[ The beginning of an apology, in case he finds this as ridiculous as she's wondering it is. She's seen far worse in her lifetime, though that was the first time she's experienced another's pain in that way. ]
[ Claire's mouth opens, even if she isn't replying out loud. It's surprise mostly, and she finishes her whisky in one large swallow. Why even bother with the robe then? Christ. ]
[ Too late for how that sounds, but she isn't sure her sleep-deprived mind could have come up with any better. ]
𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑙𝑦.
Belatedly, Claire realizes she could be dressed in the best finery they've ever seen, because it's the Horizon, but she doesn't care to. instead, she's as promised in her shift and a robe, and she doesn't bother with shoes, either. Lying back on the bed, she lets herself relax and soon enough she's meditating well enough to step into the Horizon.
It's the first time she hasn't gone straight to Lallybroch, and she isn't sure of the structure in front of her.
"John?"
To everyone else, she's called him Lord John when explaining her good fortune of someone arriving from home.
Being English herself, Claire will perhaps recognize the Georgian facade of the building in front of her. It seems a bit odd to be freestanding and not on Curzon Street with its neighbors nearby.
As Claire arrives, John steps out of the front door, smiling in greeting. Much in the same way that Claire had imagined herself dressed for the evening, John has done the same. Albeit in appropriate clothing fit for a night at the club, which means he does have a shirt and breeches on, underneath a robe of his own, as well as a pair of slippers on his stockinged feet. Slippers are a definite must.
"Good evening, my dear," he says brightly, "and welcome to The Beefsteak."
Seeing John, Claire can't help but remember Hilda's gentle push to ask the questions she's mulling over. Even still, she pushes that to the back of her mind and smiles at his greeting before looking up at the building. It's more or less familiar feeling, she simply isn't sure what it means to John; she only knows Beefsteak establishments as dining clubs, so it's a bit curious to her.
"Thank you for having me this late. I admit I'm curious about what this location means to you." It must mean something, to be a comfortable place to spend his time. "You're sure it isn't too late?"
Her robe in Solvunn is simple, but in the Horizon she's made it as comfortable as silk. She has expensive taste, even if she knows how to (and has no problem with) living simply. Why not indulge a little?
"The hour does not matter," he reassures her. "My time is yours. Now come."
He gestures her toward the door and into the hall. The interior is dark and dimly lit, and decorated with a large Turkish rug. While the wooden paneling and general cosmetics of the place are expensive, there is a certain well-loved shabbiness to the place that is endearing.
"The Society for the Appreciation of the English Beefsteak," John says, by way of introduction. "Or the Beefsteak, for short. It is... My club. Well, one of them. But certainly my favorite. Rumor has it my grandfather enrolled me as a member on the day I was born. When I thought of creating a home away from home for myself -- much as you found yourself drawn to thoughts of Lallybroch, I found my own thoughts drawn to here."
He turns, pausing from where he had been leading her through the hallway towards a room in the back. "I hope you are not scandalized," he says, the quirk of a smile on his lips as he finds himself repeating Claire's own words from earlier back at her.
Duly reassured, Claire follows John, the rug soft under her bare feet. She takes in what she can, and when he explains, a wide smile causes the corners of her eyes to wrinkle. She likes a place with history, and she likes that it really does mean something to him.
"I've heard of clubs like this, but of course, I've never been inside of one. As for being scandalized, Jamie has you there by exactly one whore house." One eyebrow raises, smile turning to a smirk. "If I haven't told you that already, do feel free to ask."
She hates being so blind to everything, but she trusts that John won't use it against her. It is disorienting though, to be on the other side of things.
A whore house? John raises his eyebrows at that, equal parts unsurprised (this is Jamie Fraser they are talking about) and scandalized on Claire's behalf. It's not the sort of place a lady should be present, no matter how outspoken and independent the lady in question.
"You have not," he says. "Dare I ask?"
After a moment's consideration, he leads her through into a room just toward the back of the hall. A group of well-loved, overstuffed chairs sit grouped together near the window by the edge of the room, and several more before a gently crackling fireplace. While John might usually gravitate toward the Hermits' Corner, as it is called, for a bit of quiet conversation, with no one else there but them there is no need just now. And so he leads Claire to the fire, gesturing for her to sit with him. This conversation deserves a comfortable spot. And perhaps a drink, if she is amenable.
A drink is probably needed in all honesty, and she isn't worried about the after effects, which is the bright side of being able to meet in such a place.
"It's where he was living when I found him again. He thought I'd be alright to continue living there." She's explaining as she sits, and nods at the offer of a drink, holding up two fingers for a double as she continues.
"I suppose you can guess where I fell on the matter. Although, being told I still looked young enough to play the part by the women at breakfast the next morning wasn't unflattering." She decides to be comfortable, curling into their seating with one leg tucked under the other.
"His print shop burned and we had to run anyway. Quite the welcome back."
John's eyebrows remain raised as he crosses the room to the decanter to pour out two glasses of sherry for the pair of them. It may not be Claire's first drink of choice, but it's always on hand at the Beefsteak, and in John's experience it's always been pleasant to drink over a conversation.
"One could never accuse your husband of living a dull life," John allows, turning back toward Claire and crossing back to hand her a glass, folding himself into the chair next to her. "If I had known his residence at the time was such a place, however, I've blocked it from my mind. I will admit, it was a relatively busy time of my own life." Marrying Isobel. Settling into life with her and young Willie. Not to mention his continued work for King and Country, in the Black Chamber.
He flicks a smile at her, tipping his glass toward her in something of a toast before taking a sip, before moving to cradle it in his hands.
"You wished to speak with me about nightmares," he says, gently.
"I'll go out on a limb and say keeping up with Frasers can be an uphill battle." She smiles in spite of herself, then tips her glass in return before taking a generous sip. It isn't her drink of choice, no, but it's good sherry. She's still relishing the feel of it going down even as she turns events over in her mind. First, a bit of context.
"When I arrived I wasn't sleeping much at all. The separation from Jamie, and truly thinking I wouldn't see him again...not to mention getting used to all of this, it was overwhelming. I've adapted, a little. But now when I sleep, it's as though something awful from the past has been plucked at random to mix with what I've seen here."
She looks tired with her guard down, less put together than during waking hours. It occurs to her that John exudes a sort of comfort, finding herself at ease around him in a way that surprises her. Less so after their first Horizon meeting, but it's still there.
"Tonight was about Bree," rubbing her face, she sighs softly, "and not being able to get to her. I could hear the sounds of a battlefield, but I also knew it was the woods of Solvunn I was running through." Both words colliding.
John offers her an expression in response to her commentary about keeping up with the Frasers as if to suggest you have no idea, but makes no further reply. Settling himself down for the moment to listen instead.
He isn't certain exactly of what has her turning to him for this comfort. Not that he isn't grateful for it, of course. He cherishes the friendship they had cultivated together, in their loss, more than he can say.
His expression softens as she describes her dream. Her nightmare. Of her daughter in danger, and being unable to help. He contemplates reaching out to touch her, to offer what comfort he might, but is not certain how such a gesture might be perceived and so he settles instead for what he might offer in words instead.
"You love them," he says. "It is hard not to worry, when you cannot be there to protect them. And when they are particularly talented for finding themselves in trouble." He flashes her a smile, hoping that comment comes off as the jest he had intended it to be. "They are so very much alike, you know. Your daughter and your husband. And William. They must have bred stubborn-mindedness into their line."
Claire nods her agreement, letting her thumb run around the rim of her glass as she stares into it before taking a small sip. At the comparison of their children to Jamie, it occurs to her that of all the conversations she's had with her husband, the one about William is one she wishes they'd been able to have properly. It was stilted and rushed before, so she'd filed it away as something to ask him more about after they'd returned Young Ian home.
In Jamie's absence, her eyes lift to meet John's; he can probably guess what her follow-up might be, considering how far in his past she is. There are things she doesn't know anymore—if he ever told her at all. "What was he like to raise? Because I would love it if someone understood what ages two through four were like for me, from an emotional warfare perspective." She's laughing as she asks; Jamie is one of the stubbornest people she's ever met in her life excluding patients. (But even adding that in, he still wins.) Or so she thought until Brianna was mobile. Then, all hell broke loose when she could talk.
"Warfare committed, might I add, by a toddler who refused to wear clothing at all." She's laughing again, mostly joking, but Bree could throw a tantrum like no other child on Earth, Claire was convinced at the time.
John opens his mouth to remind Claire that she has met William -- but, no. She has not, has she? Not even for their brief stay at Fraser's Ridge, because of course for her, Fraser's Ridge has not even been built yet.
He lets out a huff of a laugh and raises a hand to rub tiredly across his face.
"You know," he says, "hearing a thing like that does not surprise me in the least."
Taking in a deep breath, he does his best to collect his thoughts before glancing back up at her with a smile that is equal parts sad, affectionate, and exasperated about their children.
"I cannot claim to have raised him from infancy," he says. "Isobel and I... We were not married until William was four? Five? Time passes so quickly. But as a close friend of their family, and." He flicks her a slightly more guarded smile. "As overseer of your husband's parole, I did visit often."
"Four and five carry on the same reign of terror, believe me," she says with a smile before taking a sip of her sherry. Should she jump on the chance to bring up Jamie, since John's brought up Ardsmuir, or is it too soon? She literally only walked through the door what feels like a few moments ago, so Claire decides to wait, biding her time.
"There's a saying about raising children, that the days are long but the years are short. I can remember looking at Bree the day she graduated from high school and thinking it wasn't so long ago that she needed me for everything."
And now she's an adult with her own life, for some reason in the past. That mystery is one Claire doesn't feel as compelled to know the details of, not yet. It's enough to know that she'll see Bree again sooner rather than later.
"And Isobel was a fine mother, I assume?"
William isn't hers, there's no reason to wonder so much, but even this question Jamie couldn't answer. Her curiosity is getting the best of her, she must admit.
John's smile is soft and a bit sad. He will always feel more than a little bit of regret, when it comes to Isobel. That he could not give her what she wanted in a husband, be what she needed.
"She was kind," he says. "She always saw the best in people. She never had trouble making conversation, or friends. She loved her family very much, including myself, despite my faults. She was everything a boy could ask for in a step-mother, and more."
His expression saddens further. "She was a bright light that we both lost far too soon. William was only ten years old, and she passed of the flux on their passage to join me in Jamaica. It is a true regret of mine that I was not there with him, to ease that loss."
Edited (needed this addition) 2023-07-01 22:03 (UTC)
It doesn't matter what her relationship with John is, that never does when it comes to comforting someone, and so at his obvious sadness, she reaches out to squeeze his free hand gently. She can't imagine what she would do if Brianna had been alone, without her at that age, and something happened to Frank. It's an awful thought, and her hand stays where it is.
"She sounds lovely, truly. A kind person with a good heart, who only loved you both." Moving her hand at least, she offers a small but warm smile.
"You're regretting something you couldn't possibly have anticipated, but I do understand. It's difficult not to take on those moments as a parent. No doubt William will always remember how it felt to be loved by her."
Other memories fade, but feelings will always stand out. She has no real memories of her parents anymore, but when she does think of them, there's a faded sense of love and safety, and she was much younger than William when her parents died. There's hope yet, that he has more to hold onto of his mother.
He is grateful for the comfort she offers, even if Isobel's loss is far in the past for him now. He offers her a soft smile, shifting his hand underneath hers to squeeze it back.
"William loved her very much," he agrees. "It took him some time to forgive me for my own role in his life after that, I think. Not that he blamed me for her death, but that my position caused him such upheaval."
He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly.
"And now -- he has taken up a commission and is a captain in the army," he adds. "Taken up the family business, I suppose you might say. I am proud of him. But there is not a day that goes by that I do not worry for him as well."
"I would be terrified," Claire admits freely. "Knowing Bree's not in her time is—" Pausing, she exhales after gathering her thoughts, gazing at something decorative on the wall as she speaks.
"I never wanted her to follow me. To have her with us and for Jamie to meet her is a gift, but I know how difficult that life is. She's never lived a day of hers without being able to flick a switch and turn on the lights. Food from all over the world in one grocery store has always been available her just down the street from our home. Sleeping outdoors was for fun and our family vacations, never out of necessity."
Claire doesn't mean to suggest Brianna couldn't handle it on her own, and so feels compelled to add: "She's tough, and she's strong, but so am I. And I know the things that have happened to me."
Draining her sherry, she covers her mouth with the back of her hand for a moment. "Just as you know all the things that can happen in war," she finishes after dropping her hand to her lap again.
John offers her a soft smile, understanding what she had meant, even if he hadn't necessarily understood all the references she had used in the process. Switch on the lights...?
"Yes, I do," he agrees, quietly.
He toys with his own glass of sherry between his fingers for a moment, before draining it and setting it aside. Sitting forward in his chair and lacing his fingers together before himself and fixing his gaze upon them for a breath before he speaks again.
"I cannot tell you that the world I live in is a kind place, for we both know it is not," he says. "But that does not mean that there is not a place for kindness within it. I have known it often, these past ten years or so of our acquaintance, from you and your daughter both." His smile softens. "Once you found it in yourself to forgive me, that is."
The first part of what he says is true enough, and a good reminder. There are kind people in the world; even on other worlds, as it turns out. Then he continues speaking, and Claire regards him curiously. She's close to wanting to have the conversation about who she is to him and why, but not this late at night, and not when she's had a run of bad sleep.
"Did it take me long to do that? Because if it did, that wasn't your fault, you know. It's..." Claire trails off, then tilts her head as she looks at John.
"I'm sure we've discussed what I was feeling in our time together?" It feels as if she's being cross-examined on her own thoughts, a feeling that's unsettling.
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𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑢𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡. 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠.
[ Rubbing her face, she sighs softly, for her part not knowing if its easier not to have the conversation in person or not. ]
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒.
[ The beginning of an apology, in case he finds this as ridiculous as she's wondering it is. She's seen far worse in her lifetime, though that was the first time she's experienced another's pain in that way. ]
no subject
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝑀𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐴𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒, 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑢𝑚𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠.
[John raises his head from the wall, opening his eyes as the realization strikes him.]
𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟? 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒-𝑡𝑜-𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡, 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒.
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𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑧𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑒?
[ There's the hint of teasing; she doesn't truly feel the need to ask, although her next question is genuine. ]
𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛?
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𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒.
𝐴𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑡, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒! 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝐴𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑, 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛. 𝑊𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝐿𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑐ℎ, 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒?
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𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓, 𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑, 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑.
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𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠.
𝑀𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠. 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒?
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[ Too late for how that sounds, but she isn't sure her sleep-deprived mind could have come up with any better. ]
𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑙𝑦.
Belatedly, Claire realizes she could be dressed in the best finery they've ever seen, because it's the Horizon, but she doesn't care to. instead, she's as promised in her shift and a robe, and she doesn't bother with shoes, either. Lying back on the bed, she lets herself relax and soon enough she's meditating well enough to step into the Horizon.
It's the first time she hasn't gone straight to Lallybroch, and she isn't sure of the structure in front of her.
"John?"
To everyone else, she's called him Lord John when explaining her good fortune of someone arriving from home.
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As Claire arrives, John steps out of the front door, smiling in greeting. Much in the same way that Claire had imagined herself dressed for the evening, John has done the same. Albeit in appropriate clothing fit for a night at the club, which means he does have a shirt and breeches on, underneath a robe of his own, as well as a pair of slippers on his stockinged feet. Slippers are a definite must.
"Good evening, my dear," he says brightly, "and welcome to The Beefsteak."
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"Thank you for having me this late. I admit I'm curious about what this location means to you." It must mean something, to be a comfortable place to spend his time. "You're sure it isn't too late?"
Her robe in Solvunn is simple, but in the Horizon she's made it as comfortable as silk. She has expensive taste, even if she knows how to (and has no problem with) living simply. Why not indulge a little?
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"The hour does not matter," he reassures her. "My time is yours. Now come."
He gestures her toward the door and into the hall. The interior is dark and dimly lit, and decorated with a large Turkish rug. While the wooden paneling and general cosmetics of the place are expensive, there is a certain well-loved shabbiness to the place that is endearing.
"The Society for the Appreciation of the English Beefsteak," John says, by way of introduction. "Or the Beefsteak, for short. It is... My club. Well, one of them. But certainly my favorite. Rumor has it my grandfather enrolled me as a member on the day I was born. When I thought of creating a home away from home for myself -- much as you found yourself drawn to thoughts of Lallybroch, I found my own thoughts drawn to here."
He turns, pausing from where he had been leading her through the hallway towards a room in the back. "I hope you are not scandalized," he says, the quirk of a smile on his lips as he finds himself repeating Claire's own words from earlier back at her.
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"I've heard of clubs like this, but of course, I've never been inside of one. As for being scandalized, Jamie has you there by exactly one whore house." One eyebrow raises, smile turning to a smirk. "If I haven't told you that already, do feel free to ask."
She hates being so blind to everything, but she trusts that John won't use it against her. It is disorienting though, to be on the other side of things.
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"You have not," he says. "Dare I ask?"
After a moment's consideration, he leads her through into a room just toward the back of the hall. A group of well-loved, overstuffed chairs sit grouped together near the window by the edge of the room, and several more before a gently crackling fireplace. While John might usually gravitate toward the Hermits' Corner, as it is called, for a bit of quiet conversation, with no one else there but them there is no need just now. And so he leads Claire to the fire, gesturing for her to sit with him. This conversation deserves a comfortable spot. And perhaps a drink, if she is amenable.
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"It's where he was living when I found him again. He thought I'd be alright to continue living there." She's explaining as she sits, and nods at the offer of a drink, holding up two fingers for a double as she continues.
"I suppose you can guess where I fell on the matter. Although, being told I still looked young enough to play the part by the women at breakfast the next morning wasn't unflattering." She decides to be comfortable, curling into their seating with one leg tucked under the other.
"His print shop burned and we had to run anyway. Quite the welcome back."
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"One could never accuse your husband of living a dull life," John allows, turning back toward Claire and crossing back to hand her a glass, folding himself into the chair next to her. "If I had known his residence at the time was such a place, however, I've blocked it from my mind. I will admit, it was a relatively busy time of my own life." Marrying Isobel. Settling into life with her and young Willie. Not to mention his continued work for King and Country, in the Black Chamber.
He flicks a smile at her, tipping his glass toward her in something of a toast before taking a sip, before moving to cradle it in his hands.
"You wished to speak with me about nightmares," he says, gently.
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"When I arrived I wasn't sleeping much at all. The separation from Jamie, and truly thinking I wouldn't see him again...not to mention getting used to all of this, it was overwhelming. I've adapted, a little. But now when I sleep, it's as though something awful from the past has been plucked at random to mix with what I've seen here."
She looks tired with her guard down, less put together than during waking hours. It occurs to her that John exudes a sort of comfort, finding herself at ease around him in a way that surprises her. Less so after their first Horizon meeting, but it's still there.
"Tonight was about Bree," rubbing her face, she sighs softly, "and not being able to get to her. I could hear the sounds of a battlefield, but I also knew it was the woods of Solvunn I was running through." Both words colliding.
"In any case, it was unpleasant."
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He isn't certain exactly of what has her turning to him for this comfort. Not that he isn't grateful for it, of course. He cherishes the friendship they had cultivated together, in their loss, more than he can say.
His expression softens as she describes her dream. Her nightmare. Of her daughter in danger, and being unable to help. He contemplates reaching out to touch her, to offer what comfort he might, but is not certain how such a gesture might be perceived and so he settles instead for what he might offer in words instead.
"You love them," he says. "It is hard not to worry, when you cannot be there to protect them. And when they are particularly talented for finding themselves in trouble." He flashes her a smile, hoping that comment comes off as the jest he had intended it to be. "They are so very much alike, you know. Your daughter and your husband. And William. They must have bred stubborn-mindedness into their line."
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In Jamie's absence, her eyes lift to meet John's; he can probably guess what her follow-up might be, considering how far in his past she is. There are things she doesn't know anymore—if he ever told her at all. "What was he like to raise? Because I would love it if someone understood what ages two through four were like for me, from an emotional warfare perspective." She's laughing as she asks; Jamie is one of the stubbornest people she's ever met in her life excluding patients. (But even adding that in, he still wins.) Or so she thought until Brianna was mobile. Then, all hell broke loose when she could talk.
"Warfare committed, might I add, by a toddler who refused to wear clothing at all." She's laughing again, mostly joking, but Bree could throw a tantrum like no other child on Earth, Claire was convinced at the time.
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He lets out a huff of a laugh and raises a hand to rub tiredly across his face.
"You know," he says, "hearing a thing like that does not surprise me in the least."
Taking in a deep breath, he does his best to collect his thoughts before glancing back up at her with a smile that is equal parts sad, affectionate, and exasperated about their children.
"I cannot claim to have raised him from infancy," he says. "Isobel and I... We were not married until William was four? Five? Time passes so quickly. But as a close friend of their family, and." He flicks her a slightly more guarded smile. "As overseer of your husband's parole, I did visit often."
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"There's a saying about raising children, that the days are long but the years are short. I can remember looking at Bree the day she graduated from high school and thinking it wasn't so long ago that she needed me for everything."
And now she's an adult with her own life, for some reason in the past. That mystery is one Claire doesn't feel as compelled to know the details of, not yet. It's enough to know that she'll see Bree again sooner rather than later.
"And Isobel was a fine mother, I assume?"
William isn't hers, there's no reason to wonder so much, but even this question Jamie couldn't answer. Her curiosity is getting the best of her, she must admit.
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"She was kind," he says. "She always saw the best in people. She never had trouble making conversation, or friends. She loved her family very much, including myself, despite my faults. She was everything a boy could ask for in a step-mother, and more."
His expression saddens further. "She was a bright light that we both lost far too soon. William was only ten years old, and she passed of the flux on their passage to join me in Jamaica. It is a true regret of mine that I was not there with him, to ease that loss."
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"She sounds lovely, truly. A kind person with a good heart, who only loved you both." Moving her hand at least, she offers a small but warm smile.
"You're regretting something you couldn't possibly have anticipated, but I do understand. It's difficult not to take on those moments as a parent. No doubt William will always remember how it felt to be loved by her."
Other memories fade, but feelings will always stand out. She has no real memories of her parents anymore, but when she does think of them, there's a faded sense of love and safety, and she was much younger than William when her parents died. There's hope yet, that he has more to hold onto of his mother.
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"William loved her very much," he agrees. "It took him some time to forgive me for my own role in his life after that, I think. Not that he blamed me for her death, but that my position caused him such upheaval."
He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly.
"And now -- he has taken up a commission and is a captain in the army," he adds. "Taken up the family business, I suppose you might say. I am proud of him. But there is not a day that goes by that I do not worry for him as well."
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"I never wanted her to follow me. To have her with us and for Jamie to meet her is a gift, but I know how difficult that life is. She's never lived a day of hers without being able to flick a switch and turn on the lights. Food from all over the world in one grocery store has always been available her just down the street from our home. Sleeping outdoors was for fun and our family vacations, never out of necessity."
Claire doesn't mean to suggest Brianna couldn't handle it on her own, and so feels compelled to add: "She's tough, and she's strong, but so am I. And I know the things that have happened to me."
Draining her sherry, she covers her mouth with the back of her hand for a moment. "Just as you know all the things that can happen in war," she finishes after dropping her hand to her lap again.
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"Yes, I do," he agrees, quietly.
He toys with his own glass of sherry between his fingers for a moment, before draining it and setting it aside. Sitting forward in his chair and lacing his fingers together before himself and fixing his gaze upon them for a breath before he speaks again.
"I cannot tell you that the world I live in is a kind place, for we both know it is not," he says. "But that does not mean that there is not a place for kindness within it. I have known it often, these past ten years or so of our acquaintance, from you and your daughter both." His smile softens. "Once you found it in yourself to forgive me, that is."
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"Did it take me long to do that? Because if it did, that wasn't your fault, you know. It's..." Claire trails off, then tilts her head as she looks at John.
"I'm sure we've discussed what I was feeling in our time together?" It feels as if she's being cross-examined on her own thoughts, a feeling that's unsettling.
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