Chapter Text
I avoided his gaze and stared off into the woods again, the silence between us so thick you could cut it with a knife. I could feel his eyes on me, seeking, searching, and I could almost feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle with threat. I don't know why I felt threatened, he hasn't given me any reason to be. And clearly, someone in his life was a time traveler, either his daughter or his wife, maybe even both. As I sat there, almost poised to stand, I remembered. John Walker, a chemist, invented matches. In 1827, half a century from now. How could I be so stupid, forgetting something like that?
I flinch as Jaime shifts, slowly making his way closer to me. I could see his movements out of the corner of my eye.
“Will, don't be scared. I'm not here to do ye harm, ye ken? I can see ye bristling, like a threatened fox.” His voice was soothing, understanding. I slowly turned to him and I could feel my face twist into a scowl, almost. I didn't have much control over my facial expressions, and they betrayed my emotions more than I'd like to admit.
“You came from the direction of the stones. Aye, I know it well, don't give me that look, boy.” His tone takes on a serious tone as he gets closer, his hand slightly raised, though I couldn't tell if it was to soothe or to grab me.
He knew the stones, he knew what it meant. He knew what I was, didn't he? I eyed him suspiciously, not understanding what he was trying to do.``
He meets my gaze, his eyes desperately searching mine. “My wife, Claire. She came through the stones here. My daughter as well…not here, though, back home, in scotland.” Jaime had reached me now, placing a broad hand on my upper arm, holding me firmly in place. “You're from the future, aye? That's why your accent sounds like that. Why did you say you'd like to keep your past to yourself?” I chewed the inside of my lip and nodded, looking away from him. The eye contact was too much, and i never liked to make it when i spoke, and i figured I had to now.
“...Yes. I um…I was visiting relatives, and ended up finding the stones. My uncle told me about ‘em so I decided, hell, why not?” He waits patiently for me to continue, his eyes soft and welcoming. God how were they so expressive?
“I'm not from North Carolina, to be honest. I live in Oregon, but you don't know where that is. It won't become a state for a very long time. I was just visiting, cause my dad couldn't, y’know? I hated it there, my family isn't exactly the easiest to be around. Nothing is easy to be around, actually. I don't know. It wasn't an accident or anything, I wanted to come. I touched the stones by myself, knowing it'd take me somewhere. But god, did I think it'd be the American revolution?” I was rambling now, and I could feel the panic in me start to rise, much to my dismay. I was usually very good at keeping everything under control, if not directly bottling my feelings. But it was just too much right. And I was sure it’d get worse.
“Everything sucks, everywhere, all the time. I know it. I know that life is hard no matter where you are, and that this isn't exactly the human rights center of history, so I don't know why I even THOUGHT it was a good idea to touch those stones. But god, anything to get me away from losing my house, my job, ditching my boyfriend, away from whatever hellhole the 21st century is. I don't know. I'm sorry.” I look at him, and I can see he's a bit overwhelmed. His eyes are slightly wide, and his brows are furrowed.
“Did you say 21st century? Christ man, what year?” He asked, his curiosity genuine. “My wife came first in the 1940s, she said, after the war. Bree came in the 1960s.”
I nod. “It was 2023 when I left.”
His eyes went wide, and he shifts back to sit. He's quiet for a while, rubbing the ginger stubble building on his cheeks. “What's it like, then?”
I sigh softly, and give him a brief rundown of what had happened between mine and Brianna's times. The civil rights movements, the inventions of the internet, cell phones. He looked surprisingly pleased when I mentioned the queer rights movement.
“You look happy about that. Do you…know anyone…I'm not actually sure what wordage you use now, but uh. Homosexual men are gay, homosexual women are lesbians, and people who like either sex are bisexual.”
Jaime smiled. “Yes, actually, one of my old friends tends to like men, sometimes. I'm fond of him, so I'm quite pleased that someday, they'll be able to marry as we do. If you don't mind my asking, are you…?” he trails off, unsure of how to broach the question.
I sit, happy to have someone to talk to, who won't hate me for existing. At least, hopefully.
“Uh yeah. Im gay. Well. Actually it's a little complicated, but typically, mostly, I just like men. Sometimes a woman, but under specific circumstances I think…There's also a bunch of other labels, but you likely won't understand a lot of them so I'm not sure if I should go into it.” I test the waters, wondering. I know that typically, people of the past have actually had quite surprisingly progressive ideas on trans people, but past the Public Universal Friend I wasn't exactly aware of any trans people being really accepted at all in the colonies. And the Friend wasn't even technically accepted.
Jaime cocks his head to the side, almost playfully. “Ah you feel the same as my wife did. I'm not an old fashioned bastard. I bet I can wrap my mind around it, even if I'm a little bit ancient to you.” He jokes, his grin exposing his canines. I felt another flush go through me, and some definite shame. Damnit Will, this is a STRAIGHT MARRIED MAN.
“Okay well. Hm. There's some people who are very very disinterested in uh…intercourse, I suppose is the polite term. We call them asexual, and those who are disinterested in romance are aromantic. I'm sure you see a slight pattern.” Jaime nods, confirmation that he understands.
“Okay okay. Ummm. Im not sure how well you might understand this, or even accept it but. Some people just don't identify with the gender they were told they have, so they change it. Like sometimes, a girl doesn't really feel like a girl, so she decides to just. Be a man. And vice versa.”
Jaime is thinking about it, I could tell, but I wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it. He didn't look confused, but there were a range of emotions I could see cross his face.
After a few minutes, he finally nods. “Aye, I think I can understand how that might be. I've seen a few myself, here and there I believe. What d’ye call them, in your time?” He leans forward slightly, resting an elbow on his knee.
“Transgender. We usually shorten it to trans though. And medicine has come so far, we’re able to do medical gender transitions too. Y'know, there are a couple different hormones that are present in males and females, and we are able to basically make fake versions of that, so that we can look and sound more like how we identify, as well as surgeries that focus on sculpting the body to make it look more male or female too…That's uh. Probably a lot of information to take in though…Sorry.” He was definitely overwhelmed now, and I internally kicked myself for just infodumping. Most people didn't like that, at all. And then I realized. I said ‘we’ a few more times than I meant to. I literally outed myself. He seemed understanding, but you could never really tell until someone was literally presented with a trans person in front of them.
I move abruptly, grabbing my bag and rifling through it needlessly. I wanted something to do, anything, other than just sitting there in front of him, waiting for judgment. I haven't felt this afraid of being out of the closet since I came out at 16.
I shakily light another cigarette, this time completely ignoring the filter. Its not like it matters anyways, and besides, filterless is the fucking worst. I throw the match into the fire, watching it shrivel up and turn to ash as we sit in the deafening silence, the cracking of the burning wood and the soft breaths between us the only sounds.
Agonizing minutes pass, I don't even know how long. It's torturous, and I don't know what to do, how to break the silence, if I even should, when finally, finally, Jaime speaks again.
“Society has come a long way, on your end, aye? I'm sure you're used to being treated well, but you shouldn't go around proclaiming that you're..gay, was it?” I nod. “Aye, gay. Means happy, which I think is a little ironic, considering the conversation we’re having.”
“Ah, I dinna mind you being gay, Will, why do you look so scared? I'm just saying, you know this time. I can tell you do, else you would have dressed the part. Or at least close enough. I just don't want you getting hurt, or worse.” I wasn't actually expecting all of that from him, but I deeply appreciated it. He didn't mention me slipping up, so I think he was too preoccupied by the information to pay much attention to my overuse of ‘we’. Especially because I could just be saying we are societally. I need to stop overthinking.
“Now, about you saying ‘we’”.
Ah fuck.
I cringe slightly, and he sees it. He reaches over and grips my shoulder softly, leaning down slightly to get a better angle to look at my face, which I try to avoid, naturally.
“Yeah yeah yeah, I said we. It's not a big deal. I'm proud to be trans, it's a part of me that's shaped my existence. And yes, I know that's not safe here. If you have something to say, you can say it plainly.”
He chuckles, which I definitely didn't expect. Who responds to a vague threat with genuine laughter?
“Will, again, I dinna mind. You're too worried. I don't care what you do or who you are, I'm just curious. You don't have to share w’me.” He says, slightly squeezing my shoulder before releasing it. It felt cold without his hand.
Christ, you’re yearning.
“Im. Yeah. I'm trans. I was born a girl, but when I was 16, I realized that it was just. wasn't right. So here we are.” I look at him, meeting his eyes finally. They were full of compassion, of interest, and I couldn't help but think of them as pools of water.
I kept speaking, spurred on by the warmth in his expression.
“I started taking hormones a few years later, and eventually got a chest surgery to remove the breast tissue, creating a male looking chest. It's a lot more complicated than that but honestly, the details don't matter.”
We talk for hours, him asking me questions about my life in the 2000s, clarifying certain aspects of queer culture for him, even just telling him my favorite color or book. He seemed genuinely curious about all of it, and I was deeply grateful to him for it.
I told him about my autism, and he wondered aloud at how many people he knew that might be autistic, considering the diagnosis wouldn't be invented until after the second World War, and even then, wouldn't be frequently in use until I grew up.
I wasn't exactly sure when I fell asleep, but the birds were starting to sing and the fire was still warm, though the flames were much shorter now.