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Chapter Text

Claire
France 1744

The world had blurred out of existence when I finally regained consciousness. My hands, shaking with pain, made their way to my stomach. The familiar bump I had grown to cherish was flat, absent of the little life I had been carrying.

A scream I had no control over ripped from my throat as the reality of my situation struck me. I remembered collapsing next to the dueling ground. I remember watching the soldiers swarm my husband and Randall. I remembered the excruciating pain as blood soaked my skirt. I remembered Mother Hildegarde barking orders at the nuns and doctors that surrounded me. I remembered Monsieur Forez operating on me while I wailed in pain.

“My baby,” I cried. “Where is my baby?”

Mother Hildehard materialized by my side, along with an army of nuns. In her arms was a bundle.

“She is right here, ma cherie. Save your breath.” She tilted the bundle so I could see a tiny face peeking out of the cloth.

“She?” My voice was rough from disuse.

Mother Hildegarde chuckled. “Oui, you have a little girl.”

Tears started to spring from my eyes and I held out my hands expectantly.

The Mother hesitated. “Both you and the child are very weak, perhaps it may be better too--”

“Please give me my baby.” I would not be kept from my daughter for much longer.

She relented, gently placing her in my waiting arms.

As I gazed down at my tiny baby I decided that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Tufts of copper hair scattered along her scalp and a button nose. I wondered what color her eyes would be when she opened them. Deep blue or amber, like my own? Every bit about her seemed perfect.

But in the deepest part of my mind the physician inside of me analysed what I could not see as a mother. Her lips were faintly blue and she seemed to be struggling to breath. Every breath she took, although mercifully steady appeared haggard and difficult. Her lungs must not have been developed enough. And she was impossibly small. Even within my arms, as malnourished and weak as I was, she appeared tiny, far too small for a healthy baby.

Somehow my rational mind emerged and I spoke softly, “What’s wrong with her?”

Even Mother Hildegarde, who had long practiced the art of stoicism when speaking to patients, seemed pained. “She had survived this long, Madame Fraser, but we fear she may not live for much longer. She had not gotten worse, exactly, but she has yet to show any signs of getting better.” She paused, studying my child’s tiny face. “We worried neither of you would survive the birth, much less the night so I took the liberty of baptising her. Faith Fraser.”

The baby seemed to like the name because she stirred for the first time since I had known her. She moved just long enough for me to know that she was alive. Joy filled me in spite of the news. My child had lived beyond impossible circumstances. She had come to be created through a series of incredible events. Her name was fitting I realized. I may have lost my faith at the moment in her father, but I had an undeniable faith in her.

“It’s perfect. Thank you Mother.”

As I reached out to touch her face I was suddenly assaulted by a wave of lightheadedness. I cried out frantically for someone remove the baby from my arms before everything went dark again.

When I was finally roused again, it was to faint shuffling near my bed. The room seemed so dark that it took me a moment to realize I had awoken again. I glanced urgently to my sides. Relief washed over me as I located Faith nestled in a cradle next to me. Still small but still there.

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of little I noticed the cloaked form leaning over her. Very clearly not a nun, I tried to scream, but my body was too frail to even muster a whisper. The figure leaning over my child must have sensed my alertness because he turned to look at me.

Master Raymond’s familiar frog like countenance instantly comforted me. He silently placed finger to lips and returned to Faith. He pulled something from his robes and placed it in the crib. Worry slowly crept into me. As much I had grown fond of Master Raymond, he was still essentially a stranger to me. And at this moment there were only a small few that I would conscious let near my precious angel.

The instant I tried to move, but body erupted into flames.

“Be still, ma chere! If they find me here again, I’m done for!” He finally left my child’s side and came over to me. “Your babe is beautiful, my friend. Fear not. She will survive. With you as a mother, she will be able to survive anything.”

Without me noticing, his hands had started to make their way up and down my legs. Moving across my body with methodical motion.

“Shhh,” He whispered as I began to groan.

He made his way all around my body, rubbing and molding it to his will. He seemed to be massaging all of the sickness out of me. It may have been my imagination but I thought I could see a faint blue glow to his hands. Their magical touch cleared every pain from my weak body.

“Jamie,” I murmured, shivering as I remembered the husband that was absent from my side.

“Hush, Madonna. All is well.” He fingers spread coolness to every appendage cutting through the aching fever ravaging my strength. The coolness was replaced by warmth, not burning heat like illness, but comforting, soothing warmth.

Faith began to cry. As suddenly as he had appeared, Master Raymond disappeared, leaving me wondering if I had imagined the entire thing.

A nun rushed into the room, scooping up the baby. She rocked her against her chest, absentmindedly turning towards me.

She eyes widened, “Oh Madame! We were so worried. We feared you were gone for us forever.”

I mustered the energy to smile. Despite my exhaustion, I could feel the strength seeping in my bones. “How is she?”

The young woman glanced at the child in her arms. “C’est incredible! The color had returned to her cheeks. This is the first time she has cried.” Tears crept in her eyes and I could feel mind watering. “Both of you have appeared to have found your strength again.”

Indeed we had.

The next day I was sitting up, holding my daughter. She had fed off a nursing volunteer for the duration of her short life in order to keep her as strong as possible. In light of our miraculous recovery, I had convinced Mother Hildegarde to allow me to nurse.

That was the position our visitors found us in when they arrived.

“Milady!” Fergus ran to my side, nearly barreling over an orderly. “You are alive!” He pulled away and immediately began to sob. “Oh, milady I was so worried. You and the babe were so sick that I thought, I thought--” His tear filled hiccups stopped him from continuing.

“Fergus, I am sorry I scared you, but we are both quite alright now.” I shifted Fatih so the young boy could see her better.

“Oh, Claire. It is so wonderful to see you so vibrant again.” My friend Louise exclaimed. “And your child is marvelous, ma amie. And look, she too has had the life returned to her.”

Louise had no idea how correct she was.

“I believe you should join me in the country. A babe so tiny should not be suffocated by the ugly city. And the fresh air would certainly be good for you as well.” She squealed. “Oh, my husband’s estate at Fontainebleau will revilize both of you!”

I sighed, looking down at Faith who had declared she had had enough lunch and was curling herself into my chest. “I suppose it may be nice to have a change of scenery.” I immediately thought of Jamie. I had gotten out of one of the attendants that no man matching his description had come to me when I was ill and he had not certainly not appeared since then. Despite, Faith’s flourishing health his actions had very nearly cost her life. I did not believe I was prepared to wait around for him to show himself yet. At the moment the resentment and anger I felt towards Jamie outweighed how much I wanted to share our daughter with him. I could afford to be selfish with her now, at least for a little while. He would go to Spain to complete the mission with Murtaugh and then I would perhaps be able to forgive him when he returned.

And Louise was right even if she didn’t know it. Since I had woken up I had diagnosed Faith’s severely underdeveloped respiratory system as the main problem of her illnesses. Whatever Raymond had done, and I still wanted to know, he had managed to fix most of the damage. Her lungs had begun to mature enough to keep her steady, but the denseness and smells of the city would only harm her. She needed the air and peace of the countryside to help her recover, and I was aware enough to recognize that I needed it to.

So we set off to the countryside. Fergus had eagerly joined us, firmly refusing to leave my side. He seemed enamored with Faith, watching her every minute, shyly scolding me on the rare occasion I I looked away. He had even developed a pet name for her, ma etoile, my star. Fergus, who I suspected had never been outside of his quarter in Paris before he met us, let alone into the countryside, was overjoyed by the openness. There were moments were Fergus seemed lost, but I assumed they were because he missed Jamie. We never spoke of him or of the events that separated us. Faith was more than enough of a conversation topic.

The revolving door of visiting nobles to Louise’s estates were also transfixed by Faith. They marveled at her curly hair, turning darker everyday. Her eyes had become dark blue, the exact shade as her father and aunt.

Like everyone else, I was mystified by my baby, who grew stronger every day. Everything she did seemed like a miracle. I grew to cherish every second with her as I was keenly aware of how close we were to losing each other. Every night I leaned over her cradle just watching her chest go up and down until I could fall asleep. I seemed like I was just waiting for it to stop, for this to not be real, to wake up from this dream where my baby lived. But it didn’t. Her giggles and burps increased with the same frequency as her cries and shrieks. Unfortunately she was not as fond as the nobles as they were of her. She refused to be held by anyone other than Louise, Fergus, and I. Her poops were extremely fowl smelling and she seemed to find it hilarious anytime she peed in someone’s face.

The weeks passed quickly in the country. I suffered through the parade superficial nobles with my daughter in my arms and my son by my side. We spent afternoons in picnicking in the gardens and the nights walking along the lake. Despite the peace, the thought of Jamie still nagged at me. Some days my heart filled with resentment for his cowardice in not coming to see my in my hour of need. Some days I was so angry at him for betraying me with Randall that I could hardly stand to breath. But on other days, I would look into Faith’s blue eyes and see her father. I would be filled with longing for his touch, for his voice. Whenever Faith would do something new I would open my mouth to tell, only to find he wasn’t there.

When the day came that I discovered where he was my heart ached. The Bastille. Alone in prison for three months. The anger was still there even if some of it had washed away. He was there because of his own actions, even if Randall had survived. It had all been for nothing.

But I still went to Paris, leaving Faith in Louise’s capable hands and under Fergus’s ever watchful eye. I found myself in Versailles where I did my duty as a wife and as a mother. Whatever aggressions I still nursed towards Jamie, I still loved him and Faith deserved to have a father. So I did what was required of me. I made the deals and I finally managed to buy his freedom. Instead of waiting for him, I returned to my daughter, still unsure of my reaction to him. He would make his way home after he went to Spain, and then I would deal with him.

I returned to Fontainebleau, determined to put any thoughts of Jamie out of my mind. I implanted myself back into the routine of motherhood. On one of my afternoon walks while Faith was napping I came across Fergus fighting with a stable boy. It was then that he finally told me the story of the brothel.

I listened in rapt horror as he described going to the brothel with Jamie the afternoon of the duel three months ago. Randall had chosen Fergus from the among Madame Elise’s girls and she had offered the poor boy up willingly. I couldn’t help myself from imagining Fergus, my son, being taken by Randall just as Jamie had, and was completely unsurprised when Fergus described Jamie’s reaction. Shock reverberated through my system as I realized Jamie’s true motive for challenging Randall for a duel. I supposed I should have been relieved that Jamie hadn’t killed him where he stood, but I part of me was disappointed he didn’t. My hate for Randall somehow multiplied, but I did not understand how that could be possible.

That night I brought Fergus to my bed to sleep beside me. His distress through reliving Randall had continued to affect him through the rest of the day. As he slept I could feel his terror through his nightmares. I held just like I had held Jamie during his difficult period and how my uncle had held me after the nightmares of my parents death. From that night on he slept either in bed with me or on the floor next to the bed, opposite Faith so that I could have my children surrounding me.
Slowly, my resentment towards Jamie was replaced by my own soul-crushing guilt. Faith was alive in spite of him, but Fergus was safe because of him.

Weeks later the world shifted on its axis again.

The rain had kept Faith and I inside all day so the moment it relented I took her to the garden. She still had some difficulty breathing, but I had combined a cocktail of herbs to help when she struggled. I was almost certain she had developed asthma as a result of her traumatic birth but it was difficult to determine for sure. She was always in much better spirits when she was outside, however, just like her parents.

I found a spot for us in the garden, placing a blanket on the ground so she could roll around to her heart’s content. Her soft murmuring brought me joy I thought I would never feel again in my darkest moments.

“Madame,” I looked up to see one of the estate’s attendants peering at me. “There is a visitor for you.”

I internally groaned, “Please tell them I am indisposed.” I reponsed, anticipating another hapless noble come to ogle my baby. I turned back to Faith, contorting my face to make her smile.

“But Madame,” He said, “It is le seigneur Broch Tuarch - your husband.”

Startled, I whipped away from Faith and started scanning the garden. She promptly burst into tears, making me lean down and pick her up, rocking her back into calmness.

“Claire!” As I rose I saw him coming across the lawn. His face was bearded, he was too skinny, and I could see a definite limp to his step.

He stopped suddenly as his gaze when down from my stricken face to Faith’s form nestled against my chest. I realized in his expression that he had not known if our child was alive. His face, usually so stoic compared to mine, turned from desperation to shock to joy in a matter of seconds.

“Claire!” He called again, rushing forward. On instinct I turned away, pulling Faith closer to me. “Oh, Sassenach.” The name filled with my something I thought I had lost. The special kind of love I reserved for Jamie.

“Jamie.” I spoke for the first time, allowing myself to face him. Faith began to fuss, clawing at my chest. I realized faintly that it was almost her meal time. “You’re here.” I said blankly.

“Oh, Claire. Is... is that our bairn?” He asked.

I nodded. “Her name is Faith.”

“Faith.” He said it like prayer, like he was trying to savor every letter. “Our daughter.”

“Yes, our daughter.” My voice crackled. “Would...would you like to come see her?”

“If you’ll have me.” He said.

I sank to the ground again, gestured him forward. He slowly walked towards me, like a hunter trying to not frighten his prey. I wondered what I looked like to him, how I compared to the woman he had left months before.

He crouched next to me on the grass, his large form too big to fit on the blanket.

“Jamie, this is Faith. Faith, this is your father.” I said, positioning her so they could see each other.

Jamie cleared his throat, “I’m your da.” I could hear the strain in his voice. “Mo ghraidh. Tha mi cho duilich mach eil mi air a bhith an seo. Tha mi air ionndrainn ypu, mo ghraidh.” (My darling. I’m no sorry I have no been here. But I am here now, my darling.)

Jamie seemed transfixed by Faith, watching her as she squirmed in my arms,“Is she...is she alright?” He asked.

I looked up at him, surprised.

“She was born very early, no?”

“Yes, I...she had trouble breathing. Her lungs were not developed when she was born so she could breathe properly. She’ll probably have problems with breathing her entire life. But, I can treat it with some herbs, and the fresh air always helps.” I explained, rocking her gently.

He nodded solemnly, “And you, Sassenach...how are you?”

My throat closed suddenly. “I’m...I’m still here.”

Jamie looked pained. “I thought ye were dead.” He said softly, still gazing at Faith. “When ye fell, I was so sure I’d killed ye. I’m so sorry, Claire.”

I paused, unable to process his words for a moment. “Would you like to hold her?” I asked without thinking.

Jamie’s eyes widened.“Oh please, Sassenach.”

I stopped as memories of the last time Faith had been held by someone unfamiliar started flooding back. Through his niece and nephew, Jamie was no stranger to irritated babies, but his own child may have a different effect. I was about to go back on my offer when I met his eyes. He seemed so eager, like the life had only just flowed back into him.

I handed her off to Jamie, praying that she wouldn’t make a fuss. To my utter surprise nothing of the kind occurred. She seemed almost more at ease than she did when I was holding her. She leaned into his as comfortable as she had with me. And he leaned right back. It was just like I imagined. Faith seemed so small in his large arms but so at home.

“Oh, Claire. I am so sorry.” He seemed impossibly small. “I...I almost killed her. I almost killed you and our daughter.”

I shook my head. “Please, Jamie.” I said softly, “Please, I understand why you did what you did. Fergus explained everything to me. And she’s here. I think if she wasn’t it might be different. I think it would be more difficult to forgive you, but when I look at her...I know that she is a miracle. She is our miracle. Please, can we move on from this. Let us leave the past behind us. I think with you here...I can be whole once again.”

"I love ye, Sassenach, more than I can ever describe." He said quietly. "I swear to you now, I will everything in my power to protect you and our daughter." He nuzzled her cheek gently. "We will begin again."

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 

Faith

Boston, Massachusetts 

Faith Elizabeth Fraser. When I was little, this name had filled my dreams beside images of tartan and rolling hills and magnificent stone houses. A woman with beautiful black hair and a man with a wooden leg. Childhood playmates dressed in styles I didn’t recognize. An achingly familiar calloused hand caressing my forehead. 

But that wasn’t my name. My name was Faith Elizabeth Randall. Faith Fraser had disappeared in 1746, the day before the fateful Battle of Culloden. She had been listed dead alongside her mother, Claire Beauchamp Fraser. The mentions of her or her family in textbooks are exceedingly rare except for a few family documents. A family tree stuffed into a drawer at the British Museum. In that carefully etched tree James Fraser’s branch ends with only one offspring, a daughter who died young, although the tree does not indicate that. It was made only a couple after months the baby was born, in honor of her baptism. Those records are one of the few pieces of evidence that Faith Elizabeth Fraser and her mother ever existed. 

She died young, but Faith Elizabeth Randall survived. Her birth certificate appears in public record on April 20th, 1948.

My entire childhood there were things I could never explain. Memories and details of my life I couldn’t understand. There were thousands of baby pictures of my little sister, Brianna Ellen Randall, around our house. There was not a single one of me before the age of two.

My mother had once answered the question flightingly, “They were lost when we moved to the States. They’re probably in a box somewhere with Frank’s mother’s china.” Seven year old me barely accepted it. Twenty year old me recognizes how terrible of a lie that was. 

My birth certificate reads ‘Faith Elizabeth Randall. Mother: Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall. Father: Franklin Wolverton Randall. Born May 12th 1946 in Oxfordshire, England.’ When it should actually read ‘Faith Elizabeth Fraser. Mother: Claire Beauchamp Fraser. Father: James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Born May 12th 1744 in Paris, France.’ 

Impossible. Unimaginable. Illogical. The story seems ridiculous. But I knew it to be true. Even without my mother’s testimony I seemed to have always known it. 

I remember not living in Boston. Memories so old I wasn’t sure they were mine. But they had to be, because we never spoke of before. They were from the perspective of a child and ever so vague. The huge house and the animals in the yard. The girls my age and the boy a few years older. A young face framed with dark curls and a clever smile. A coarse man with a bushy beard who melted when I was in his arms. A wooden leg and a basket of yarn. 

Large hands who held me and rocked me. Who whispered to me in a language I did not know. Who never sang but whose words could sooth me just as well. Those memories were clearer, of this figure in my mind who never failed to make me feel safe. 

I was born Faith Elizabeth Fraser. I had lived a life with a large family who loved me. Something had happened and everything had changed. I was still loved but by a much smaller family. I had a baby sister but no big brother and the larger man with red hair had been replaced by a lean man with dark hair. My mother was a constant but even parts of her seemed wrong. They seemed lost. 

Nothing made sense. My life was not my own but I would still live it. Because my sister needed a friend and my mother needed her daughter and my...my Frank needed a reality check. 

It wasn’t entirely his fault, not really. But there was a line drawn between when I turned thirteen and finally learned the truth. It wasn’t his fault but nor was it my mother’s or mine. It was fate’s or the universe or God or whoever was making these decisions. Whoever had decided that my mother would fall through a set of standing stones in the Scottish Highlands and live a life of impossibility. Whoever decided which of my mother’s husbands would be the man to raise my sister and I. 

Frank was there for me as much as he was for Brianna, at least physically. His face appeared out of the crowd at every concert and ceremony. He would bring books back from his office that he thought I would be interested in. He paid for the special language tutors I wanted when I was in high school so I could learn the languages my school didn’t offer. German, Chinese, Russian, Ancient Greek, and, after a few long glares between us, Gaelic. 

But it was never the same between us like it was between him and Bree. He looked at her like she was the sun. He looked at me like I was a most duplicitous secret. Which I supposed I was, especially once I learned the truth. 

When I was thirteen the differences became so much more pronounced and suddenly everything changed. The summer after I turned thirteen Frank taught a summer class. It was decided that we were old enough to not need a babysitter. I could look after Bree for a few hours, but not much longer because she had (and still has) a tendency to run off and find her own adventure. They resolved that if we behaved we could come to work with them.  

At first we would go together, usually to the university but sometimes we could be found hiding behind chairs in the surgeon’s lounge. By all accounts I should have preferred Frank’s warm office and the brilliant library we all free range of to the blank white walls and sterile smells of the hospital, but I didn’t. The longer I spent with just my sister and my father the more clear the difference in affection we received. At that point I knew that their personalities matched better and so they tended to spend more time together, but it was more difficult to manage once I saw it so starkly laid out before me. Somehow I was even less Frank Randall’s daughter than my red-haired, blue-eyed sister. 

So I started spending more time at the hospital, avoiding the university that summer at all costs. As a surgeon’s daughter I was put to work cleaning bedpans and manning reception. My mother was enthused by my sudden interest in her line of work, though I think she knew it was less than genuine. I definitely enjoyed it more than Bree would have but I would have preferred to be hiding in a library than wandering the halls of a hospital. But I needed to get as far away from Frank as I could so I snuggled deeper into Mamma’s embrace. 

By the end of the summer I had stopped referring to Frank as Daddy in my mind. I kept up pretenses, still dreading that my detachment and mysterious memories were someone connected. At the time I worried Bree was Frank’s daughter and I was not and was terrified to lose that connection to my sister. 

The final explosion came on Mamma’s birthday in October. Our screaming match was one for the ages. Luckily, Bree and Frank had gone to the bakery to pick up the cake leaving me and my mother alone. 

I had grown more certain as the clues started to pile up. The lack of baby photos. My mother’s hidden chest of unknown items. That neither of them referred to anyone from before we moved to America. The seemingly missing years between the end of the war and Bree’s birth. 

The conclusion was clear to thirteen year old Faith. Frank was most certainly not my father. Some details suggested he was not Bree’s either, but part of me could not fathom why he would dote after her so profoundly if she was not his daughter. Where the confusion ended, my rage began. Frank couldn't care less that I had grown cold with him, sometimes I thought he was grateful I stopped trying, but it was when my anger finally extended to the rest of the world that problems arose. The object of my indignation now had a face and a name: Claire Randall. 

 I was a kid living a life I didn’t belong. Even without the full picture I could understand that much. Everything around me felt wrong, like there was something missing. Through my temper I lost the few friends I had at school. In the course of less than two months my grades had dropped significantly and I had committed the unthinkable in Claire’s opinion. I had ditched school, hung out with some unsavory characters, and gotten myself arrested. 

The arresting officer happened to be a patient of my mother’s and had called her before anyone else out of courtesy. Given that it was my first offense, merely underaged alcohol consumption, and he knew Mamma, I was let off with a warning. Neither of us spoke on the car ride home and Mamma sent Frank and Bree off immediately without uttering a word to her husband about where we had been. 

“Faith.” She had muttered the moment that door closed behind them, rubbing a hand down her face. “What on Earth is going with you?”

I pinched my lips together and glared as hard as I could. I didn’t expect it would work, it never had, but when Mama glanced back at me she let out a strangled breath and averted her eyes. 

“Darling, please just talk to me.” Her words met with more stony silence, she continued. “Faith Elizabeth Randall, you will answer me.”

Is that even my name? I thought bitterly. “I don’t belong there, at that school.” I spat out. 

Her face creased with a kindly expression that only fueled my anger. “You love to learn. And that’s the best place to do it.”

“I’m not going back. You can’t make me.”

“I’m your mother. That is exactly what I am going to do.” Her eyebrow tilted, challenging me. 

I took the bait eagerly, roaring back at her, “I don’t belong there! I don’t belong anywhere. I hate this fucking world! I hate this family and I hate everything about my life!”

In an instant my mother’s eyes were filled with a fury unlike anything I had seen before in her. Frank was the one who’s punishments involved yelling and flailing. My mother’s scoldings always came in disappointment and cold glares. She wore her emotions on her face, unlike me, but she never shouted at her children. I knew she was a force to be reckoned with, with her words as sharp as knives to those she loathed. In all my life, I have never seen my mother so angry as she was at my words. 

“Don’t you dare say that!” She screamed in previously untapped intensity. “Don’t you dare! I have done my best to give you everything. You are healthy and safe and have a chance at an education which is far more than I could say about other children I’ve known. I have fought wars to keep you and your sister safe. I have sacrificed more than you could ever know to give you this life, this life where you have the chance to be whatever you want and be happy. Where you don’t have to spend everyday looking over your shoulder for the next threat. How dare you resent that? How dare you throw away the life I left your father for--”

Claire cut off suddenly, the color draining from her face. But the damage had already been done. 

“My father?” I said coolly. “Not Frank.”

She was shaking slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline from her outburst or fear at what she had just confessed. 

Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. 

“I knew it.” I whispered. The ferocity that had bubbled in my stomach waned as reality set in. I suppose that at the time some part of me thought my suspicion was still just teenage drama or jealousy of my sister. My certainty much less exact than I believed. So when I looked into her eyes, watching her own energy fade and be replaced with a sorrow unknown to me at the time, all I could feel was regret. The man I had known nearly my whole life was genuinely not my father. The life I knew to be my own was a lie. And clearly the memory was painful for my mother so I had caused her more than one kind of grief that night, adding to my own remorse

“I’m--” My mother’s voice broke, something entirely unfamiliar to me at thirteen. “I’m sorry.”

Claire Randall was a paragon of strength in my eyes, however much I had resented her in the last few months. She was one of the first female surgeons in the country and still leagues ahead of her older male colleagues. School friends had often remarked how ethereal she seemed. Not flawless, exactly, but like nothing could touch her. I know now that it is because she had already suffered all the pain one could stand in a lifetime, including the near loss of a child. 

“Who was he?” I asked softly. 

“He was,” She closed her eyes, almost like in prayer. “Everything to me. And we were everything to him.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.” She said simply as if the words held the answers to the world. 

My heart sank. “In the war?” I knew all too well the stories of World War II, from both of my parents once you got enough alcohol in them. But...that timeline definitely didn’t add up. 

To my surprise, Claire let out something akin to a snort. “In a war.” Her eyes snapped open and I saw an uncommon resolve in them. “A very long time ago.”

I blinked. “But how…”

She shook her head. “If I tell you, you have to promise you will believe me. I’ll make the same promise I made your father before you were born. I don’t have to answer all of your questions but I promise I will not lie. All of my words will be the truth, no matter how impossible they seem.”

I nodded, falling backwards into a chair and keeping my eyes glued to my mother’s broken face. 

“You must also promise to never tell Frank.” She plowed forward when I opened my eyes to protest. “He knows most of what I am going to tell you, even if he doesn’t believe it, but he made me promise to never tell you girls. Or to speak of it again.”

“Bree--”

“Yes, Bree is your father’s child as well.” She managed a half smile. “Just look at her. She’s the spit of him.”

Something tumbled forward in my mind as I envisioned my sister’s red hair and blue eyes. Fiery curls dancing in front of my eyes as calloused hands caressed my face. My hand fluttered to my cheek like the phantom fingers were still there. 

“I knew him.” I reasoned. 

Tears glistened in my mother’s eyes as she nodded. “Do you remember him at all? You were very little when you last spent time with him but you saw him again when I was pregnant with Bree.”

I glanced at her skeptically. “What do you mean?”

Claire sighed, sitting down beside me and taking my hand in hers. “We were separated from you for most of the first and second years of your life. You aunt and uncle took care of you while we were away.”

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “What was his name?”

For the first time, my mother smiled clearly. “James Alexander Macolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

“Fraser--” The word sunk to my tongue like one of the candies on Joe’s desk. “Fatih Elizabeth Fraser.” As soon as I said it I was assaulted with another, long-buried memory. 

“Faith Elizabeth Fraser! Ye’ll do well to clean yerself off before dinner. How in Christ’s name do ye manage to dirty yerself so well whenever you step foot outside is beyond me.”

“Auntie Jenny.” I murmured. 

Mamma looked at me in shock but then it dissolved into realization. “Of course you remember Jenny. You were with her so much when you were little.” Regret shown in her eyes. “She was more a mother to her than I was at the time.”

“Please, tell me.”

When my mother took a deep breath to begin, I could never have predicted the words that would come tumbling out. Time stood still, like we were trapped inside the stones ourselves. The story seemed impossible, but somehow with every word more of my life fell into place. 

I was smaller than my sister, in both nature height and physical capability and that was due to my traumatic birth. The scar on my arm was from tumbling into the fireplace when my cousin Jamie tried to carry me across the room when I was four months old (apparently he had received quite the scolding from both Fraser siblings). My talent for languages came from Jamie but my natural ability at French was because Fergus had spoken exclusively his native tongue with me, his petite étoile. 

The warm hug was my Uncle Ian’s as the finger’s running through my hair was my Auntie Jenny. My memory of seizing a scraggly beard in my little hands and giggling came from when  Murtaugh had rode all day and night to bring me to my Craigh na Dun. 

The softly uttered words and the palm on my cheek and the sparkling eyes were my father, were Jamie Fraser, when we said goodbye for the last time. 

At the time everything in her story seemed so overwhelming, but now I know she was just giving me the broad strokes. She entirely left out Jack Randall, who I only learned about years later when Frank tried to wake Mamma from a nightmare. She glossed over Column and Dougal and Geillis, leaving the stories of my great uncles for another day. She quieted when she mentioned her wedding but did her best to impress that while it was arranged, it certainly was not unwelcome. Her tone grew wistful as she spoke of Lallybroch and Murray children. I saw her wipe away tears when she came to the part about Paris and dear Fergus. A strong gust of wind could have pushed her over, she seemed so impossibly fragile when she talked about the Rising and leaving me behind. 

“I didn’t want to leave you.” Mamma grasped my hand in hers. “But I knew you would be safe at Lallybroch. There was no guarantee that your father would be. And--” She let out a strangled sigh. “We still had a job to do. Your father and I so wanted you to grow up in the Scotland we knew and loved but that could only happen if Culloden didn’t.”

I knew about Culloden. I had run my hands over enough of Frank’s books, tracing the names of the clans who, even then, seemed familiar. There was a book, I knew, buried deep in his collections, of the complete genealogy of Scottish clans. But the Fraser line does not list Brian Fraser’s descendents, probably because he was a bastard himself. 

“Jamie knew I wouldn’t leave without you but with Brianna on the way...there was no way he was going to risk both of his children. He convinced Murtaugh to fetch you without telling me. The day was so hectic I barely noticed he wasn’t there. I was just concerned with keeping Jamie and Fergus in one piece. I don’t know how Murtaugh convinced Jenny to let him take you directly into the mouth of the beast. She exhaled as a small smile crept onto her face. “I fought Jamie at first but when Murtaugh appeared out of the woods with you in his arms I knew he was serious. It was too late to make for Lallybroch with the Redcoats hiding in the woods and there was no way I would let you be near the battlefield. In bringing you there, he forced my hand.” 

Her grip on me tightened as she recalled our last moments with Jamie. “When you saw us you almost leapt from Murtaugh’s arms.” She laughed lightly. “I don’t know how you recognized us. It had been months and you were so little when we left, but you did. You in the little dress you inherited from your cousin Maggie with your favorite doll clutched in your hands. You kissed Murtaugh on the nose and then launched yourself at Jamie.” Her eyes darkened. “For a moment I thought seeing you again would convince him to run, but I think all it did was make him more sure of his decision. He knew of this time from what I told him. He knew it was safer, that sickness and infection were less serious. He knew you’d have far more opportunities here than you would there. As much as it pained him, he was determined to see us go.”

Tears were flecking down her cheeks now, landing in droplets on our clasped hands. “Jamie was a stubborn Fraser, almost as stubborn as you and your sisters. If he was determined to die, there was precious little I could do to stop him and with Fergus already away to Lallybroch and you there and me pregnant...” She shut her eyes, attempting to regain her crumbling composure. “I couldn’t argue with him. I knew it would be no use. He had made this decision days, possibly months before Culloden. So I let him hold us and spend our last few hours together as a family.” Each word sounded labored. “And when the time came to leave, you…” Mamma swallowed thickly. “You started to cry for your Da. You didn’t want to leave him and neither did I.” 

There was a pregnant pause where I leaned my head against her shoulder. She spoke again after a while, rubbing circles into the palm of my hand. 

“When we landed back in 1948 you became the quandry to solve.” Mamma swept the hair out of my eyes fondly. “It’s a miracle Frank took me back, especially with you...uh...you were rather vocal about your displeasure for him and essentially everything about this time. The noise was overwhelming for me at first. I can only imagine what it was like for you. And you missed Lallybroch and your family, you know. You asked for them almost every night for the first year. I was…” She sighed. “I wasn’t exactly in the best state at the time either, but I had you to look after. Frank was kind enough, but I worried what would become of you if I wasn’t there. When Bree was born things were easier, especially since it seemed--” Her voice cracked. “Your memories were fading. Your hair was darkening. With every passing day you came into yourself, and in the process...it was easier to see you as you.”

“But harder to see Jamie.” I finished quietly. “Do you...not like that? That I don’t look like Jamie?”

“Oh no, darling!” She said, looking astounded. “First of all, you are most certainly a Fraser and your father’s daughter. And second of all,” Mamma looked me sternly in the eyes. “You are special to me because you are my child, not because you remind me of someone else. I love you for you. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

The moment was broken by Frank and Bree bursting through the door. 

“We got your cake, Mamma.” My sister declared, kicking off her boots in the front hall. 

My mother coughed and just like that she was Claire Randall again, loving mother and reluctant wife. “What took you so long? Did you have to go all the way to Italy for my Tiramisu?” She joked. 

When she stood and glanced back at me, I saw that the ghost of Claire Fraser still clung to her. Jamie Fraser’s wife, the Stuart Witch, Lallybroch’s healer hung in the air like a mirage, dangling over my mother like a blanket. Claire Randall was like a costume. She wore Dr. Randall as an armor. But she held onto Claire Fraser for comfort, only revealing her for her daughters, the last remaining vestiges of the love of her life. 

“Not a word to Frank or your sister, you understand me?” She said seriously. 

I nodded, a blush spreading across my face. “What about what happened earlier?” 

Mamma tilted her head. “As long as it never happens again, I hope we’ll never have to speak of it again. Faith…” She dropped her voice, looking nervously towards the kitchen where Frank and Bree’s voice could be heard. “You do belong here. I know with everything you just heard it might be difficult to believe, but you do. Bree and I need you and I know he doesn’t always show it,” Claire sighed. “But Frank does love you, darling. He just...he has trouble sometimes. He looks at you and still sees the little girl sobbing in the hospital.”

I made a noise in affirmation but to hear words are one thing. To believe them is another entirely. 

“Please, just try. If not for me, then for Jamie.”

“Da.” I uttered softly. 

The motherly smile stretched to something radiant. “ Da, ” I could hear the thinly veiled giddiness in her voice. “Would want you to take every opportunity in this world.” 

From that day forward I swore to do just that. I took everything by storm. I convinced Mamma to sign me up for horseback riding lessons and I gobbled up any language I could. When the end of high school nearer both of my parents encouraged me to continue my studies. I applied to the best colleges in the country that would accept women. It wasn’t on purpose, exactly, but the one I loved the most was the furthest away. I chose the University of London to study linguistics. 

I didn’t cry when Frank died. I held my mother’s hand and I wiped my sister’s tears. I made small talk with the other mourners and tried to ignore their whispers.

“Yes, the older child...so callous about the entire thing. Never got along with poor Professor Randall...I heard she left home the moment she could. Lives in London now and studies something ridiculous...not medicine...apparently the dear has more sense than her poor mother…something about politics or history something...yes, I know, useless.”

I kept my mouth shut like a good alleged daughter of a dead man. I wanted to pounce on their rumors and lies. Defend my mother. Argue my choice of study. Language came easily to me just like numbers came easily to my sister. I wanted to be a translator, travel the globe working for some of the most important people in the world and help them make a difference with their words. Not that it would happen, according to our neighbors and Frank’s friends. But if my mother could become one of the first female surgeons in the country then I could certainly become a professional translator. 

I was already home for Bree’s graduation when I heard the news. It was I who came to collect her from her friends when the hospital called. I walked my mother into our too-empty house. I handled the funeral arrangements despite my mother’s protestations. I watched her composure break and reform a thousand times while we both dealt with Bree’s grief. I masked my own mixed feelings while I calmed my sister. I didn’t allow myself to feel a lick of it until everyone had gone home and then I let it rip. 

I don’t want you to think I’m a terrible person or completely unfeeling. But, unlike my mother or sister, I don’t like wearing my emotions on my face. And...Frank meant something different to me than to them. 

I think he knew I knew, or least he suspected if Mamma hadn’t flat out told him yet. Maybe he just didn’t want to confirm it, to allow the entire family to live in ignorant bliss for a while longer. Logically, I knew he was not a bad man. A bad man would not have agreed to take back his estranged wife and her mysterious child from another, kind of simultaneous marriage. But he certainly had a negative side. He had much prepared to ignore problems until they went away, something I could not stand to do.

In the months after his death, one of those problems was Bree and another was Mamma. Both grieving, but neither allowing the other to do so in their own way. 

I finally got up the courage to ask when I was home for Thanksgiving. 

“I think Brianna should come visit me after Christmas.”

Claire paused at the sudden outburst, her sponge hovering over the plate in her hand. “Well, I’ll have to look into time off, but we could make it work.”

I shook my head, “No, I mean just Bree.”

“Oh.” Her jaw tightened and released. 

“No, Mamma, I just mean,” I sputtered, “You need a break. You’ve spent this entire time looking after us. After Frank,” I lowered my voice, hyper aware of  Bree flipping through photo albums in the other room. “I think you need time to focus on yourself.”

She sighed, “Faith, I’m your mother. It’s my job to take care of you.”

“I know,” I said, “I just think you need some time to figure things out without Bree around. Frank meant something different to Bree than either of us. I know you’ve spent the last five months listening to her deal with her issues and I’m worried about you. You and Frank...I know it wasn’t always easy.”

“Faith,” She sang. “That’s not for you to worry about.”

“Mamma, I’m an adult. You don’t have to play this game with me. I know he was unfaithful and I know you haven’t been that happy couple you pretended to be since I was little. And, I know about...you know.”

She nodded slowly. “It hasn’t been easy, but I did love Frank, just not as much as he deserved.”

In the rare moments that we spoke of what had happened I could see it in her eyes. I didn’t doubt she had loved Frank at some point, but it was achingly clear to me that that love had long since faded. I know it wasn’t on purpose and I wasn’t even sure she realized it, but Frank had begun to represent everything she had lost, everything Bree and I had missed out on. Their love for each other had been supplemented by a shared affection for their children. 

“Then let me take Bree for a week. I know Frank was planning on taking her to England anyway before he died. It might be a good way for her to find closure, and you too. You can take some time to grieve in your own way, without having to pretend that he was the perfect husband and father Bree thinks he was.”

Claire looked at me skeptically. “And what about you. You weren’t always Frank’s biggest fan.”

I swallowed. Frank had certainly been a good, attentive father to Bree and I, but I knew that neither of us could ever get past the barrier between us. I was naturally more like my mother while Bree gravitated towards Frank. She was his little girl. I had long accepted that I would never have the relationship with Frank that Bree did, even before I knew everything. After that I understood why Frank had never seemed to be able to connect with me. To him, I would always be the child who screamed every time he touched her when she was a toddler. Even with Bree’s copper hair and blue eyes, I was the symbol of my parents' past. 

“He wasn’t my father like he was Bree’s.” I said simply. “And she knows it. But I can suffer it for a week. Besides, I’m sure she’d love going to England for the first time.”

Claire smiled lightly. “I’m sure she would,” She glanced at me, seeing me in the special way only mothers can. “Alright.”

My face broke into a smile. “Wonderful. I’ll come home for Christmas and then we’ll leave a few days later. I’ll take her until the holidays are over, give you a chance to relax. Bree! Come in here, I have something to ask you.”

“Fine,” She slipped off the couch and hobbled into the kitchen. 

“Love, how would you feel about visiting Faith after Christmas for the holidays.”

Her eyes widened, “Really?”

“Yep! Just you and me.” I said, grinning.

“Oh, what about Mamma?”

“Well, you know how the holidays are. There’s always something going wrong at the hospital and everyone’s mentally on vacation. It’ll be good to have someone sane on duty. Besides, you should have this time just with your sister.” 

Bree immediately looked hesitant. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother, Faye.”

“You won’t be. It’ll be nice to have some company. I’ll take time off and we can go anywhere you like.”

“Even the really boring places that Daddy would have dragged us to and you would have despised?” 

I laughed. “Even there.”

Another of our differences. Frank and I both studied the past, but I was certainly not as fascinated with architecture and buildings as he had been. I could sit for hours reading ancient texts to discover the meaning of the words, but memorizing facts about battles seemed infinitely boring to me. 

“I’m in. It’ll be good to get out of the house.” She shivered and glanced around. I understood what she meant. Claire had gone to school and back to work when she was very young. I had more memories of a stay-at-home mom, but most of our childhood was spent with Frank. He used to schedule his classes around when we would be home to limit the number of sitters we needed. We still had a revolving door of nannies and caregivers growing up. It disturbed Claire, who in another life could have worked all day and still looked after her children, to her very core. But Frank had certainly been there physically more than Claire when they were children. The house seemed eerily empty without his voice spouting needless facts to anyone who would listen. Bree had always been a captive audience. 

Brianna had intended to live in university housing but had insisted on staying with Mamma after Frank died. She was convinced that Claire shouldn’t be alone. For such an intelligent girl, she missed details because she thought she was so sure of how things were. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come Mamma?” Bree asked.

Claire smiled, “I think you ought to have this time with your sister. I know it’s been a...difficult year for all of us, but I’d like it if we tried to start living a bit more. It’s what Frank would have wanted.”

I was personally a little unconvinced of that. The Frank I knew probably would have wanted us to keep mourning him in solitude forever, but Claire had known a different man than I. 

Bree nodded and I could already see the gears turning in her head. “I’ll start making a list of everything I need and where we should go. Daddy always said that you should leave wiggle room for surprises like cultural events and stuff like that. So I’ll…” She trailed off as she wandered away. 

Mamma glanced at me skeptically. “Are you sure about this?” 

I shrugged. “No turning back now, is there?”