Needless to say, it wasn’t the ideal way to start the morning.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Where are you going?”

Rather than answering, Sebastian just leaned against the doorframe, half-smiling at his husband, who was reclining on the bed with a precious Vogue magazine spread open on his lap. “Is that your default setting? Like a sleep mode on a laptop?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, focusing his attention back on the lovely glossy pages. “I’m ignoring you now.”

“So what else is new.” The sting of the words abated somewhat under the affectionate kiss pressed to Kurt’s temple, and the comforting weight of Sebastian resting against him. “I’m on my way to the library. Apparently one of the professors there has a particular interest in genealogy. Did you know I had ancestors who lived around here?”

With a heavy sigh, Kurt turned the page with a flick of his wrist. “Yes, Sebastian. I mentioned that fact, which I’ve known almost since I met you, at least sixteen thousand times when I was planning for this trip.”

The sarcasm was either unnoticed, or entirely lost on Sebastian, who shrugged a little, sliding his hand down Kurt’s side and toying with the hem of his self-designed-and-made-one-of-a-kind-will-you-please-keep-your-hands-off black kilt. “I didn’t realize your background checks were so in-depth. Why are you wearing this?”

Clearly any attempt at enriching himself would have to wait. Kurt closed the Vogue, reaching down and removing his husband’s hand. It made him feel like some sort of demure Victorian-era virgin, but it really wasn’t about the fingers creeping up his legging-clad leg. He just didn’t like people messing with his clothes. That was it. That had to be it. If he was avoiding Sebastian’s touch, then something was irrevocably wrong.

Clearing his throat, Kurt prompted, gently, “You have a meeting to get to, right? To learn about the gallant Captain Smythe?”

Sebastian, who’d been frowning intently at Kurt’s kilt like he could dissolve it by sheer force of will, brightened considerably. “Oh, right. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”

The words were said almost-teasingly, but they were familiar, too familiar, calling up images of nights spent curled up in the king-sized bed, alone, then waking to reach out and feel the sheets, undented, unwarmed, and knowing that his husband hadn’t come home. But Kurt pushed them away with a practiced effort, smiling and lifting his chin for the customary kiss good-bye.

“Okay. I think I’m going to explore the countryside a little. I saw some stones last night that looked interesting,” he offered, half-hoping to tempt Sebastian into coming with him.

It was too much to hope for. His husband rolled his eyes, stealing another kiss, then sliding off the bed and grabbing his coat. “Ooo, stones. Livin’ on the edge, babe.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kurt to half-heartedly finish the magazine, scarcely seeing the bright pictures.

---------------------------------------------------------

The walk cheered him up considerably. True, Kurt wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy sort of fellow – spring showers had been known to send him fleeing for cover and the comfort of his flatscreen TV. But the air around Inverness was so clear and crisp that every color seemed more vivid, every breath had him drinking in more and more of the lush greens that surrounded him.

Of course, by the time Kurt had scaled the hill rising above the town – and sacrificed one of his two pairs of leggings to the brambles and shrubbery – he was panting and out of breath. Not being outdoorsy directly translated into out of shape, at least when it came to hills. If only the steep slope leading up to the stone circle had been made out of 24-hour gym treadmills. He could’ve gotten up here in no time.

Wiping sweat off his forehead with a grimace and a wheeze, Kurt stumbled over to sit on one of the stones, somewhat amazed that the whole area wasn’t already corded off as a historical landmark. Anyone could come up and graffiti over the rocks, carving “JP loves SW” into the hulking remnants of another age.

And yet…as he sat there, one hand resting on his temporary seat, Kurt couldn’t shake the faint feeling of unease, the electric, jarring feeling in the air that hung around the circle of stones. It was almost akin to the way a dentist’s drill felt – buzzing, vibrating, right down to his very bones.

Despite his breathlessness, Kurt stood, quickly, unconsciously wiping his hand off on his kilt and eying the stones warily. Yes, they were very majestic and imposing and had no doubt been the site of many bloody rituals over the years. He was feeling quite cultured enough for the day, he decided, turning on his heel and intending to pick his way back down the hill.

However, he was prevented from sinking back into a Vogue-influenced depression by the sudden appearance of a woman, whom he unceremoniously collided with, sending them both sprawling. She ended up on her back, golden hair and white dress vivid against the grass, and Kurt stumbled back against the stone, both hands coming to rest on it and --

-- and oh, oh it was even worse this time, it was like sticking his finger in a socket, a jolting that shot up his spine and out his fingertips and maybe he’d hit his head on the rock, because it was suddenly aching and ringing, churning his stomach, blurring his vision and everything was stretching out taut like a rubber band, stretching and straining and about to snap and –-

And then, mercifully, his hands were grasped and he was pulled to his feet and a soft, anxious voice was exclaiming, “Oh, you poor thing, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself? I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that…”

It was the hands brushing at his clothes that really brought Kurt back to the present, with a quick shake of his head and a gentle warding-off of the well-meaning touches. “No, no, I’m fine…”

The woman gave a soft, embarrassed sort of sigh, stepping back and folding her hands. “I’m really very sorry,” she ventured, tilting her head to one side. Kurt chanced a glance at her, already disgruntled from the climb and the odd sensation the stone had given him.

She didn’t look sorry. If anything, standing there with the wind playing with the lace on her collar, toying at the ends of her long blonde hair, she looked like she’d just stumbled upon something endlessly amusing. She was positively serene.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said again, with a harsh note of reproach that he didn’t quite mean, wanting to remind her that she’d very nearly given him a concussion.

“Oh, good. I’m glad.” She smiled, settling down on the stone and making Kurt wince involuntarily, in sympathy. “We’re a long way from town, if you’d gotten hurt.”

Kurt laughed, uneasily, crossing one foot behind the other, suddenly self-conscious about the holes in his leggings. “Well, I’m a doctor, so…I could’ve coached you through it.”

Another smile, still with that amusement, that delight. “Wonderful. That’s wonderful.”

“Thank you.” It seemed to be the proper thing to say. Kurt cleared his throat, gesturing at the stones. “Pretty up here. If a bit…unnerving?” It was a question, posed with a glance at the stone she was sitting on. He was still waiting for her to leap up, to wince, to give some sort of reaction that meant he hadn’t imagined the weird effect of the rocks.

The woman – girl, she was young, young and beautiful and gazing at Kurt in a way that women just didn’t gaze at him – gave a soft laugh and a shrug. “I like to come up here in the mornings,” she said, hair haloed by the breeze and the sunshine. “Especially mornings after a full moon. In olden days, people set their lives by the moon, and I’ve always loved sunrises, so…why not combine them?”

“...uh-huh.” Kurt crossed his arms over himself, suddenly missing that light jacket that he’d predicted needing. “That’s nice. It was nice to meet you. I really should be getting back now, though, so...”

She was up in a flash, her hand flying out, catching his arm, her bright eyes suddenly intent. “In the morning,” she repeated, stepping close, almost too close, lacy pure-white dress blowing about her form, and Kurt suddenly wondered, wildly, how she wasn’t freezing. “Remember, right in the morningtime. Right after a full moon, like the one tonight. When the sun rises. It’s magical, Kurt.”

With a nod and a smile, he slowly freed himself. “I’ll remember,” he said, already backing away, already thinking of his room and his bed and a mid-morning coffee.

He was halfway down the hill when it occurred to him that he hadn’t told her his name.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Kurt? Are you asleep?”

There was an idiotic question if there ever was one. If he had been asleep, how would he have answered? But, choosing to let it go, Kurt rolled over and squinted one eye open at Sebastian. “Not anymore. Why?”

The self-assured smirk was off his husband’s face for once, replaced with a look that was almost…anxious. This was so out of character that Kurt opened the other eye, propping himself up on one elbow and frowning. Sebastian sighed, reaching out and running his fingertip along the collar of Kurt’s custom monogrammed pajama’s. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“I’m listening.” That didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded very much like the beginning of another conversation they’d had, only a couple of weeks earlier, when Sebastian had broken the unwritten “if we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist” rule and questioned whether this -- meaning the last five years, meaning their life together, meaning their marriage -- was really going to work out.

But surely this wasn’t the same thing. Surely this conversation was going to be about something completely unrelated to their relationship status. Sebastian wouldn’t rehash that conversation now, not on account of a silly fight that morning. Besides, Kurt had been sure they’d made up already -– he’d gotten home, attempted to mend the holes in his leggings and listened all about Captain Alexander Bastian Smythe, who’d been an illustrious British commander during the Highlander uprisings of the early sixteenth century. They’d been fine. They were fine.

Yet here was Sebastian, speaking haltingly, almost nervously, toying with the silk of Kurt’s pajama’s, looking everywhere but his husband’s face. “We spent…a long time apart. When we were first married.”

Sitting up, Kurt moved away, hugging his knees to his chest and hating where this conversation was going. No, no, Bas, can’t you leave it alone, can’t you just love me and forget about everything else?

“I remember,” he said, softly.

Sebastian frowned slightly, then rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His voice, when he spoke was very firm, emotionless. “I’m not na�ve, Kurt. I know that…things can happen when people aren’t together very often. I understand that. And…I just want you to be honest with me. I want the truth.”

Kurt had been nervously imagining his husband would say, but this definitely hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d been expecting some sort of confession that would explain the condom wrappers in the car, the long disappearances, the distance he could almost see stretching between Sebastian and himself.

He had not been expecting accusations, insinuations, everything short of Sebastian flat-out saying --

“You think I cheated on you?!” Heedless of the thin walls, of the nosy innkeeper, of the other travelers sleeping next door, Kurt was out of bed, on his feet, toes instinctively curling away from the rough splintery floor as he all but shrieked the words.

“I didn’t say that.” Sebastian was already in damage control mode, standing and reaching out towards his husband. “I was just saying that…well, I know how things can get, when you’re alone for a long time. You can get lonesome and--”

“And when I’m lonely, the first thing I think of to do is cheat on my husband, right?!?!” Kurt snapped, jerking away from Sebastian’s outstretched hands, not even feeling the splinter of wood gouging into his heel. Then, as the other man dropped his arms to his sides, rolling his eyes, Kurt exhaled, shortly and sharply. “You know what, I’m not having this conversation at eleven-thirty at night. If you have anything else you want to accuse me of,” or confess, his mind added, without his consent, “you can say it in the morning.”

Swallowing tightly, hating the sudden stinging in his eyes, the uncontrollable tears welling up, because how could he, how could he think such a thing, Kurt gestured at the door. “I’m going to go sleep in the lounge.”

But Sebastian was shaking his head, stony-faced, not even bothering to make eye contact. “Don’t bother,” he said shortly, already heading across the room. “I will. Goodnight, Kurt.”

And he was gone.

Again.

And, too riled-up and tearful and hurt -– hurt like he’d been stabbed or shot or like some important vital organ had been ripped out of him, hurt like he’d never been before in his life -– Kurt sank into the chair by the window, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out at the near-midnight scenery.

Eventually his gaze focused on the hilltop, where the circle of stones stood, blurry from the tears in his eyes and the distortion of the glass window. But he was certain, even as he curled up tightly and let himself cry, that he could see flickering lights, like flames, and the silhouettes of people (beautiful women in white) dancing barefoot in the grass.

---------------------------------------------------------

Sebastian wasn’t in bed when Kurt awoke the next morning, neck stiff from sleeping in the chair, eyes scratchy from crying all night. He wasn’t downstairs either, a fact which didn’t escape the innkeeper’s notice as she served Kurt breakfast with a sympathetic smile. Sympathy mixed with bewilderment, actually – perhaps in direct defiance of Sebastian’s chronic dislike of any “girly” clothing, Kurt had worn another kilt, this one sorter, more hip-hugging and bright red.

Fortunately he was used to those sorts of looks, giving a simple smile and nod, while trying to keep the greasy, fattening sausages as far as possible from the fresh strawberries. The food stuck in his throat, but he forced it down, hurrying through his coffee just as hastily.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was hurrying towards, really. Everything seemed sort of rushed, like if he didn’t get somewhere before the early-morning sun got too much higher, he’d miss something important. It wasn’t until Kurt was struggling up the hill towards the stones that he even had an inkling what he was rushing towards.

Unfortunately, rather than soothing or calming him, being in the middle of the circle only intensified the frenetic need. The humming, almost vibrating sensation in the air was worse today, pounding at Kurt’s already-aching head and thrumming in his chest, staccato, like a heartbeat. He tried to distract himself by focusing on the charred pieces of wood in the center of the stones –- so, he hadn’t imagined the firelight the previous night.

The previous night. With a sigh, Kurt sat down on one of the fallen stones, wincing aloud at the intensification of that horrible buzzing. He’d been trying not to think about it, not to wonder where Sebastian had disappeared to. His luggage had still been there when Kurt had woken up, so he hadn’t left town. Maybe he was at the library again, discussing the exploits of Captain Smythe. Maybe after a day poring over old books and reading about two-century-old battles, he’d be in a better mood and more willing to talk.

Tugging off one of his knee-high boots, Kurt frowned at his foot, which had been throbbing all morning. Some gentle probing revealed the splinter he’d gotten the previous night, a thick bit of wood, buried right in the center of his heel. He knew he should probably leave it be and limp back down the hill to find more sterile equipment, but his fingernails went to work, absently tugging at the end of the splinter, while his mind wandered.

All marriages were salvageable. There was no such thing as an irreparable problem. Even if the thought of Sebastian in the arms of someone else tore at Kurt’s insides, he could work past it. They could fix this. They had to.

The bit of wood suddenly slipped free, and Kurt let out a soft gasp that was part sob at the sudden pain, lifting his hand and finding his fingertips bloodstained. He shuddered, dropping the bit of wood to the stone, then moving to wipe his hand off on his kilt.

However, the blood-soaked splinter landed just as the first rays of sun shone over the top of the easternmost stone and something…shifted. It was like the floor falling away, like an elevator dropping out from under Kurt’s feet, and he stumbled up with a cry, feeling the very earth shudder beneath him. It felt like an earthquake, and he thought wildly that if he didn’t get away from the ancient stones that one would fall and crush him. But the world wouldn’t stop spinning and his knees were like jelly and he stumbled forward against the tallest, eastern stone, the one with a huge crack running right down the middle. His bloody hands smacked against the cool, smooth rock and --

-- and it was back, that jolting, aching, ringing, churning, that rubber band being drawn out farther and farther, stretching beyond what it could, about to snap, only this time there wasn’t anyone to yank Kurt back, so when it snapped, he went with it, falling and swirling through brilliant color, redblueyellowbrownwhitegreen, through blazing heat and light and finally landing in darkness.