dead faint.

*
1968

“Do you…want to go back to him?” Frank asked, his tone intensely neutral. “To see if he’d resume your marriage?”

Claire looked up at him, shocked. She shook her head. “No. No, it’s been nearly two decades. He’s built a life for himself, however complicated. I can’t just appear and throw everything into a state of upheaval. And besides,” she slipped her hand into Frank’s, “I’m happy here with you.”

“You are?” Frank had thought so, had hoped so. But he had never been entirely certain how she would react to this news. He had guarded the information selfishly for over a month, mulling over in his mind what might happen, how it might blow up his family. In the end, the objective scholar in him had prevailed. Claire deserved to know the truth, and so did Brianna. If their love for him was real, it would withstand the truth.

“I am,” Claire affirmed, kissing his cheek. She had decided some time ago that it was parenting Bree that had brought them together again. So many people around them spoke of how children could strain a romantic relationship. Claire had felt quite the opposite, appreciating Frank’s dedication and pride in their daughter. She had never forgotten Jamie or the passion they had shared, but the pain had eased over the years, and as the trauma of her time in the eighteenth century subsided, she fell in love with the life she could have in the twentieth century: the possibility of doctoring with credentials, of raising a child in relative safety.

Over time, she fell back in love with Frank. He encouraged her to follow her dream and attend medical school. He took Bree with him to work at Harvard so that she could focus on her career. As much as she had loved Jamie, nearly two decades had passed since her return on the eve of the battle of Culloden. A small lifetime.

“I might like to see him again,” she admitted. “To tell him about Bree. To let him know that I’m all right and to hear about his life…but Frank? This time, I would come back to you. I had two wonderful, passionate years with Jamie. But I’ve built a life here with you.”

I wouldn’t begrudge your visiting him,” Frank said softly after a moment. “Even if…well, no matter what happens. Though I do hope you’re correct in your assessment of your feelings for me. And that you come back to me.”

Claire blinked back tears. “I would,” she said softly. Part of her feared she might not. But deep down, she was sure of it. Too much time had passed for her to abandon the life she had built.

*
1766

As they revived him and tended to his painful looking bruise, Bree didn’t miss the small acts of intimacy between Jamie and Lord John, the way they glanced at each other from time to time. The filling of a cup without asking what kind of liquor or whether it was wanted, a barely perceptible brushing of hands.

Perhaps in this time and place, this sort of closeness between men was normal, she thought—but later, when Jamie was asking about her mother, Lord John looked at Jamie with such grief and desire that she couldn’t deny the accuracy of her intuition.

She did her best to hide her shock. Of the many things she had wondered about her father, she had never questioned his sexuality. What would her mother think? Should she tell her? Would she find out?

Brianna had told Claire that her college roommate dated other women and patiently countered her mother’s assumptions. She hadn’t told her that the son of her friend Joe Abernathy had admitted to her when they were teens that he was attracted to men, not wanting to break the confidence of a close family friend. But this was her biological father, who was technically still married to her mother…

It felt natural to hug him. He was so ready to love her, and that touched her. But as much as she wanted to sit there and talk for hours, there was news she had to share.

“There’s something you need to know,” Brianna admitted, because she might as well get to the heart of the matter. “Mama came with me.”

“She’s…here?” Jamie asked incredulously, putting his cup of whiskey down on a table with a thump.

Brianna nodded. “She’s at a tavern not far from here, with our…escort. Roger MacKenzie, a family friend. He’s…” Able to travel through the stones as well, she almost said, but she glanced at Lord John, not wanting to confuse him. “He was able to accompany us, for our protection.”

“Aye? Good of him,” Jamie said distractedly. He looked haunted. “Where…the tavern across the road?” He looked ready to rush out, but Brianna put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me bring her here instead,” she said. “I think you’d appreciate more privacy?”

*
…still 1766

No matter what might be going on between Jamie and Lord John, and no matter that she was certain that her mother was sincere when she had told Bree that she loved the father who raised her, it was apparent that Claire and Jamie had feelings for each other.

“Sassanach,” Jamie whispered.

“Jamie,” Claire whispered back.

They moved toward each other slowly and held hands, eyes locked upon each other.

Lord John looked to Bree and Roger. “Perhaps we should step back into the tavern for a time,” he suggested. He kept his tone quite upbeat, but Brianna could see that he was miserable underneath.

She didn’t want to leave, but she sighed and let herself be led away.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until their time in Edinburgh that their relationship eased into the promise it had long held. The first time, it was casual enough. He told Isobel that he wanted to check on how Jamie was faring. Willie was still miserable, and the two of them were thinking seriously of taking him to visit Jamie despite all of their conspiring to protect him from the truth of his parentage. “It’s unlikely he’ll put the pieces together himself,” John said softly as they watched him sleep. “Not yet. And I’m beginning to suspect that his separation from J—Mr. MacKenzie is doing more damage than his learning the truth, if it came to that.”

“Perhaps you could go yourself this time,” she had suggested. Bring him a letter from Willie in person—I shall help him write it—and offer him some company.

John had found Jamie frowning over the printing press, scrutinizing a key. “You can go now, Geordi,” he had said distractedly, and didn’t look up until John greeted him by name. Then shock crossed his face, turning to a brilliant grin. “John!” he exclaimed and crossed the distance between them to embrace him. John was surprised, but he supposed he shouldn’t be. There was no one here to witness them, and the two had grown exceedingly close during Jamie’s time at Helwater.

“I thought I’d come to see for myself how you're faring..."

“Ye’ve long been concerned about my welfare,” Jamie teased. “The whiskey I’ve brewed may not be to yer liking, but it’s the best I can offer.”

“Much obliged,” John said. “And I’ve brought you a chess set. Just in case.”

Jamie’s grin widened as he led him to the chairs near the fireplace. “It’s good to see you, John,” he said, pouring whiskey into two dark cups

Later that evening, he had another taste of that whiskey when his tongue was in Jamie’s mouth.

*

John was never quite sure what kind of magic had led them down this path. It had started on their first visit. He had accompanied Jamie, upon his insistence, to his room at the brothel, where they were served a decadent meal, as promised. “I told you she’s a good cook,” Jamie said, though all John could think about was the utter bliss he felt to be in Jamie’s presence again. It felt like their meals at Ardsmuir, a respite for them both, though the freedom of their current roles made this so much better. They spoke at length of Willie, and Jamie had cautiously agreed to a visit. They spoke of politics and the gossip John had heard in London.

And at some point, they had stopped speaking. A grin over a chess game turning into a hand reaching to cup a chin. A kiss that was not resisted. Sex like neither of them had ever known.

In the months following, John found excuses to visit whenever he could, which was never quite enough. He brought Willie the next time, like he promised, and rented another of the rooms at the brothel for the two of them. He hadn’t told Isobel where Jamie was staying, and he trusted that Willie was too young to understand the nature of the establishment. He knew he should probably have rented a room at an inn and had Jamie come and see them there, but then, he knew, Jamie would eventually have to leave. Here, after Willie fell asleep, he could slip away and knock on Jamie’s door. Less than ten minutes later, he was in Jamie’s bed again.

They never spoke of their relationship. John knew that Jamie was in love with his lost wife, that the only reason he was finally somehow permitting him to act upon his desires was their long history, perhaps some mix of pity and gratitude. Jamie didn’t want to be with another woman, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to find physical companionship. And John wanted to be with him, badly—enough to stop refusing to consider an arrangement that wasn’t the full-fledged, reciprocal love affair that he had long craved.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel that Jamie’s affection was genuine. Sex was never just a physical release with no emotions attached. John knew men well enough to know that it could have easily been that, but he was convinced that this was different. There was something about the way that Jamie would wrap himself around him afterward and hold him close with a satisfied hum. At times, they talked softly. At times, they lay in silence until they fell asleep. He never probed to find out what exactly Jamie felt for him. He knew it was likely friendship. John had slept with friends himself. Stephen, for instance, and Isobel, though she didn’t know how he regarded her. Relationships were never perfect, and this arrangement was as close to perfection as he could imagine, with the sounds of the brothel drowning out any inquiries or judgments.

John hated departing, though he was always happy to return to Helwater; parenting Willie with Isobel brought its own delights. He missed Jamie terribly, though, and soon he found himself writing letters in code. A warmth spread through him the first time he received a letter back, tingling from his fingertips to his toes to his lips. In his fingers, he held the small lock of Jamie’s hair that had arrived with the letter. Something else he had never imagined receiving.

*

John could tell that it was hard for Jamie to hear Willie call him "Papa" even as he was pleased that the boy and John had such a strong bond. It was their third visit this year, and this time, Isobel had come with them. Of course, staying at the brothel was out of the question this time, so John had rented rooms in an inn on the outskirts of town. Adjoining rooms for Willie and Isobel and supposedly himself, and another for Jamie--just for one night, he had said, because he would be needed at the press, but John was pleased nonetheless.

John had been nervous about all of them being together again, but he needn't have been. There was genuine affection between Isobel and Jamie, and part of the benefit of being on the outskirts of town was that Jamie could resume Willie's riding lessons in the expansive countryside. John watched with Isobel, then joined them as she painted. The three of them rode out to a lake and back, enjoying their time together.

Isobel wouldn't wonder about his stepping out in the evening when she and Willie were retiring. She knew of their long chess tournaments and often teased them about their love of the game. John couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty, though, and was protective of her ignorance.

"I'm sorry, but we shouldn't...be too active tonight," he said softly as Jamie pounced on him upon his arrival.

"Afraid that Isobel might hear us?" Jamie asked, chuckling, and John was shocked by the change in him over the months. He used to be so guarded initially, so gruff and recalcitrant when it came to their intimacies. John had often walked on eggshells, afraid he would offend him if he asked for too much or showed the depth of his own affection.

Now, here was Jamie laughing at his shock, kissing him eagerly. “Dinna worry,” he whispered as John got lost in fluttery anticipation. “I ken how to keep things quiet enough…when I must…”

*

Over time, Willie settled into life at Helwater. John still took him to Edinburgh from time to time to visit Jamie, but he no longer worried that the separation was causing harm. Knowing that Jamie was accessible even in another country had taken the edge off Willie’s despair. He still missed him, as John missed him terribly himself—but the density of grief had diminished. This also gave John an excuse to selfishly visit alone most times, telling only Isobel to avoid a meltdown and tantrum from Willie.

Isobel never questioned his continued visits. For administrative purposes, he had claimed, though Jamie had long been exonerated. “I’m glad you can give him some company from time to time,” she had said once to John’s surprise. She knew of Jamie’s connection to Willie, of course, and of John’s years of chess games with him. He was quite certain that she’d never dream of the truth, but he made sure to be particularly attentive to her before and after the visits to maintain her good graces.

There was a level of pretense in Edinburgh too, of course. Jamie and John couldn’t be themselves when Geordi was there helping Jamie, or when Fergus and Young Ian were around, helping with the press supposedly but also with some other projects of Jamie’s that he told John he’d best not inquire too much about. John didn’t like this, having spent the last many years vouching for Jamie’s integrity, leading to his parole and then a full pardon. He suspected the bulk of whatever Jamie was up to involved illegal liquor sales, and while he would prefer that Jamie take a legitimate route to business dealings, he was acutely aware of the delicate line he had to walk to ensure that his connection with Jamie remained possible.

Fergus always made John particularly nervous; the young man was extremely perceptive. He was respectful, to be sure, but always from a distance. John couldn’t shake the sense that Fergus recognized his feelings for Jamie for what they were. Could he tell that Jamie reciprocated, to whatever degree?

Fergus was loyal, at least. He loved Jamie like a father, and John trusted his discretion. It was just one more uncomfortable dynamic to navigate.

Any level of discomfort and pretense was worth it, however. At the end of the day, the boys were off to bed or out on the town, and John had Jamie to himself.

It never failed to stun John how quickly he and Jamie could shift from the appearance of good friends to something more electric the moment they were alone. Sometimes, they actually started with the chess game everyone else assumed they were playing. Sometimes, the chess was delayed for another day.
*
Once, John was lingering in bed beside Jamie in the morning. He knew that he should get ready and make his way to London, where his family was expecting him. He couldn't help but keep pressing against Jamie's warmth, feeling his breath against him, watching his sleeping face in golden morning light. He looked so beautiful.

Eventually, Jamie’s eyes fluttered open and he grunted. “What’re ye doing, Grey?” he demanded.

“Watching you sleep,” he admitted, feeling himself blush as Jamie squinted at him quizzically. John was the one who’d insisted that he needed to leave at the crack of dawn for London, and here he was lingering.

He seemed so serious that John was almost afraid he was taking offense, but then he said, “I dinna ken why. There’s no sense to it, watching me lay there drooling.” He spoke gruffly but leaned forward and kissed him softly, and John felt that all was right with the world again. It never failed to amaze him how much power Jamie had over him.

“I have to go,” John murmured.

“Aye,” Jamie concurred softly, but his arms did not move.

“I suppose I’ll be late…” All John could think of was how lucky he felt in this moment, the two of them wrapped together where they lay.

Chapter Text

1766

“Jamie never forgot your mother,” Lord John acknowledged partway through their dinner. “He grieved her for years. And now, she’s back to him…”

“It’s complicated, though,” Brianna frowned. “There’s my…my other father.”

“I suppose their marriage will be legally void now,” John noted, and she wondered if Roger saw the sadness as clearly as she did. The man was devastated.

“Not exactly,” Brianna said, feeling the perverse need to be as honest about things as possible. “You see, she was married to him before she ever met Jamie. But then he…was gone, she thought, and she wound up in Scotland, and…”

John was looking at her in shock. She realized that what she had done wasn’t fair. She’d given him reason to believe that Jamie’s duty was to release Claire to be with her first husband.

What if Claire and Jamie decided otherwise during their time together? No matter how hard it was for Brianna herself to think of her mother abandoning her father, nothing about this situation was easy.

*

They had been surprised but grateful when the others had left them out. Claire had tried to gauge Brianna’s feelings in particular, but she had willingly left rather than remaining there to chaperone the reunion. So she and Jamie had embraced again and sat down and talked for over an hour.

And when Lord John had returned for a moment to say that he was going to set Roger and Bree up at a nearby inn, he hadn’t asked whether the two of them would join for dinner, though it was clear they were most welcome. So she followed Jamie to the brothel, where she was shocked to discover he stayed, and ate dinner with him, and continued filling him in about the years without him, about raising Brianna, about the future. And Jamie shared many of his own experiences, though he said nothing of the lover. Claire didn’t ask, and whatever part of her may have wanted to dropped the idea by the time they kissed again.

*

“How is it that you traveled here?” John Grey asked. The question was casual, meant to lighten the subject, but it was a stressful one.

“By ship…” Brianna and Roger fumbled through a description of their voyage, falling more and more into a rut as Lord John asked follow-up questions.

Finally, Lord John cut them off. “The story of your journey does not strike me as believable,” he said. “There are too many gaps, and there is no way the timeline you presented might be possible. There is, however, an even less plausible explanation for your presence here…”

He looked from one of them to the other intently, and Brianna realized that he must know.

“Jamie told you, didn’t he? That…my mother traveled through the stones?”

“I did not believe him. But having witnessed the three of you today with my own eyes…and ears…”

“We’re obviously not from this place,” Roger said. “Or this time.”

“No. It doesn’t seem so, though I still can’t bring myself to believe…”

“Well, let us tell you how we really came here, then,” Brianna said, sharing the real details of their trip before she pulled out the photographs. She had given her mother a few to show Jamie tonight, but she had wanted to be there to share most of them.

Now, she watched John Grey’s jaw drop as he studied the otherworldly images. Quietly, Brianna talked through them, elaborating upon details she wouldn’t even notice that wouldn’t belong in this time.

There was more candor among them after that. Lord John admitted that he was still having trouble believing that it was possible, but he continued asking questions, and Roger and Bree were happy to answer. He was very likeable, Bree noticed. And good looking even by the standards of her time. She could see, she thought, what Jamie saw in him.

“And now?” Lord John asked softly. “Do you…both…intend to stay in this time, then? To be with Jamie?”

“I…don’t know,” Bree said softly. “I had wanted to meet him, but I’m in college. I thought…well, I could imagine going back and forth perhaps, but not staying here. But…I’m not sure about my mother,” she admitted. She had been sure earlier today. She was convinced that her mother was just there to chaperone her, that she planned on returning to her father as she’d promised. Now, she’d run off with her other love. In this moment, Brianna hated her for it, but she couldn’t stop her.

*

Frank had been clear, and he had been generous. “Do whatever you wish when you’re in the eighteenth century,” he said. “Just please don’t tell me anything I wouldn’t want to hear.”

“Are you sure?” Claire had asked, shocked. She knew she should deny that she would do anything inappropriate. She was going back for Bree, she wanted to say, so Jamie could meet her, so they might have something of a reunion.

“I’m sure,” Frank said resolutely.

When Jamie asked her what she was thinking about, she wasn’t sure whether she should tell him. But she never could hold back much from Jamie, and it was almost worth sharing just to see the look on his face.

“...just so you know,” she said.

Less than five minutes later, they were half-undressed in Jamie’s bed.

*

Brianna waited until well after dinner to ask for the conversation she most wanted to have. She had been disappointed that her mother and Jamie hadn’t opted to join them, though she knew there would be plenty of time tomorrow to talk to them. And she could tell that Roger was disappointed not to have a moment alone with her, to continue the dance they had started the moment they met, but she needed a moment alone with Lord John Grey.

He sat agreeably, with another drink as she declined a refill—how could the man drink so much yet seem so lucid? she wondered—and he looked like nothing much she could say would surprise him. That would probably change, she thought.

“You and Jamie are lovers, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

An intake of breath and a quick glance about to make sure they were truly alone. Then small, rapid changes in his face and eyes as he seemed to be assessing how safe he was in speaking to her.

“I could tell,” she said softly. “I watched the way you were with each other at the press. It’s okay,” she said suddenly, grasping his hand, because she could see he was jumping out of his skin. He had seemed so suave and in command throughout the afternoon and evening, but right now, he seemed absolutely terrified. “I’m not judging you. I…actually, I’m glad. That he found some happiness. I think?”

“You’re…at peace with this?” Lord John whispered, sounding incredulous.

“We can’t choose who we fall in love with. I can see that you love Jamie. And since I can’t imagine anyone disliking you, I’m guessing he feels the same way?””

John gulped, feeling a painful lump in his throat. “I do love him,” he admitted, and he felt an electric jolt just acknowledging the truth to someone. Honesty, for him, was a luxury. “But Brianna, if I may call you by your Christian name…? Brianna, I don’t know that he feels the same way. I don’t know that it’s love for him. Friendship to be sure. And I’m…familiar…a trustworthy companion.”

“Is that what you think?” Brianna frowned, perplexed. “Is that what he said to you?”

“Not…precisely,” John admitted. “Jamie doesn’t…say much about his feelings.”

“Then maybe—” she started and stopped herself. What did Jamie actually feel? Same-sex attractions being as repressed as they were in these backwards times, would he even be honest with himself?

And why did she want to make a case for Jamie’s love for Lord John so badly? she asked herself. Perhaps it was a way of safeguarding her parents’ marriage, to make sure that her mother didn’t betray the father who raised her.
But what if Lord John was right, and Jamie’s heart truly belonged to her mother? What then?

“I’m sorry,” Brianna said, suddenly grasping his hand. “This can’t be easy for you, either—any of this.”

“My dear,” John said softly, sounding heartbroken yet kind. “Your acknowledgment of my…connection…to your father and to any feelings that I might have…it touches me deeply that you care. I…” he gasped in a breath. “Have long been in love with him,” he confessed, and it was as if a weight lifted off him to be able to say the words. Brianna saw the change in him, how to pretense melted. This was the John Grey Jamie knew, she thought.

“Is the nature of our friendship…acceptable…in your time?” he asked suddenly.

“There are still issues in our time, to be sure,” Brianna said. “But people are more accepting than they are in these times. I don’t know what my mother would think,” she admitted.

“Ah. Yes,” John frowned. “Would you…tell her?”

“I don’t know,” Brianna admitted. “It seems like it’s Jamie’s role to tell her. But…” What if he didn’t? What if her mother decided to stay in this time, to be with Jamie, and he was lying to her or possibly to himself? Or what if he thought he could have them both? Her face burned with anger to think of it.

“I’ve upset you,” John said tentatively.

Brianna shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault! It’s just…today has been overwhelming. You understand…”

“Of course. Shall I walk you to your room…?”

“Thank you,” she said. She should probably sort through a whole lot of feelings so her anger didn’t get the better of her tomorrow when she saw them again, Claire and Jamie. She glanced at Lord John, who she could tell had a lot of feelings himself as he walked beside her. She should leave him in peace, but she couldn’t help but follow one more thread of curiosity.

“Jamie’s…with you,” she said, not knowing quite the right euphemism. “He’s been with you for…a while?”

“Yes,” John admitted.

“And…has he been with anyone else?” She already suspected she knew, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

“No,” John said softly. He sounded incredibly sad. No, but he is now, she heard him think. She squeezed his hand before they parted, hoping her touch felt comforting.

*

“I wasna telling you the whole truth before, Sassanach,” Jamie murmured into her shoulder. She turned to look him in the eyes, and he looked back at her sadly. “About my feelings for…others.”

“When you said you didn’t love the boy’s mother…?”

“No,” Jamie amended quickly. “That was the truth. But…it’s not true that I havena had feelings for another."

I know, she wanted to admit. “Does she make you happy?” she asked instead.

Jamie opened his mouth but hesitated. He didn’t speak for a long while, and Claire watched him move back and forth in his mind, deciding what to say or not say.

Finally, he spoke. “For a long while after losing you, after Culloden, I didna believe I could ever be happy again. And then it happened. These past several years…beginning with the birth of my son, I think, but more since then…they’ve been some of my happiest. That doesna mean---” he began to amend, but Claire cut him off.

“Jamie. I’m glad you’re happy. You’re allowed to be happy with…whoever this is.” She wanted desperately to ask, but she knew it was a complicated situation, and she didn’t want to reveal how much she knew to Jamie. There were enough complications in their lives.

“I’ve been happy with Frank,” she admitted. “I resisted it for a long time. I felt I was betraying you somehow. But…he’s been a good husband to me and father to Brianna, and…”

“I’m glad as well,” Jamie said, sounding a bit choked up. “Jealous, ye ken. But I wouldna have wished you to be miserable, all these years.”

“Jamie.” Claire through her arms around him. “Things are different---we’re different---but there’s so much that reminds me of old times. How we were. You’re still Jamie Fraser. And I still love you. If only…”

“Aye,” Jamie said softly. And though it seemed like they were heading in the opposite direction, they somehow wound up falling into his bed, their bodies forgetting the years apart as they came back together.

*
1968

Frank was reading when she came upon him. He jumped up suddenly when he registered that it was her, and she grasped his hands and smiled softly. “You must miss your friend very much,” she said, nodding at the study where he and the Reverend Wakefield used to discuss history together.

“And I’ve missed you and Bree,” he said, seeming choked up.

Claire hugged him. “Well, I’ve come back to you,” she said. “As I promised.” She kissed him gently. Being with him was never like being with Jamie. Frank was comfortable, familiar, not as passionate. But she loved him nonetheless, and she loved their life together.

“And Bree?”

“She’s staying back for a bit,” Claire admitted. “She wants to get to know her…other father. And to meet some of the relatives at Lallybroch. I thought it best that I avoid them after such a long absence. I miss them…but what could I possibly say?”

“Knowing you, you’d come up with something believable,” Frank said, smiling. “Though I must admit, I’m glad you’ve returned.”

Claire hugged him back as he moved close to her. She was glad, too. She had felt nervous about leaving her only daughter in a dangerous and volatile time. But there was no one she trusted to protect her more than Jamie, and with Roger, who had clearly developed some feelings for her, there to escort her through the stones, she had felt that it was the right time.

The others accompanied her to Craig na Dun along the way. She and Jamie had said a teary goodbye. “Thank you,” he had said softly, “for bringing me Brianna.”

“I love you,” she had whispered, and she meant it with all her heart, and she knew he meant it back. They had kissed, and like before, he held her hand even as she stepped toward the stones. But this time, both Claire and Jamie were at peace with the decision. This time, Claire had wanted to return. And perhaps Jamie even wanted her to.

*
1766

Bree had grown up far from any relatives on her father’s side and had no relatives on her mother’s side that she knew of, so life at Lallybroch was like nothing she had ever imagined. She was welcomed so warmly by all her cousins, aunt, and uncle. She quickly saw what her mother had found appealing about her life in these times, no matter the struggles. She felt closer to life somehow in this vibrant swirl of family life.

She was still something of an outsider. It actually helped that she had grown up in Boston; the differences in their mannerisms could be explained away more easily since she was a true outlander. Roger, they couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with. He had more of a Scottish accent, was more clearly one of them, but he wasn’t trained to fight like the other men, and his sensibilities were different.

They seemed to cautiously approve though, of her the growing affection between him and Brianna. He was a MacKenzie, after all. “Must be a distant relation,” Jenny noted, though no one could seem to figure out how they might be related.

Everything felt so warm and cozy that Brianna waited a long while, perhaps too long, before she broached the conversation she had been wanting to have with Jamie. She chose a moment in the evening when they were strolling outside, just the two of them. She had spoken of her childhood, and he had spoken of his. Then a pleasant silence had stretched between them.

“Da,” she said softly. “I know about you and Lord John. Don’t worry,” she said quickly, because he had instantly stiffened at her side, looking angry and scared. “I’ll not tell anyone. I won’t even tell Mama if you didn’t. But I just want you to know…that I know…and that I hope for the best for the two of you.”

He softened a bit as she spoke but he still looked shocked.

“Ye…what do ye know?”

“I just noticed the way you were with each other and, I don’t know, I just had a sense of how you felt about each other.”

“And ye…take no offense?” He sounded almost angry with her that she didn’t, like there must be something wrong with her.

She let herself smile, because she had decided to take her mother’s advice and find his outrage endearing rather than react to it every time. “I don’t see anything offensive about love,” she said. “It was hard for me, that Mama would choose to be with you when she’s been married to Daddy all this while. And I was afraid…that she might stay.”

“Would that have been so bad?” Jamie asked, seeming sad.

“No. I think…there was no outcome that wouldn’t have been sad in some way,” Brianna admitted. “But Da, do you remember how Lord John was when we last saw him? He seemed pretty devastated, like he was sure you were going to leave him.”

He might not remember, she thought. Her parents had been in the middle of a reunion with Fergus, who had dropped to his knees and thrown his arms around her mother’s waist. Jamie was immersed in the family drama and had barely acknowledged John, never mind offering a proper goodbye.

“You should write to him, Da,” Brianna pressed. “Tell him Mama returned. Tell him how you feel.”

The change in Jamie was subtle, but she could see some regret in his eyes as he thought of John. He looked at her seriously. “Aye,” he said softly. “I suppose I will.”

*
When John woke up, he met Jamie’s eyes, bright and open beside him. They lay facing each other in the morning light, and he wasn’t sure which of them smiled first, but they were soon matched by the other, and the smiles widened until John felt himself grinning, amazed by how fully Jamie was matching him. He reached out to brush back a stray lock of Jamie’s hair and let his hand be caught and kissed.

John would have asked no more of this moment, but then Jamie said softly, “I’ve watched ye too.”

“What?” John asked, confused.

“Once, ye spoke of watching me sleep. I didna tell you then, but d’ye recall the night when ye fell asleep before even blowing out the candles…?”

“Oh,” John said blushing, remembering when that was. It had been a long day, and if he hadn’t been worn out already, Jamie had worn him out thoroughly. He recalled saying that he was going to manage the candles after lying down for just a moment, but he’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.

“Well, I wasna as tired as you. I couldna help but watch you a while. You looked peaceful, almost as if you were smiling.”

“You sound the way people do when they speak of someone who’s died,” John teased, then regretted it because anger flashed in Jamie’s eyes, and the last thing John had wanted was for him to grow prickly in this moment. “You must have made me very happy Jamie,” he amended. “I’m always happy just to be with you.”

“Aye, perhaps. I ken only in that moment that I was verra happy myself. I felt a warmth inside me as I watched you, and it grew larger an’ larger as I lay there beside you. It swelled so thoroughly I thought I might burst.”

“Oh,” John managed to say, at a loss for words.

“It’s felt the same ever since,” Jamie admitted. “My love for you.”

“What?” John gasped, feeling his eyes widen.

Jamie placed a hand on John’s face, calloused yet tender. “I love ye, John,” he said. “I loved you since long before that, though these years in Edinburgh, I’ve been free to feel more deeply, ken?”

“Jamie. I love you so.” John couldn’t keep his voice from wobbling. He wanted to hide his face because he felt his eyes filling with tears, but Jamie wouldn’t let him.

“John,” he said softly, looking him in the eyes. “All these years, I dinna ken what I would’ve done without you. I never expected that my heart could belong to anyone but my wife. But then there was Willie. My heart just burst it open after he was born…and then I found my way to you.”

Jamie’s arms wrapped around him, and John couldn’t contain himself anymore. He whimpered, letting himself cry and be held. He would feel he was humiliating himself except that Jamie was making soothing sounds and rubbing his back as though he was a child.

“I never imagined,” John whispered finally, when he’d settled down. He was still wrapped in Jamie’s arms, and he had never felt so close to anyone. “That you…that this…”

“Hush,” Jamie whispered, kissing the side of his head. They lay together a long while until the demands of the morning finally beckoned.