A Watch Thing (1/1)
It started as a simple question one day, as he dug through the drawer of the bedside table in the vain hope of finding a new watchband.
“Where’s it from?”
He glanced up from digging through the drawer-honestly, why would he have a spare watchband in there, anyway?-to find Rose looking, fascinated, at his watch. She’d picked it up, was gently ghosting her fingers over the face as she cradled it lightly in her palm, and she glanced up at him. “I mean…” she returned the watch to the dresser, pulling her hands back, “you always wear it. An’…”
He closed the small drawer, walking over to where Rose stood. “I’ve had it for years, now.” He reached down, handling the familiar timepiece, sparing a moment to glare at where the leather of the watchband had finally cracked through-it had been put through quite a bit in the past five years, including being caught in several rainstorms, one unfortunate dunk in a river, and more than a few spontaneous showers with the woman in front of him. The watch was water-resistant, but the band itself wasn’t designed for that kind of abuse.
Rose reached over, gently tracing a fingertip around the face, following the numbers. “I’ve always loved it.”
He turned to her, surprised. “Really?”
She smiled shyly. “Yeah. Used to see it when you’d be sittin’ across from me, thinkin’.”
He grinned slowly. “When you were ogling me, you mean?”
She leaned into him, bumping her shoulder into his arm. “Was not.”
“Were too.”
“No I wasn’t.” Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, returning her attention to the watch in his hand. He still couldn’t believe he had that kind of power over her, to make the normally self-assured and loquacious woman next to him grow shy and embarrassed.
“That’s quite all right-I wasn’t precisely focusing on my work to the exclusion of all else.” He winked as she looked up at him, and she laughed.
“Fine, fine, I might have been looking at more than the watch.”
“I knew it!”
“Clever bastard.”
“Aye. I have the sneaking suspicion that you enjoy that aspect of my personality.”
“That I do.” Rose returned her attention to the watch, tentatively reaching down towards it, asking through a glance if she could hold it.
He handed it over to her, continuing gently, “That was my dad’s.”
Rose’s eyes flew to his, her surprise evident.
He continued. “My mum gave it to him at some point. I…I don’t know when. Not really.” He reached down, guiding her to turn the watch over. The engraving on the back was still sharp and clear, the result of years spent tucked away in the back of the top drawer of his dad’s dresser, then another several years resting on a bookshelf at the cottage. He’d worn it for his entire career, but so rarely took it off that it simply hadn’t worn away.
“What’s it say?” Rose asked, looking up at him.
“Tha gaol agam ort.”
Rose blinked. “What?”
He took the watch from her, using his pinkie to pick out each finely engraved word as he pronounced it. “Tha. Gaol. Agam. Ort. That’s how I know it came from my mum.”
He brushed his thumb across the words, remembering hearing his mum say them to his father. He’d not understood the words at the time-wouldn’t for years-but he clearly understood his father’s reaction, a beaming smile crossing his face before he swept his wife in for a kiss.
Peter had very faint memories of seeing his father wearing the watch; he’d found pictures, when he cleaned out his father’s things and again when he’d organised the cottage, where it was visible on his father’s wrist. The oldest of the pictures had pre-dated Peter’s birth, and he’d long suspected that his mum had given it to his dad upon Martin’s birth, or thereabouts.
“What’s it mean?” Rose’s voice broke into his memories. He blinked, trying to focus, his thumb pausing over the engraved words.
“It means...” He felt his throat tighten; he’d not translated that particular phrase in years. “It means...I...I love you.” His voice was so soft, Rose had to lean in to hear him.
Rose tilted her head, looking up at him; she gazed steadily at him for a few moments, before gently offering, “’s lovely.”
He nodded once, pocketing the watch. Taking a step back he fought the urge to flee, to run from the memories, flooding through him. Fifteen years, now, he’d worn the watch, but the memories associated with it momentarily consumed him.
Rose reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “’m sorry.”
He smiled, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t be. It’s...you didn’t know.”
Rose bit her lip, thinking, her thumb rubbing lightly along his arm just below the crook of his elbow. He focused on her touch, on the soothing rhythm, trying to relax; she’d asked out of curiosity, not out of maliciousness. She wasn’t going to use those words as a weapon, wasn’t going to mock him for knowing Gaelic, or for wearing a memento of his parents on his left wrist every day. She leaned up into him, brushing a light kiss across his cheek, before turning to continue dressing.
“Rose-” She turned to him as he called her name, her forehead furrowing. “D’you want to know about it?”
Her eyebrows relaxed, her eyes brightening. She nodded, moving towards him. “I’d love to.”
He dug into his pocket, pulling the watch out as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He smiled softly at Rose, patting the red duvet, inviting her to join him; she smiled in return, moving to sit between him and the carved foot of the bed.
“I found this, much to my surprise, when Martin and I set about cleaning out after...my dad...”
Rose reached over and took his free hand, threading her fingers through his. How was it he could wear the blasted thing every day for so long and not think twice, but the second he tried to tell Rose about it, about its history, he choked up?
“Where’d you find it?” she asked gently.
“Buried behind his vests, in his dresser. Martin was clearing out the wardrobe, I got the drawers. I...Martin doesn’t know.”
Rose blinked, pulling back slightly in surprise. “He doesn’t know what?”
“That I found it. That it’s Dad's.”
Rose pursed her lips slightly; he braced for what she might say, what words she might use to chastise him for not sharing with his brother. He’d found it that day, so long ago; had felt excitement and sadness and fear pass through him as he looked at the fine craftsmanship of the timepiece, as he turned it over and saw the engraving. Martin would have wanted to be rid of it, would want to sell it for cash; Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to wear such a thing, but he couldn’t bear the thought of this last tie to his mum falling into the hands of a stranger. And so he’d pocketed it.
Rose looked at him, her eyes focusing on his, her mouth slowly relaxing. “So, you found it. Then what?”
He sighed. “We moved a bunch of things up to the cottage-books, mainly, but also some linens and other things. The cottage had been left to me, as you know, and Martin never went-too cold and drafty.” He smiled in response to Rose’s knowing grin; the reaction reached his eyes this time. “So I left it there, and managed to forget about it for a while.”
Rose glanced down at the watch, easing it from his fingers, running her thumb over the crystal face. “’s truly lovely.”
“Mum had good taste.”
“She did.” Rose turned her head, looking at him sidelong. “So.” She drew the word out, and Peter braced for mischief. “When’d you decide you were a classy enough bloke to wear something so nice?” She smiled at him, taking the sting out of the words by giggling. For as long as they’d dated, she’d teased him about his love for jumpers and rumpled shirts; asking if he was dressing the way he thought a DI would, or if he’d been born with that fashion sense. As her question was usually asked as she divested him of said clothing, he found he’d never minded.
“I...I don’t know. I just woke up one day, and decided maybe I’d like to wear it.” And he had. It had been after Uni, as he packed things up at the cottage to move to the small flat he’d originally let in Kendal. The watch had sat for years on the bookshelves in the parlour of the cottage, gathering dust like everything else. One day, on a trip north, he’d reached for some of his favourite books, had brushed against the watch, and by the time he’d picked it up he’d decided to start wearing it. And that had been that.
“It suits you, you know.”
“How so?”
Rose looked at it, her face softening. “‘s...dinged and lived a hard life, but it’s cherished. I’ve seen what you put it through-it’s resilient. And the face...’s beautiful.” Her gaze returned to his face, her expression vulnerable.
He leaned down, brushing a kiss over her lips, pulling back slowly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She ducked her head. “’s only the truth.” She flipped the broken leather band with her fingers. “Band’s a bit manky, though. D’you ever take it off?”
He took the watch from her in mock indignation. “It’s off now, isn’t it?”
“Besides when the band breaks, Peter.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I do!”
“When.”
“When I shower.”
Rose arched an eyebrow sceptically.
“You’ve not been with me for every shower I take, Rose.”
“More’s the pity,” Rose offered, her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth.
“Cheeky.”
“Problem?”
“Not at all.” He leaned down, stealing a kiss, before continuing. “And when I swim.”
Rose turned to him, unsure. “How often is that?”
“At the cottage? Whenever the water’s warm enough. Here? Whenever I can.”
“I...I didn’t know that.”
“I have to keep my girlish figure somehow, Rose,” he teased. Rose knew he swam up at the cottage-she’d found him going for a swim on their first visit, and had given him the time and privacy he craved to go for a swim on each of their subsequent visits-but he supposed he’d never mentioned his proclivity for swimming laps when he really needed to clear his mind. “I...it’s how I think, sometimes.”
“Oh.”
“Other than that, though...I don’t take it off much at all.”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “And how old is the band, then?”
“A few years.”
Rose leaned against him, reaching across to drift her fingers across the engraving; he’d turned the watch over, running his thumb absentmindedly against it as he’d talked with her.
“I’m amazed you’ve not rubbed that off,” she observed.
“I don’t take it off often enough.”
“Tha gaol agam ort.” She destroyed the words, reading them phonetically instead of with the instinct of a native speaker.
He couldn’t help it-he laughed, stifling it quickly when he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“Y’don’t need to laugh...”
She really was stung by his reaction, and he gently captured her hand. “I...I’m sorry, Rose. Truly.” He glanced down at the watch, holding her hand as he traced the words with his forefinger. “I’ll teach you. Tha gaol agam ort.”
Rose tried to repeat the words again, her cheeks turning scarlet, her eyes focused on the engraving as she gave it a half-hearted effort; she was worried he’d laugh at her again.
“No, Rose. Look at me.” He set the watch down, turning his torso to face hers. “Listen to what I say, don’t think about how it’s spelled.”
He repeated the phrase again-Hah GEUL AH-kum orsht-holding her gaze, willing her to trust that he wasn’t mocking her. He found, as he said the words yet again, that they’d lost much of their sting.
Rose tried again, improving, and he leaned down for a kiss. “We’ll teach you Gaelic yet.”
She arched an eyebrow playfully. “You’re going to teach me?”
“I...”
Rose leaned towards him, licking her lips. “Will I be rewarded if I learn quickly?”
“Yes,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.
“So...if I said Hah GEUL AH-kum orsht, correctly, I’d-”
He cut her off, kissing her fiercely, pulling back several moments later to catch his breath.
“Oh. I think I like that.” Rose was still breathless. “What’s my next lesson?”
“Telling me you love me repeatedly as I make love to you,” he growled, leaning into her again, his lips crashing against hers as his arms pulled her to him.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It was another day before Peter finally got around to finding a new band for his beloved watch.
~fin~
*Lovely HQ cap of Blackpool Episode 2 courtesy of
larissa_j
“Where’s it from?”
He glanced up from digging through the drawer-honestly, why would he have a spare watchband in there, anyway?-to find Rose looking, fascinated, at his watch. She’d picked it up, was gently ghosting her fingers over the face as she cradled it lightly in her palm, and she glanced up at him. “I mean…” she returned the watch to the dresser, pulling her hands back, “you always wear it. An’…”
He closed the small drawer, walking over to where Rose stood. “I’ve had it for years, now.” He reached down, handling the familiar timepiece, sparing a moment to glare at where the leather of the watchband had finally cracked through-it had been put through quite a bit in the past five years, including being caught in several rainstorms, one unfortunate dunk in a river, and more than a few spontaneous showers with the woman in front of him. The watch was water-resistant, but the band itself wasn’t designed for that kind of abuse.
Rose reached over, gently tracing a fingertip around the face, following the numbers. “I’ve always loved it.”
He turned to her, surprised. “Really?”
She smiled shyly. “Yeah. Used to see it when you’d be sittin’ across from me, thinkin’.”
He grinned slowly. “When you were ogling me, you mean?”
She leaned into him, bumping her shoulder into his arm. “Was not.”
“Were too.”
“No I wasn’t.” Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, returning her attention to the watch in his hand. He still couldn’t believe he had that kind of power over her, to make the normally self-assured and loquacious woman next to him grow shy and embarrassed.
“That’s quite all right-I wasn’t precisely focusing on my work to the exclusion of all else.” He winked as she looked up at him, and she laughed.
“Fine, fine, I might have been looking at more than the watch.”
“I knew it!”
“Clever bastard.”
“Aye. I have the sneaking suspicion that you enjoy that aspect of my personality.”
“That I do.” Rose returned her attention to the watch, tentatively reaching down towards it, asking through a glance if she could hold it.
He handed it over to her, continuing gently, “That was my dad’s.”
Rose’s eyes flew to his, her surprise evident.
He continued. “My mum gave it to him at some point. I…I don’t know when. Not really.” He reached down, guiding her to turn the watch over. The engraving on the back was still sharp and clear, the result of years spent tucked away in the back of the top drawer of his dad’s dresser, then another several years resting on a bookshelf at the cottage. He’d worn it for his entire career, but so rarely took it off that it simply hadn’t worn away.
“What’s it say?” Rose asked, looking up at him.
“Tha gaol agam ort.”
Rose blinked. “What?”
He took the watch from her, using his pinkie to pick out each finely engraved word as he pronounced it. “Tha. Gaol. Agam. Ort. That’s how I know it came from my mum.”
He brushed his thumb across the words, remembering hearing his mum say them to his father. He’d not understood the words at the time-wouldn’t for years-but he clearly understood his father’s reaction, a beaming smile crossing his face before he swept his wife in for a kiss.
Peter had very faint memories of seeing his father wearing the watch; he’d found pictures, when he cleaned out his father’s things and again when he’d organised the cottage, where it was visible on his father’s wrist. The oldest of the pictures had pre-dated Peter’s birth, and he’d long suspected that his mum had given it to his dad upon Martin’s birth, or thereabouts.
“What’s it mean?” Rose’s voice broke into his memories. He blinked, trying to focus, his thumb pausing over the engraved words.
“It means...” He felt his throat tighten; he’d not translated that particular phrase in years. “It means...I...I love you.” His voice was so soft, Rose had to lean in to hear him.
Rose tilted her head, looking up at him; she gazed steadily at him for a few moments, before gently offering, “’s lovely.”
He nodded once, pocketing the watch. Taking a step back he fought the urge to flee, to run from the memories, flooding through him. Fifteen years, now, he’d worn the watch, but the memories associated with it momentarily consumed him.
Rose reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “’m sorry.”
He smiled, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t be. It’s...you didn’t know.”
Rose bit her lip, thinking, her thumb rubbing lightly along his arm just below the crook of his elbow. He focused on her touch, on the soothing rhythm, trying to relax; she’d asked out of curiosity, not out of maliciousness. She wasn’t going to use those words as a weapon, wasn’t going to mock him for knowing Gaelic, or for wearing a memento of his parents on his left wrist every day. She leaned up into him, brushing a light kiss across his cheek, before turning to continue dressing.
“Rose-” She turned to him as he called her name, her forehead furrowing. “D’you want to know about it?”
Her eyebrows relaxed, her eyes brightening. She nodded, moving towards him. “I’d love to.”
He dug into his pocket, pulling the watch out as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He smiled softly at Rose, patting the red duvet, inviting her to join him; she smiled in return, moving to sit between him and the carved foot of the bed.
“I found this, much to my surprise, when Martin and I set about cleaning out after...my dad...”
Rose reached over and took his free hand, threading her fingers through his. How was it he could wear the blasted thing every day for so long and not think twice, but the second he tried to tell Rose about it, about its history, he choked up?
“Where’d you find it?” she asked gently.
“Buried behind his vests, in his dresser. Martin was clearing out the wardrobe, I got the drawers. I...Martin doesn’t know.”
Rose blinked, pulling back slightly in surprise. “He doesn’t know what?”
“That I found it. That it’s Dad's.”
Rose pursed her lips slightly; he braced for what she might say, what words she might use to chastise him for not sharing with his brother. He’d found it that day, so long ago; had felt excitement and sadness and fear pass through him as he looked at the fine craftsmanship of the timepiece, as he turned it over and saw the engraving. Martin would have wanted to be rid of it, would want to sell it for cash; Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to wear such a thing, but he couldn’t bear the thought of this last tie to his mum falling into the hands of a stranger. And so he’d pocketed it.
Rose looked at him, her eyes focusing on his, her mouth slowly relaxing. “So, you found it. Then what?”
He sighed. “We moved a bunch of things up to the cottage-books, mainly, but also some linens and other things. The cottage had been left to me, as you know, and Martin never went-too cold and drafty.” He smiled in response to Rose’s knowing grin; the reaction reached his eyes this time. “So I left it there, and managed to forget about it for a while.”
Rose glanced down at the watch, easing it from his fingers, running her thumb over the crystal face. “’s truly lovely.”
“Mum had good taste.”
“She did.” Rose turned her head, looking at him sidelong. “So.” She drew the word out, and Peter braced for mischief. “When’d you decide you were a classy enough bloke to wear something so nice?” She smiled at him, taking the sting out of the words by giggling. For as long as they’d dated, she’d teased him about his love for jumpers and rumpled shirts; asking if he was dressing the way he thought a DI would, or if he’d been born with that fashion sense. As her question was usually asked as she divested him of said clothing, he found he’d never minded.
“I...I don’t know. I just woke up one day, and decided maybe I’d like to wear it.” And he had. It had been after Uni, as he packed things up at the cottage to move to the small flat he’d originally let in Kendal. The watch had sat for years on the bookshelves in the parlour of the cottage, gathering dust like everything else. One day, on a trip north, he’d reached for some of his favourite books, had brushed against the watch, and by the time he’d picked it up he’d decided to start wearing it. And that had been that.
“It suits you, you know.”
“How so?”
Rose looked at it, her face softening. “‘s...dinged and lived a hard life, but it’s cherished. I’ve seen what you put it through-it’s resilient. And the face...’s beautiful.” Her gaze returned to his face, her expression vulnerable.
He leaned down, brushing a kiss over her lips, pulling back slowly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She ducked her head. “’s only the truth.” She flipped the broken leather band with her fingers. “Band’s a bit manky, though. D’you ever take it off?”
He took the watch from her in mock indignation. “It’s off now, isn’t it?”
“Besides when the band breaks, Peter.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I do!”
“When.”
“When I shower.”
Rose arched an eyebrow sceptically.
“You’ve not been with me for every shower I take, Rose.”
“More’s the pity,” Rose offered, her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth.
“Cheeky.”
“Problem?”
“Not at all.” He leaned down, stealing a kiss, before continuing. “And when I swim.”
Rose turned to him, unsure. “How often is that?”
“At the cottage? Whenever the water’s warm enough. Here? Whenever I can.”
“I...I didn’t know that.”
“I have to keep my girlish figure somehow, Rose,” he teased. Rose knew he swam up at the cottage-she’d found him going for a swim on their first visit, and had given him the time and privacy he craved to go for a swim on each of their subsequent visits-but he supposed he’d never mentioned his proclivity for swimming laps when he really needed to clear his mind. “I...it’s how I think, sometimes.”
“Oh.”
“Other than that, though...I don’t take it off much at all.”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “And how old is the band, then?”
“A few years.”
Rose leaned against him, reaching across to drift her fingers across the engraving; he’d turned the watch over, running his thumb absentmindedly against it as he’d talked with her.
“I’m amazed you’ve not rubbed that off,” she observed.
“I don’t take it off often enough.”
“Tha gaol agam ort.” She destroyed the words, reading them phonetically instead of with the instinct of a native speaker.
He couldn’t help it-he laughed, stifling it quickly when he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“Y’don’t need to laugh...”
She really was stung by his reaction, and he gently captured her hand. “I...I’m sorry, Rose. Truly.” He glanced down at the watch, holding her hand as he traced the words with his forefinger. “I’ll teach you. Tha gaol agam ort.”
Rose tried to repeat the words again, her cheeks turning scarlet, her eyes focused on the engraving as she gave it a half-hearted effort; she was worried he’d laugh at her again.
“No, Rose. Look at me.” He set the watch down, turning his torso to face hers. “Listen to what I say, don’t think about how it’s spelled.”
He repeated the phrase again-Hah GEUL AH-kum orsht-holding her gaze, willing her to trust that he wasn’t mocking her. He found, as he said the words yet again, that they’d lost much of their sting.
Rose tried again, improving, and he leaned down for a kiss. “We’ll teach you Gaelic yet.”
She arched an eyebrow playfully. “You’re going to teach me?”
“I...”
Rose leaned towards him, licking her lips. “Will I be rewarded if I learn quickly?”
“Yes,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.
“So...if I said Hah GEUL AH-kum orsht, correctly, I’d-”
He cut her off, kissing her fiercely, pulling back several moments later to catch his breath.
“Oh. I think I like that.” Rose was still breathless. “What’s my next lesson?”
“Telling me you love me repeatedly as I make love to you,” he growled, leaning into her again, his lips crashing against hers as his arms pulled her to him.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It was another day before Peter finally got around to finding a new band for his beloved watch.
~fin~
*Lovely HQ cap of Blackpool Episode 2 courtesy of
larissa_j