
"Ohhhhhh there he is there he is there he is, he's doing MANUAL LABOR and it's FANTASTIC."

"Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth..."

"Oh, uh, hi there, Jamie, just passing through, not at all in my very cutest cloak!"

"John! I was just using this long thing to deal with this other long thing!"

"I MEAN THAT SOUNDS FINE!"

"It's good to see you, John. I almost never smile this wide."

"YOU SHOULD IT WORKS SO WELL OH MY GOD."

This child has clearly never seen so much as an ant before; it cracks me up that Claire was like, "Pshaw, leeches are cool! Just keep them until they decide they're done!"

"I'm just having a casual conversation with my old friend. Nothing to see here."

"I'm just using this long thing to poke at these very hot other things."

"I AM SO GLAD I CAME HERE."

"Please, sir. Let me cut my hair. I think there are ferrets living in it."

Bless you, Murtagh, and your refusal to play nice.

These two are really, really good at looking at each other as if nothing but their hormones exist. Also, why is he so hot with those terrible bangs? And YET.

These bangs, however, are terrible. Jamie's bang karma was not genetic.

David Berry is a miracle. In one take, he rolled over emoted for EXACTLY the right amount of time, and whispered, "So was I," RIGHT as a tear rolled down his cheek. I don't care how many takes that took. It was GOOD.

Wait, when did it become winter? I wonder if this is one of those situations where it snowed in Scotland in the middle of their shoot, and they were like, "Well...... shit. Just roll with it."

"Claire... you must know... I could have slept with Jamie, but I didn't, but I could have, but I DIDN'T, but I COULD have, BUT I DIDN'T, BUT I COULD HAVE WHY GOD."

"Quite. Well, good luck with the measles."

I was sadly unable to get a good shot of this: When William throws himself at Jamie after the Cherokee let them go, Jamie is astonished, and fighting his every impulse to hug him back like a dad would. It's very sweet. KILL SHOT.

Is it wrong that I find post-fever demi-measled convalescing John Grey to be kind of dreamy?

"No, Heather. It's not wrong. It's RIGHT. DO YOU HEAR HER, JAMIE?"

Father and son, one gazing into middle distance, one frowning into middle dirt.

John does seem like a good dad.

"Are you my real dad?"

"YOU BETCHA."

"I was kidding! Have fun!"

Well, thanks, Jamie, for making EVERY bath seem pointless if it doesn't involve being drizzled with warm water by a total dish.

The wedding band Jamie made is very pretty, too. That Murtagh is both a skilled silversmith AND excellent at guessing Claire's ring size.

That's right, Jamie, GET THEE TO METAPHORICAL RICHMOND.
