[At the keep of Leoch]

[an_outlander]

With Mrs, FitzGibbons having brought her more garlic bulbs, herbs, and old linen than half of her had been expecting there to be on hand--it's hard to wrap her mind, with the few glances she's had, of the size and population, both, of Leoch--Claire can focus on the one thing that she knows, even in the here and now: being a nurse and caring for her patient. In this case, Jamie.

Boneset, comfrey, and cherry bark all are set to step in a pan of hot water; peeled cloves of garlic, witch hazel, and the linen strips are set into a boiling iron cauldron. Preparations have always steadied her, allowed her to let go of other concerns and worries, and even with the huge amount she has now, preparations still work in that way.

And with them done, she turns to Jamie, expression and tone both somewhat softer than they had been before (on a horse, with the rain, in the night, in the bloody past and with that realization immediate, rather than merely fresh in her mind) at times. "I'll have to take off the old bandages and your shirt, first."

Comments

[seamasmacdubh]

Jamie doesn't speak, but he doesn't pull away from Mistress Beauchamp when she comes closer. He is concentrating on not flinching when her hand starts moving from his collarbone to his back. The air from the window and the heat from the fire feel welcome; her eyes do not.

He knows what it looks like even though he hasn't seen it in years. Angry, red, gnarled whip scars. Crisscrossed, impossible to separate to count how many lashes there were.

"Redcoats." Jamie says it in a whisper without meaning to.

[an_outlander]

She'd planned to check his back later, because his wound is what needs attention.

But she can't help it, not after seeing his back and the silver-on-red scars that cross each other all over it. Her hand gently touches them, and she finds the scars aren't the worst part; the indentations in his skin, where he'd been beaten on muscle after the skin had been pulled entirely off, are the worst by far.

She's seen worse. But there is something more personal and thus more horrifying about an injury given like this, up close to a man whose face you've seen moments before, than one given by a bullet or even a bomb to a man you'll never be near.

Claire forces herself to pull her hand away and reach for one of the soaked sponges as she begins to peel the old bandages away, wetting them with the sponge at times to try and minimize the amount their removal rips away scabs and dried blood. Minimize, not stop; she can't prevent fresh blood seeping out.

"They flogged you," she says after a moment of working at his bandages, voice steady and even, face--not expressionless, but mostly showing she's focused on her work.

There is compassion, though, rather than revulsion or even horror, in her eyes when she glances up at Jamie upon speaking.

[seamasmacdubh]

"Twice, in the space o' a week." It's all facts. That's what happened; that's what's on record at Fort William. "Think they woulda done it again; they wouldna mind killing me. But there's no joy in flogging a dead man."

[an_outlander]

She begins the business--her business--of carefully treating his wound.

This, at least, is familiar.

"I shouldn't think any sane man would take joy in flogging another at all," is her even response, her temper carefully locked up and away.

[seamasmacdubh]

"Well, if Randall wasna joyful he was at least verra pleased with himself."

This is all said as though telling a joke, too true to be funny.

[an_outlander]

She can't help it; she drops the cloth at the name. "Randall?"

And then, "Damn!" because of the cloth, which she sets to soak in the hot water, sterilizing it best she can.

[seamasmacdubh]

"Aye. He'n I are fair familiar." They'd discussed that on the road. Leaving him a pistol and all.

"Flogged me twice." Repeated needlessly.

[an_outlander]

Her voice is cold only for a moment. "I've met him once, and that was more than enough."

Except that Randall is also my last name. My husband's--oh God--

Focus on the work in front of you. If you can't do that, then you certainly can't be a nurse in wartime. And Claire was a nurse in wartime, so she certainly can focus on this work.

Also, there's something about seeing the scars, the rising bumps and lowered dips, the patterns of silver and red, that draws her attention. And that's a good thing right now.

Her voice is much less cold--more soft, too--when she gently applies the re-sanitized cloth again and says only, gentle as her touch on his skin, "So you said. You're lucky you can still walk and they didn't damage your spine."

If "lucky" can be said in association with any act as gruesome as this.

[seamasmacdubh]

Lucky.

"I've never been lucky a day in my life, Sassenach."

Not then, not ever.




"You shouldna have to see these, mistress."

[an_outlander]

"Claire," she corrects quietly. "My name is Claire. And I've seen worse."

She thinks back to men with half their heads blown off.

"Much worse." She clears her throat then and manages her tone again.

"Never lucky?" Claire turns around him a bit and smiles slightly. "I can't believe that. Even your hair," and that's teasing a bit, "couldn't cause that much bad luck," and she ruffles some slightly, in part for distraction as she's turned to look at at his injury again and has to clean a particularly nasty spot. "Especially if you lived through this from a man like Randall."

[seamasmacdubh]

"Now're you telling myself that you've a problem with my hair?" Jamie jibes, happy for a topic worth joking about. "What's next? Wishin' I were shorter and more scrawny?"

[an_outlander]

She has to pause for a moment to blink back sudden tears.

They're not near the same words, not really, but it's the same sort of teasing that Frank--

She carefully finishes the fresh bandaging before wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "You're--you're good to go now," and she wants, damn it all, to sound normal, and even she can hear the sound of tears being held back.

Not even being held back very well, at that.