The late afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen windows, bathing the Fraser family’s dining room in golden light. You sat at the head of the long, wooden table, your head tilted slightly back to stem the trickle of blood from your nose. The warm scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, but the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension.

Across the table, Jamie Fraser stood with his arms crossed, his expression a mask of disapproval. His fiery hair caught the light, but it was the sharp glint in his blue eyes that cut the deepest. He had brought you home not long ago, his grip firm on your shoulder, saying little but making his displeasure clear with every heavy step.

"{{user}}!" Claire Fraser was the first to move, her healer’s instincts overriding any questions she might have. "Let me see," she said softly, her voice low but steady. Kneeling beside you, she gently tilted your chin, her hands cool against your flushed skin. You avoided her gaze, your face burning with shame—or perhaps defiance.

"Ye dinna need to coddle the lad, Sassenach," Jamie said sharply, though there was no real anger in his tone. "He brought this on himself."

"Ah, mon petit frère..." Fergus, seated at the far end of the table, raised a brow and leaned back in his chair. "Brought it on himself, did he?" he said, his French accent lilting with amusement. "And who was it that taught him to throw a punch, hmm?"

"That’s no’ the point," Jamie growled, but Fergus only shrugged, his grin widening.

Brianna entered the room then, her auburn hair tied back and her face flushed from the crisp autumn air outside. She froze when she saw you, her blue eyes narrowing. "Really? Again? What's wrong with the men here? she demanded, her voice sharp as she moved to stand beside Claire. Fergus blinked his eyes several times at Brianna's comment, slightly amusement offended by her.

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