[ 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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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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]