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.
John lets out the breath of a laugh, feeling a bit strange to have to repeat some of the conversations they have already had himself, though of course he understands why they must. He nods in response to her question.
"We did," he says, softly. "Though it took us some time to do so, and I may have been deathly ill at the time. I am grateful to not have to revisit that particular part of the conversation this time around."
His smile saddens slightly. "I had thought you jealous. Of the time I spent with Jamie, while you were... Elsewhere. That you felt uncomfortable with my feelings for him. I think perhaps in some regards that my assessment had been true." He raises his eyes to meet hers. "But surely you know that he has not, nor will he ever want for me. He may have trusted me to raise his son, but it was for William's sake, not my own."
"That's right, measles, you said?" It would have been awful to go through, but it makes sense Claire stayed with him and that they learned so much about one another. There would have been plenty of time to talk, for them to begin to understand the other.
At his words, Claire reaches out to squeeze his arm gently. "I know, John. I don't know what I said then, but it was the amount of time. God, you had more time with him when I was gone, than I've spent with Jamie our entire marriage." This is incredibly raw now, being so freshly reunited and then torn apart again. Squeezing his arm again, her hand drops as she sighs quietly.
"It was a sort of jealousy. Just not the type you might have feared, and not rational in any sense considering where you two were for the majority of that time."
It wasn't as if they were gallivanting the countryside and having a grand time, for Christ's sake.
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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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"We did," he says, softly. "Though it took us some time to do so, and I may have been deathly ill at the time. I am grateful to not have to revisit that particular part of the conversation this time around."
His smile saddens slightly. "I had thought you jealous. Of the time I spent with Jamie, while you were... Elsewhere. That you felt uncomfortable with my feelings for him. I think perhaps in some regards that my assessment had been true." He raises his eyes to meet hers. "But surely you know that he has not, nor will he ever want for me. He may have trusted me to raise his son, but it was for William's sake, not my own."
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At his words, Claire reaches out to squeeze his arm gently. "I know, John. I don't know what I said then, but it was the amount of time. God, you had more time with him when I was gone, than I've spent with Jamie our entire marriage." This is incredibly raw now, being so freshly reunited and then torn apart again. Squeezing his arm again, her hand drops as she sighs quietly.
"It was a sort of jealousy. Just not the type you might have feared, and not rational in any sense considering where you two were for the majority of that time."
It wasn't as if they were gallivanting the countryside and having a grand time, for Christ's sake.