You have mine, as much or as little of it as you'd like.
[ There's no particular reason why this man should trust him, aside from the fact that they're both grieving the same woman, and he hopes James might trust La'an's judgment enough to believe Fraser is the sort of man who means what he says.
... Which puts him in mind of another duty, one he's been dreading. He's put it off long enough. ]
I'll be right back.
[ He says it as he gets up, setting his coffee aside, before disappearing into one of the back rooms of the house, leaving James alone with Diefenbaker, who is pretending not to pay attention to this new visitor. It's a moment before Fraser comes back, but when he does, he's holding a small item, wrapped carefully in one of his own clean handkerchiefs. ]
He'd known ever since he saw the post on the bulletin board that he would have to offer the watch to James, give it up, if the man wants it. It's beyond selfish for him to want to keep it for himself, to hope that James might not want it -- he takes those thoughts and feelings and ties them ruthlessly away. He knows what it's like to cling to the last small things left behind, the journals and photos and other talismans that take on so much more weight when the person they belonged to is gone.
This watch can't carry a whole person in its broken face, but it can carry a memory. ]
I think maybe she'd have liked for you to have it.
no subject
[ There's no particular reason why this man should trust him, aside from the fact that they're both grieving the same woman, and he hopes James might trust La'an's judgment enough to believe Fraser is the sort of man who means what he says.
... Which puts him in mind of another duty, one he's been dreading. He's put it off long enough. ]
I'll be right back.
[ He says it as he gets up, setting his coffee aside, before disappearing into one of the back rooms of the house, leaving James alone with Diefenbaker, who is pretending not to pay attention to this new visitor. It's a moment before Fraser comes back, but when he does, he's holding a small item, wrapped carefully in one of his own clean handkerchiefs. ]
She left this for me the night she died.
[ Unfolding the cloth, Fraser holds it out for James' inspection: a broken diver's watch accompanied by a note in a hand the man might recognize.
He'd known ever since he saw the post on the bulletin board that he would have to offer the watch to James, give it up, if the man wants it. It's beyond selfish for him to want to keep it for himself, to hope that James might not want it -- he takes those thoughts and feelings and ties them ruthlessly away. He knows what it's like to cling to the last small things left behind, the journals and photos and other talismans that take on so much more weight when the person they belonged to is gone.
This watch can't carry a whole person in its broken face, but it can carry a memory. ]
I think maybe she'd have liked for you to have it.