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betweensceneswriter · 3 years

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Island Hopper-Chapter 28b: Just Add Water Part 2

Shots and the ‘Shungle’

Previously on Island Hopper: Chapter 28: Just Add Water Some things are instant. Not usually sons.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

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The days blended into one another after that. Mornings began with waking a reluctant child to give him his long-acting insulin. Jamie started taking Perkaj into the stall with him after I was done with my shower, washing Perkaj’s hair, wrapping him in a towel and sending him in to me. While they were out of the apartment I would rush into my own clothing. On Perkaj’s arrival back in the apartment I would dry him off, brush his hair, and give him a little privacy while he dressed.

He was amused by the bustle and pace of our household. If we ever tried to rush him, he would respond after a deep sigh, “Oh, Mama Peach, I am lazy,” or “Oh, Baba Shamie, I am lazy.” Jamie assured me that ‘lazy’ didn’t have the same negative connotation in Majel, but it still made me laugh every time Perkaj said it.

Perkaj was also surprised by how often we bathed, but after a few days Jamie said the boy had started to industriously scrub his skin with a washcloth and soap while Jamie washed his hair.

Breakfast was when he would test his blood sugar and give himself injections with an amount based on his level and how hungry he felt. In the beginning he turned up his nose at the steel cut oats we would usually have for breakfast, but he was delighted by bread with honey or jelly and peanut butter. Eventually with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, we were able to coax him to eat the ‘porridge’ as well.

Jamie had to leave for school a few minutes early so he could drop Perkaj off at his house, or if he was running late I would take him. There the little boy would be fussed over by his family and then walk to school with his brothers and sisters. His mother would pack him a lunch to be eaten at school, when he would check in with Jamie for testing and another dose of short-acting insulin before joining the other kids on the lawn for lunch & recess.

After school, Perkaj would come home with Jamie. They would test his blood sugar to make sure it was high enough for play and family time and give him a snack if it was on the low side. Most days of the week Jamie would walk him the rest of the way to his house, returning to our apartment to do grading and planning for the next day. Around six I would take my turn to travel to Perkaj’s house, supervise as Perkaj would prick one of his poor fingers again, and then the little guy and I would assess his dinner plate with his parents & auntie, talking about the insulin amount needed before eating.

At 7:30, one of Perkaj’s family members would walk him to our house where we would tuck him into bed with a story. One more test and snack or insulin would finish his long, eventful day.

After Perkaj headed to bed was when Jamie and I made sure to cuddle up to each other, having a little contact while reading or writing letters by the warm light of the bedside lamp. More often than not one or the other of us would nod off accidentally and wake up only when the other person turned off the lamp. Jamie or I would rouse long enough to climb under the sheet and turn to the other for a goodnight kiss before we would drift back into slumber.

Our life felt strange, broken up into little chunks like this-- repeated interruptions and moments of being apart when we would normally have been together. It wasn’t easy, but I steeled myself with the fact that there weren’t any other good options. This—serving the health of the islanders—was why I was here; not marriage, not sex, not selfishness.

“Ijab konaan,” Perkaj cried, sitting at the table with his tester and insulin pen in front of him. “Emetak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, smearing the dust from an afternoon of active play into gray streaks on his skin.

Of course he didn’t want it. Of course it hurt.

Jamie looked up at me, his eyes full of compassion and desperation. We had to get Perkaj to buy in to his own health if we were ever going to get our own lives back.

All of a sudden I had an idea. I grabbed a syringe from my black medical kit and a vial of sterile saline.

“How many carbs are you going to eat, Meester Shamie?” I asked him. He eyed the syringe and then looked back at me, narrowed eyes giving way to a tiny smile of understanding.

He took a deep breath, looking at the soup and muffins on the table. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “I know I’m hungry, and I’m lukuun kilep, so I’ll have five servings… some noodle soup and three muffins. How about you, Miss Peachay?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” I responded. “When it’s hot like this, ijab konaan moni, so I’ll have three.”

Without looking off to the side at Perkaj, I picked up the tester, a strip and a lancet. “I wonder what my blood sugar is right now,” I mused. I pricked my finger, the sudden shock of pain giving me shivers, then pressed the drop of blood to the testing strip. “Eighty-five,” I remarked. “That’s good for before a meal.”

Jamie took the tester I offered him and did the same. He winced and stuck his finger in his mouth after he’d touched it to the testing strip. “Seventy-six? No wonder I’m starving!” He passed the tester on to Perkaj, who had grinned at Jamie’s over-the-top reaction to the prick of the lancet and blood on his finger.

“Okay,” I said. “Five servings means five units.” I held the vial up as I inserted the syringe and drew out several milliliters of saline. Then I handed the syringe to Jamie.

Up until then he’d been playing along with me. When I handed him the needle his face drained of color. His raised eyebrows communicated clearly, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Perkaj had tested his sugar and was already clicking the units into his insulin pen.

“One for being little high,” he murmured to himself. “And tree for carbs.” He screwed on the fresh needle tip and looked over at Jamie. “Why you waiting, Baba Shamie?”

Jamie frowned. “Ijab konaan,” he said, his eyes showing some genuine fear. “Enaj metak.”

Perkaj’s response was adorable. He patted Jamie’s arm like I’d seen my husband do to him countless times over the last few weeks. “Is okay, Baba,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head. “It not hurt forever.”

After that, there was no way Jamie was going to let his fear of pain stand in his way.

“Let’s do it together,” he said. “Will you count?”

“Juon, ruo, jilu,” Perkaj counted. On ‘three’ both boys jabbed themselves with their needles and pressed down on the plungers. They made faces at each other as they did, and when the syringe and insulin pen were returned to the table, Jamie pulled the little guy in for a hug.

“You’re so brave!” He exclaimed. Perkaj grinned and grabbed a muffin.

Out of necessity we discovered that about five minutes after Perkaj fell asleep he would be dead to the world for a solid fifteen minutes. If we’d saved enough energy, we could engage in a clandestine lovemaking session, covered by the bedsheet, trying to keep the bed frame from squeaking or the headboard from banging against the wall.

Unfortunately, I was gun shy after our ‘coitus interruptus’ and Jamie seemed to be internalizing the stress of parenthood even more than I was. He was still affectionate, and would frequently wrap his arms around me for a hug, come up behind me when I was doing dishes and rub my shoulders, or pull my head to his chest when we lay next to each other in bed reading. But after my experience being married to him thus far, it wasn’t like him. It was surprising that Jamie wasn’t lusting after me, wasn’t taking liberties with my body, wasn’t making it clear he wanted nothing more than to have me naked.

Perhaps even more disturbing to me, I was okay with the lack of sex. I tried to reassure myself. Jamie and I were still cooperating with each other, accomplishing an important thing. We were still working together, laughing together. Despite the inconvenience, Perkaj was adorable and Jamie was adorable with him. But both of us were exhausted at night. We were all sleeping in the same room; less alone time meant fewer opportunities when the same idea would strike both of us, when raised eyebrows or a simple caress would be the snowflake that started an avalanche.

But as my dad had said, this was ‘just a season.’

And what a season. Along with the hot, dry conditions that made it challenging to keep my garden healthy and brought the mamas to clinic fanning themselves and telling me they were lukuun bwil, the level of the catchment continued to drop until the bucket would scrape against the cement bottom of the tank when we drew our drinking water.

One afternoon after school Perkaj announced that he was going to stay and help Baba Shamie cut the grass. Apparently he and Jamie had been talking on their walk home and Jamie had shared his plans for the afternoon.

“Ikonaan jibaneke,” Perkaj said. “I want help you!”

Perkaj helped me water my plants and then used the hand-held grass clippers to assist Jamie by trimming the grass near our outbuildings and well. Jamie used an old school scythe to cut the grass, a wicked looking curved blade on a long wooden handle with two grips. When he held it on his shoulder as he headed out to the field, he looked like a tropical themed version of the Grim Reaper, with khaki shorts, a tee shirt, and flaming red hair.

I followed the boys as they worked, using a rake to heap up the grass and lift it into our wheelbarrow. Jamie had decided that composting was a necessity to increase the quality of our soil, so we were layering grass clippings with palm fronds and kitchen waste in a heap in the back corner of the property.

I was across the yard when two girls walked hesitantly up to Jamie. He leaned on his scythe, giving them his attention.

“Meester Shamie,” one of them said, “we no have water to drink. Our catchment is emmat...empty?

Jamie looked at them, at their water container, and at the big jug by the still, three quarters full from the days’ filtration. He glanced at me.

“Of course,” I insisted, “we have enough to share.”

As Jamie poured water into their bottles, I crossed the yard to the well. Someone would need to draw more well water to refill the solar still.

Through the sunny hours of the day while Jamie was teaching, I had taken it upon myself to keep the reservoir of the still filled with enough well water to keep the trickle of distilled water constantly flowing. When one water jug was filled, I would transfer the hose to the next jug and place the cap on the now-full container.

“Jibaneke?” The little voice asked from behind me. “I help you, Mama Peach?”

Perkaj might have been only seven, but he was an expert at the wrist flick necessary for getting water from the well, and the rapid hand -over -hand motion to bring up a full coffee can. He filled the five gallon bucket in half the time it would take me, then beamed up at me as we carried the bucket together to pour into the solar still.

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek through the sloped glass cover. “Well water enana?” he questioned, brown furrowed.

“Is it bad?” I responded. “Not bad. Just doesn’t taste good for drinking .”

“But Mama Peach,” he said with his forehead wrinkled, “Aolep well water,” Perkaj said.

It was all well water? I didn’t understand what he meant. Rupert had brought the lower grades over to teach them a lesson about the solar still and evaporation, so I had seen them peering in interest at the setup. I was sure Rupert had explained how the process removed minerals, salt, and impurities from the water.

“Ke?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He showed the motion of the water with his hands -- the upward wafting of moisture, at which he said, “Well water,” then indicated the abrupt stop at the sloping glass, “Well water also” and then showed the drops falling into the collection channel. “Aolep well water,” he finished, holding up his hands as if to encompass the whole water cycle.

“Well, not exactly,” I tried to explain, hesitantly trying out my baby Majel. “This is a small version of how the earth makes fresh water. When the water goes into the air, it leaves behind germs and salt and bitter minerals. Do you see the white crust on the black fabric? That's the bad part-what was left behind.”

Perkaj peered into the still through the condensation -covered glass curiously. “Oh.” He exclaimed, wide eyed. I wasn’t sure he’d understood, but at least I’d tried.

The day stayed hot past sunset, the air barely holding any humidity. Without a breeze, the house didn’t cool off even when it got dark. Jamie had tried to cuddle me, but any place our skin contacted we would stick together, and any movement would feel like trying to detach from an octopus.

Perkaj was snoring quietly in his bed when Jamie got up and headed to the door, shoving his feet into his flip flops. He headed outside without an explanation; I figured he needed the restroom.

I was lost in my book when I startled at a faint sound behind me. Was that shifting gravel outside the window? I paused to listen. We’d opened the curtains because it was so damn hot, but that meant anyone outside would be able to see me… and could see that Jamie wasn’t here with me. Still, none of the island men would even try to bother me. I wasn’t a single woman anymore, and they wouldn’t dare insult Meester Shamie…

“Tssst tssst,” a voice hissed from outside the window. “Tssst tssst.” I pretended not to hear them, hoping inwardly that Jamie would return any minute and this person would fade away into the night and stop embarrassing themselves.

“Miss Peachay,” the voice sang, “I want to talk to you. Tssst tssst. You want to go to the shungle with me? Kwe konaan bwebwenato?”

As the invitations continued, I turned slowly to squint out the window. The light from the apartment shone faintly on the pole supporting the short wave radio antenna. There was a large hand gripping the pole, and next to the hand… there was curly red hair.

“You dip wad!” I hissed. “I nearly peed my pants!”

“Shhhh,” he responded. “Grab a quilt. Come to the shungle with me.”

Perkaj was sleeping, so I figured what the heck. I obeyed, grabbing a quilt and the mosquito net, turning off the lamp, shoving my feet into zories, and joining Jamie on the road in front of the clinic.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking me by the hand and leading me across the road. There was only a little sliver of moon, but it was enough to keep us from crashing into trees as we wove deeper into the ocean-side palm forest.

We got far enough that we couldn’t see the clinic light anymore, and giggled as we spread out the quilt and covered ourselves with the mosquito net.

Out of the house it was actually cooler, and I sighed in relief as I looked up at the stars, Jamie’s arm behind my head.

I couldn’t help it, laying on that quilt, covered by that mosquito net, looking up at those stars. “Oh, Frank…” I breathed.

My husband froze, and then he reacted. “Oh, you did not just call me Frank,” Jamie exclaimed. I giggled as he rolled over on top of me. “You take that back,” he ordered, his hand forcing its way under my tank top.

I laughed again, meeting his lips with mine, helping him peel off his shirt, wriggling out of my shorts and panties.

It had been so long and the circumstances were so novel I was fully engaged, blissful at his hands on me, kissing his neck, reaching for him with my hand. I attempted to change positions, to urge him inside, but he seemed determined to dominate me, insistent.

His hands were on my breasts and then his mouth was, teasing my nipples, biting them gently. His hands were on my thighs and he was between my legs. But he seemed to just be teasing me, pressing his pelvis towards me but then pulling away as I opened to him.

I realized he was waiting for something.

I took a deep breath. “I know who you are,” I whispered. “Jamie. Soulmate. True love. Partner.”

He paused, relaxed against me, kissed me gently between phrases.

“Provider,” I continued. “Protector. Gift of Providence. Father of my babies. Friend. Jimjeran.”

When we joined, finally, I was crying. I reached up and found his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine as we moved together, as we connected, as we bonded ourselves together once again.

The whine of mosquitoes chased us inside, but not before we heard a wolf whistle from Anni and Kona’s yard as we crossed the road in front of the clinic. “Miss Peachay, Meester Shamie!” She exclaimed. “You go to shungle?”

We headed inside to the sound of her laughter.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work and school, I noticed Jamie scratching himself rather intently on the ass.

“Hey Meester Shamie,” I joked, “How did you get a mosquito bite?”

He grinned at me adoringly. “I wonder, Miss Peachay.”

#jimjeran #BetweenSceneswriter #Marshall Island #claire x jamie #Outlander #outlander fanfic #new canon

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webeatwritersblock · 3 years

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SWblahblahPART5

"What the HELL!?" Captain Coleen raged into his comm, "HEY, FURFACE! What's the big idea!?"

"You neglected to inform Bin Jaesuk's slave of the mission details, sir."

"Is it just me, or does he sound disapproving?" Agenis muttered. "Of course we- hey, Bwil, he's moving again!"

The Sith stood, slowly craned his head their direction, eye glinting beneath his cowl. A twist of his hand, and the screen went dark.

"Shit, what's he-"

The asteroid field erupted ahead of them as the battle cruiser changed tactics, firing on the largest mass of debris. Rocks flew like shrapnel, gasses combusted. All the viewport was fire and brimstone.

"SHIT, WHAT THE HELL!"

"Breaches and Fire in the hull and following compartments, sir-" J8 began to drone.

---

Advaeta's hands came away from the turret controls, horrified. Something clung to the back of her throat like icy slime, as sharp and prickly as sickly slick. She didn't even have time to let the fear swell or ebb. J8's voice over comms was reporting fires and hull breaches, she needed to get back to engineering and shut down some of the systems before-

Everything stopped. There was nothing but terror. The small space between the turret port and the engine was entirely taken up with shadows and a bone-deep darkness.

"The ship has been caught in the moon's gravitational pull," it snarled deeply. "You can only cover your descent, now."

"I-I can fix it!" She shrilled out. She'd left the lid off the grav motor, under this much strain it would leak and falter, cause other systems to fail, but if she could just close it and-

An iron fist closed around her throat, and the Sith hauled her back to the leaking motor, threw her to her knees beside it. She wanted to claw away, get away, hide. There was no hiding from the Starshot's steady descent.

The grav motor was throwing sparks and arcs, understandable considering. She went to work stabilizing them feverishly, racing time and gravity. Behind her, the whining hiss and hum of the Sith's lightsaber igniting droned in the tight confines. Its red light glowed balefully on the walls, and she did her best not to wonder how close it was to the back of her neck.

"Not helping," she hissed, immediately regretted it. The Sith's rolling chuckle put more fear into her than any raised voice could have.

"You're an insolent cub, arent you?"

Cub? Her hands stopped a moment, began again at his warning rumble. She risked sliding a glance over her shoulder, icy blues meeting bright ambers too much like her own.

"FIX. IT."

She bent back to her task with a start.

---

"She's going to roll!" Agenis warned pensively.

"No she's NOT," Bwillen bit back as they fought with the controls. The Starshot listed as she neared entry, threatened to present her port side to the moon's atmosphere. She wouldn't endure generating that much drag. The captain roared with strain and defiance, putting his all into trying to right his ship.

"We need to get to the eacape pods, J8, unseal those blast doors!"

"Forgive me, ma'am, but-"

"OPEN THEM!"

"WILL YOU BOTH JUST KNOCK. IT. OFF- AAAAH!"

The captain's desperate outrage turned to a scream of relief as the Starshot leveled out.

"Aggie, get on controls! I've still got no lift. We've got one shot at this!"

---

Advaita found herself hauled about again, pushed roughly back to the turret port. Once there, however, the Sith didnt force her to seat. An arm reached tight around her, pulled her in against that suffocating darkness, his hand locked about her opposite arm. He leaned to one side in the doorway, reached his other hand above them, braced himself there.

His young captive could only stare out the viewport, watching the sky smoking in their wake as they fell.

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