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Claire's Been Shot

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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.

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anonymous said:
Could you do a follow-up to Claire getting shot in the shoulder - something along the lines of her wound getting infected and her falling ill while they're still on the road and Jamie and the men having to figure out how to take care of her/what to do?

Come morning, she seemed well enough. Breakfast came and went, and Claire ate a little, though she mostly wasn’t hungry. With a little help, she was back in her saddle, the horses and wagon all packed, and the group was on its way once more toward the next village. She was exhausted, though, head lolling throughout the entire ride, and several times she jerked awake just before sliding off her horse, painfully jarring her shoulder. It was bad enough that the men began taking turns riding next to her, sticking close so they could hold her up in her saddle any time she began to slide off.

By nightfall, the fever had begun to set in.

“We must stop, Dougal!” Jamie told his uncle as he caught Claire about to slide off her horse for the hundredth time. He pulled her right out of the saddle and over into his own, wrapping a firm arm around her waist and letting her lean back against him. The day was a chilly one, rainy and miserable, but Claire’s skin was burning up.

Dougal swung his horse round and came back, drawing up next to Jamie. He reached out to tug at Claire’s coat, cursing the dress she wore as he jerked the bandages aside to have a look at her wound. He squinted through the darkness, one finger prodding lightly at the swollen flesh around the bullet hole.

“’m all right,” Claire murmured into Jamie’s own coat, shifting some in discomfort. “Just a little… tired is all.”

“Nay, lass. The wound is inflamed. ‘Tis your job to be treatin’ the wounds. We dinna ken what to do for ye,” Dougal muttered.

“Aye, I do. I ken what she used for my wound. I can go through her wee box of herbs and make up a poultice, I think,” Jamie said.

The war chief gave a small jerk of his head. “Be quick about it. I dinna want to be stopping here for long. She can ride the night in the wagon.”

So they stopped for a time while Jamie did his best to recreate a poultice like Claire had done for him before. He washed out her wound with whiskey, making her jerk and cry out softly. He murmured to her softly in Gaelic, stroking her hair until she settled once more, then finally sat her up with Murtagh’s help to put the bandage in place and strap her arm down. Then they lay her down in the wagon, head pillowed on a bag of grain and her body covered with a few blankets.

“Right, then, Sassenach. Get some rest,” Jamie murmured, moving to shift out of the wagon.

“Frank,” she breathed. “’m coming. Wait for me.”

Alarm shot through him and he gave her hand a squeeze. He leaned in close, gripping her chin perhaps a little harder than necessary in an attempt to force her fevered mind to hear him. “Nay, Sassenach. Ye’ll no’ die yet. I willna let it happen, hear?”


“Aye. Ye’ll be just fine, Claire. Dinna give up yet. I’m right here.”

He brushed her hair back from her forehead, letting his hand linger for a moment, then finally climbed off the wagon. They started moving again and Jamie rode right next to the wagon, watching Claire as she slept fitfully. She spoke in her sleep, moaning about stones, calling out to Frank, reaching out to Jamie. She twitched, whimpering softly, hands curling and uncurling into fists. Eventually, Jamie simply climbed back into the wagon with her to gather her in close, to calm her fitful sleep. It worked, for she slept more easily in Jamie’s arms, but the fever burned on.

“Let me ride ahead with her,” Jamie was murmuring to Dougal. “She canna stay out in this weather and the jolting of the wagon isna helping.”

Dougal rubbed his chin, surveying the darkened landscape as he considered the options. “There’s a farm near, to the west. William MacKenzie and his wife Maggie. They’ll take ye in. We’ll come back in three days time to pick the both of ye up. Jamie, if she dies-”

“She’ll no’ die,” the younger man hissed.

He looked to Murtagh, who nodded and dropped down from his saddle so he could grab Claire’s horse and tie it to Jamie’s. Then he scooped Claire up into his arms, waiting until his godson had settled himself atop his own horse before handing their healer up to him. Jamie took her, leaving her draped sideways in his saddle, leaning heavily against him, body aflame through the layers. He wrapped her up snuggly and slipped an arm around her waist to hold her close against him. With a nod toward his Uncle, he was off, trotting west through the rain while murmuring soft prayers that God might spare the woman he loved.

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anonymous said:
Can you follow up on the one where Claire's wound gets infected. Jamie taking her to the farm and having to tending to her wound.

“Wake up, Sassenach. I need ye to drink some broth.” Jamie was leaning over her, peering worriedly down at her face as he dabbed at her sweaty skin with a cool cloth. She’d been sleeping fitfully on and off since they arrived in the middle of the night. The sun was now hanging low on the horizon once more, and he was alarmed by how thin and frail she seemed. Had they not gotten the whole ball out of her? He tried to remember, but he’d been more focused on her at the time than what Dougal had been doing. Perhaps he’d have to go in and have a look for himself before the sunlight was gone entirely. “Claire?”

She murmured his name softly and her eyelids fluttered but she did little else before she fell still once more.

That was it. There was nothing to be done for it but to search the wound and see what was causing inflammation. By now, she was dressed only in her shift, which was half soaked with sweat. Jamie gently rolled her onto her stomach, turning her head to the side on the pillow. The cloth was dipped in cold water once more, then he laid it out across the back of her neck before he gathered a few candles and settled in to tend to her wound.

His hands trembled as he worked, and Jamie fought to remember all that he had ever seen Claire do, from cleaning her tools to having clean bandages set aside. He’d have to slice the bullet hole open further and his own stitches wouldn’t be so neat as hers always seemed to be, but if he could save her life, a jagged scar wouldn’t matter. She’d be beautiful to him no matter what. She whimpered and shifted a little when he cut into her, but was otherwise immobile, lost to her fevered dreams. Jamie murmured softly to her as he worked, stroking her hair between cleansing the wound and his search. At last, he found it. A fragment of bullet left behind. He plucked out the offending piece and dropped it onto a small bandage next to him. A bit more searching told him that everything was out, and Jamie made careful work of stitching Claire back up.

Her shoulder bandaged neatly once more, he drew her shift back up and gently turned her over again. He wet her hair with the cool water and threw the blanket back from her feet, then continued wiping at her face with the damp cloth. “Ye have to live, Claire,” he whispered. “I dinna ken who ye are, but I ken I love ye.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Please, God, let her live. I’ll take her place if ye wish it.”

Jamie was up all night with her, praying over her bedside as he tended her. By dawn, her fever had broken and her sleep grew calm. He was troubled by some of the things she’d said in her sleep, though, and when he settled down at her side to get some rest of his own, he dreamt of witches, faerie circles, and a thing called an aeroplane, and of a Great War full of fire and explosions and the bloody deaths of men.

“Jamie?” Her voice was a soft rasp against his ear, her hand in his cool and small as it gripped his weakly.

Dark blue eyes fluttered open immediately, blinked twice to wake fully, then focused on her face. She looked thinner and paler than usual, but there was a faint, healthy flush to her cheeks as she peered at him. The whiskey gaze that locked on his own was clear and bright, leaving him sighing in relief against her cheek. He sat up to get her a drink of water, glancing toward the closed door to be sure all was still silent beyond, then looked back to Claire as she sipped slowly.

“Sassenach,” he whispered. “Tell me, what’s an aeroplane?”

Claire sputtered and choked on her drink, then flopped back painfully against the pillow, draping her good arm over her face. “Oh fuck,” she muttered. Now she was well and truly screwed.

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anonymous said:
This blog is everything I needed! I just love it so much. Thank you for creating it :) Can you continue your story about Claire getting shot? I can't wait to see how she tells Jamie about the aeroplane.

“An- aer-aeroplane?” Claire echoed with an attempt at a bemused expression.

“Ye’re a terrible liar, Sassenach. I can see right through that glass face o’ yours, ken.” Jamie said, frowning at her before he leaned in to touch the cup to her lips once more. “Drink a bit more. I’ll have Mistress MacKenzie bring you some broth soon as she’s up. Ye’ve no’ eaten in days.”

She obliged him by allowing him to help her lift her head then sipped a little at the water, searching her mind for some excuse, some explanation. Surely the ravings of a fevered mind could not be held against her? What else could she have said? How many secrets might she have given away? And where were Dougal and the others? Christ, were they waiting just outside to have her burnt at stake for being a witch?

“Dougal and the others have gone ahead to continue collecting the rent,” Jamie explained in that eerie way of reading her mind. “Nay one else heard yer ravings, for I’ve seen to yer care myself.”

“You did? How did you-”

“Aye, I did, and I’ll no’ be distracted from my question, Claire. Tell me about the aeroplane. Or the stones, if ye prefer. I think I’ve earned the right to the truth.”

She swallowed hard, and her whole body began to tremble. He’d think her mad. Or a witch. A witch, and he’d condemn her as one to Dougal and the others. She’d be dead in no time and she didn’t have the energy to try to escape now, even without Jamie watching her day and night.

“Claire? Ye’re shakin’. Are ye- dinna be afraid. I made ye a promise at Castle Leoch, and I mean to keep it, whatever it is ye tell me. Ye need not be scairt of me, remember?”

She nodded a little, but she couldn’t stop the trembling. Jamie took her hand as her teeth began to rattle, and she clenched her jaw tight to make them stop. There was nothing else to do but give him the truth. After all, he was right. He had earned it. She’d have died without his intervention and some part of her distant mind remembered some of the things she’d heard him murmuring during the wild dreams that had taken over her sleep during her illness.

“It’s like the s-song,” she whispered in a wavering voice.

“The song? What song?”

“The one Gwyllyn sang. Ab-about the stones and th-the woman who’d… gone through them.”

His eyes widened in understanding, and he remained silent for a while, still gripping her hand tightly. Claire felt the bones of her hand grinding together, but she didn’t try to pull away. She half feared what might happen when he finally came out of his thoughts.

“When?” he asked quietly. “When did ye come from?”

Her thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles. She felt exhausted, wanted to go back to sleep, and she knew he needed some rest as well. But this couldn’t wait, not now that the truth was out between them. “I– 1945.”

“And ye want to get back. That’s-” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, looking away from her to hide the pain twisting his features. “Frank is there. He’s no’ dead, after all.”


“It’s why ye’ve been trying to escape. To get back to-”

“Craigh na Dun. Yes, but-”

“I’ll take ye, then.” He pulled his hand out of hers and stood, running his fingers through his hair.

Claire blinked in surprise. “You- you will? You… believe me, then?”

“Aye. I do, Sassenach. Ye said enough without realizing it, and I knew they were no’ just fevered dreams.” He gazed out the window, unwilling or unable to look back at her, and it was breaking her heart. “Ye’ll rest today, and if ye’re strong enough tomorrow morning, we’ll leave before Dougal arrives.” Jamie cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, turning toward the door. “I’ll go and see to breakfast.”

“Jame, I-”

But he was already out the door, leaving her alone to contemplate her future.

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anonymous said: Sobbbb. Your newest piece to Claire getting hurt fic :( Now I am sad she might just leave. Can you continue it by Jamie taking her but it not being the right time for them to work so she has to stay? Unless you had another plan for continuing it :)

Would love to see a continuation of the Claire getting shot story now she has told Jamie about the stones?! I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed! — jen18jen

They rode in silence for half the day. Jamie was brooding, clearly thinking Claire wouldn’t notice or care, but she did. She tried to remember what he’d said while she’d been burning with fever. Prayers, she’d caught those. She remembered him laying close, a comforting weight against her side that seemed to anchor her to earth when she wanted to drift off into the dark abyss that awaited a person after life. Claire wasn’t entirely sure what had been dreams and what had been real, now that she thought of it. Her mind had been full of Jamie. It’d been Jamie far more than Frank who had called out to her, had brought her back. What could that mean?

“Will Dougal be angry with you?” she asked quietly after they’d lunched and were back atop their horses. She still felt tired and weak, requiring Jamie to help her up into her saddle. He rode close, their knees brushing from time to time, his presence a relief; for Claire knew if she was about to fall, he’d catch her.


“What will you tell him? I don’t want you to get into trouble, Jamie. I know- I know he worries about me going back to the English with what he’s-”

“I dinna ken what I’ll tell him, other than I’ve sent ye home. Dinna fash, Sassenach. It’ll no’ be yer concern.”

He was being so short with her, and she didn’t like it. In fact, it made her angry and frustrated. Claire was silent for a little while, considering his answer. Home. Where was home? It was meant to be Oxford, where Frank had gotten a new job, but what would she do there? She hadn’t had plans yet; hadn’t thought to begin making them, for whatever reason. Hadn’t bought that bloody blue vase. Because she didn’t have a home.

They stopped for the night and Jamie built a small fire. After dinner, Claire gave in to her exhaustion and curled up beneath several blankets, but she was still weak and grew cold too quickly there on the ground. Jamie sat stoically on the opposite side of the fire, gazing into the flames and clearly refusing to lie down and sleep himself. He was wrapped up simply in his plaid, clearly content enough as he was. But, while Claire slept, her sleep was fitful and ridiculous shivers shook the entire little mound of blankets every now and then.

After an hour, those shivers became impossible to ignore. Jamie sighed heavily and got up, stoked the fire a bit, then moved over to slip beneath the blankets with Claire. He was tense and uncomfortable, not wanting to be so close, but there was little else he could do when she pressed in against him and sighed softly in her sleep. He lay there, head propped up with his elbow, and watched her. She was so relaxed against him, not a worry in the world.

“Because ye ken ye’re goin’ home,” he muttered bitterly. His free hand lifted out from under the blankets and he brushed a single fingertip along her cheek, down over the curve of her jaw. Watching to be sure she was still deeply asleep, he dragged his finger over her lower lip, feeling the heat of her breath against his skin. “And I’ll love ye forever, God help me, Sassenach,” he whispered. “Wherever ye are.”

He didn’t sleep. Jamie was content to lay at Claire’s side all night long, watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to her breaths and the soft sounds she made as she dreamed. Was it Frank she saw? Was this her mind, preparing to go back to her husband? The very thought of it was enough to make him want to slip away, but then her hand curled tight against his chest, holding onto his waistcoat as if to keep him there. And so he stayed.

They rose with the sun and were on their way once more, but there was a new tension between them. There was less than a half day’s ride to the stones. Claire would be gone all too soon.

When they arrived, they circled the hill twice, then Jamie helped Claire down and tethered the horses nearby. Then he walked up to the top of the hill, silently praying for the strength to stand there and watch her go. “Sassenach,” he said softly, halting at the edge of the stones while she stepped forward, fine, dark brows knitted together. “Dinna forget us.” Dinna forget me.

She gazed around the circle of stones for several breaths, not responding to him at first. Bloody fool, she thought, though. As if I could ever forget. Icy fear suddenly shot through her like a bolt of lightening. What if she did forget? What if it all faded as if it’d been nothing more than a dream? What if she forgot Jamie, what he looked like, the feel of his warm body pressed close to hers, the scent of his breath as he slept next to her? Tears bloomed in her eyes. I don’t want to forget!

“I won’t,” she promised quickly. “Not ever.”

“Aye. Ye’d best be off, then.” He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to turn away. Jamie wanted to grab hold of her and pull her into his arms, kiss her breathless, and beg her not to go. Instead, he curled his hands into his fists and waited. Waited for something to happen. Waited for her to disappear.

But then she turned to face him, whiskey eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Say it,” she demanded suddenly. “Now that I’m awake, I want to hear you say it, Jamie.”

He blinked in surprise, shifted his feet a little, and canted his head as he gazed at her, his own brows knitted together now in confusion. “Say what?”

“What you’ve only said to me in my sleep. I know you’ve said it. I- I know it wasn’t a dream. I want to hear it, Jamie. I want to hear you say it to me now.” A soft breeze picked up, making her curls flutter around her face, and she glanced back toward the center stone, frowning.

Was it calling to her? he wondered. She’d said something about that in her sleep, about hearing them. Did she hear them now? Did she hear him?

“I dinna ken what ye’re talking about, Claire,” he said quickly. Damn her, she needed to go before he fell apart. Did she not understand how hard this was for him?

“So you want me to go then?” She lifted her chin a little, eyes burning. She was challenging him.

He gritted his teeth, keeping his face blank, but something flashed across his eyes. Claire took a step toward the stone, hand outstretched.

“Ye ken well enough ye don’t belong here. Ye’ve nearly just died!” Panic bubbled up in his chest. He couldn’t stop her. He had to let her go. But his gaze flicked from her hand to her face and back.

“That wasn’t what I asked, Jamie.”

Jamie exhaled loudly through his nose. She knew. How did she know? She’d been asleep and feverish and- There was no way she could’ve heard him. And yet here she was, challenging him, waiting for him to say the words aloud. Claire took another step toward the stone, then turned and reached out to touch it.

“I dinna want ye to go because I love ye, Claire!”

She sucked in a sharp breath and let her hand fall back to her side. She was still, gazing at him for what felt like forever, then, finally, Claire moved back over to him, her steps slow and tentative. Her lips twitched and the tears were glittering once more in her eyes as she reached out to take his hands. Jamie watched her in silence, breathing heavily, eyes wide like those of a cornered dog.

“I can’t go,” she whispered, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think. I can’t- I can’t hear them like I did before, and I don’t know why. But–” She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she let go of his hands and brought her own up to frame his face instead. “I do know that I don’t want to go.”

He blinked in surprise and his hands came up to grab her wrists, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around the fine bones. “Y-ye want to stay?”

“I want to stay.”

“Wi’ me?”

“I want to stay with you, Jamie. Even if I don’t know your real name or where you’re from or-”

Her words were cut off when Jamie promptly gathered her into his arms and tugged her in against him, mouth claiming hers in a desperate kiss. She melted against him, kissing him back just as deeply. The kiss turned salty and she leaned back a little in surprise, for they weren’t her own tears flavoring their kiss. They were his.

“Fraser,” he whispered, crushing her against him as she thumbed away his tears. “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. And by God, do I love ye, Claire.”

“Then I’ll stay, James Fraser.” Claire leaned up on her toes to kiss him softly again. “And I’ll be yours.”