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#mwah i saw this earlier and i wanted to cherish it for a while before answering <3333 you're so sweet 😘😘
whiskynottea · 5 years
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An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27,  Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35,  Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46 
AO3
Huge thank you to @theministerskat, for betaing this story!
Chapter 47. Pictures
“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” My muttering continued at the lack of Jamie’s voice at the other end of the line. That invisible line that kept us connected since he had left. “Come on
”
It was ten o'clock in the morning in rainy Edinburgh. And that meant
 Five in the morning in Michigan. He was asleep, of course he was.
Still. I didn’t want anyone to know before him. Jamie would have been the first person to hear the news if he had stayed in Scotland and I was determined not to let the bloody ocean change that.
I didn’t care for the damned time zones. Or this stupid distance between us. He was just one click away, anyway.
“Come on
”
Nothing. I tried again and waited, willing him to wake up.
“Mmm?” I was sure he had opened an eye, saw my picture on the screen and accepted the call closing said eye again. I could feel him on the verge of sleep.  
“Jamieeeeee!” My voice was too high and loud, the last letter of his name turning into an elongated cheer. I wondered if he had ever heard me squealing like this. Well, he couldn’t see me, at least. Because I was sure that he would never stop laughing if he’d seen me moving in my happy and frantic stationary run.  
I couldn’t help it. I was excited. I was bursting with happiness. Every inch of my body vibrating with energy, strong currents seeking a release.
“I got accepted – I got accepted – I got accepted!”
A moment’s silence, as if he was taking the news in, and then, “That’s amazing! Congrats, babe! I was sure Oxford wouldn’t miss this opportunity!” It was a coarse whisper, a restrained cry, and I belatedly remembered that Jamie had a roommate. One that would very likely be asleep - if my shrill voice hadn’t reached his ears.
I rolled my eyes at his comment, wished the roommate was a heavy sleeper, and continued. “Oh my God Jamie, the letter was so small I couldn’t bring myself to open it. I stood there, looking at the envelope for a good while, doubting myself, doubting how good I had been during the interview. But then I opened it and
”
“And ye got into Oxford, Sassenach. Christ, I’m so proud of ye!”
“I did!” I paused, smiling. “I got into Oxford,” I repeated, my voice back to normal now, and plumped down onto my bed. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I just
 I just wanted you to be the first one to know. Now go back to sleep!”
“Claire.” His hoarse voice squeezed through my ribs, engulfing my heart. “Thank ye. Thank ye for telling me first.”
I chuckled, trying to drive away the emotional weight carried by his words. As if I would ever tell anyone else first. As if the distance between us made any difference. My voice was soft when I spoke again. “Nothing has changed, remember? Although I had never thought you’d thank me for waking you up at five in the morning. Go back to sleep.”
“I love ye,” he whispered, adding another warm, fuzzy layer of him around my heart.
“I love you too. Goodnight!”
“Kiss?” 
I sent him a ridiculous “Mwah!” and hung up with the stupidest smile on my face. 
It was the ninth of January. After a quick call to Lamb to tell him the news, I made myself some breakfast, sank into the sofa and ate, absentmindedly looking at our Christmas tree. There was nothing but Oxford in my mind. 
By the time my granola disappeared from my bowl I had decided to search for cheap tickets to Michigan. Now that I knew what I was going to do the following year, I had to see to some more pressing matters.
Like visiting Jamie. 
I had to have a date to look forward to. To count the days until I could hold him again. Until I could crush against his chest and get wrapped up in his arms. Until I could taste him again. 
I needed to have a date. 
Rising from the couch, the tiny lights and ornaments on the tree looked back at me. Judgemental. Waiting.
I had promised Lamb that I would take care of all our Christmas decorations once the holidays were over. He didn’t want to have the tree to begin with. “Too much trouble,” he’d said. But I had insisted, and here I was now looking at the beautiful green branches sprinkled with baubles, wishing the holidays would last a bit longer. 
One week more. Or two. Maybe three?
An hour later, I had all the ornaments back into their boxes. The tree, now bare, was patiently waiting for Lamb to discard it. But the house felt empty in a way. Less
cheerful. Normal.
I looked around, let out a loud sigh as if someone was around to take pity on me, and took the boxes to the storage room. I always disliked the end of the holidays and decided to hurry back to my room to find those cheap tickets to the US after I put everything away. That would definitely cheer me up.
I had been almost done when I tried to squeeze the last bag of garland between two boxes of ornaments. The empty space on the shelf proved to be more narrow than I had thought, and a small brown box fell down from its perch at the end of the simple wooden plank, spitting out almost all its contents.
Damn!
At least nothing had broken. Crouching on my knees I realized it contained photo albums. My parents’ photo albums. We had never unpacked all of them after moving into this house. There wasn’t enough space, so I had kept my favorite ones – with pictures of the three of us – on the bookshelf of the living room. 
I loved going through those albums. Their pictures were the only tangible connection with my parents. They filled the gaps of my memories. When my mind blurred their images, the pictures where there, showing me how their faces glowed, how wide their smiles were, how happy we all were together. 
But the albums lying on the floor were from a time before me. The pictures from their wedding. There was a period in my life, when I was around five, when I couldn’t stop looking at my mom in her long white dress, the lace covering her arms, the flowers on her head. The rest of the albums were even older; from my parents’ time in college. I hadn’t gone through them for a while.
Gathering the albums in my arms, I walked back into the living room. I spread them on the coffee table and the couch, and began to flip through them, one by one.
The house wasn’t empty anymore.
Each picture was a story. I knew them all. I had made Lamb tell me each and every one of them, again and again, throughout the years, that I had memorized them - they were my tales. 
And because I knew, I caressed the pictures with timid hands, afraid to alter the stories behind them. Afraid to leave my fingerprints in places they didn’t belong.
God, the way they laughed. How young they were. How carefree.
There was a mirth in these pictures, different from the family warmth and elation the later pictures held.
These pictures held limitless possibilities. 
I cherished each one of them, feeling self-conscious for having my mother’s hair, my father’s eyes. 
I had decided to make myself a cup of tea and continue until Lamb came home, when a picture fell into my lap, free from the plastic constraints of the album.
It was tucked between the last page and the cover, and didn’t match any of the others. It showed my mom, hair wild and eyes glinting, surrounded by children. Children with black skin, skinny limbs, eyes full of joy and the brightest smiles I had ever seen. 
My mom had been in Africa?
She was young, very young. And my dad was nowhere around. I had never seen that picture before. I didn’t know its story. 
I flipped the picture, desperate for any information. 
Zambia, 1993
Zambia? My mom had been in Zambia? 
I made the calculations. She had been eighteen years old in 1993, the same age as I was now.
I sat with the picture in my hands for a long time, studying every little detail on it. The dirt on the path, the prefab building behind them, something that looked like children‘s drawings glued on the windows. At last, I sat the picture on the coffee table and went to the kitchen to make a chai latte. My throat was dry. When I came back, hands warm from the hot mug and thoughts running wild, I continued with the photo albums needing to root myself to the stories I knew. My gaze, however, was falling on the lone picture on the coffee table more often than I would like to admit. 
I was eager to learn its secrets. To find the piece of my mother’s life that I had missed.
In the afternoon, when Lamb entered the front door with a light whistle, I almost jumped at him. 
“Lamb! What’s this?” I asked, bringing the picture inches away from his face.
“What’s what?” he asked in response, and took the picture away from me. His raised eyebrows lowered considerably as he studied the picture. “That’s your mother.”
“Duh!”
He shot me a look and his eyes immediately returned on the picture. “Where the hell is she?”
I let out a disappointed sigh. He didn’t know anything more than I did. “She’s in Zambia,” I said, and seeing his questioning glance I added, “It’s written on the back.”
Lamb turned the picture around, exactly as I had done a few hours earlier, and read the only information we had. “Ninety-three,” he murmured. “She was – ” “Eighteen years old,” I continued this thought. “Right after high school, then.” Lamb handed the picture back to me to remove his coat. “This means
 It’s taken before she met your father and me. We met in college, and during the second year, that is.”
“So you didn’t know that she’d been in Africa?” I asked as we moved towards the living room. “She had never talked about it?”
“No. At least not to me. I’m rather sure your father would have known, they told each other everything.” Lamb sat slowly on the armchair and ran a hand through his black and grey hair. “This woman will never stop surprising me.” His voice was soft, and I knew he said it more to himself than to me. His eyes were loaded with emotion as he bent and took the picture from the table, where I’d left it. 
“It looks like a school,” I said, providing any information I thought was valid. 
“It does.” Lamb smiled. “She was a great teacher, your mom. Her students loved her. Your dad always said that she was almost as patient as I.” A chuckle left his lips, and I felt my heart clenching inside my chest. I was always thinking of how much I missed them, but it rarely crossed my mind that their absence was vast from Lamb’s life too. They were the only family he had - apart from me.
I rose from the couch and walked to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Lamb looked at me for a good while saying nothing. Then he sighed, called me lamb and ruffled my hair, so like my mother’s in the picture. 
“You think she volunteered?” 
“Sounds like her,” Lamb said, his eyes trailing back to the picture. When he finally took them away, he looked at me again. “I’m sorry I have nothing to tell you about it, lamb. I wish I knew more.”
I kissed him again, keeping for myself that I wished he would, too. “It’s okay,” I said, instead. “Are you hungry?”
Our stomachs growled in sync at the mention of food. We both laughed and headed towards the kitchen to cook. 
--
That night, as I was waiting for Jamie’s video call, I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom and what a beautiful, brave thing she had done. How she may have changed those children’s lives. How her impact might still be here, alive, even when she was gone. 
When I saw Jamie’s beautiful face, his clear blue eyes looking at me with so much love, I didn’t know from where to begin. So I told him everything, with my heart drumming in my chest and the words forming in my mouth faster than I could talk them out. 
“Now I start to understand how genetics work,” he said when I finished. 
I bit my lips so hard to stop from crying, that they almost bled. “I wish I was as good as my mom.” I rolled my eyes to hide the fact that I truly did.
“Ye are, Sassenach,” he said with a conviction that made me smile. “Ye are,” he repeated, as if to plant the idea in my mind. 
I shrugged and changed the subject, asking him about his day. He was so enthusiastic every time he talked about the college and his new team, that I could listen to him forever, if only to see him shining with glee. A good while later, when I’d heard every little detail of his day, I finally interrupted him and asked him if a month would be enough for him to get familiar with the place.
“A month?” He frowned in thought. “Why?”
“Because I’m coming in a month!” I exclaimed, my grin so wide I looked like the Cheshire cat. 
His eyes got wide and the screen shook so much I could only see the top of his head for a few seconds. “Whaaaaaaat?” His whoop earned him a “Shut up Fraser!” that made me burst into laughter. 
“I’m coming! I booked the tickets today!” I assured him when he rearranged the laptop so he’d be in the frame again. 
“And why haven’t ye told me that from the beginning? Ye cruel thing! I canna believe ye’ll be here!”
I laughed again, my heart so loud I could hardly listen to my thoughts. “Happy?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the smile that covered almost half his face.
“Are ye kidding me? I’m the happiest man on earth!”
“Glad to know!” The voice was heard again and I saw the side of Jamie’s long, straight nose as he turned his head to talk to his roommate. 
“Shut up, Grey!” he admonished him and turned to look at me again. “If he keeps interrupting, I’ll throw him out before I call ye next time.”
“You wish! You have no right to do so, sir!” I heard the voice again, bold and pompous. 
Jamie rolled his eyes at that. “Claire,” he said then, smiling. “May I introduce you to Lord John Grey?” He turned the camera and I saw a beautiful man, lean and slender, with blond hair and light blue eyes. 
“Madam,” he said, faking a bow. “Glad to make your acquaintance. And here I thought your name was Sassenach.”
I laughed at that, and the camera turned back on Jamie, who was now grimacing. 
“Be sure I heard a lot about you, Claire!” John’s head popped just above Jamie’s.
“Oh! Good things I hope, my lord!” 
“Too many good things. I thought he had made you up! And you can call me John. You’re a civilized English subject after all, not a brut like some Scots I’ve come to know lately.”
“Okay, enough, you two!” Jamie shoved John off and gave me a grin. “See, Sassenach? I always have an English ass next to me!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” John and I said in one voice, both equally incredulous. 
“See?” Jamie glanced at him and then back at me. I was still laughing when Jamie looked at me in a way that made my skin crawl. “As ye see mo chridhe, it’s impossible to talk right now.”
I checked my screen and was surprised to find that we had been talking for almost two hours. “I have to go to bed, anyway.”
“Ye are in bed,” Jamie whispered, glancing at his right to check on John. “Christ, Sassenach, the things I’m thinking, looking at ye.”
“Isn’t John listening to you?” I asked concerned, my voice low.
“He has his headphones back on. But tomorrow I’ll make sure he gets his arse out of the room before I call ye. Don’t laugh!”
“I’m not! But you do that, tomorrow!” Still laughing, I blew him a kiss and slipped under the duvet. “Goodnight, Jamie.”
“Goodnight, mo ghraidh. Dream of me, aye?”
“I will,” I promised, ended the call, and closed my eyes thinking of my wonderful Scot.
Chapter 48
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