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Someday

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February 1779

Jamie was living in a space between reality and memory. He’d seen the insides of quite enough prisons for one lifetime, prisons of all kinds, even since liberation from his longest stay to date. Yet something about this prison…maybe it was the stench, hitting him square in the face like a snapping branch on a tree, or maybe it was who it contained. Maybe it was the role reversal.

His former jailer in chains.

He’d become far more than that, and to think of him as such was beyond an insult. He was a friend, a very dear one. The sting of knowing he’d bedded Jamie’s wife had not left him; it festered under the surface like a wound bubbling just below the skin, waiting to burst.

And yet.

The keys in the jailer’s hand jangled, then clanked, and then the door was open. There were ten men in that particular cell, a significant distance between them and the man in question.

He looked like hell.

He was crumpled in the corner of the cell, hidden by shadow, but Jamie could still see the swelling in his face, dried blood. They’d beaten him senseless in there, and nobody had seen fit to stop it. He’d expected it, but the sight still made him sick to his stomach.

Men like John did not fare well in prison.

The jailer roughly seized John’s upper arm, and Jamie fought the instinct to finch when John winced in pain. He stumbled on his feet at first, and then he was walking forward, shoved every few feet. Jamie battled with his body once more, stifling the urge to seize John’s other arm and wrench him away from the jailer, drag him away himself, as gently as he could without raising suspicion. Instead, he followed the jailer into the small interrogation room.

“General Fraser of the Continental Army. I have strict orders from General Washington himself to interrogate one Lord John William Grey of His Majesty’s Army.”

The jailer did not see fit to let John sit in a chair; he shoved him into the hard ground with a sneer, and Jamie winced.

“The utmost discretion is necessary. He carries sensitive information that canna be overheard. Ye understand.”

“He’s all yours, General,” said the smarmy man. “Rest assured you can use any means necessary. He’s a dead man come sunup.”

“Aye. I thank ye.”

When the door was shut Jamie stepped forward and helped John to his feet.

“Christ, man,” he hissed under his breath, almost involuntary. Claire had wanted to come, had practically demanded it, but Jamie had firmly turned her down. In that very moment, Jamie regretted that. She could have helped him. He had another bloody eye, what looked to be a broken nose, and from the way he stood, several cracked ribs.

“Ye need Claire,” Jamie said, again entirely against his will. “I’ll have them fetch her.”

“No, Jamie. Don’t.”

Jamie led the man to one of the chairs.

“Ye’re in pain, John.”

John grimaced, and Jamie thought perhaps he was trying to smile. “That would be correct.”

“Then let me — ”

“It’s no worse than anything I’ve been dealt before,” he looked very pointedly at Jamie, and he almost — almost felt a rush of shame.

“At the very least, I’ll ask fer water. Clean yerself up.”

“If I go back there in better shape than I left,” John said, shifting in his chair and holding his side, “then they’ll just see to it that I’m bloodied again. And likely worse than they last left me.”

Heat colored Jamie’s cheeks, flaming rage. “I can have ye moved. I’ll fetch Claire, she’ll heal ye, then we’ll move ye to yer own cell. I’ll tell them that Washington wants ye unharmed until — ”

“How many times do you think you can use Washington to make orders before they ask for his written word?” John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Jamie. It isn’t worth it.”

“Those wounds, ye could…they could get infected,” he said with a curt nod. “Claire wouldna like that. Ye’ll get fevered and — ”

“And die?” John exhaled a short laugh. “I’m a dead man anyway.”

“No.” Jamie took three large strides to John’s chair, slapping a hand on the table. “Ye’re not. No’ if I have anything to say about it.”

John’s eyes glistened in a way that Jamie could see even through the swelling and the redness. “What’ll you do? Enact a daring rescue and abscond with me in the night?”

Jamie nodded. “Aye. I’ve already got the men willing.”

John was already shaking his head before Jamie finished. “You can’t do that.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

John gaped at him. “Do you know what I’m charged with?”

“Aye, of course I do.”

“Then you know what they’ll do to you if they know you’re behind this.”

Jamie only hesitated for a moment. “No. They’ve no proof.”

“They don’t need any, Jamie. Don't you see? It took one man’s word to sentence me to death. All they need is the slightest suspicion of something between us.”

“There’s nothing between us,” he growled.

“I am quite aware.”

Jamie blinked, his nostrils twitching. John’s tone was nowhere near accusatory, or self-pitying. He was stating a fact, a truth. Plain as anything.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he continued. “Men that break other men…men like me, out of jail…that doesn’t look good.”

Jamie remained frozen, hovering over John like a threat, his grip on the table tightening. He had nothing to say in rebuttal, nothing to undermine his argument. Because he was right. Jamie wanted to throw it back in his face, tell him he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought.

But he did.

The thought of anyone, anyone looking at him and thinking that…bile was already rising to his throat. His fingers itched to rub that spot on his torso, that shadow of a brand from all those years ago. If somebody looked at him thinking he was that way , it would be as if Claire had never removed that brand, and he ripped his shirt off and showed the world.

Showed the world that his manhood, his very self, was owned and wielded by another man.

Exhausted, Jamie finally moved, sitting down in the chair across the table from John with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I canna let ye die.”

John looked like he wanted to laugh, and Jamie wanted to hit him for it. “Why not?”

“What the devil d’ye mean by that?”

This time he did laugh, a short, barking sound, followed by a wince and a clutch at his side. “You mean to tell me you haven’t wanted to kill me since the very moment you found out?”

Jamie swallowed. “Aye, I wanted to kill ye. At times I still do.” He took off his tricorn and set it on the table, then smoothed back the hair atop his head with a sigh. “But I didna want ye dead.”

John blinked at him dumbly.

“The thought of it fills me wi’ rage. Ye ken that well enough.” Jamie’s voice was low and rough. “I’ve enough in me to kill ye wi’ my bare hands. But why should I want ye dead? Ye’re no threat to my marriage.”

It was the God’s honest truth. Jamie knew Claire better than he knew himself, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was his and only his. And truthfully, if Jamie really dug into the depths of his heart, if Claire truly found happiness with another man, Jamie could never bring himself to kill him. He’d sooner cut out his own heart than cause her pain. If Claire left him, he’d rather kill himself than kill his rival. That would make it easier for both of them.

But it was not like that with John either.

And maybe that was why it enraged him so. There was no solution. There was no parting with Claire for her own happiness, no ending of his own suffering upon losing her. It had just happened , and he could not make sense of it.

We were both fucking you.

“No,” John said softly, interrupting Jamie’s train of thought. “I suppose I am not.”

“I canna say it more plainly. I’ll no’ let ye die. So,” Jamie said, sitting up straighter, “tonight, this is — ”

“Stop.”

“Shut up , man. Ye’re gonna — ”

“No, I am not.” His eyes flashed defiantly, enough to silence Jamie. “I won’t let you do this.”

Why ?” Jamie spat, his fists shaking the table. “Why is it that ye can just stand by and let them kill ye?”

“Because I would rather die than cause you any more pain.”

That froze Jamie.

Had he not just reasoned with himself that he would rather die than cause his wife pain? That was love . Making the ultimate sacrifice was for love .

What John… felt toward Jamie…

What Randall felt toward Jamie.

That was not love.

Vile, unnatural, inhuman, unbearable.

Not love.

And yet.

John wasn’t vile, inhuman, or unbearable. Even if his inclinations were unnatural…he was not a vile creature. In his blind rage in beating him senseless, Jamie had not been able to see that. But it was clear now.

But still, it could not be love. It didn’t make sense .

“Why?” Jamie found himself saying it before he could stop it.

This time, Jamie couldn’t tell if John was about to laugh or cry. His wrecked face combined with the stunned expression on his face would have been comical in any other situation.

“You…you know why.”

Jamie swallowed. “Do I?”

John shifted in his seat with a wince, clutching at another rib. “I refuse to have this conversation with you. I’m bloody enough as it is.”

“John.”

Jamie’s tone surprised even himself. John flicked his eyes to Jamie’s face, and Jamie wanted to wince at how bloody awful the man looked. Remembering that he’d left him in a similar state not too long ago was fully nauseating him now.

“Look, Jamie. I know you wouldn’t sentence me to death, but you don’t exactly… approve of me. I know it.”

Jamie’s jaw hardened. He wanted to correct him, wanted to be able to.

“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve thoroughly detested any reminders of…any of this. So please. Just…let it be.”

Jamie could have let it be. Perhaps he should have.

“If ye’re to let yourself die, I have to know.”

“Know what…?”

“Why me ?”

John actually recoiled a bit in shock. His mouth gaped a bit, and then he wet his lips. “Let me ask you this, then. Why Claire?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you love Claire?”

There it was again. Love .

“That’s no’ what I — ”

Answer me , Jamie. Why do you love Claire?”

Jamie hunched over the table again, clasping his hands on the surface. He could write novels detailing every single reason why she was perfect, every single thing he adored about her, every single time she had saved him, body and soul. He’d dictated all of this and more to Claire. But those things were for her. He would not betray that. And either way, it went beyond the physical reasons he loved and adored her. She fit with him like a limb, an organ, a heart. That he could not explain.

“It’s...bigger than me,” Jamie settled on. “The...the reason I get to love her is...not to be discerned on Earth. I just…do. The first time I saw her I just knew. I knew that she was made fer me. And every day since, the Lord has seen fit to prove me right.”

John nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Then you see? There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “To what?”

“To why .”

Jamie’s tongue flicked out thoughtfully, then disappeared just as quickly. “I dinna understand.”

“God…” John pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You foolish, infuriating brute…” He took a deep breath, then put his hands on the table, looking at Jamie. “Please, don’t make me say it. I beg you. I can’t…” His voice caught in his throat. “I can’t bear it,” he finished weakly.

Jamie felt like he may be sick, and his heart was beating far too quickly. 

“Did you think all this time that I just…” John shook his head, his eyes watering. “Did you think that was all you were to me?”

“I…I dinna ken…”

“If that’s all you were to me I’d have taken you up on that…that offer at Helwater without a second thought.”

Jamie’s heart skipped a beat. He had hoped John had forgotten about that particularly humiliating moment.

“But I couldn’t… do that to you. Because you…” His voice caught again, and he swallowed thickly. “I couldn’t do it.”

Because he loved you.

Jamie tried to shove the thought away, to kick it to death inside of him and burn it and stamp on the ashes. But it would not go away.

“I…I ken ye’re a good man, John.”

John nodded, not meeting Jamie’s eye.

I ken ye’re not Randall , was what he left unsaid.

He did know; he’d known it for a while before, but it was solidified when John had refused the offer. He was some sort of exception to the rule in Jamie’s head, the rule that Randall had set in stone for him.

Then they’d parted, and Jamie didn’t have to go mad with questioning it anymore. What Jamie had before him were facts: Jamie had a son, Jamie could not care for that son, John loved Jamie, and so John would move Heaven and Earth to care for that son. There was nothing more to it than a cause and effect, problem and solution. Nothing to question, nothing demanding answers.

But then he was back, in Jamaica, and answers were demanded again.

He was back in the Carolina wilderness, and that obligation had grown into a beautiful love between father and son that Jamie marveled to see.

He was back, and back, and back…

And now this.

And the thought of fate never bringing them together again was terrifying.

Jamie did not want to lose him.

And that realization was equally as terrifying.

Jamie remembered something he’d tried to force himself to forget for years upon years, repressed so thoroughly that he’d never even told Claire.

Jamie had kissed him.

After John had said no, he would not covet his body, Jamie had still, freely and willingly, kissed him.

Why?

And then, very suddenly, that didn’t matter, because John was weeping. Jamie sat stone-still, something unnamable dropping into his gut. 

“Do you know that…” he said through his tears. “That they could remove the capital punishment, reduce my sentence to life in jail, if I…confess?”

“Confess? I thought they didna need proof?”

“No, I mean…before a jury…if I tell them that…that I did wrong, that I will change, if I beg for God’s forgiveness…” He took a stuttering breath that sounded painful. “If I tell them that they’re right.”

Jamie gaped. “What’re ye waiting for, man? Tell them!”

John looked thoroughly horrified.

“Look, John, I…I bear no judgement on how ye choose to live yer life. But if this can save ye…”

“You think I chose this?”

And for the first time, Jamie realized no, he had not.

“Why on Earth would I choose to be such an abomination?” It was clear to Jamie that John did not agree with the words he was saying; he was mocking those that labeled him as such, spitting it back in their faces. “Such a…a stain on society?”

Jamie swallowed. He had no answer.

“And I…I won’t ask for forgiveness. I refuse to ask forgiveness for something that is not wrong.”

“John…”

“If someone held a gun to your head and told you to swear before God that you did not love your wife with all your heart and soul, or else they would pull the trigger, could you do it? Could you stomach going on living having lied so thoroughly and terribly?”

Jamie’s wame twisted. He imagined, for just a moment, looking into Claire’s eyes and forsaking her, telling her he did not love her just to save his own hide, and he wanted to vomit. He couldn’t live with himself. He’d die of shame shortly after. He couldn’t look at her ever again.

And then, just as briefly, Jamie saw himself in the same situation, only looking in John’s eyes, and swearing that he never imagined kissing him again, that he hadn’t felt even the smallest twinge of disappointment when he’d turned him down.

“No,” Jamie said simply, quietly. “I couldna do it.”

And all of a sudden, he understood. He understood John so deeply, so painfully deeply, that he almost broke down and wept with him.

Instead, Jamie did something that he had threatened John’s life for doing many years ago.

He reached across the space between them, and he took John’s hand.

John stared at their joined hands, blinking several times, his mouth hanging open. Then he looked up at Jamie, his brow furrowed.

“Please, John,” Jamie begged, more fervently than he’d meant to. “Please let me help ye. Ye need not forsake who ye are in a court of law. But let me get ye out of here.” He blinked several times, feeling his eyes burning. “Please.”

John wet his lips, looked down at their hands again, then back up at Jamie. “Don’t do this.” Jamie felt him try to pull his hand away, but he faltered. “Don’t…don’t use… this …to try and get me to agree. That’s…that’s cruel, Jamie…”

“I’m not .” Jamie insisted, squeezing his hand. “I wouldna do that.”

“Then what… are you doing?”

“I’m trying to save the life of a friend that has saved mine and that of my family more times than I can count,” Jamie said. “Ye have to let me help ye, man. I canna live wi’ myself if I just let ye walk to the gallows.”

“And I cannot live with myself if we’re hung side by side because you tried to stop it.”

Jamie felt his face getting hot, flush with dread, terror, and horrible, piercing sadness.

Jamie knew John, and he also knew himself. If John wanted to die to spare Jamie, then he would. And Jamie could not betray that. It was not in his moral code to go against the wishes of a dying man.

But damn him if it didn’t hurt to his very core.

John covered Jamie’s hand with his other hand, squeezing. “Please, Jamie. Don’t force me to put you in danger. Please.”

Like a compass drawn to true north, Jamie found his other hand drawn to the rest of their three hands.

“I will promise ye.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse. “If ye truly wish it, then I willna interfere.”

“I truly wish it.”

Whatever final dash of hope remained left Jamie’s body like the removal of a knife. “Aye. Then I promise.”

John lifted their joined hands and fervently pressed his lips there, and Jamie expected the urge to pull away, to run, to curse…but it didn’t come.

All he felt was… aching . Such deep, utter, painful aching.

“Thank you,” John whispered into their hands, his eyes locked on Jamie’s. “Thank you.”

A long silence passed between them, and all that time, it never once occurred to Jamie to let go of John. John wept quietly all the while, trembling ever-so-slightly, and Jamie’s eyes burned with the need to cry. But he did not.

“Tell Willie for me…” John began, and he might as well have cut Jamie open and gutted him there. The lad would never forgive him. Either of them.

“Tell him I’m sorry.” John sniffled, blinking away more tears. “Tell him that I ordered you to say this; tell him to look to you for any guidance he needs. Tell him I trust you.” Jamie nodded solemnly, painfully aware of the blessing that John was bestowing upon him.

All those years ago, Jamie blessed John with his blood. And now, John was blessing Jamie with a piece of his heart to keep safe.

Their son.

“And tell him I love him,” John finished, his voice breaking on the last word. “That I’ll...I’ll always be his Papa.”

If Jamie had been in pain before, he was in agony now. How... how could he tell Willie?

Before Jamie could find the words to express this, to beg John to reconsider for Willie’s sake, John spoke again.

“You know, I…” John bit his lip, as if he wanted to take back even saying anything, but unable to stop the flood now that it had started. “When I had Hector…”

The lad he’d lost at Culloden. His “particular friend.”

“We thought we could change everything.” He laughed ruefully, sadly. “We thought we were the exception to everything. I was lucky I wasn’t executed then for openly weeping on his body. It must have been so terribly obvious and I…I didn’t care. I just…I just wanted to… live and…be happy…”

Jamie tried to imagine it, and then realized he didn’t have to. His heart had died that day, too. But the difference was Jamie had had his returned to him. John had not.

“I wasn’t fool enough to think I could have that a second time, no matter how much I…” He stopped himself, “cared for you.” He swallowed. “I’d grown up by then. Learned…the ways of the world.”

“Do you think…” John went on as if he wished he wouldn’t. “Can you…imagine a world where it’s different…?”

Jamie’s mind immediately went to Claire’s world, Brianna’s world. The future.

“I don’t…I can’t bear to die thinking that people will forever be executed for…loving.”

That word, that small but painfully significant word, die , landed like a blow to Jamie’s stomach, as if he’d forgotten.

He looked into John’s eyes, hardly recognizable through the swelling from hateful fists and tears of grief. Jamie could ease that burden for him. He could tell him what he knew of Claire’s world. He could tell him that someday , it would be different.

“Ye dinna have to,” Jamie whispered, leaning forward. “Because the world willna always be so.”

John’s brow furrowed. “You know this for a fact?” His voice was full of doubtful sarcasm.

“I do.” He leaned forward even further. “There isna time to explain the how, or the why, but Claire, she…she knows things. She…she can…see. She can see beyond our lifetimes, beyond our daughter’s lifetime, beyond our grandchildren’s lifetimes, beyond their grandchildren’s lifetimes.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Your daughter has tried this on me before...as has your wife...”

Jamie shook his head, not having realized John had perhaps already heard the term time-traveler . “Listen to me, man. It’s true, all of it, everything they told ye. Claire, and Brianna, they have seen a world where…where women sit in university wi’ men, learning alongside them. A world where colored men and women havena been in chains fer generations, where they work and learn alongside anyone else, as equals. A world where…where people like you, men and women, will…stand at a great Stone Wall, and…and begin a revolution, much like our revolution here, a revolution to be…to be free to…live, and be happy, as you say.”

Jamie had recalled all his wife and daughter had said with as much clarity as he could.

“I don’t…” John shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

“Ye dinna have to,” Jamie said urgently. “Ye just…ye must ken the truth of what I tell ye. I wouldna lie to ye now, man. Everything I’ve told ye is true, all of it. When the world is…older, and wiser…life will be fairer.” He squeezed harder on John’s hands until he was sure they’d go numb. “I swear it.”

“Someday…” John said, his stare blank, his eyes glassy.

“Aye, John. Someday.”

——

By the time I had finished seeing to the abdominal pain of one of the other boarders at the inn, administered the proper treatment, and logged it all into my medical journal, only two hours had passed. With nothing else to do with myself while Jamie was gone, I tried reading, but my mind could not focus on the words in front of me. I could think of nothing but the state John must be in right now, whether or not Jamie’s plan would work. My thoughts raced over and over in my fevered brain until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I took to pacing the room. When the door opened, with no warning of Jamie’s arrival, being that his feet never made any bloody noise, I had no conception of how much time had passed, how long I had spent pacing.

I stopped, and I watched with bated breath as Jamie shut the door behind him. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to stop my trembling.

“Everything went well, then? You were able to see him? Tell him everything?”

And then Jamie turned around, and I felt something tear through my chest.

“What happened?” I rushed forward, my eyes raking over every inch of his face, my hands squeezing his shoulders. “Oh, God, is he already…? Did they…? Jamie, look at me! Talk to me!”

I resisted the urge to slap him across the face just before he sank to his knees at my feet, myself alone entirely unable to hold him up. I felt bile rise in my throat as I threw myself to the floor to meet him.

“Jamie…Jamie, what…?”

He was weeping, sobbing .

Completely bewildered, I said nothing more; I pulled him into my arms, pressing his head to my breast, and he threw his arms around my waist so forcefully it knocked the wind out of me. I rocked him wordlessly, without even thinking to do so, stroking his hair, kissing the crown of his head. I hadn’t seen him cry like this since he’d broken down at the sight of Brianna’s photograph, so to see him like this was incredibly jarring. It made me want to cry, even not knowing the reason why. 

He carried on, and I comforted him, pushing down everything in me that screamed to demand answers. When I found myself in such a state, Jamie never demanded anything more than I was ready to give, and I would return this, no matter how difficult it was for me.

Just when I thought I might suffocate from his hold around my middle, Jamie finally spoke, garbled and muffled into my dress. 

“He’s going tae hang.”

My throat would not produce sound for a moment. “But you…the plan…you told him…?”

“He doesna want to be saved.”

“What? Is he mad?”

“He willna put us in danger. He doesna want to be saved. He’s going tae hang…”

Jamie, my Jamie, my Highland warrior, my mighty general, sounded like a broken, shattered little boy. And before I could think to process why he was so shattered, I felt my own heart breaking. How could this be? How could John just resign himself to die ?

He was going to die!

I thoroughly fell apart myself, the thought of John being torn from me just as I'd found myself a fond and true friend in him enough to break my heart.

The thought didn't occur to me until later, much later, around three in the morning, Jamie and I both wide awake in our bed at the inn, unable to sleep, knowing what awaited us at dawn. I was too distraught for my own loss, busied with crying and mourning preemptively, to entertain the thought that something had happened .

It did not make sense for Jamie to grieve John as deeply as he was. Not unless something had changed. When I asked, gentle as I could, while running my fingers through Jamie's curls, our foreheads pressed together, I watched more tears leak out of his eyes and onto the pillows beneath our heads.

“He loves me.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying of course he does , looking at every inch of Jamie’s face to discern any other hint of where this was going. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Oh, Jamie...you never understood, did you…?”

He fell apart again, clinging to me for dear life, and I cried silently into his hair.

Jamie couldn’t bear the insinuation that John and I had had sex because John wanted to have sex with Jamie. Jamie couldn’t bear any insinuation about John’s desire for Jamie. His knee-jerk reaction to such things was similar to the shell-shock I’d seen during and right after the war in my own time, similar to Jamie’s own shell-shock after Wentworth.

So somehow, John’s love , the depth and purity of it, its enduring power, its sacredness, had entirely eluded Jamie, because he’d been too busy looking at it all completely wrong.

A million questions swirled in my mind and made their way to my tongue, but I swallowed them down. It would do no good. It would only serve to bring Jamie more pain. What had transpired belonged to John and Jamie alone, the same way what had transpired months ago belong to John and I alone.

“I told him,” Jamie began, and my stomach lurched, my mind jumping to a conclusion it had no right to reach.

“About yer future.”

Oh.

Why would he do that…?

“About the Stone Wall.”

My mind swam with confusion, and then when it clicked, my whole chest ached like it was on fire from within.

“I had to tell him…promise him that…someday…”

He couldn’t go on.

“I understand,” I whispered hoarsely. I fervently kissed his head, pressing him deeper into the crook of my neck.

Brianna had mentioned the Stonewall riots in passing one singular time in Jamie’s presence, and Jamie had looked between her and I skeptically, listening, but not contributing to the conversation. I hadn’t expected him to. He’d hummed thoughtfully once, and it was dropped, the topic of conversation shifting elsewhere. I hadn’t realized he’d retained enough to detail it to someone else.

I hadn’t realized…that he’d cared. Cared enough to remember.

I swallowed more tears, stifling a sob bubbling in my throbbing chest.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” He clung to me, still weeping. “I…I don’t…I don’t know what to say…”

It was true. I had no idea what John was to Jamie anymore, and perhaps I never would. And that didn’t bother me as much as I’d once thought it would.

“Just…” he said, inhaling slowly with a great shudder. “Tell me…tell me more…about someday.”

After pressing another kiss to his head, I did.

——

I used to believe

In the days I was naive

That I'd live to see

A day of justice dawn

 

And though I will die

Long before that morning comes

I'll die while believing still

It will come when I am gone

 

Someday

When we are wiser

When the world's older

When we have learned

I pray

Someday we may yet live

To live and let let live

 

Someday

Life will be fairer

Need will be rarer

Greed will not pay

 

Godspeed

This bright millennium

On it's way

Let it come someday

 

When the world's older

When things have changed

 

Someday

These dreams will all be real

Till then, we'll

Wish upon the moon

Change will come

One day

Someday

Soon