dishonests | ↳ ic inbox

[ Jamie isn't sure there's anything in his chest now but guilt and self loathing. Does that mean he's still capable of feeling? Well he doesn't really know. It doesn't seem like feeling, but something else, something emptier.

His world has changed in every way, upside down and torn to shreds. They should have never left this place. Never left their friends and the things they care for. People they care for.

Since being back 5 days ago, Jamie's not told anybody that he's here. He's not spoken to any friends, he's not visited anywhere familiar. It might be the guilt that's held him back, not giving him the permission to be anything that would even resemble himself. He told himself he's here for a purpose, and it's that purpose that 2 nights ago had him in another girl's bed.

If he though he was empty before, he was wrong. But now, now he feels truly hollow. Hollow, and drunk, as it happens. Not unsurprising, it seems a constant state. He hasn't dared to go near the farm, and yet tonight he can't get the thought out of his mind that he needs something that's there. A ring that Claire gave him. The thought of it consumes him.

So the middle of the night in the snow and the dark seems a perfect time to make his way out of the city and towards those haunted old rooms. He doesn't enter like he owns the place, and he supposes he doesn't any more. Just like Lallybroch. He's lost everything. So a side door is tried, and another looking for something that might be open. He makes it inside, though he's hardly as quiet as he might think he is.

Straight away, he heads for the stairs. ]

[ the farm is still standing. not much else can be said for it, since cassidy only had three days after the original owners left before the storm hit. he did make sure the animals were cared for during the worst of it, but there's been no sign of green since the initial blizzard. the fields are a blanket of white. cassidy's tracks and those of other farmhands ( and assorted animals, mostly the dogs ) draw dotted lines between the house and the stables and animal pens.

keeping the farm running has been his main focus since they left. it has less to do with any sort of love he has for farming ( he has very little ) and more to do with wanting to honor and preserve his memories of claire and jamie. since they left he's spent a fair amount of time at the house, not just for the purposes of tending to the animals, or making sure the food they left behind doesn't go to waste, or on a few occasions using their bed, but because the house still feels like them. in a masochistic way, it's comforting.

the night jamie decides to visit his old home is a night when cassidy has decided to stay over. he'd spent the afternoon with the animals. by the time the sun set, he was cold and more than a little tired, and the trek back to the beach didn't seem worth the effort. he's sleeping soundly in their bed when the noise wakes him.

jamie's dirk is in his hand before he knows what's happening. he follows the noise to the stairwell and waits at the top, just around the corner. he's never had to deal with intruders in this place, but his old instincts are in overdrive, and as soon as jamie arrives at the top, he'll be greeted by the cold steel of his own blade against his neck. ]

Who goes? Speak, or I'll cut your throat ear to ear.

[ there's no real logic that had played into his coming here, no stopping to consider the fact there's likely someone here. to him, it's just the echo of what once was, but of course life goes on, even if his does not. even if cassidy weren't there to find him, surely one of the animals would. the dogs if nothing else. but realising that would take a level of thought he's simply not employing.

the fact he's blind drunk certainly doesn't help either.

he's no stranger to the feel of cold metal that could pierce his skin. maybe if he had more about him right now he'd recognise it as his own blade, but he doesn't. what he does recognise though, is the voice of the man that delivers the warning.

jamie's hands both lift, surrender, and when he speaks his voice is gruff and raw. ]

Well I suppose ye might but it'd make an awful mess on the carpet.

Edited 2017-01-30 13:28 (UTC)

[ it's late, and the last week has taken a toll on cassidy that he can feel in his bones, and for a moment he's sure he's dreaming. more than once, he's looked out at the fields and expected to see jamie, or looked at the doorway to the farmhouse and expected to see claire leaning against the frame. he's woken up and expected to find himself once again in the easy rhythm they'd had before they left, until he remembered that they were gone.

this feels like one of those moments. he's waiting for the realization to hit, waiting to remember that claire and jamie are gone and they're probably not coming back. but it never does. instead he's struck again and again by the sight of a shadow the size of jamie standing in front of him, jamie's voice echoing in his ears.

the dirk hits the floor with a dull thud. ]

Jamie...?

[ he says it carefully, as if saying it too loudly or too forcefully will make the man in question disappear. in the next moment, his arms are around jamie, his chin hooked over his shoulder. seconds pass, measured in the rapid thudding of his heart, and jamie's still there, solid and real and reeking of whisky. ]

Christ, [ he says, his voice thick, ] you bloody Scottish bastard. I ought to gut you where you stand.

[ jamie doesn't deserve any measure of comfort, that's what he tells himself. he'd looked for it, days gone, and found himself in another lasses bed. there's nothing he deserves but oblivion in whatever form that might come.

yet when cassidy's arms are around him; a living breathing soul, and more than that a friend, a friend he had held so dear, and who he never expected to see again: it makes something break inside him.

he's stiff, for a moment, like some great immovable rock, but then a shift and his own arms lift, wrapping around the other man and gripping him just as tight. when he speaks, the slur to his voice is clear enough. ]

Aye I pray ye would.

[ as the waves of shock ebb, the pieces start to fall into place. between the drunkenness, the fact that jamie's alone, that he's back at all — something must have gone wrong. but even as the realization dawns, cassidy breathes in deep and tightens his embrace, soaking in the moment just a little longer.

then he lets go. ]

You must be mistaking me for someone kind. [ his arms fall, though his hands linger around the bend in jamie's arm. ] How is it you're back so soon?

[ well. soon is relative, isn't it? and there's not enough light in the hallway for cassidy to see whether jamie's aged or not. a better question is: ]

How long has it been? [ for you goes unsaid. ]

[ the grip released, jamie doesn't feel relieved for it. but he finds himself glad (or as close as he can get to that) for the fact the other man doesn't move away. he's there, close, his hand near and that's something. it feels like something.

so it's soon then, that's truly the first jamie has known of it. uncertain of if it had been days, weeks, months, and with no desire to check, not until now. ]

A year. [ his voice is hoarse, worn. ] Or thereabouts. I'm a dead man walking.

A year? [ he raises one hand to his forehead, pushing it back through his hair. ] Christ, man. It's not been but a week.

[ still, one year is better than two. or twenty. ]

You seem alive to me. [ thank god. ] Just drunk as an emperor. Come, now. Let's sit you down.

[ gripping jamie's elbow, he steers him from the hallway towards the bedroom. the master bedroom. he glances at jamie as they near it, and then at the space over jamie's shoulder, as if expecting to see someone trailing behind him. there's no one.

although thinking about the possible answers sends a cold trickle down his spine, he asks anyway, with a note of concern: ] Where's Claire?

[ jamie walks, but he can barely feel the ground beneath his feet and in truth he wouldn't be able to answer truthfully if it's the drink or something else that causes it. what he does know though is as he steps into the bedroom he shared with claire, he feels as though he's stepping into a church, some hallowed space. he shouldn't be here.

were there more about him, maybe jamie would question the disturbed sheets, the warmth around him that says this man has been sleeping here. but not now, or if he thinks to, he cares not either way.

he's lost somewhere then, lost in a memory, a glaze over his eyes, but of course that name would draw him back, lift his gaze to stare at his old friend with a sudden clarity in his eyes. There's no way to answer that isn't painful. ]

Gone. I sent her back. I had to. She's gone.

[ the air becomes too thin to breathe after jamie utters the word cassidy least wanted to hear. well, the word he least wanted to hear was dead, but gone is a close second. too often one is used in place of the other. but the words that follow loosen the knot in cassidy's chest, allowing him to draw a breath. not dead, then.

he still doesn't know what's meant by i sent her back, until he remembers that she wasn't actually of their time. in eudio, she'd been twice displaced. cassidy wonders if that's the root of it, but he doesn't know if jamie's in any fit state to answer more questions. he lays a hand over jamie's and squeezes in an attempt to be reassuring. ]

I'll fetch some water. Bide here a moment. [ then he rises from the bed, hoping it's not a mistake to leave jamie alone in his and claire's marital bed. he leaves the light off just in case and slips down the stairs.

the dogs greet him in the kitchen. ] Sleeping on the job, were you? [ they just watch him expectantly as he rummages in the cabinet for a glass and fills it with water from the sink, muttering about useless bloody mongrels.

when he climbs the stairs again, the dogs are at his heels. but when they catch jamie's scent, they dart around cassidy's legs and into the room ahead of him. he rolls his eyes and pauses at the landing to snatch jamie's dirk off the floor. with the dirk in one hand and the glass in the other, he carries on. ]

Here. [ returning to the bed, he hands the water to jamie. ] Drink hearty, you drunk ape.

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action; late night on 21st. (for whenever just adding to your pile tbh)

weeps quietly

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