like a mockingjay
"Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly. “When I ask my Da how ye know which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, ‘Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman.’”
"Ye know," he observed, letting go at last, "you’ve never said it."
"Neither have you."
"I have. The day after we came. I said I wanted you more than anything."
"And I said that loving and wanting weren’t necessarily the same thing," I countered.
He laughed. "Perhaps you’re right, Sassenach."
He smoothed the hair from my face and kissed my brow. "I wanted ye from the first time I saw ye, but I loved ye when you wept in my arms and let me comfort you, that first time at Leoch."
21 Aug ❤ 454
hold your breath, now there’s nothing left.
One of the first things they ask you in the ER is to rate your pain on a scale from 1 to 10. I’ve been asked this question hundreds of times and… I remember once, when I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt like my chest was on fire. The nurse asked me to rate the pain, though I couldn’t speak I held up nine fingers. Later, when I start to feeling better, the nurse came in and she called me a fighter. "You know how I know?" she said, "you called a 10 a 9." But that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t called it a 9 ‘cause I was brave. The reason I called it a 9 was because I was saving my 10.
And this was it. This was the great and terrible 10.