Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

God, sometimes I wish I could just disappear.

My dad had forced me to visit my relatives this month, since he was too busy to. It would've been fine, but they were in North Carolina, and Im queer.
They weren't like, outwardly unsupportive of me, mostly, but I could tell by the way they stared, or hesitate when introducing me.
This morning, I had a huge fight with my great aunt, after she asked me who i was on the phone with and i had told her it was my hormone doctor.
Now I was trekking through the woods, listening to my shitty music on my shitty phone.

I dont know exactly how long i'd been walking, but my ribs were starting to hurt and it was getting dark when my headphones started fucking up. It sounded like they were breaking, maybe, there was a weird buzzing that was drowning out my music. At first I thought it might've been radio interference, but I didn't think that was possible considering I was using my downloads on spotify.
I pulled the headphones out of my ears, only to find that the buzzing was outside. I paused and looked up from my phone.
I was standing in front of a mossy rock circle, and I swear to god, the noise was coming from them. It was intense, I could feel the vibrations in my bones, and I couldn't tell if I wanted to run away or get closer. I clutched my phone to my chest, my necklace clinking against the screen. I stepped closer, almost unconsciously, and stretched a hand out to the biggest rock, the one the farthest from me.
"WILL!!! WILLLLLLL!!!!!" I paused, and turned to see my uncle, Danny, running towards me, screaming my name. I scowled, not wanting to deal with him right now, but there wasn't much I could do about it.
He finally reaches me, panting, and grabs my shoulder to pull me away from the stones, dragging me back far enough that I could only faintly hear their buzzing.
"Will, whatever you do, DO NOT TOUCH THEM. It's not safe." His eyes were almost crazed looking, his words coming out harsh and fast. I could barely understand his explanation.
"They're a portal, I don't know where you'll end up but you probably won't make it back. Fairies or demons or somethin, I don't know, but whatever made it is playing some kinda sick joke. weve lost so many people over the years to the stones, DO NOT FUCKIN TOUCH EM!!!!" he shakes my shoulders as he says the last sentence, and i roughly pull myself away.
God, no wonder my dad didnt want to come, these people are fucking insane. Demons? Give me a break.
"Dude what the hell, dont fuckin yell at me like that. I could give less of a shit if demons made it honestly, but if it gets me away from yall, I'm all for it." I retorted in a nasty tone, knowing I was being mean but not very worried about it. The entire family had anger problems, everyone was used to it by now.
He sputters, clearly put off by my response. He tried to elaborate, but I put my hand up to stop him. "I don't wanna hear anymore. Seriously, no more about demons or fairies or anything. Just tell me what the deal is."
He looks uncomfortable, but grumbles an agreement. He gestures, beckoning me back to the house. He typically didn't talk much, this conversation was probably the most I'd ever heard him say in a single sitting.
I looked back at the standing stones as we walked away, and felt almost mournful, as if I was missing something, as if they were missing me.

"They've been here as long as anyone has. We don't know who built them, who built any of them. They're all over the world, you know." Danny takes a deep drink of his black coffee, his mouth slightly downturned, though I couldn't tell if it was the bitterness of the drink or the conversation.
"Some people can hear 'em, calling 'em to wherever they need to go. All the missing people, it's probably where they went. Some come back, yknow, but they're never the same."
I listened intently, knowing his words sounded crazy, but more than willing to believe it. I liked history, I liked learning about myths and legends, and many native tribes in this area had old stories about people disappearing into the rocks, coming back, saying they had visited another time, and there were also plenty of fake stories that said the same.
Plus, I heard them calling, that incessant buzzing sound.
"Our entire family hears 'em. My great grandma said we descended from Irish and Scottish druids, but I didn't believe her until she brought me to the stones. She said they sang to us, as demanding as a church." He glanced out the window in the direction of the stones. "My dad, her grandson, went missing. Came back months later, said he wasn't staying. Said he went back to 1897, met the love of his life in Paris. He only came back to say goodbye for good. If you touched it, I don't know where you'd go, Will."
I sat in silence, thinking. I knew several members of our family had vanished mysteriously or died young, but I always chalk that up to our hereditary mental health problems. I figured that we just tended to kill ourselves or run away, change our names.
Anybody in their right mind would call Danny crazy, but honestly, I didn't see any of that. I could see that he genuinely believed it, not out of insanity, but because he had seen it himself.
"Did you watch?"
"Yeah. We all went to say goodbye, send him off, me, your dad, and our sister. He wouldn't have ever told you, he still thinks it was just a bad batch of acid. Dumb kid." None of us have had very good lives and all of us had turned to some sort of substance to cope, so I couldn't really blame my dad.
I stood up from the table where I'd been sitting, the half eaten apple in front of me oxidized and abandoned. "I want to go. I dont have shit here for me, and I always felt like I wasn't supposed to be at this time anyways. Let me go, Danny."
He stares at me with the same green eyes as my dad, his brows furrowed and his expression unreadable. "I dont think it's a good idea Will, not when you're....y'know..." he gestures loosely at me, his gaze lingering on my flat chest, the subtle trans flag design on my shirt suddenly feeling bright and glaringly obvious to anyone who sees it.
I shrug, staring at him back with the same intensity. "It doesn't matter what time I go to, someones always going to have problems with me. At least if I try this, I feel like I'm doing something for myself. I've lost my job, I'm about to lose my apartment, I have no friends, and I just dumped my partner. What else is here for me?" I asked him, genuinely wondering if he could give me literally anything to change my mind.
But he doesn't even try. He just looks at the floor, his coffee cold and discarded on the counter.
"You need jewels to travel through the stones. Nothing more, just a gemstone. You won't know what time you're going to until you get there, but most of our family who've come back have ended up between the 1600s to the 1800s.You know history, you know survivalism. You'd probably be fine...right?"
"I don't know. We'll never really know for sure, will we?"
"No, probably not."

Chapter Text

I stood in front of the stones with my back turned to them, making sure I had everything I needed. I wore a simple white button up and black pants with some black lace up boots, probably way too modern for wherever I'd end up but it was the best I had. My pants were belted, a small coin purse full of old silver pieces that my great aunt had been collecting for years. Uncle Danny had sewn a few gemstones into the lining of my pants pocket, several in case I wanted to come back at any point.
He handed me a bag full of preserved foods in jars, extra clothing, and other miscellaneous items he thought I might need.
"Are you sure?" He asked for the dozenth time and I sighed as I handed him my phone.
"Yes, I'm sure. my dad knows the passcode, tell him i left a video for him to watch. Tell him that I went through the stones." Danny nods and slips the phone into his pocket, his expression clearly uncomfortable.
"Don't worry Danny, I'll come back if I can't deal with it, alright?"
He simply nods and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. Our family had never been particularly affectionate, so I appreciated the small gesture. He backs up slightly as I turn to face the stones, the buzzing becoming increasingly harder to ignore as it pulsed through my bones.
"Don't die, Will."
"I won't." I placed a single hand on the largest stone and.

Blackness.

Dark.

I opened my eyes to see the sun shining, dappling through the tall trees overhead. I could already tell it was different, the leaves were so abundant and so high above me. I sit up, groaning softly as I hold a hand to the back of my head. I had knocked it hard on the ground when I'd been transported, but I could tell it wasn't enough to be concerned about.
I looked around, pleased to see how much life there was, that there was such an ever present and thriving ecosystem. In 2023, the area around the stones was mostly barren, with only a handful of trees that had been planted over the years by my family and others who'd lived on the land. The air did not smell like anything but mulch, decaying leaves. I took a deep breath, savoring the finally fresh air.
Eventually I stood, making my way out of the stone circle. There was a path, barely visible in the grass. It had clearly been used before, but probably not often, and probably not for a while. I sigh and follow the path, hoping it will lead me to some sort of civilization.

It's been hours and nothing, though the path was more visible now. It looked like I was approaching a dirt road maybe, much wider and well worn than this dinky little trail was. My feet ached in my boots, they definitely weren't built for hiking like this. I plop down on the ground and lean back against a tree, munching on a stick of shitty dried jerky that I'm assuming Danny had cured by hand. It wasn't terrible, but I still prefer the store bought stuff. I had to get used to it.
I still didn't know what time I was in, I hadn't seen a single person at all. I don't even know what I'd say to them, or if I even should say anything. Maybe I could pretend to be nonspeaking? Depending on the era, my 21st century accent would be VERY out of place and probably kinda concerning.
It was still afternoon, though the wind was making it a bit chilly. I dug around in the bag, pleased to find that Danny had packed a jacket. It was probably more like a cardigan, but it was a button up and looked vaguely close to 18th century wear, just enough that it shouldn't look too out of place. I slipped it on and dug through the pockets, snickering softly to myself when I noticed he left a pack of cigarettes in it, as well as some matches. He always said smoking with a match was better than a lighter, no butane taste or whatever. I light a cigarette and inhale, not really enjoying the taste but grateful to have something to do. I stand and sling my bag back over my shoulder, continuing on.
After maybe five minutes, I hear what sounds like horse hooves behind me. I stop and turn, waiting, until I see a horse and cart being driven by a rather handsome man with a ginger ponytail. His cart was mostly empty, it looked like he could've been trading maybe. I raised a hand to him, hoping he'd stop.
Thankfully he did, and greeted me with a thick Scottish accent.
"Afternoon sir. Do you need help?" he asks, his blue eyes framed prettily underneath his red curls. I nod, feeling deeply nervous at this conversation.
"Uh...this may seem like a really odd request but um...Do you know the date?" i ask, and cringe slightly, hoping he didnt think i was fucking insane.
A single brow shoots up and he looks at me quizzically, though if it was from the question or my accent I couldn't be sure.
"September 27th, 1772. Are ye feelin alright, man?" His tone seemed genuinely concerned, and I nodded quickly.
"I've been out here for a really long time, and i didnt know what day it was. I'm sorry, sir, please, continue on." I say, stepping back to allow him a wide berth to continue his journey. He pauses momentarily, seeming to consider something, before gesturing to me. "Do you need a ride? I'm on my way home, my wifes expecting me in a few days, but if you need to go to town I can take you there."
Oh my god, he's NICE? I wasn't religious, but I could have thanked God about them.
"Yes, please, I'd appreciate that. i dont uh...i don't actually have a place in mind to go. I'm just wandering." I say, and scoff at myself for being so mysterious. So much for a low profile.
He glances behind us, and I see that he was staring at the path I'd been standing on. I see an unreadable expression cross his face for a moment, and then he looks at me.
"Your accent sounds like my daughter Brees." He says, nonchalantly, and I feel my eye twitch slightly. That should've been impossible, realistically.

Chapter Text

I force a smile onto my face, distinctly aware of how plain my anxiety must be. "It does? Interesting..." I say lamely, kicking myself for not even trying to put on the shitty irish accent i can do. I glanced around the forest before sighing softly and hopping up, sitting on the drivers bench next to the rather brawny ginger man and carefully placing my pack on my lap.
Up close, I could now see he was older than I first suspected, crows feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes and the beginnings of white curling at his temples. He was, to be honest, devastatingly handsome, and I thought immediately of the attitude towards queers in this era.
"M-my name is Will. William McMichael...Sir..." I stutter out, unsure of how to address him. Though I was a bit of a history buff, I wasn't super knowledgeable of the vernacular of most time periods, at least past what I saw in period piece movies.
He offers me a smile and urges the horse onwards, glancing at me as he does. "Jaime Fraser, at your service. And please, no need to call me sir. I'm just a man." His Scottish brogue curled his words deliciously, and I felt a little envious about the fact that my fake accent was so bad.
I nod in response to his words and focus my eyes ahead, glad for the beautiful scenery and the ride. I was plagued by thoughts that this was a terrible idea, that I'd definitely die here, and soon, but god it was wonderful to be here, before the extent of the colonization of America hits these woods.

We rode in silence for a long while before Jaime spoke again, his tone gentle, yet firm. "You look awfully young, Will. If you don't mind me asking, and I only do so for your safety, but...are you on the run? Perhaps a deserter? D'ya need a place to hide?"
I was struck again by how kind he seemed. I flushed slightly in embarrassment at the age comment, keenly aware of my feminine features. I'd been taking testosterone for years now, but I knew I looked androgynous at best. I preferred looking this way, but I have to admit, It might not be ideal this time, considering I'll have to pretend to be cishet.
"Er...no. No, not exactly. Um..." I look at him, and then away, scrambling for a believable explanation. I see him watching me from the corner of my eye.
I've come to learn in my life that the fastest way to create a good lie is to start with the truth and just change a detail here and there. Problem was, I wasn't even sure how to start with the truth.
"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to keep my backstory to myself for now. But no, I'm not a deserter, nor am I running, nor escaping. But to answer your last question, I don't exactly have a place to go. I'm rather new to the Carolinas."
He turns back, facing forwards once more. "I can respect a man's privacy, but you can talk to me if need be, ya ken?" I nod, and we spend the rest of our journey in silence, until I end up drifting off to sleep, my bag still clutched in my lap.

When I woke up, the cart stopped in the middle of some trees, cleverly hidden from view of the road, and the sky was beginning to darken. I glance around, noticing Jaime crouched over a small fire near the back of the cart. I hop down and join him, placing my bag on the ground and nervously playing with the cigarette pack in my pocket.
Jaime glances at me and gives me a warm smile as I sit, which I return gratefully. He takes great care in tending the fire, blowing on it gently to urge the flames to reach just a bit higher, before placing a metal kettle on the fire and filling it with water from his canteen. He places some herbs or twigs inside of it. I'm not sure exactly what they are, though I can tell it's a tea of some sort. It's hard to see in the dark.
Jaime notices me watching and hands me a small cloth package, where I can see a collection of herbs. Dandelion, chamomile, and a couple I can't identify.
"My wife is a healer. She often gives me remedies and teas and such when I go out by myself, in case of. Well in case of this, really." He puts the lid on the kettle and settles on a rock, watching me with searching eyes. He was wildly intelligent, I could already tell. I'm sure he already had uncovered all of my secrets, just by looking into my eyes. It didn't seem like much got past him.
"Dandelion, wild cherry bark, chickweed, chamomile, and ginger root. It's generally good for you, she says. It's sort of a...what did she call it...catch-all?" My eyes flicked up to his. That was an oddly modern word for such a clearly colonial era man.
"It sounds like she knows what she's doing." I hand the small package back to him and look into the fire, enjoying the smell of the smoking wood.
"Aye, that she does. She might just be the smartest person I've ever met." He speaks about his wife so warmly, as if she was the light that had guided him through more than one pitch black night.
"Are you married, Will? Or engaged?"
I shake my head in response, worrying about the hem of my shirt sleeve as I speak. "No, I'm afraid I'm not very interested in women at this point." I was beginning to become comfortable. I was less afraid of potential harm now, so I figured I could begin telling the truth. "Well, to be honest...I'm not sure I'm well suited to marriage, you understand. Something about it just doesn't feel right yet."
Jaime nods thoughtfully, pulling out a long bladed knife to poke the sticks in the fire.
I fiddle with the pack of cigarettes in my pocket again, trying to open it with one hand. After I succeed, I carefully pull it out and tear away the filter from it. The filter would be almost impossible to explain. Though I couldn't remember if matches were invented yet, I was almost certain they were, so I wasn't too worried about that part. I stood and walked a little farther away so I didn't end up blowing cigarette smoke into Jaimes face. I strike the match and light my cigarette, faintly aware of Jaime staring directly at me. I turn slightly, cocking my head at him as I take a drag from the cigarette trying desperately not to gag and splutter. The taste of the filterless tobacco was harsh and disgusting.
Jaime must not have realized what I was doing, because he nods and goes back to tending the fire, that same thoughtful, deep expression crossing his features. I began wondering if he had caught on already, knew I was from the future. After all, he said his daughter had the same accent, and that was literally impossible unless she was from the 20th or 21st centuries.
After I finish my cigarette, I return to the log where I was sitting earlier and dig around in my bag before I find the jerky. I pull out a few strips and offer some to Jaime, who takes them with a murmur of gratitude. Time passes in comfortable silence, him offering me a cup of tea once it finished boiling.
I sip the tea, enjoying the deep herbality of it as I scan the dark sky. I was astounded by how many stars you could see, and all of them so bright and distinct. I'd always enjoyed learning about space, and was pleased by the lack of extreme light pollution out here in the colonial era woods.
"There are so many stars here," I murmur, mostly to myself. Jaime looks at me, then up at the sky, and then back to me. A slight smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he inclines his head in agreement. "Aye, there are, guiding the way home for weary travelers."
"I've heard some say that stars are our ancestors, shining down on us from the heavens." I say with a slight smirk, remembering the iconic speech from Mufasa in The Lion King.
Jaime looks like he's considering this information. "I suppose I could see how someone would come to that conclusion. Do you have any particular ideas on it?" He asks curiously, taking a sip from a flask he pulls out of his pocket, before offering it to me.
I take it gratefully and take a swig, surprised by the potency of the flavor. I was under the impression that alcohol in these days was weaker, but I may just be thinking of beer. I splutter a little, coughing slightly at the burn in my throat. Jaime grins at me, and I snicker in response before returning the flask to him.
"I don't have any likes. Spiritual opinions on stars, if that's what you're asking. I'm a man of science, and I let science guide the majority of my opinions on things. Stars are just massive balls of hot gas in my opinion, but that's not a very popular opinion." I shrug slightly, very aware that this was knowledge that was available at this time, but wasn't commonly known at all. In fact, it wouldn't be until at least 1838 that it would be widely accepted, and 1925 until we realized what the actual composition of stars were.
"Ah, yes. My wife and daughter believe the same, you know. Intelligent women, they. My daughter likes to invent things, though people don't take her too seriously."
I furrow my brows at this information. "That's a shame, I'm sure her creations are wonderful. Would you tell me about some of them?" I ask, curious as to what this girl might invent. I figured it was something useful for the home, maybe a faster way of doing something. Women were not afforded many freedoms in this time, so I doubt she'd be encouraged to do much outside of housework or husband finding by her community, though Jaime seemed much more progressive.
He smiles warmly and begins talking about his daughter, Brianna's, creations. He exuded so much pride, it was palpable in the air.
"And a while ago, she made these little sticks. White phosphorus on the ends, she said. Drag them down a rough surface, and they burst into flame at the tip. She called them matches." He meets my eyes, a certain expression I couldn't place on his face.
I hope he didn't see me go pale. I knew a woman didn't invent matches.

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.

Chapter Text

Hands traced up my bare thighs, past my hips, gripping my waist. Soft touch, calloused fingers, warm breath against my neck. A moan escapes his mouth and tickles my ear as he rubs his groin into mine, the layers of cloth separating us seeming like nothing. I tangle my fingers into his hair, holding his face to the concave of my collarbone as he pushes the fabric aside, pressing his bare skin into mine, pushing himself in between my-

My head slipped off my bag and hit the ground unceremoniously, waking me from my rather improper dream. I tried to ignore the vague tingle in my crotch, and how distinct the ‘mystery’ man's red hair was…
I groan softly and sit up, holding my temple with one hand as I clumsily push myself off the ground where I slept with the other. Jaime looks at me from his place by the fire, the smell of coffee rising to greet me. It smelled disgusting.
“Morning Will. Did you sleep well?” He asks, thankfully unaware of the lewdity of my dream. Never had I been more grateful for the fact that I don't talk in my sleep. I nod in response to his question, dragging myself over to the fire and sitting on the log in front of it. I waved away his offer of coffee and reached in my bag for a joint, one of the few I had stashed in here. I knew I'd run out eventually, but right now I could use it. I take only a couple hits before putting it back in its container, feeling slightly more ready to be awake.
Jaime doesn’t question me, I assume he likely recognized the smell. He had told me about the time he had spent traveling, alone and with Claire, and he had visited countries that I knew had quite easy access to cannabis plants.
I spent maybe 15, 20 minutes fully waking up, and Jaime was patient with me, though I knew he likely missed his wife and wanted to return to her quickly. It would take at least a few more days to reach his settlement, and from what he told me last night about himself, he had been away from her for quite long stretches. I'm sure it didn't make it any easier for him.
I felt guilty, naturally, about having these little feelings about Jaime, he was clearly devoted to his wife, and I didnt want to stand in the way of that. But god, I would climb him like a tree if he asked.
Ahem. Anyways.

The rest of our journey passed rather uneventfully, just a couple days of us becoming familiar with each other, learning about our different worlds. Jaime tutored me on behaving more traditionally time appropriate, within reason. I refused to be sexist, or hold any of the weird ass opinions that so many people of this era did. He respected that, even going as far as to tell me that he admired that in a man, and I couldn't help but feel my stomach drop, you know, the way it did when you were in middle school, talking to your crush. It would be very bad form to develop a crush on this man, and I knew it.
I also knew that it's not exactly something you can control, even a little bit.
We ended up stopping in town briefly, for a refill on some supplies that he needed for the journey, as well as things he needed to procure for the settlement. We even stopped in a tavern for the night, finding a room in the inn above it. Unfortunately, it was a one bedder. The infamous one bed trope, playing out, in my real life?
Sadly, no. Jaime slept on the floor. Like a gentleman. YAWN.
When we finally reached Fraser's Ridge, I was almost taken aback by how scenic it was. Genuinely looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie. Picturesque.
“It's beautiful…” I mumble softly, unconsciously reaching out and grabbing Jaime's upper arm. He smiles over at me, his grin slightly lopsided. “Aye, that it is. This land is as beautiful as they come, and reminds me of Scotland. There's a heather field, not too far from her. It reminds me of a Highland meadow I loved when I was a bairn.” His voice takes on a nostalgic, almost wistful tone. I can see the figures of a couple women step out of the large wooden house in front of us, and the taller one waves. Jaime waves back, the grin on his face must be plainly visible to the women on the porch.
“My wife is the one waving. Bree’s there, with her son. Roger should be around here somewhere…” He trails off as his eyes scan the property, and I finally spot a man coming out from around the side of the house. He waves to us as well, and we make our way down the main road to meet them. 

By the time introductions were finished and the horse was put back in the stables, the sun was beginning to set and we were ushered inside for supper. Jaime had pulled Claire aside and told her I was introverted, so she made sure it was just their family that joined us tonight. It was really fun, honestly, even with the occasional glances they were giving me. I had seen the look that she, Roger, and Bree had shared when I spoke, the same surprised and mildly confused expression on their faces.
 My family had never really been close like this and it was comforting to sit and talk with everyone, even if we were just beginning to know each other. I had sort of been hoping to put off any time travel discussion until the morning, but unfortunately, Jaime had other plans.
It had started off innocently enough with Claire asking me about myself. We had been chatting about interests, very conspicuously avoiding any mentions of where I was from. That is, until Jaime had decided to suddenly blurt out that I was “very fond of human rights.” It wouldn't be until generations in the future that human rights would be even sort of established, so that by itself was enough to give Claire pause. But then, of course, Jaime had to keep going. He talked about the Black Panther Party, of all things. Brianna’s jaw went slack and she stared at me with such intensity that I swear my entire body started to itch. I remember Jaime telling me that his daughter grew up in America in the 50’s and 60’s, so there's no doubt she would know exactly what he was talking about. Jaime kept yapping happily about what he had learned about the Party, giving me that mischievous little look, and Claire looked between the three of us with mild confusion. 
I pinched the bridge of my nose between two fingers, a soft sigh escaping me as I resign myself to my fate. “You forgot to tell them that the Party was started in 1966.” I say simply, giving Jaime a scathing glare, the blow lessened by the fact that I couldn't keep the smirk off my face. Brianna’s gaping maw coupled with her too-wide eyes gave her an eerie expression, and Roger looked back and forth between us like I had said something offensive while me and Jaime stared each other down with equally playful energy. Claire, the poor woman, swiveled her head around at us with such a confused expression that Jaime couldn't help but begin to laugh.
That began a long conversation about my true identity and origin, which I had very much hoped to put off until at least tomorrow. I was exhausted, not from a lack of energy, but from the stress of the entire experience. Nothing bad had even happened yet, and I was already starting to feel worn down by my existence again. I thought it might feel different here than it did in my own time, but clearly you can't escape the humiliation and isolation that comes with autism and mental health issues. Nonetheless, I stayed up throughout the night giving everyone the rundown on what had happened in the last few decades since Brianna and Roger left in the 70’s, with Jaime chiming in here and there on the things he thought were the most interesting. When Jaime eventually blurted out my queerness, I sighed softly and told him how you weren’t supposed to out people, though nobody seemed to mind my identities. I was surprised at just how sheepish he became, glancing away in shame like a scolded puppy. 
That stupid tummy flutter again.
He ended up being the one to show me to my room in the early hours of the morning, Bree and Roger long gone home and Claire heading the opposite way to hers and Jaime's room. I stumble on an uneven board and he places a hand on my upper back to stabilize me before we turn a corner. He opens a door to reveal a cozy guest room with a desk and chair, dresser, and bed. He brings his lit candle to the one on the bedside table and sets it ablaze, offering more warm light to the room. It looked like he had already brought my bag in earlier, as it was sitting on the bed waiting to be unpacked, along with a pile of neatly folded laundry. 
“Claire had me get you another couple outfits from Young Ian’s old laundry. We dinna ken your measurements, so these are probably too long, but it should do you well until we can get you tailored.” I thank him gratefully before he begins to walk out, offering me one more smile before he closes the door and I hear his footsteps grow further away. 
I sit on the bed and sump out my bag unceremoniously, depositing my things chaotically on the thin summer quilt.  
The small purse of old coins clinked musically as it tumbled from the pack. but i had forgotten about the jars. They made a horrid clattering sound, and I winced before checking them for breaks or cracks. I was virtually out of food anyways so the issue would have definitely been the glass shards. 
I moved around the room, putting objects where I felt they fit the best. Clothes in the dresser, coins, a book I had slipped into my bag, and some cloth wrapped medicinal herbs on the top of it. My drawing pad and pencil case were left on the desk with the joints I had left. All in all, my belongings were meager and easy to travel with, though I figured I would collect more over the time I spent here.
It would be unlikely I ever left. 

Chapter Text

I woke in the late morning to happy chatter and the wonderful smell of bacon emanating from downstairs. I manage to drag myself out of bed with little trouble and move to the dresser to dress for the day. Even with my special interest in historical dress, it was difficult to figure out which pieces went where and how to button it. I had just let out a string of curses when I heard a knock at the door, and once I managed to cover myself at least semi properly, I cracked the door open to find Claire standing there. She smiles warmly at me, looking rather regal in her green skirt and simple button up shirt.
“Good morning, Will. I trust you slept well?”
I nod, a little sheepishly, and open the door a touch wider. “Can you uh…help me? I don’t remember where all the pieces go…”
She quirks an eyebrow but smiles gently once more. She sweeps into the room and closes the door behind her before she moves me over to the floor length mirror and stands me in front of it. We spend a few minutes going over the items and where to attach buttons, tie strings, etcetera. I couldn’t help but be giddy over the entire thing, I had only seen authentic 1770’s dress in museums and textbooks, to be able to actually wear the clothing in the time itself? Wonderful.
A linen shirt first, reaching to about mid thigh. It fit well, a surprise since Claire said Young Ian was lankier than I. Next the simple white stockings and garters, kerchief, a blue waistcoat vest, and matching trousers. They were a pretty color, homespun and dustier toned than the bright plastic blues of my own time. Wait… Were these dyed with indigo? Finally, simple black leather shoes.
“There, all finished. What do you think?” Claire asks me as she stands behind me in the mirror. I fiddle with the kerchief for a moment before checking myself out, turning to the side and smoothing the vest down on my chest. “I think it's wonderful. Is this indigo dye? It’s a very beautiful color.” She nods and puts a hand on her hip.
“Are you knowledgeable about plants? Perhaps you can help me in the surgery.”
I shake my head slightly and turn to face her as I glance about the room. Sometimes I wish eye contact wasn’t so hard. “Actually, I’m a historian. Well, not like…I didn’t go to school for it or anything, I’ve always just really liked learning about the past and trying traditional ways of doing stuff. This looks a lot like the indigo dyed shirts I made with my friends a few years ago.”
“Ohhh, I see. Well, Roger and Bree both have a passion for history, so I’m sure you can talk to them about stuff if you like. But for now, let’s go downstairs, shall we? You must be hungry.”
As we leave my room, I take the time to survey my surroundings. Hand carved wooden stair rails, elegant decor, it was all so homey and historical I could almost die. Everyone greets me warmly when I enter the dining room, the main family now joined by Marsali and Fergus, who introduced themselves immediately. Fergus was very handsome, but I was surprised to hear he had a french accent, considering his name.
“Milord hired me in France to help him with things, but ended up essentially adopting me and giving me his name. I feel eternally grateful to him.” Marsali nods with a grin. “Aye, if he hadn’t I’d probably be stuck in Scotland still. Whirlwind romance and all. Did ye know I snuck onto the ship that brought them here? Hid until the last possible second so Jaime couldn’t send me back to my Ma.”
I snort a little at that, imagining a slightly younger version of them standing stalwartly in a cabin, defying her mother. It was quite the image.
We made our way through breakfast, though most of the others had almost finished their food - it looked like they let me sleep in, thankfully. After breakfast, Jaime took me aside, leading me into the drawing room. I was a little nervous about itt, he had quite a serious expression and I had no idea if I had already fucked up or not.
“Will, I must ask. Do you have any family you know of? Did’ye have a plan, when ye came through the stones?” I shook my head sheepishly, but he simply nodded and moved to look out the window.
“I’ll offer you a place here, if you want. You’ll have to work hard, whatever you do, but we are fair people, and I honestly don't really trust any others to take you in, just in case they find out about your…situation. I’ve already talked it over with my wife, she thinks it’s a good idea. You can think about it for as long as you need. Even if you don’t want to work on a farm, I’ve got a few friends in town who could use help.” He looked surprisingly hopeful when he looked back at me, his blue eyes directly meeting mine. I hesitated for a moment as I tried to force the warmth out of my cheeks, and I nodded at him. “I don't need any time. I’d like to stay here. I think it would be best to have others around who understand what it's like to… to be here.”
He inclines his head, his eyes softening around the edges. “Aye, it’s overwhelming, I’m sure. You should talk to my wife, or Bree and Roger, if you feel isolated or upset about it. They had their own adjustment periods, you could lean on them for help. We help each other here.”

((after this line, this chapter deals with heavy topics, namely violence, rape and transphobia.))

By mid November, I felt pretty settled in, if not entirely comfortable. I helped out where I could, preferring to assist the women in their work. Sometimes, other people who lived on the ridge would comment that it was odd, but we were able to come up with a quick explanation that I had been quite sickly as a child and had always been rather weak, so I wasn't as strong as I should be. It seemed to work, considering how much shorter, paler, and less masculine I looked than the other men, everyone would give me pitying words and allow me to continue baking or whatever my task was. Sometimes I even got to help Claire out in the surgery, cleaning things up or assisting in minor wounds. She often said she was grateful I had more modern medical knowledge, even if I wasn’t a med student it was easy for me to correct her own flawed knowledge. She only had a 60s-70s era education, though she said she was quite a bit more modern in thought than the rest of her colleagues.
By the end of November, I’d found that I had grown quite close to Claire. She reminded me of my own mother, who I really missed, and when I said as much she was really appreciative. I think they had already gathered that I was a bit closed off with my emotions and so they never pried, but I knew that they were curious and pitying over my odd reactions and responses to some things. Once, Jaime had clapped his hand on my shoulder after coming up behind me. I hadn’t noticed he was there, so my automatic response was to let out a yelp and drop to the floor, my arms covering my head. He was so surprised by my reaction he cried out as well, kneeling immediately and checking if I was hurt. I wasn’t of course, but after that day he had made sure to be a bit louder when approaching me, which I really appreciated. He was so sweet.
One day, a strange man and his wife I hadn’t seen arrived at our home, a guy named Lionel Brown apparently. I was helping in the surgery that day, and I could tell that Claire didn’t care for him. The man seemed put off by me, I assume one of those weird dudes who thinks any man even semi close to their wife is a threat to their existence. He glowered at me as I brought bandages over to them, so Claire sent me out of the room to gather some tea. The man broke his wife’s arm, and I didn’t need more than the two minutes I was in there to notice. He left quickly and I didn’t think much more about it until a few days later.
Roger and Brianna and their son, Jeremiah, decided to return home to their own time, through the stones that I touched to bring me here. Jaime’s nephew, Young Ian, took them instead of Jaime and Claire, I assume because it'd be too hard to say goodbye. Me and Claire were in the surgery when suddenly there was a massive explosion, a huge boom that I swore I could feel in my teeth. We rushed outside, only to find that the whiskey still had blown up. Jaime and a couple other men were in a panic and rushed away, leaving me and Claire there in case there were injuries.
Her and Marsali were in the middle of helping one of the tenants with a shoulder dislocation, I was in the corner taking inventory for the next trip into town and minding Germain, Marsali’s and Fergus’s eldest, when the door burst open, a swarm of men descending on us like flies. The tenant stood to defend the girls, and was almost immediately dispatched by a man violently thrusting a blade forwards and stabbing him in the stomach. I could barely see what was happening, it was a complete rush of bodies that just kept appearing. I saw Marsali grab a pair of scissors and try to swing them at someone who promptly socked her in the head with the pommel of his blade. She dropped with a sickening thud, the wound on her forehead already beginning to trickle blood.
I had somehow ended up in front of Claire, trying to shield her from the men, only for one of them to yell, “That's the one! The witch’s queer little girl-thing!” I could feel my eyes bulge out of my skull, how could someone find out already? Especially strangers? I was dragged away from Claire, our screaming muffled by the bags they shoved over our heads as they pulled us out of the surgery and into the open air. At one point I was thrashing and howling so badly that one of the men hit me, once in the stomach and once in the nose as hard as he could. I’d never been punched in the nose before, and I could hear a sickening crunch as the cartilage and bone split and broke inside my face. The pain was enough that I couldn’t keep awake, and dropped into a void, a black nothing of sleep.

Vile.
That's the only word I could think of to describe the voice I hear as I begin to regain consciousness.
That slimy guy, Mr. Brown, speaking muffled in his disgusting gravely voice. Arguing with Claire. I open my eyes, finding myself on my side facing Claire and Brown. The men were in a circle around us and I could taste blood in my mouth, as well as a pounding headache and aching face.
“-telling my wife to avoid my bed! I'm gonna take you to Brownsville and you're gonna confess to the womenfolk there, and they’re gonna see you for the charlatan you are.”
I gag slightly and cough a clot of mucousy blood to the ground only to be lifted roughly by a man standing behind me. He held me by the scruff of my vest, bringinging me unsteadily to my feet. Brown’s eyes flick to me and disgust fills his features. “And look what you've done to this poor girl. Someone on your land was kind enough to let me know about her. Said she had some queer opinions, said she behaved too womanly to be a man. I mean, whoever heard of a man sitting with the womenfolk in the kitchen making bread for the whole damn place?” A chorus of laughter met his scathing words, and I could feel my face warm in anger. I scowled at him, wiping my nose on my sleeve. The blood was mostly coagulated and crusted away, and god the pain almost made me tear up. “I am a man. As man as any one of you.”
He spits at my feet, brown sludge soiling the green grass below me.
They spend some time taunting us for a while before one of the men decides to get a little closer and slice Claire’s chest, leading to a string of cussing that one of the other guys is really worried about. Apparently people have been spreading a rumor that she’s a witch and will curse them for harming her. They, naturally, paid no mind and he kept doing it anyways, her screams and curses only seeming to drive him on. I can barely stand stable and upright, but I move anyways, launching myself forwards and body slamming the guy holding Claire. She takes hold of me and pulls me as she sprints away, but with the fabric of her dress and my unstable balance, we are pinned before we even make it into the trees. She’s dragged to her feet and held in place by a few of the men while two hold me down and leer over me, one of them wearing an enraged expression and the other smirking evilly.
“I wonder if what they say is true? Are you really a girl? It don’t feel like you got anythin’ on your chest, but then again, sometimes women dont have much on ‘em do they?” The man's breath is hot and sour as it fans my face, the smell of whiskey and unwashed teeth making me want to escape even more. I struggle under them, but the guy with the sour breath only snorts at me and forces his knee between my legs, pressing on the sensitive flesh between my thighs
”Oh? I’m not feeling anything here. You really are a girl huh?” I wince and manage to slip my hand out of his grasp to hammer a fist into his temple, but the other dude manages to grab it and pin my arms back down.
“WILL!!! WILL!!! Get OFF of him, you fucking bastards! I swear to god, I will KILL you!!” Claire’s screams direct my attention to her. She’s being held to the ground on her knees by three men, a fourth holding her by her chin to keep her attention trained on me. He shoves a piece of filthy fabric into her mouth to muffle her wailing, but it only managed to slur her words and dampen the sound minimally. I could see Brown behind her, staring at me with a disgusted look.
“Let’s see if she really is a man.”
The man with the sour breath giggles strangely and he rearranges himself to sit astride me, pinning my hips into place as he yanks my vest apart, a few buttons popping off and scattering around us. He uses a knife from his belt to easily slice open the fabric of my undershirt, revealing an indeed flat chest, but not one that was naturally so. I hear Claire’s muffled gasp through her gag. She hasn’t seen my chest before, nobody here has. The jagged pink scar bisecting my chest under the pectoral muscles, the scar I didn't take good enough care of. It had keloided slightly, and since I had such an ample chest beforehand they couldn’t do keyhole surgery for minimal scarring, it just wouldn't have worked. I know my scar was surprising and shocking to some people, but it didn’t upset me. It was a constant reminder of the fact that I’m me and I’m alive.
I could see the disgust in Brown's eyes, in the curl of his lip. “The hell is that? Looks like someone tried to cut you in half!” I was too focused on Brown to notice at first, but when I felt the hand grabbing my crotch I squealed and bucked against him, trying to escape the vile touching. The man simply laughed and pulled open my breeches, pushing them down my hips and moving the fabric from my undershirt away to expose my genitals.
“She’s a girl all right!” The man with sour breath whoops as he grins toothily at the other men. Brown grabs Claire by the hair and drags her closer to me, her screams garbled as she frantically slaps and grabs at his hand. “Not only did you manipulate this girl into bein’ a man, you even mutilated her! You disgusting slut. They were right, you are a witch, some devil-breeding cunt sent here to violate the womenfolk, aren't you?”
“NO! No she didn’t do anything, it wasn't her!! I did it all, I did it before I even met her! She didn't even know, please stop hurting her!”
He only leers at me and clenches her hair harder before he orders the men holding me to strip my breeches off.

Maybe I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. Maybe if I hadn't, they would’ve just beaten us around for a little while, at least until Jaime found us. Young Ian told me once that Jaime always found her, always saved her.
Wishful thinking. Even if I hadn't said anything, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome.

I don't remember losing consciousness. I think it was when Brown pistol whipped me with his gun after I called him a pathetic fucking bastard, but I can't be sure. When I wake back up, I can hear Claire sobbing somewhere near me and the sky is a little darker. A man is on top of me. I know what he’s doing. It’s not the first time and it won't be the last. I don’t cry. I never cried any time this had happened to me in my own time, and I won't give this time the satisfaction of my tears either.
The man is thrusting into me, and it might have been painful if it weren't for his comically small dick. His face was close to mine, his disgusting breath fanning my cheek as he leaned to bury his face in my shoulder. Sour breath guy, of course. I take a few moments to blink and gain at least some semblance of alertness. I was naked on the ground, rocks and leaves and sticks digging into my skin. It was slightly damp, the man was putting his full weight on me.
His ear was next to my mouth. His ear was next to my mouth.
I don't think he noticed I was awake at first, so it was easy to clamp my mouth over it and bite as hard as I could. I don’t know how Mike Tyson made this look easy. The man screeches and yanks his head away, tearing most of the flesh from his ear in the process. He scrambles backwards as he clutches his ear, his oddly small penis flopping semi erect as he escapes my reach. I spit the ear out and sit up, but before I can stand Brown is on top of me, slapping and punching me in the face. I didn’t realize at first, but I was howling, wailing. A foot connected with my stomach and I doubled over, folding inwards ro protect my vital organs and head as several men kicked me repeatedly. I couldn’t hear much over my screaming, but I swore I heard Claire screaming too, but in rage and not pain. I hoped they weren't raping her too.

I don’t know how long it went on, but by the time the beating stopped I was in so much pain I couldn’t even try to fight the next man who slipped himself into me. I don't know how many were even in the full group, much less how many were taking their turns. It felt neverending, a constant stream of violation, of cocks and fingers and mouths shoved where they didn't belong. I had been raped, yes, I had been assaulted, but it was nothing like this. The violence in their eyes, the disgusting, vile things they said to me. I could barely understand half of what they said as I think I might've gone partially deaf in one ear, but one thing kept being repeated. That I was an evil girl, bewitched by the devil. That they were gonna set me right.
I couldn’t see out of one of my eyes, my nose was shifted to the side, and I could feel splits on my lip and chin. It was dark now, and the men had gone off to sit around a newly constructed fire, though they had tied us up and left us under a pine tree. The needles fanned out, obstructing the moon as the clouds moved over it. I didn’t want to look down at myself. I could hear Claire sobbing next to me, whispering that she was so sorry, that it was all her fault. It wasn't.
I gurgled a little as I turned to look at her, clearing my throat of the newly collected blood and spitting it onto the pine needle covered dirt. “S’not your fault. I’m okay.” I wasn’t.
“Claire?”
“Yes, Will?”
“Do you think anyone will come?”
“Yes. Jaime will come. He always does.”
It was growing cold, the late November night setting in quickly. They had put my undershirt back on me, but it offered little resistance to the chill. When I looked up at Claire again, she looked so beaten up, they had busted her lip and eyebrow open and sliced her chest, the wound clotted but an angry red. She looked at me with so much guilt and pity that I couldn’t help myself. I finally broke down into sobs, silent heaving sobs that wracked my body and poured tears and snot from my face. Claire scoots as close as she can and I lean into her, our bodies barely touching as she gives me her support.
I fell asleep again for a little while, but not deeply. At one point, I swear I can hear Claire hissing to someone as she begs him to let her go, I think I hear something about him being a time traveller too? I don’t catch the rest, my body forcing me into shutdown mode again.

“SASSENACH!! SASSENACH WHERE ARE YOU?!”
“JAIME!!!!”
I wake to chaos. It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust, one of them fully swollen shut and the other bleary and crusted with sleep.
There was a slaughter happening before me. Things were on fire, men were fighting and being killed left and right. Claire screams for her husband, but I can barely understand what’s happening. I can barely think, the brain fog dulling my senses to where everything sounded muffled, looked hazy. Even the smell of burning wood and hair was only faint compared to the rich, bitter iron plugging my sinuses. I hear Jaime yelling again and this time spot him slashing through a man's throat as he sprints towards us. Even through my haze he looked heroic, smeared in blood and soot as he brandished a dirk in one hand and a flintlock pistol in the other. He looked horrified at the state of Claire, but when he saw me his face crumpled, the rage replaced by the most intense guilt I’d seen in my life.
“Jaime help him please!” She cries as he sinks to his knees and slices our ropes. I see Young Ian a few meters behind him in his war paint, axes drawn as he follows his uncle. He helps Claire stand, as she's only been beaten a few times and can still walk. Jaime picks me up gingerly, like an injured dog, and I can’t help but whimper when he touches my ribs - I think they might have been broken.
“You are both alive. You are whole.” He says softly to us as he turns around to face the now quiet field of viscera. The men from the Ridge were beginning to gather, the expressions I could see a mixture of horror, guilt, and pity. Roger hurries forwards, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around me to preserve whatever dignity I had left. Jaime tried to ask who hurt me, and how many, but I could only look at Claire and shake my head.
“We don't know…” She said quietly. Somberly.
“They made her watch.” God, my voice sounded vile and sickly.
I feel Jaime clutch me just a little tighter, and when I look at him his face is clouded with anger.
“Kill them all.”

Chapter Text

I could barely speak the next few weeks. A couple of the men had choked me apparently, I don't remember, but there were finger shaped bruises spotting my throat and down my shoulders. Really everywhere that could be grabbed was, and everything hurt as much as possible. Claire said I needed 23 stitches in just my face alone, and that they did in fact break my nose and two ribs. I spent almost three weeks in the surgery recovering, and during that time could not have a single man except for Jaime in the room. Young Ian had stopped by frequently to give me gifts and bring me books, but I couldn’t even look at him without feeling nauseous. It wasn’t the trauma of the rape, it’s the shame of being seen like that, of people knowing that I’m not as strong as I pretend to be and that I’m trans.
Jaime was helpful with that. He kept insisting that almost nobody knows that I’m actually trans, that most of the people on the ridge think I was violently sodomized as a cis man. Ian knew now, as well as the rest of the immediate family, but that was all. It gave me at least some comfort.
Claire was surprised that the rape didn’t affect me as bad as she thought it would, and was even more disraught when she found out I had been raped a few times before. It's not like this wasn’t messing me up, but I also knew how to cope with it now. She and Jaime ended up becoming my de-facto caregivers for the first two weeks since I could barely walk or raise my arms. It was deeply embarrassing at times, especially around Jaime, but I was so touched by their kindness that I didn’t refuse the help.

Three months later I was back to my normal activities, albeit a bit slower and with more scars. I already had difficulty with walking sometimes beforehand, my knees and hips were always bad, but it was worse after the assault. I didn’t need a cane, thankfully, but it was still painful more often than not. We thought my spine may have been damaged slightly, so I had to take it easy for a long time, which was a difficult period of over 8 months after the attack. Christmas and Easter had come and gone, summer was in full swing, and I was accompanying Jaime on a trip to town. We had grown very close the past few months, he was always willing to talk about religion, science, and philosophy with me. He respected that I wasn't religious and I respected that he was, but we did sometimes get into minor arguments about the meanings behind certain things.
I can’t pretend like I didn't relish the closeness. My crush was in full swing, though I hoped it wasn’t obvious that I was in love with him. I didn’t mind it, honestly, I had never been too hung up on liking people I couldn't have. I accepted that feelings aren't something you can control but that you can control your reactions, so I tried my best to not act any differently. And besides, he was straight! It’s not like that was likely to change anytime soon.
When we arrived in town, I was surprised to see that Jaime wasn't making a beeline for the general store or the apothecary like usual. “Where are we going?”
He smiles warmly at me, his laugh lines crinkling at me as we guide the horse cart through town. “My good friend, Lord John Grey, has come to visit. He’s staying in the inn right now, but we will take him back to the Ridge with us so he can be a bit more comfortable later on. For a Lord, he’s very fond of the outdoors. Before that, though, he’s invited us to a party, and apparently it’s supposed to be very private. Only his most trusted friends are allowed.”
Lord John? I think for a moment before remembering, Lord John was Jaime’s old friend from back in Scotland, when he was imprisoned at Ardsmuir for the part he played in the Jacobite rebellion and the Battle of Culloden. Apparently they grew close and have stayed dear friends for almost twenty years.
Jaime confided to me that the man had genuinely been in love with him for years, and I could see why. In the few months I’d spent with the Fraser-Mackenzie family, the more I realized just how good and rare of a man Jaime was. I’m sure most men and women alike swoon over him, even if only in their minds. Though, Lord John’s love had caused its fair share of troubles too, namely the underlying competition he and Claire seemed to have. I saw the way her face tightened when he was mentioned.
“Jaime? If only his trusted friends are allowed, then why am I coming? He doesn't know me.”
Jaime looked at me and cracked a sheepish smile. “I may have mentioned you to him in a letter once. He was confiding in me about someone and I offered him advice, actually directly from some things you had said in the past, about being queer in your time. He said he’d be honored to make your acquaintance, and invited us to this party to do so.”
He leans in a little closer, his expression a touch mischievous and conspiratorial.
“It’s at one of his friends home. His ‘exclusive’ parties are for queer people to be able to feel accepted for once, he says.” I smile widely at him, subconsciously reaching out to grip his arm without realizing.
“Really? That's so nice of him to invite me to something like this on just your word.”
He nods and urges the horses to slow as we come to a stop in front of the inn. A dapper man was waiting outside, and by the grin and greeting he offered us, I assumed he was Lord John Grey. He was very handsome, I had to admit. Dark hair, light blue eyes that reminded me of a winter sky, and a matching green ensemble that looked rather fancy, the fabric shining with careful embroidery. I was glad I had chosen to wear the nicer outfit Jaime had bought me to replace the blue one that had been damaged in the attack, or else I would’ve felt much too roughspun in comparison. Jaime hops out of the cart before he hurries around to my side and helps me down like usual. My legs still hadn’t fully recovered, so it was difficult for me to get down on my own.
“Jaime! How good it is to see you again, after so long! And you must be William.” Lord John smiles down at me and offers his hand, which I take hesitantly. God, I hated handshakes. He holds my hand for a few moments too long as he surveys me, looking me up and down and clearly liking what he sees, as his smile immediately relaxes into one that feels a lot more genuine. “Jaime has told me much about you, I have been rather looking forward to meeting you.”
He drops my hand gently and I blush a little with embarrassment, I can’t believe Jaime has been talking me up so much. “Thank you, my Lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Jaime speaks fondly of you. I really appreciate the invitation, as you don't know me particularly well, it must have been a challenging decision. And please, call me Will.”
“Oh no, Will, hardly a decision at all! I hope you don’t mind, but he took the liberty of telling me a bit more about your situation, I suppose you could call it. Though I’ve never met a man of your like, I know a few women who are in a similar situation, and Jaime thought you may like to meet them?”
I look up at Jaime and he claps a hand on my shoulder. “It’s the least I could do to find ye some community, some people you feel safe with. And Lord John is a good man with discerning taste when it comes to friendships.”

We had to ride for a few hours longer, the streets of Wilmington making way for open roads once more as we traveled slightly west, to the home of Lord and Lady Aberdol. Lord John filled me in on the way, the Lord and Lady were in a lavender marriage and often had parties exclusively for other queer folk, with Lord John usually the one who hosts them. Though most of the people there were just cis homosexuals, there were several trans women but no other trans men. It wasn’t surprising to me, I knew from my own time that we were often invisible or preferred to live entirely stealth for safety, not telling a soul for fear of violent sexual retribution, as evident by me and my own experience here.
Throughout the ride, I could feel Lord John staring at me, his eyes gentle though probing. I wonder what he was thinking? I stayed mostly silent through the trip, letting Jaime and the Lord catch up after not seeing one another for so long. Within only 45 minutes I could tell that Lord John had been in love with Jaime for a long time, maybe since they first met. I could see why Claire felt threatened by him, even if Jaime had no inclination for loving other men.
When we reached the Abderdol estates Lord John was the one to help me out, behaving very gentlemanly with the way he slightly bows as he takes my hand to support me on my way down. I smiled sweetly at him and almost swore I saw a faint tinge of pink rose to his cheeks. When I turned back to Jaime, however, he seemed a bit miffed. His brows were slightly furrowed and the hand I could see at his side was clenched into a fist. I thought it was really odd, but I didn't get the chance to question him about it.
I could barely process what was happening once we were suddenly whisked inside by the estate staff and hurried up to our seperate chambers to be dressed for the party. I didn't see Lord or Lady Abderdol at all, apparently they didn’t see their guests until the party. I was rather nervous to be away from Jaime just in case something went wrong, but I trusted that since he and Lord John were such good friends, that meant that he would never intentionally put us in harm's way.
A lady’s maid entered my room, her arms full of elegantly colored fabrics that drape perfectly, mixtures of menswear and womenswear to decorate myself with to my heart's content.
I chose a black outfit, my favorite color, with accents of deep burgundy and silver. It was fairly standard mens attire, though clearly of much higher quality than I had ever worn or even seen. I decided to add extra bits and bobs here and there, the lady’s maid assisting me with the more complicated aspects of the outfit, like the corset I had chosen to go under a tighter shirt than I had been previously wearing. Adding the waist vest on top of that gave me a perfect hourglass shape, accentuating the clothes well. If only everyone could appreciate the beauty of androgynous and GNC style.
To top off the outfit, I tug on a pair of long boots that hit just under the knee that were tied with red ribbons, surprisingly similar to an anime character I remembered seeing years ago, as well as tying my hair back with a similar ribbon. My hair wasn't as long as was fashionable here, but it was enough for a short ponytail at the base of my neck.
I was just finishing tying my kerchief when a knock sounded at the door, Jaime’s voice trickling in as he let me know the party would be starting soon. I asked him to come in and judge the outfit, which he obliged, but when he saw me he didn't say anything, just stared.
“Jaime?”
He walks closer slowly, his gaze roaming over me as he circles around behind me, to my side, and finally in front of me.
“You look...verra good Will…” His voice was quiet, almost a murmur. “Red looks good on ye, brings out the green in your eyes.” He looks at the pile of clothes on the bed and turns to them, choosing a red vest instead of a black one. “Here, let me. I think this’ll do better.”
It was tender, the way his hands moved to remove the vest from my shoulders and replace it with the red one, his fingers quick and diligent as he buttons it up for me. His hands lingered on my chest for a moment before dropping to his sides. “There. Now you’re perfect.”