Chapter Text
Jamie was nervous. He felt sick with nerves. He hadn’t been able to stomach his breakfast, and he’d barely choked down his dinner the night before. His gut churned and cramped, just as it had since he first came to this mad conclusion. His clothes itched on his skin and the collar of his best woolen shirt was too tight on his neck. Jamie’s disquiet spilled into the great bay stallion as his grooming roughened and the horse shifted, pinning his ears back. Jamie exhaled slowly and slid the curry comb over the horse's coat, murmuring soft reassurance to the creature. The whispered words were to calm himself just as much as they were for the stallion.
Jamie hadn’t felt like this since his wedding night. Or since…well, the dark expanse of time that followed the sound of Black Jack and Claire’s fading footsteps at Wentworth Prison. But Jamie needed to do this. He needed to be sure Willie would be safe from harm and cared for. Jamie needed to be sure that John Grey wasn’t…that he wasn’t Randall, despite sharing some of the man’s indecencies. This was the only way Jamie knew to take the true measure of a man, and he would do what he must.
Yes, Jamie had John Grey at Ardsmuir. That has been… a different thing entirely from what he had planned — or so he hoped. He’d done the Major a great disservice that night, truly. Jamie’s time in that wet, cold prison was a dark spot in his life, and what he’d done to Grey had been the pinnacle of the sins he’d committed there. Jamie didn't understand why the man didn’t have him killed on that whipping post after what he’d done. If Grey took his revenge on him today, then so be it. Though, for his son’s sake, it would be the last thing he would ever do.
They’d never discussed the night they’d shared, afterwards. Grey acted as if it had never happened. The nearest they’d come to speaking of it had been their disastrous fight in the very same stable where he stood.
I tell you, sir, were I to take you to my bed now—I could make you scream. And by God, I would do it .
The hair on Jamie’s arms bristled at the memory of Grey’s fierce whisper. Flushes of cold and hot washed through him in quick succession. Jamie had wanted to make Grey scream in that stable. He hadn’t at Arsdumir, or Jamie didn't think he had. The memory of their night had faded into a twisted mess of shame and sweat-slick skin. Jamie didn’t intend to bugger the Major again tonight. He intended to let Grey—oh god. What was he thinking?
Jamie was thinking that he needed to know his son was in good hands. He needed to know that Grey could be trusted to watch over wee William, and this was the only way Jamie knew to see into a man's heart. A person could not be so close to another—to be within each other, to smell their sweat, and rub the hairs of his body with theirs and see nothing of their soul. If a person could do that….well, that was a dreadful thing in itself.
Had Jamie seen Grey in Ardsmuir? Had Grey seen Jamie? No, he thought, wame curdling. No, because that hadn’t been Jamie—that had been a ghost driven into existence by sheer, desperate loneliness. Jamie hadn’t wanted to see Grey past the pretty, willing surface of the man. He’d been scared of what he’d find there. For Willie’s sake, Jamie no longer had the luxury of ignorance.
So, Jamie would offer himself to the Major. Jamie would let Grey see a bit of his soul in exchange for a glimpse at his. Jamie knew much more about John Grey than he did at Ardsmuir. Grey was a courageous, gallant thing—not so different from the boy he’d met at Carryarick Pass. Still, Jamie needed to be sure. He couldn't…Jamie did not care so much about himself, and his body. What could be done that he hadn’t already survived? But Jamie thought of wee, brave Fergus in that brothel and terror consumed him. He couldn't leave Willie and not know he was safe .
Jamie took another long, slow breath and tried to focus on his work. He rubbed curry comb in tight, quick circles over the stallion's coat. He’d raised this horse, helped pull it from its dam and rubbed life into it. He’d grown beautifully, fleet and strong. The stallion was one of many things he’d miss at Helwater. It was strange how a place he once considered a prison had become a home. This was due in great part to William, but also because of John Grey. At the very least, the man had become a dear friend. And at the most…
“Isobel is quite displeased with you," John Grey said from behind the stall door.
Jamie was proud he didn’t jump, and prouder still when his response came out even and steady, “Is she?"
"She said you told Willie you were leaving, which upset him terribly. He's been inconsolable." Grey said, and Jamie could hear the teasing smile in his voice.
Jamie’s gut twisted. God, how could he leave his son? His son . The only child of his he would ever know, with Claire gone. But he must; there wasn’t any way around it if he wanted William to have all that he was owed—a title, wealth, and respect. Safety. Jamie couldn’t give him any of those things.
Jamie said nothing to Grey, the comb coming down in slow, firm circles. The stallion's tail flicked and it leaned into Jamie’s touch. Jamie pulled the brush away and pressed his forehead into the creature's thick neck. He breathed in the warm smell of the animal and said a silent goodbye before exiting the stall. Grey watched him with a guarded expression, his lovely mouth pinched in a way that told Jamie the man was fighting a small war within himself. That, Jamie understood.
"Jamie—" Grey said gently, putting his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie fought the flinch and the subsequent urge to lean into the touch, “You're right to go. If anyone ever actually looked at grooms, someone would have noticed long before now.”
Grey smiled wryly and inclined his head towards the stallion, who watched them with feigned disinterest, “Some sires stamp their get. I have the suspicion that any offspring of yours would be unmistakable.”
So, Jamie had thought right. John Grey knew Willie's true paternity. Jamie had suspected the man had, ever since the Major had nearly stepped on him as he kept vigil for Geneva in the chapel. John Grey was many things, but he was neither dumb nor blind. Did William truly resemble Jaime so much? He saw a bit of Jenny around the boy's eyes and perhaps Willie had some of Jamie’s mannerisms, but he had not realized it was so obvious. Yes, it was a good thing he was leaving now, before he destroyed his son’s life. Tomorrow, he would be gone and there was only one thing left to do.
Jamie turned to Grey with sudden resolve. "Will ye walk with me?” he said, and set off past the stable without pausing for an answer.
Jamie walked down the lane leading to the lower pasture, heat rising in his face as he heard the Major’s even footsteps behind him. Jamie walked and walked and John said nothing. The man did appreciate the benefits of silence. It was one of the reasons they got along so well. If Grey had been prone to chatter, Jamie might’ve actually killed him on that misguided trip to Ireland. Jamie had enough on his plate simply wrestling with the memories that Grey’s presence brought up: what he’d done at Ardsmuir, what had been done to him at Wentworth, and what he now wanted. Yes, small talk certainly would’ve been the last straw.
They were about a quarter mile from the stable before Jamie found his courage. A quarter mile seemed to be the distance from Helwater necessary to separate what he was about to do from the rest of his life. Jamie came to a standstill next to a small pond, bracketed on all sides by dense woods. The sun was warm on Jamie’s face, breaking through the willow branches that gracefully draped over the pond's edge. Jamie came here often to be alone with his thoughts. Often, he thought of Claire and their child. Willie. Sometimes, he thought of John Grey.
Jamie closed his eyes, whispered a brief prayer for forgiveness, and turned to look at Grey.
“I wish to ask a favor of ye," Jamie said, gut roiling as his eyes locked with Grey’s—blue as the clear sky above.
Grey’s brow creased in confusion, “If you think I would tell anyone about WIlliam..." Grey began, then shook his head. "Surely you don't think I would? After all, I have known he was yours for some time.”
No, that was never a concern. Grey knew what the revelation would do to Willie and how utterly it would destroy his life. It would bring down terrible scandal on the Dunsanys, who cared for Grey like a son. Grey was a good enough man to keep the knowledge of William’s sirehood to himself.
“No…No, I dinna think ye would.” Jamie said, smiling softly. But was John Grey a good enough man to keep Willie safe? To trust with his well-being? “But I would ask ye...”
"Yes," John said without any hesitation.
Jamie raised an eyebrow, his chest lightening as a wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Ye dinna wish to ken what I want of ye first?"
There was the slightest hint of a pink flush on Grey's fine-boned face, “It is not difficult to guess; you want me to look out for Willie, I presume."
“Aye, that’s it. “ Jamie nodded, feeling heat rise in his own cheeks, “Most of it.”
“Good, then it shall be done," Grey said smiling, “If you’ll allow me, I shall write to keep you apprised of his life.”
Jamie swallowed, suddenly fighting tears. Oh, he wished he didn’t have to go. He wished he could be there for his son—help raise him. To have his beautiful boy look up at him and call him father.
“ Aye, ah—thank ye,” Jamie said, voice and eyes watery.
The Major looked slightly startled, but nodded, “I came this afternoon to give you some news of my own; I am to be married."
“Married?" Jamie said, blinking. Certainly, he couldn’t mean…“To a woman?”
Grey laughed, a short bark, “There are not many alternatives,” he replied dryly. "Lady Isobel, in fact.”
Jamie’s gut twisted, dark and bitter, “Christ, man! Ye canna do that!" He hissed, “You’re… what will ye tell the lass?”
Grey cocked a fair eyebrow, “I can. And I will tell her nothing," he said in the firm voice he typically reserved for his military career, “I am perfectly capable of performing my husbandly duties. A man doesn’t particularly need to enjoy the act in order to perform it—or perhaps you were aware of that?"
In the hot sun, Jamie suddenly felt cold. No, he supposed a man need not. Jamie was reminded again of their terrible fight in the stable: the fear, the reflexive rage, and the angry curve of Grey's mouth. Jamie had wanted equally to kiss or bloody that mouth, anything to release the terrible pressure building in his chest. He’d been so close to throwing John down in the straw and taking him there, where any stablehand could’ve walked in. He’d been equally as close to strangling him.
“It’s time.” Grey said softly, “I cannot remain a bachelor forever, as you well know.”
He looked at Grey, cheeks still pink and pretty mouth set in a displeased line. Jamie wondered if the Major was thinking of that disastrous exchange as well. The spiteful part of Jamie wanted to ask—how was his stepbrother? But that tête-à-tête was part of the reason he needed to do this. All men had darkness in them, Jamie included. He needed to know precisely where John Grey’s lay.
Grey waited while Jamie fought with himself, patient and attentive. Damn him. He was a decent man and Jamie…sometimes, Jamie wished they talked about Ardsmuir. Usually, Jamie was grateful for John’s graceful separation of that era and this one, but right now, he resented it. What Jamie had planned would be easier if they stopped pretending that night had never happened.
Finally, Jamie cleared his throat. "I should be...grateful, then, if ye would stand in as stepfather to my son." His son . He’d never said those words out loud before, “I...would be obliged to you.”
Jamie couldn’t meet Grey’s eyes, feeling the flush crawl down his neck and bloom under his collar. Instead, he focused on the man’s neck—lithe and graceful. The small pucker of pink scar tissue above one collar bone. He remembered biting the crook of the man’s shoulder. The taste of his sweat and trembling flesh in his mouth. Jamie’s flush intensified, and he was surely glowing. Claire, forgive me. Again.
“In return...If you want…,” Jamie's heart thumped against his breastbone, strangling him, “I mean, I would be willing to…”
Jamie made the mistake of meeting Grey’s wide eyes. Jamie saw realization dawn there, and Grey’s jaw slackened in incredulous shock as the man pieced together what Jamie was stumbling over. Jamie’s heart tripped over itself, and he raced to say something before Grey found his words.
“I’d let you have me,” Jamie said—half a growl, half a whisper.
John Grey stared at him, struck dumb. He was silent so long that Jamie almost took the offer back. That or drown himself in the pond. Damn Willie and damn Grey. He was making a fool of himself, but he knew John's regard for him hadn’t changed. Jamie wasn’t blind. He saw how Grey looked at him when he thought Jamie wasn’t looking, sometimes even when he was—the mad wee thing. Whatever Grey had felt for him in Ardsmuir still lingered, even if they never spoke of it. Jamie didn’t doubt this. Sometimes, Jamie found himself looking at Grey, too. Not when he was all done up, hair tied with a bow and the finest clothes his poor valet managed to wrestle him into. Well…yes, perhaps Jamie looked then too, but on rare nights—he thought of Grey covered in mud, sweat, and a spot of blood, trudging through the Irish countryside with him. The endless, desperate calls of frogs. Catching John in his arms and seeing the fire in his eyes. He’d wanted, madly, to return that blatant lust, but how could he after they had both said such terrible things?
“Are you offering me your body in payment for my promise to look after Willie?” Grey finally said, with no shortage of vitriol.
"Aye, I am," Jamie snapped, tight-lipped in humiliation and feeding off Grey’s evident displeasure. "D'ye want it, or no?"
John stepped forward, and Jamie gritted his teeth against the urge to flee. That fire was back in those blue eyes, but it wasn’t desire. The last time he’d seen Grey this angry had been in the stable.
“ How dare you, Jamie Fraser! How dare you!” John yelled, loud enough to flush a nearby pheasant into the sky, “What do you think of me, that I would accept such an offer? To—force you into my bed for the sake of your child!”
Jamie did flinch then, shoulders tight and hunched, “Ye dinna want me, then?” He snapped, knowing the answer as well as Grey did.
Grey’s face twisted into a sneer that would’ve been ugly on any other man. “I shall probably want you to the day I die, but this is not how I’d have you again, as a—a devil’s bargain.”
Jamie’s stomach twisted, unsure. “I didna mean to insult ye, but-“
Grey shook his head furiously, “My god, Jamie, do you even want me ? Ardsmuir-”
Jamie flinched, and Grey’s scowl deepened, “I’m not a fool; men do things in prison they would never do free. I could understand if that was all it was. But then—you made me—” Grey stopped, eyes squeezing shunt briefly and Jamie’s back ached for a moment, a reminder of how he'd completely destroyed what had remained between them, “ Did you even want me, then?”
Jamie exhaled, shaky, “I did. I wanted a great many things.” He said simply, finding it the truth, “Now, I want to know my son will be safe.”
John shook his head again, a few fine strands slipping loose and hanging around his face, “He will be, and I won’t fuck you in exchange, you mad bloody Scot!” John yelled, then turned swiftly on his heel to make his way down the long path.
Jamie’s heart lurched. He couldn’t let him go. He—he needed to do this. He needed to see exactly what kind of man John Grey was; this was the only way Jamie knew how. Because Grey…when Jamie looked at him, a part of him still saw Jack Randall. Rationally, Grey had very little in common with the bastard, but Jamie would never be rid of Randall. The ghost of him lingered in the corner of Jamie’s eyes every time he thought of Grey.
He grabbed Grey, “John. Please, man. Just let me-”
Grey froze at the use of his Christian name, the lithe muscles of his forearm taught in Jamie's hand, “I do want ye. I do, but let me have this debt between us because I ken you’ll honor it and care for him as if he were yer own. Do this for me.”
Grey looked at him, searching. A solitary starling called in the trees above them. Jamie’s face burned and his gut twisted in terrible anticipation until Grey released a slow, steady sigh.
“I believe you. God knows if it’s because you’re telling the truth or because my own desire clouds my discretion, but damn it, I believe you.” Grey said, unbearably soft.
The tight knot in Jamie’s gut released and Grey went on, “Tonight then. If you’ve still got this madness on you, come to my rooms. I trust a man such as yourself can manage that without being detected.”
Jamie nodded, his knees feeling just a bit weak and looked at the shimmer of the sun on the pond. He was burning down to his chest. Suddenly, Grey was right there, so close that the green citrus scent of the man surrounded him. Grey’s hand rose and tucked a red curl behind Jamie’s ear, cutting him to his core. He wanted…He wanted to turn his face into that touch. He wanted to cut the man’s hand off. He wanted .
“But only if you truly want this. If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you.” Grey murmured.
Jamie bowed his head and nodded, eyes cast to the ground. He didn’t know what Grey would see in his face if he really looked. He couldn’t explain it to the man. Even if Jamie could put the terrible feelings swirling into his chest into words, there was too much of himself that he would need to lay bare first—and that, he could never do. John sighed again, turned on his heel, and began the walk back to Helwater. Jamie didn’t follow. He just watched Grey’s figure fade into the distance and disappear from sight. Then, Jamie's knees finally gave out and he went to the ground, falling hard on his arse. Jamie dug his fingers into the soft dirt and let his head slump between his bent knees as he gasped for breath.
Jamie sat by the pond until the lone starling stopped calling and his lungs found their strength.