Home again

the whole Scene from Voyager:

“Geneva—Willie’s mother—she want­ed my body,” he said soft­ly, watch­ing the gecko’s puls­ing sides. “Laoghaire need­ed my name, and the work of my hands to keep her and her bairns.” He turned his head then, dark blue eyes fixed on mine. “John—well.” He lift­ed his shoul­ders and let them drop. “I could­na give him what he wanted—and he is friend enough not to ask it.
“But how shall I tell ye all these things,” he said, the line of his mouth twist­ing. “And then say to you—it is only you I have ever loved? How should you believe me?”
The ques­tion hung in the air between us, shim­mer­ing like the reflec­tion from the water below.
“If you say it,” I said, “I’ll believe you.”
“You will?” He sound­ed faint­ly aston­ished. “Why?”
“Because you’re an hon­est man, Jamie Fras­er,” I said, smil­ing so that I wouldn’t cry. “And may the Lord have mer­cy on you for it.”
“Only you,” he said, so soft­ly I could bare­ly hear him. “To wor­ship ye with my body, give ye all the ser­vice of my hands. To give ye my name, and all my heart and soul with it. Only you. Because ye will not let me lie—and yet ye love me.”
I did touch him then.“Jamie,” I said soft­ly, and laid my hand on his arm. “You aren’t alone anymore.”
He turned then and took me by the arms, search­ing my face.
“I swore to you,” I said. “When we mar­ried. I didn’t mean it then, but I swore—and now I mean it.” I turned his hand over in both mine, feel­ing the thin, smooth skin at the base of his wrist, where the pulse beat under my fin­gers, where the blade of his dirk had cut his flesh once, and spilled his blood to min­gle with mine forever.
I pressed my own wrist against his, pulse to pulse, heart­beat to heartbeat.
“Blood of my blood…” I whispered.
“Bone of my bone.” His whis­per was deep and husky. He knelt quite sud­den­ly before me, and put his fold­ed hands in mine; the ges­ture a High­lander makes when swear­ing loy­al­ty to his chieftain.
“I give ye my spir­it,” he said, head bent over our hands.
“’Til our life shall be done,” I said soft­ly. “But it isn’t done yet, Jamie, is it?”
Then he rose and took the shift from me, and I lay back on the nar­row bed naked, pulled him down to me through the soft yel­low light, and took him home, and home, and home again, and we were nei­ther one of us alone.

All rights for the Pic­ture of Jamie go to the right­ful owner Starz/Sony
Quo­te and Excerpt by Diana Gabaldon from “Voyager”
I own not­hing but the editing