Chapter Text
Years later, Fraser’s Ridge was very different. Late summer was upon the property, and the air smelled of green warmth and fresh rainfall. Birds sang, and a grand house sat atop a hill, trees cleared around it. The day was warm enough that sweat prickled under John’s collar, and his mare was beginning to froth up under her saddle.
The Ridge was not the only thing that changed. John Grey’s arse ached, saddle-sore. He was too far in his years to be riding for weeks on end. There were very few people that he’d commit himself to a journey like this. Three resided on Fraser’s Ridge, two in England, and Brianna Fraser was getting married.
John was happy for her. He was reasonably confident that this MacKenzie fellow would be a better husband to the girl than he would have. Certainly, family dinners were bound to be less awkward. John knew that, and yet the thought of her marrying the man who’d left her abandoned, assaulted, and pregnant out of wedlock made him want to spit.
Brianna had explained the situation to him no less than a dozen times throughout their misguided engagement, but no version of the story had fully satisfied John. At best, Roger seemed a fool to abandon a young, unwed woman with no protection of her own. At worst…well, he had enough faith in Brianna to respect her choice of future husband. Brianna loved the man with the same passion that her father loved her mother. That was nothing to scoff at, so John had resigned himself to happiness for her.
In the distance, he saw a woman turn, and red hair flashed in the afternoon sun. One hand went into the air, waving vigorously, and she moved toward him. Heedless of his sore rear, John urged his mare into a light canter.
“John!” Brianna exclaimed as the mare came to a halt in front of her. She was striking as ever, freckled face flushed. The spitting image of Jamie Fraser, if a bit softer around the edges.
John smiled so wide his cheeks ached. “Brianna, my dear!” He dismounted from his horse, patting her sweaty neck.
Brianna swept him up into a hug, and John’s face smashed into her throat. She smelled faintly of milk and the chamomile soap Claire had sent him last month. There was a disgruntled squawk from between them, and a small foot kicked John in the chest.
“Oof,” he grunted, and pulled away. Cradled in the crook of Brianna’s elbow was a little squirming bundle of cotton. A chubby, naked foot stuck out of the bottom and flailed in indignation. “Oh, is this Jeremiah?”
Brianna laughed, “I haven’t had time to pop out another one, you know.”
John peered down at the baby as Brianna shifted him up. His hair was as shockingly ginger as his mother's. He had the upturned Fraser eyes, dark blue as the sea. John shook his head, his heart swelling in his chest. The boy looked so much like William already. He was Willie’s nephew, and the boy would never know.
John remembered when his son was that small, and his heart squeezed. William had left for England in the spring to start his commission. Suddenly his son was a young man, and John felt like the boy was slipping away from him. He missed so much of William’s early childhood before his marriage to Isobel. John had held him some, told the odd bedtime tale or two, but he wasn't a father. John’s only consolation was that Jamie Fraser had been there at Helwater, watching over William since the day he was born.
The baby’s face scrunched, and John recognized that look. Brianna jiggled him in her arms to stave off the fussing. He’s grown into a robust child, with fat cheeks and a stout body. He’d expect no less from the son of Brianna Fraser. John expected his godson would be a force to reckon with as a young man.
John reached out, brushing his fingertips over the crown of the baby’s head. The child blinked, pausing in his fussing to peer up at John. John smiled, eyes stinging, and his throat catching. He remembered the baby restless in Brianna’s stomach, turning under his palm.
John remembered the fear twisting in his belly as Jamie’s daughter screamed the night of Jeremiah's birth. He remembered staring down at his whiskey glass, watching the amber liquid slosh in his trembling hand. Esme, his brother Hal’s first wife, had died in childbirth. So had Geneva. His only comfort was that the Frasers were alongside her. There was no one on this earth he trusted more than Claire Fraser with that sort of thing, and both mother and child had been perfectly fine. John remembered his first look at the child. A wrinkled and red bundle, held in his exhausted mother’s arms. John cried that night, out of sheer relief.
Jeremiah cooed and gurgled as John's fingers brushed over a chubby cheek. “Brianna. He's lovely.”
He looked up at her and found her watching him with soft eyes. She smiled and slid her hand up to his shoulder to squeeze him into another one-armed hug.
“Oh, John, I'm so happy you could make it! Roger should be around here somewhere. He’s been wanting to meet you.” She turned, looking towards the house. Sure enough, a dark-haired man was walking towards them.
He was handsome, and not at all like John had imagined. His skin was a light olive, and his eyes startling green. He was extraordinarily tall, but slim and softer than Jamie. He had a neat, short beard and black hair to match.
Roger smiled and held out a hand. John took it and bit the inside of his cheek as the man squeezed his hand firmly. “John Grey, I’ve heard so much about ye.”
John raised an eyebrow, “Have you?” he said, more clipped than he intended.
Roger pulled his hand away, looking at Brianna and back at John. Brianna simply smiled and buried her nose in Jeremiah’s wispy ginger curls. “Er, aye. I wanted to thank ye for everything ye did for Bri. Really, I dinna think we’d be here without it.”
John nodded, “Certainly not, no.” Maybe he wasn’t being fair to the man, but Roger had yet to impress him. “I imagine she’d already be married to Mr. Forbes.”
“Roger, what are ye—oh!”
John exhaled hard out of his nose, looked up, and there he was. Jamie stood on the porch of the big house, a hand gripping the banister. He twisted his head towards the open front door. “Claire, he’s here!”
Brianna snorted in a rather unladylike manner and slipped her free arm around Roger's waist. “Thank god you got here early, John. They’ve been completely insufferable.”
Claire’s head poked out from the doorway, her mess of curls pulled into a bun. John shook his head, unable to keep the grin off his face. He clicked his tongue at his mare and left Brianna to make his way to the house.
They met him halfway. Jamie swept him up into a crushing hug so enthusiastic he came off the ground for a moment. As soon as he was back on his feet, Claire squeezed him tight and kissed his cheek. John laughed breathlessly, his heart tripping over itself. His neck heated as he heard Brianna's titter of laughter behind him. Jamie’s hand was still on his shoulder, warm and grounding.
“It's good to see you, John,” Claire said, her eyes shining.
It had been some time since they’d all seen each other in person. In fact, the last time had been the birth of Brianna’s baby. Claire was beautiful as ever, even if she appeared to be wearing a men’s collared linen shirt. She’d buckled the garment into long, faded blue skirts stained with red mud at the bottom. Her hair was tied in a loose bun that allowed dark curls shot through with grey to slip out around her face. She was as scandalous as ever, and John wouldn’t have her any other way.
They exchanged letters regularly. It had started, strangely, not two months after John’s unfortunate measles incident. He’d opened the first letter, feeling like he’d swallowed rocks, only to find a polite inquiry after his health. Since, John had found Claire to have a sharp wit and a wicked tongue that surprised him at every turn. He’d sent her countless gifts. All sorts of things like herbs and surgical instruments. She’d recently given him the task of sending a loaf of bread from every bakery he could. Something about mold and her germ theory. Claire had sent him a lovely ginger tea, at William’s request, and a warming balm for when his bad arm ached. Claire had also sent him several of Brianna’s drawings, all of Jamie. John hadn’t known what to make of that.
As for Jamie…well, what was there to say that hadn’t already been said? The man’s hair was loose, shorter than the last time John had seen him. His face was well-worn, freckled by the sun just like his daughter. His wide mouth split into that lopsided grin that John loved so dearly. William smiled just like that. There was a streak of blond at the crown of his head, silvering at the roots.
They’d been writing as well. Oddly, John exchanged letters less frequently with Jamie than with his wife. In truth, John found it difficult to write Jamie. He certainly had to bite his tongue more. There was so much history between them, and so much he wasn’t supposed to say.
“I’m heartened to see both of you, as well,” John said, his voice thick. His stomach twisted and his heart raced, and oh…nothing ever truly changed, did it?
Jamie slung his arm around John’s shoulder, squeezing again and surrounding John in his familiar scent. John’s eyes went wide and snapped to Claire’s face. She smiled softly at his alarm and raised a single elegant eyebrow.
“Come, Roger will take yer horse and yer bag. Won’t ye, man?” Jamie called
“Er, yes. O’ course.”
John jumped under Jamie’s arm. He’d completely forgotten they had an audience. He craned his head back to see the Mackenzie family. Roger watched them with a wry smile, both eyebrows raised. Brianna had her head tilted to one side, brows furrowed, and mouth pursed thoughtfully. Oh, good lord, that did not bode well.
“Good man. John, come on. I’ll show ye the new house.” Jamie said, and John was clutched to him so tightly that his voice rattled John’s already apprehensive stomach.
“Oh, thank you,” John said, suddenly very unsteady. He looked to Claire, for…help, perhaps? She hid her smile with her hand and gestured at the open doorway. Jamie began marching him inside.
He flexed his shoulders and leaned away from Jamie had slung over his shoulders. After a moment, Jamie paused and looked down at him. Their eyes met. John bit his tongue to blood as Jamie’s ears turned red. Jamie let him go.
Jamie’s arm left a band of heat across John’s shoulders. He followed Jamie, his eyes on the back of the man’s flushed neck, as the man led him through a grand entryway and up the wooden stairs to the second floor. Something was different. There was lightness to Jamie that John hadn't seen since…for a very long time. Maybe it was all this—the big house, the grandchildren, and his daughter’s pending marriage. A dream of a life, and far overdue for the man, in John’s humble opinion.
Jamie was talking, excited chatter about the house and the preparations for the coming event. John was having a hard time listening. Maybe he’d been alone too long, and that was why he found himself so breathless by the warmth of his reception. With William gone, Mount Josiah had been very empty of late. It had been some time since he’d had the company of another person, and he’d not realized how deeply it had affected him. His shoulders burned, missing the weight of Jamie's body.
“Bri and Roger moved into our old room, and there are more guest rooms on this floor,” Jamie said, gesturing to the hallway at the top of the stairs. The house had airy, wide windows letting the bright daylight light up the place. Jamie had done a fine job indeed.
“It’s a lovely house, Jamie,” John said, and goose pimples rose on his arms as he said the man’s name.
Jamie smiled at him, dazzling “Thank ye, John.” he gestured to the next flight of stairs, “Claire wanted to give the new couple their space, ken? So we cleared out one o’ the rooms on the top floor for us.” Jamie paused, stopping just as his foot contacted the first step, “Er, we put ye on the top floor, too. I hope ye dinna mind.”
John blinked, “Oh, of course not. Anything is fine, really.”
Yes, it was fine. Completely and utterly fine. Clearly, the Frasers wanted him to be completely witless during this visit.
Jamie nodded and continued this ascent. John followed, his eyes very firmly on the steps in front of him and not on Jamie’s arse in those breeches. The stairway opened into a quiet sitting room, with a modest wooden table under a small window. Two chairs sat with it, and there was a half-burned tallow candle and a book John recognized. La Vita Nuova , and it was well-thumbed at that.
Jamie startled him from his observations with a gentle touch to his back, “Claire reads there most nights. It’s a nice view o’ the land.”
John nodded, his throat dry. Jamie was barely touching him, but his muscles were coiled and ready. The man’s hand slipped down further, perhaps, than was completely decent.
“Yer room’s just this way,” Jamie said, and his voice was unbearably soft. There was soft pressure from Jamie’s hand, and John jolted forward. Jamie’s hand fell away. “Claire and I are just on the other side.”
John cleared his tight throat as covertly as he could, and followed Jamie as he opened one of the doors in the sitting room's walls. The room had a large, open window and white curtains fluttered in the humid breeze. Sunlight spilled in, lighting up the room. A good-sized bed was in the center, with a wooden chest at the foot of it. There was a small fireplace and a full washbasin in front of it, with a folded cotton cloth next to it.
Jamie stood in the doorway as John took in the room, “Roger should be up soon enough wi’ yer things.” He said, shifting from foot to foot.
John nodded, “Yes, thank you. I was just getting acquainted with your son-in-law when you came out,” he said tersely.
Jamie laughed and clapped John on the shoulder, “He’s alright, John. He’s paid for his mistakes and he’ll make a fine husband for Bri.”
John sighed, “Yes, I suppose so.” Jamie's hand was still on his shoulder.
Silence stretched between them. John wasn’t sure he was breathing entirely. He had not been alone with Jamie for a long time, and yes, something was very different.
Jamie’s hand slipped from his shoulder to cup his forearm, and he squeezed again, “ John, I…it really is good to see you.”
John looked up at him and swallowed hard. Jamie’s gaze was direct and earnest, and John had no idea what the man was trying to tell him. “Yes. You, as well. You know I always enjoy seeing you, and your wife.”
John stepped out of Jamie’s grip. Had he really just had to remind Jamie he was married? There would be no confusion over any of this with another man. John had pulled men in dark corners for quick rendezvous over less. But this wasn’t some stranger, this was Jamie—who should have more sense than this, by all means. John walked to the window and looked down at the land behind the Fraser home. A garden sat just behind the house, bursting with flowers and rows of vegetables.
“I’ll leave ye, then. Claire had Ian fill the wash bin. It’s likely no’ warm anymore, but it's there if ye like. I’ll see what's keeping Roger.”
John nodded, turning back to Jamie, “Yes, thank you. I could do with a moment to get the travel off of me.”
Jamie watched him with bright eyes, and his hand, the stiff one, flexed once, “Dinner is soon, if yer no’ overtired.”
John nodded, “Yes, of course. I would enjoy that.” he paused.
Jamie smiled, softly. The last time John saw that smile was in Edinburgh. Christ, he was in trouble.
Jamie had mercy on him and left, shutting the door gently. Roger appeared only a minute later with his travel bag. He’d knocked hesitantly on the door and was suspiciously flushed around the ears when John opened it. Roger awkwardly informed him that dinner would start in an hour and assured John that Claire was not doing the cooking. That had pulled a laugh from John, regardless of his distaste for the man.
Roger left him to unpack. John stripped and wiped himself down with a cloth soaked in the wash basin water. The water was lightly scented with something floral and soothing. Chamomile, perhaps. He relished the chance to remove the grit and sweat from his skin that he’d accumulated during travel. The water was cold, but it was refreshing in the heat. It had been a very long journey and he was sore all over. His legs were like lead weights, and the muscles of his back cramped tight as he bent to run the cloth over his arms. John squeezed the rag and let the water slide down his bare chest, sighing at the simple pleasure. He listened to the bustle of the house below him. Jamie’s laugh came up the stairs, muffled, but enough to warm him. Brianna’s laugh followed, light as bird song. It made him miss his own family—William, and Isobel still, though she had been gone for many years.
Yes, he’d been lonely at Mount Josiah. It was easy to admit in the Fraser house, with so much life inside it.
John had not considered himself a man vulnerable to loneliness. When he was a young man, there had always been someone—his brother, fellow soldiers, strings of lovers. Then there had been William, and all the endless responsibilities as a father. The lovers got farther and fewer in between as the years went by, and suddenly it had been a year since he’d had anyone in his bed. Mankoe had been the last, and he’d been gone from Mount Josiah for quite some time. Not that Mankoe owed John a visit, or anything of that sort. John had no illusions about their relationship. He enjoyed their time together, but he harbored no feelings of resentment when the man left. He knew what he was to Manoke—a dear friend, and a casual bed fellow. Nothing more than that. Their arrangement suited John fine, because he had nothing else to offer the man. Or any man, really, who was not Jamie Fraser.
In that celibate year, John had accepted that he would never stop loving Jamie. He’d always known that, deep down. Even with Percy, there had been Jamie. They had plenty of other issues, his step-brother’s cowardice chief amongst them, but Jamie had been a significant one. Maybe, if John could have loved Percy the way he deserved, things would have been different.
So, John had known, but he’d been young and stupid enough to think he’d find love one day. The rare kind of love that the Frasers shared, that he saw on Brianna’s face when she spoke of her soon-to-be husband, and glowed in Hal’s eyes when he smiled at Minnie. As long as John’s heart was stuck here, on Fraser’s Ridge, there would be no one else. And so, he would have to make a bedfellow out of loneliness.