[Lord John offers the other man a smile, despite himself, raising the glass to take a sip of it as he does.]
Then I shall not deny of it. Though I must warn you. I was not bluffing you in that I will need your direction to be of much use as far as the work is concerned.
[He is a member of high society after all, remember that, Jamie.]
Is it the list that keeps you out of your bed at such an hour? You do realize you will need your rest if you wish to accomplish half those things, old man.
[He tacks that last part on half in jest. But also because he sees the age on the other man's face, in ways he had not seen before. An odd reminder of the difference in time between them if ever John were to have seen one for himself.]
[ Jamie quite literally waves off the concern. Anyone can learn, and John is competent. He isn't worried. At the question, Jamie puts the list aside, and at the jab, Jamie grunts. As an old man does. ]
I dinna ken about auld, but the list gives me something to look forward to. No, it isna the house repairs keeping me up.
[ At this, Jamie looks at more serious, eyes narrowing in concern and thought. What happened to Brianna isn't his story to tell, but he could use a friend's advice if he's being honest. Or to simply speak of it without his wife echoing his own fears and concerns. ]
I had never met my daughter before now, ye ken. I believed her gone to me forever, like Claire. It only took the end of the world to bring us under one leaking roof.
[Lord John recalls what Jamie had mentioned to him about her from before.]
You said she was raised in the Colonies?
[It's a careful question. Crafted as carefully as he can as Lord John realizes his own part in this. As Jamie's parole officer. If he had known where Claire had gone, might he not have been able to get her some sort of letter? But Jamie was his Jacobite prisoner. The fact he had not been transported in and of itself was by Grey's hand alone. Much to Jamie's chagrin.]
[ And here Jamie pauses. Perhaps in light of the end of the world he could tell his friend the truth and not have him think Claire (or Jamie for that matter) mad.
Another night, maybe. But still, part of a truth comes out. ]
Raised by another man when Claire thought I was dead after Culloden. Brianna didna even ken of me until she was twenty or so.
[ Jamie does look quickly at John, not wanting the assumption to be made that there's any anger on his part about it. There's sadness, certainly, but no anger. He knew who he was sending Claire back to. ]
I wanted it that way. For her to be safe and well loved. And she was.
[ But.
Whatever thought Jamie has trails off as he looks down at his whiskey glass, taking a long pull. ]
[Oh. Well then. Lord John watches the other man toss back a drink and takes in a deep breath himself. That rather is a situation indeed.
He does not mean to rub Jamie's face in the situation, but he has to process it in his own way himself.]
That must have been quite the shock for her. To find the man who had raised her was not her father by blood. Unless of course she had been told so from the start.
[But no, the way that Jamie's telling it, he rather thinks that she hadn't been.]
[ For various reasons, none that he can tell John for now. Most of this conversation, to, cuts deeply, of course. John would have, had the world not ended for him, raised Willie. A father not by blood, but one who loved his son all the same. ]
I see her now, my daughter, and I ken her, the things she's told me, the things Claire has told me. But I dinna ken the things a father would.
[ He turns the glass on the table, unable to meet John's gaze for a moment. ]
[John may not know that he is the one to eventually raise Jamie's son. But he does know that Willie is Jamie's son, and he understands that Jamie will never be able to lay claim as such. Not without denying the boy the rest of his family. The title he was born to.
So no, Jamie may have sired the child, but he will not raise him. And apparently he was denied the right to raise this child as well. It is a predicament, he will give Jamie that.]
Jealous of the time he spent with her that you will never be able to make up for? Or jealous of the fact that she should love him more than you, when you have only just met?
[ There's a sharp inhale at John's words and Jamie's jaw sets, twitching just a bit.
He hates that it's a combination of both. ]
Claire and I had another daughter.
[ He has so rarely mentioned Faith, but twice now, he's talked about her at length. Once with Brianna and now with John. Two people he trusts the story to. ]
She was born but never drew a breath in her lungs and it nearly killed Claire. I didna...I didna have a chance to hold her. I wasna there.
[ And because John knows he can't be a father to Willie, he knows it's another child he can't be there to hold or soothe or parent. ]
Brianna is grown now. Had a father who kissed her skinned knees, walked wi' her when she was fussy, told her stories, saw her grow. I'm an auld man now, John, strange as it may be to ye. Claire and I willna have any other bairns. Though, even if we could, 'tis impossible here, in this world.
[ And so, he will never have a child, from birth to adulthood, that he has a chance to raise straight through. Fergus, a son he loves fiercely, is as close as it will ever get. ]
[Stillborn. It does add a somber note to their conversation. Especially since Grey's first sister-in-law, Esme, actually had died in childbirth. Her and the baby both. Lord John had still been young at the time, but he had understood even then how much it had hurt his brother. Just as he understands how much he loves his children now.
Raising his glass, he takes a solid swallow of it, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat before he replies.]
I am sorry. For your loss. Yours and Claire's.
[He pauses for another moment, weighing his words carefully, before he continues:] Yet you must recognize the gift it is you have been given. Here and now. She does not need you to teach her how to walk or talk, no, but she is still only -- what, twenty years old?
[He quirks a soft smile at the other man.] She still needs her father. Trust me on that much.
[Take it from a man who was twelve when his own father was murdered and thus grew up without one from that point on himself.]
[ Jamie acknowledges the condolences with a nod, taking a moment to silently think of Faith, unable to conjure a memory to go with her because he'd been in prison the day she was born. The day she died.
Still, John's words pull a small smile from Jamie. ]
My own mother died in childbed when I was no' but a wee lad. Had she been alive when I was twenty, Christ. I dinna ken for sure, but perhaps I would have made different choices. 'Tis a gift, to have her here and now. And she does need me, though perhaps Claire more.
[ In the aftermath of her trauma she's wanted both of them close, but has gravitated toward her mother for obvious reasons. ]
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[ Perhaps Brianna, but he's not sure of what she'll want to do; if she'll even want to. ]
't'would be a pleasure to have yer company making the hours go by faster.
[ When they have conversations, they tend to run the gamut, and he imagines even with time between them that wouldn't change much. ]
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Then I shall not deny of it. Though I must warn you. I was not bluffing you in that I will need your direction to be of much use as far as the work is concerned.
[He is a member of high society after all, remember that, Jamie.]
Is it the list that keeps you out of your bed at such an hour? You do realize you will need your rest if you wish to accomplish half those things, old man.
[He tacks that last part on half in jest. But also because he sees the age on the other man's face, in ways he had not seen before. An odd reminder of the difference in time between them if ever John were to have seen one for himself.]
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[ Jamie quite literally waves off the concern. Anyone can learn, and John is competent. He isn't worried. At the question, Jamie puts the list aside, and at the jab, Jamie grunts. As an old man does. ]
I dinna ken about auld, but the list gives me something to look forward to. No, it isna the house repairs keeping me up.
[ At this, Jamie looks at more serious, eyes narrowing in concern and thought. What happened to Brianna isn't his story to tell, but he could use a friend's advice if he's being honest. Or to simply speak of it without his wife echoing his own fears and concerns. ]
I had never met my daughter before now, ye ken. I believed her gone to me forever, like Claire. It only took the end of the world to bring us under one leaking roof.
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[Lord John recalls what Jamie had mentioned to him about her from before.]
You said she was raised in the Colonies?
[It's a careful question. Crafted as carefully as he can as Lord John realizes his own part in this. As Jamie's parole officer. If he had known where Claire had gone, might he not have been able to get her some sort of letter? But Jamie was his Jacobite prisoner. The fact he had not been transported in and of itself was by Grey's hand alone. Much to Jamie's chagrin.]
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[ And here Jamie pauses. Perhaps in light of the end of the world he could tell his friend the truth and not have him think Claire (or Jamie for that matter) mad.
Another night, maybe. But still, part of a truth comes out. ]
Raised by another man when Claire thought I was dead after Culloden. Brianna didna even ken of me until she was twenty or so.
[ Jamie does look quickly at John, not wanting the assumption to be made that there's any anger on his part about it. There's sadness, certainly, but no anger. He knew who he was sending Claire back to. ]
I wanted it that way. For her to be safe and well loved. And she was.
[ But.
Whatever thought Jamie has trails off as he looks down at his whiskey glass, taking a long pull. ]
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He does not mean to rub Jamie's face in the situation, but he has to process it in his own way himself.]
That must have been quite the shock for her. To find the man who had raised her was not her father by blood. Unless of course she had been told so from the start.
[But no, the way that Jamie's telling it, he rather thinks that she hadn't been.]
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[ For various reasons, none that he can tell John for now. Most of this conversation, to, cuts deeply, of course. John would have, had the world not ended for him, raised Willie. A father not by blood, but one who loved his son all the same. ]
I see her now, my daughter, and I ken her, the things she's told me, the things Claire has told me. But I dinna ken the things a father would.
[ He turns the glass on the table, unable to meet John's gaze for a moment. ]
I find myself jealous of a dead man.
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So no, Jamie may have sired the child, but he will not raise him. And apparently he was denied the right to raise this child as well. It is a predicament, he will give Jamie that.]
Jealous of the time he spent with her that you will never be able to make up for? Or jealous of the fact that she should love him more than you, when you have only just met?
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He hates that it's a combination of both. ]
Claire and I had another daughter.
[ He has so rarely mentioned Faith, but twice now, he's talked about her at length. Once with Brianna and now with John. Two people he trusts the story to. ]
She was born but never drew a breath in her lungs and it nearly killed Claire. I didna...I didna have a chance to hold her. I wasna there.
[ And because John knows he can't be a father to Willie, he knows it's another child he can't be there to hold or soothe or parent. ]
Brianna is grown now. Had a father who kissed her skinned knees, walked wi' her when she was fussy, told her stories, saw her grow. I'm an auld man now, John, strange as it may be to ye. Claire and I willna have any other bairns. Though, even if we could, 'tis impossible here, in this world.
[ And so, he will never have a child, from birth to adulthood, that he has a chance to raise straight through. Fergus, a son he loves fiercely, is as close as it will ever get. ]
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Raising his glass, he takes a solid swallow of it, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat before he replies.]
I am sorry. For your loss. Yours and Claire's.
[He pauses for another moment, weighing his words carefully, before he continues:] Yet you must recognize the gift it is you have been given. Here and now. She does not need you to teach her how to walk or talk, no, but she is still only -- what, twenty years old?
[He quirks a soft smile at the other man.] She still needs her father. Trust me on that much.
[Take it from a man who was twelve when his own father was murdered and thus grew up without one from that point on himself.]
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Still, John's words pull a small smile from Jamie. ]
My own mother died in childbed when I was no' but a wee lad. Had she been alive when I was twenty, Christ. I dinna ken for sure, but perhaps I would have made different choices. 'Tis a gift, to have her here and now. And she does need me, though perhaps Claire more.
[ In the aftermath of her trauma she's wanted both of them close, but has gravitated toward her mother for obvious reasons. ]