[It's a wedding. Claire's wedding, to be exact, and the church feels more like a tomb than a place of worship. No windows--but the father will be given enough money to afford them for marrying Jamie and Claire on such short notice. Men crowd the front of the room to watch Jamie wed the sassenach.
She looks like she's before a firing squad. While her dress is full and elaborate, a delicate ribbon tied around her throat, Claire looks about ready to bolt or faint. Hard to say which.
She has one hell of a hangover.
"I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my wedded wife..."
It's a goodbye. She no longer wants to leave. It's a cold day, snow on the ground in some spots, and somehow all the colder by the circle of standing stones.
Her hand moves to rest over her stomach.
"How will I explain all this? How can I go back?"
It's a quiet evening, the fire in the hearth warming the lavish room. This place doesn't feel like Claire Fraser because it's not. It's Paris, but Claire is there, talking softly to Jamie. She's heavily pregnant. And now she has her doubts about being a mother.
It's the last fight. Claire is livid, as is Frank. Nearly two decades of resentment is coming to a head. He wants to leave, and he wants to take her daughter with him now that she's graduated high school.
"You've been waiting. All this time... you've just been waiting for the clock to run out! Well, Brianna is my daughter, and you will not take her anywhere."
It's an argument. Claire's older now, hair straightened and in a time more modern than before, and she's exchanging heated words with the young woman before her. Her words are as fiery as her red hair as she slaps Claire's hand away.
"Just admit it! Admit that you are not a perfect person. Own up to the fact that you fucked someone else while you were married to Daddy, just like a million other bored housewives!"
It's a printshop. Claire nervously fixes her hair before she steps inside, the bell at the door jingling. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walks further in.
It's Jamie's voice that makes her heart leap into her throat.
"That you, Geordie?"
-
Claire, at the end of it, looks mortified. All of it, bits or pieces, or just one memory is enough to have her pressing her palms into her eyes as she gathers her bearings.]
claire fraser | outlander
She looks like she's before a firing squad. While her dress is full and elaborate, a delicate ribbon tied around her throat, Claire looks about ready to bolt or faint. Hard to say which.
She has one hell of a hangover.
"I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my wedded wife..."
It's a goodbye. She no longer wants to leave. It's a cold day, snow on the ground in some spots, and somehow all the colder by the circle of standing stones.
Her hand moves to rest over her stomach.
"How will I explain all this? How can I go back?"
It's a quiet evening, the fire in the hearth warming the lavish room. This place doesn't feel like Claire Fraser because it's not. It's Paris, but Claire is there, talking softly to Jamie. She's heavily pregnant. And now she has her doubts about being a mother.
"What if I'm terrible at it?"
It's a grave. Faith Fraser. 1744.
It's the last fight. Claire is livid, as is Frank. Nearly two decades of resentment is coming to a head. He wants to leave, and he wants to take her daughter with him now that she's graduated high school.
"You've been waiting. All this time... you've just been waiting for the clock to run out! Well, Brianna is my daughter, and you will not take her anywhere."
It's an argument. Claire's older now, hair straightened and in a time more modern than before, and she's exchanging heated words with the young woman before her. Her words are as fiery as her red hair as she slaps Claire's hand away.
"Just admit it! Admit that you are not a perfect person. Own up to the fact that you fucked someone else while you were married to Daddy, just like a million other bored housewives!"
It's a printshop. Claire nervously fixes her hair before she steps inside, the bell at the door jingling. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walks further in.
It's Jamie's voice that makes her heart leap into her throat.
"That you, Geordie?"
-
Claire, at the end of it, looks mortified. All of it, bits or pieces, or just one memory is enough to have her pressing her palms into her eyes as she gathers her bearings.]
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.