Fic: The Complications, part 3
This is a little something written as a birthday present for the lovely kahvi The premise being, what if Jeeves HAD married that cook?
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Comes after
Part 1
Part 2
Little Hazel lived up to her name. When I first laid eyes on her, cradled in Jeeves’ arm, I thought for a moment that she was a doll meant for the child. Then, she sneezed. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Jeeves offered her to me, and I gingerly took her, surprised at how heavy her head was compared to the rest of her. She must have the old man’s brains.
As a general rule, I’ve never been too fond of children. They have their moments, mind you, but on the whole they are absolute terrors. Having been one myself once, I can attest to this. Hazel was certainly not without fault. Her tiny lungs, which rasped for breath under normal circs., could ring out a shrill shriek louder than any full grown girl I’d ever met, and she frequently displayed this talent in the dead of the night. Jeeves always knew what to do, though, and the noise never lasted long. The other thing that she was really tops at was soiling diapers, and after witnessing the changing of said diaper once, I felt myself heaving, and had to leave the room for some fresh air.
However, she had one feature that was enough to make me forgive her unpleasant traits. She had blue eyes, or, more specifically, eyes the shining blue gray of the ocean on an overcast day, that glittered with interest when she regarded me. His eyes. Those eyes, combined with the fact that she always seemed rather pleased to see me, were a fatal combination. I fell in love.
There is a tiny, boxy corridor separating Jeeves’ lair and wash room from the kitchen; and it was here that Hazel spent much of her time, lounging in a wicker bassinette as Jeeves worked close at hand. I was finishing my tea and watching her sleep, for she’d been tired out by a long session with the specialist that morning.
“She doesn’t like the doctor.” I mused. “She can tell when he’s coming because she always fusses just before. Smart as a whip, isn’t she.”
“Indeed, sir.” Jeeves replied, looking up from the potatoes he was peeling. “Although I think it is more likely that it is because she has learned her daily routine.”
“It’s more than that.” I insisted. “She’s inherited your supreme intellect, Jeeves. She’s going to be one of those brainy beazels, and she’ll get top marks at school. We’ll send her to the best schools in London, and she’ll surpass everyone there.” I beamed with a vicarious sort of pride, for academics have never been my strong point.
“Sir.” Jeeves said, with disapproval and a good deal of soupiness in his tone, “You must not spoil her. She will get ideas above her station.”
I frowned. “But she’s my goddaughter,” I insisted.
Jeeves sighed, enough for me, alone, to notice. “And she is the daughter of a servant. She cannot aspire to be accepted as a society lady.”
I understood his drift, as there were still quite a few people that weren’t possessed of a progressive mind frame. Still, it was the older generation that did much of the grousing. That is not to say that servants didn’t have their pride, of course. From what I’ve gathered they generally behave with a feudal dignity that sets them apart from the masses, yet keeps them from fraternizing freely with the nobles. As such, servants tend to marry servants, and Jeeves isn’t one that likes to step out of line, professionally. I heaved a sigh myself, thinking of how that kind of thinking made my dream of being his even more hopeless.
“I know I have said this many times, sir, but what you have done for us is more than I could ever hope for, and I am eternally grateful. I must insist, though-“
“You worry too much, Jeeves.” I replied, straddling the chair and propping my chin on my palm. Jeeves was frowning down at the potatoes, staring them down as if he actually had to concentrate on the task. I took a chance. “What’s really eating you, old thing?” I asked, softly, for the sight of him so distracted and distraught was affecting me as well.
“Sir, why did you not marry?” he asked.
This again! “I told you. Bobbie didn’t want-“
“And no one else did, sir?” he whispered.
“No!” I cried. “And what’s more, I didn’t want to, either. You know that. You always knew that. I guess… it’s just not meant to be, for me. I never fell in love like you did.” I sighed.
Jeeves set his jaw, and he had an odd look about his eyes. It took a moment before I realized that the sheen in them were unshed tears. I felt bally awful for bringing it up, and was about to rise to leave the kitchen to give him a bit of privacy, when he spoke.
“I didn’t love her, sir.” he said, not meeting my eyes. “She was, as you say, a good girl. As for Hazel…” he inhaled sharply, and pointedly looked away from the wicker basket. “I do love her, sir, adamantly. Yet I resent her. Forgive me, sir. I needed to tell someone. I’m just… so tired.”
The pain crossing his brow was more than I could bear. I gathered Hazel into my arms. “Leave the cooking, Jeeves.” I said, quietly. “Have a lie down, or have a crack at your Spinoza. Don’t worry about all this.”
What frightened me was that he didn’t argue with my suggestion.
Part 4
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Comes after
Part 1
Part 2
Little Hazel lived up to her name. When I first laid eyes on her, cradled in Jeeves’ arm, I thought for a moment that she was a doll meant for the child. Then, she sneezed. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Jeeves offered her to me, and I gingerly took her, surprised at how heavy her head was compared to the rest of her. She must have the old man’s brains.
As a general rule, I’ve never been too fond of children. They have their moments, mind you, but on the whole they are absolute terrors. Having been one myself once, I can attest to this. Hazel was certainly not without fault. Her tiny lungs, which rasped for breath under normal circs., could ring out a shrill shriek louder than any full grown girl I’d ever met, and she frequently displayed this talent in the dead of the night. Jeeves always knew what to do, though, and the noise never lasted long. The other thing that she was really tops at was soiling diapers, and after witnessing the changing of said diaper once, I felt myself heaving, and had to leave the room for some fresh air.
However, she had one feature that was enough to make me forgive her unpleasant traits. She had blue eyes, or, more specifically, eyes the shining blue gray of the ocean on an overcast day, that glittered with interest when she regarded me. His eyes. Those eyes, combined with the fact that she always seemed rather pleased to see me, were a fatal combination. I fell in love.
There is a tiny, boxy corridor separating Jeeves’ lair and wash room from the kitchen; and it was here that Hazel spent much of her time, lounging in a wicker bassinette as Jeeves worked close at hand. I was finishing my tea and watching her sleep, for she’d been tired out by a long session with the specialist that morning.
“She doesn’t like the doctor.” I mused. “She can tell when he’s coming because she always fusses just before. Smart as a whip, isn’t she.”
“Indeed, sir.” Jeeves replied, looking up from the potatoes he was peeling. “Although I think it is more likely that it is because she has learned her daily routine.”
“It’s more than that.” I insisted. “She’s inherited your supreme intellect, Jeeves. She’s going to be one of those brainy beazels, and she’ll get top marks at school. We’ll send her to the best schools in London, and she’ll surpass everyone there.” I beamed with a vicarious sort of pride, for academics have never been my strong point.
“Sir.” Jeeves said, with disapproval and a good deal of soupiness in his tone, “You must not spoil her. She will get ideas above her station.”
I frowned. “But she’s my goddaughter,” I insisted.
Jeeves sighed, enough for me, alone, to notice. “And she is the daughter of a servant. She cannot aspire to be accepted as a society lady.”
I understood his drift, as there were still quite a few people that weren’t possessed of a progressive mind frame. Still, it was the older generation that did much of the grousing. That is not to say that servants didn’t have their pride, of course. From what I’ve gathered they generally behave with a feudal dignity that sets them apart from the masses, yet keeps them from fraternizing freely with the nobles. As such, servants tend to marry servants, and Jeeves isn’t one that likes to step out of line, professionally. I heaved a sigh myself, thinking of how that kind of thinking made my dream of being his even more hopeless.
“I know I have said this many times, sir, but what you have done for us is more than I could ever hope for, and I am eternally grateful. I must insist, though-“
“You worry too much, Jeeves.” I replied, straddling the chair and propping my chin on my palm. Jeeves was frowning down at the potatoes, staring them down as if he actually had to concentrate on the task. I took a chance. “What’s really eating you, old thing?” I asked, softly, for the sight of him so distracted and distraught was affecting me as well.
“Sir, why did you not marry?” he asked.
This again! “I told you. Bobbie didn’t want-“
“And no one else did, sir?” he whispered.
“No!” I cried. “And what’s more, I didn’t want to, either. You know that. You always knew that. I guess… it’s just not meant to be, for me. I never fell in love like you did.” I sighed.
Jeeves set his jaw, and he had an odd look about his eyes. It took a moment before I realized that the sheen in them were unshed tears. I felt bally awful for bringing it up, and was about to rise to leave the kitchen to give him a bit of privacy, when he spoke.
“I didn’t love her, sir.” he said, not meeting my eyes. “She was, as you say, a good girl. As for Hazel…” he inhaled sharply, and pointedly looked away from the wicker basket. “I do love her, sir, adamantly. Yet I resent her. Forgive me, sir. I needed to tell someone. I’m just… so tired.”
The pain crossing his brow was more than I could bear. I gathered Hazel into my arms. “Leave the cooking, Jeeves.” I said, quietly. “Have a lie down, or have a crack at your Spinoza. Don’t worry about all this.”
What frightened me was that he didn’t argue with my suggestion.
Part 4