Knife with a Core of steel

the whole Scene:

I picked up his right hand and trans­ferred it to my own knee. He let it lie there, warm, heavy and inert, and didn’t object as I felt each fin­ger, pulling gen­tly to stretch the ten­dons and twist­ing to see the range of motion in the joints.
“My first ortho­pe­dic surgery, that was,” I said wryly.
“Have ye done a great many things like that since?” he asked curi­ous­ly, look­ing down at me.
“Yes, a few. I’m a surgeon—but it doesn’t mean then what it means now,” I added hasti­ly. “Sur­geons in my time don’t pull teeth and let blood. They’re more like what’s meant now by the word ‘physician’—a doc­tor with train­ing in all the fields of med­i­cine, but with a specialty.”
“Spe­cial, are ye? Well, ye’ve always been that,” he said, grin­ning. The crip­pled fin­gers slid into my palm and his thumb stroked my knuck­les. “What is it a sur­geon does that’s spe­cial, then?”
I frowned, try­ing to think of the right phras­ing. “Well, as best I can put it—a sur­geon tries to effect healing…by means of a knife.”
His long mouth curled upward at the notion.
“A nice con­tra­dic­tion, that; but it suits ye, Sassenach.”
“It does?” I said, startled.
He nod­ded, nev­er tak­ing his eyes off my face. I could see him study­ing me close­ly, and won­dered self-con­scious­ly what I must look like, flushed from love­mak­ing, with my hair in wild disorder.
“Ye have­na been love­li­er, Sasse­nach,” he said, smile grow­ing wider as I reached up to smooth my hair. He caught my hand, and kissed it gen­tly. “Leave your curls be.
“No,” he said, hold­ing my hands trapped while he looked me over, “no, a knife is ver­ra much what you are, now I think of it. A clever-worked scab­bard, and most gor­geous to see, Sassenach”—he traced the line of my lips with a fin­ger, pro­vok­ing a smile—“but tem­pered steel for a core…and a wicked sharp edge, I do think.”
“Wicked?” I said, surprised.“Not heart­less, I don’t mean,” he assured me. His eyes rest­ed on my face, intent and curi­ous. A smile touched his lips. “No, nev­er that. But you can be ruth­less strong, Sasse­nach, when the need is on ye.”

I smiled, a lit­tle wry­ly. “I can,” I said.
“I have seen that in ye before, aye?” His voice grew soft­er and his grasp on my hand tight­ened. “But now I think ye have it much more than when ye were younger. You’ll have need­ed it often since, no?”
I real­ized quite sud­den­ly why he saw so clear­ly what Frank had nev­er seen at all.
“You have it too,” I said. “And you’ve need­ed it. Often.” Uncon­scious­ly, my fin­gers touched the jagged scar that crossed his mid­dle fin­ger, twist­ing the dis­tal joints.
He nodded.
“I have won­dered,” he said, so low I could scarce­ly hear him. “Won­dered often, if I could call that edge to my ser­vice, and sheathe it safe again. For I have seen a great many men grow hard in that call­ing, and their steel decay to dull iron. And I have won­dered often, was I mas­ter in my soul, or did I become the slave of my own blade?
“I have thought again and again,” he went on, look­ing down at our linked hands…“that I had drawn my blade too often, and spent so long in the ser­vice of strife that I was­na fit any longer for human intercourse.”
My lips twitched with the urge to make a remark, but I bit them instead. He saw it, and smiled, a lit­tle wryly.
“I did­na think I should ever laugh again in a woman’s bed, Sasse­nach,” he said. “Or even come to a woman, save as a brute, blind with need.” A note of bit­ter­ness came into his voice.I lift­ed his hand, and kissed the small scar on the back of it.
“I can’t see you as a brute,” I said. I meant it light­ly, but his face soft­ened as he looked at me, and he answered seriously.
“I know that, Sasse­nach. And it is that ye can­na see me so that gives me hope. For I am—and know it—and yet per­haps…” He trailed off, watch­ing me intently.
“You have that—the strength. Ye have it, and your soul as well. So per­haps my own may be saved.”

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