Fic: The Complications, part 2
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
Jeeves poured a cup of tea and pressed it into my palm. It was such a natural gesture that I forgot, for a moment, the reason we were meeting- that he had left my service and hadn’t been pressing cups of steaming tea into my hand for over three long years, nor brandy and sodas, nor healing elixirs. I took a long sip, and the warm liquid supplied by him did more to soothe my shaky hands than the three quick ones I’d taken just prior to his arrival. By then, he’d sat across the table, looking into my eyes steadily. I took a deep breath and began my pitch.
“I read about… I mean to say… dash it, Jeeves, I’m sorry.” I stammered. I’d had a touching, elegant speech planned in my head, and now the moment was gone and I felt a complete and utter chump.
The corner of his mouth twitched in sympathy, and his eyes softened just a bit. “I appreciate your concern, sir.” He said, smoothly. “Life has been… most difficult as of late.”
The distant look in his eyes just about broke my heart. “She was a good girl, what?” I added, to show my support, though I had no idea what she was like at all.
“You aren’t married, sir.” He stated, disarming me with an unexpected topic.
I stammered once more. “No. No, thank heavens not, Jeeves. No.” I couldn’t express this firmly enough, and luckily, it was easy enough to express with one short word.
A slight clearing of his throat, and he was gazing at me again, scrutinizing. “If I might take such a liberty, sir, what became of your alliance with Miss Wickham?”
“Well.” I began. This was a bit harder to explain. “I left her at the altar.” I concluded, lamely. I felt my cheeks burn. I still felt terribly ashamed over the whole bally episode.
“Sir?” to credit his faith in my good name, he looked suitably surprised. I nodded.
“I didn’t mean to, but the day came, and I panicked.” I explained, raking back my hair. “I started to drive to the church, but when I got there, I kept driving. I wound up in Glasgow.” Here, I could sense Jeeves’ amusement before the tired chuckle fell on my ears. I remembered the day Bobbie had finally caught up with me, mad as a wet hen. She’d been quite adamant about not wanting to marry me anymore; but she demanded an explanation for why I’d made a fool of her in front of all of Market Snodsbury, and I could see her point. I’d told her through a haze of brandy that marriage destroys people’s lives. I’d been under the table at the time, and brooding on Jeeves.
“Bobbie’s a good egg, though. She abused me quite soundly to any girl that would listen, so my market value took quite a plunge after that. Combined with the fact that most of the girls I’d proposed to in my rowdy younger years had already gotten hitched, I’ve been relatively safe. Well, not safe from relatives. Aunt Agatha is developing a bit of dyspepsia over the sate of affairs.” I fell silent, having run my course. Jeeves had such a serious look in his eyes, for a moment I thought it was almost hostile. Then I saw the pain in them and understood that my troubles were small talk to the ones that must weigh so heavily on his mind.
“Jeeves… there’s something I wanted to discuss, you know, about the state of our lives at the mo. That is, to say, what can I do to convince you to come back here?” I asked, sneaking a sidelong glance at him from behind the teapot. “I know it’s sudden to ask, what with everything having just… happened…but…” But, Jeeves wouldn’t want to hear what I had to say, especially not while he was in mourning. Pace yourself, Bertram, I thought, lure him back without being rude. “But I hear that a change of scenery does a broken heart good. I could swear I heard Pop Glossop say something of the sort once, so it’s a medical fact.”
He shook his head. “It is an extremely kind offer, sir, but I couldn’t impose on your life in such a way right now.”
“Impose? Certainly not, Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “My life would be all the better for your so called imposing!” Surely he could see what a mess I was. Without him, I was quite the slovenly bachelor. I gave him my best lopsided smile, the one that had sometimes, though rarely,softened him up in the past.
That look again! As though he were impossibly angry with me, but a lingering fondness dulled the overall effect. “Sir, I have serious and unpleasant responsibilities. I fear that you would find that I could not provide the level of satisfaction you are accustomed to in my duties while caring for a sick child.” His voice was cold, and hollow. Said l. was still piercing me through and through.
“Sick?” I asked. His voice, his expression, made me worry.
“Yes, sir. Little Hazel, my daughter, was born some weeks prematurely. Her delivery involved some complications, and because of this, she was born in a hospital, where her mother contracted a fever and expired.” He drew in his breath sharply. “I was advised to not expect her to survive the winter.”
I was horrified, and then, mercifully, my emotions rallied. “What rot! “ I cried. “Bring her here, Jeeves, and I’ll hire specialists by the dozen. I’ll import them from New York if I have to.”
He looked away. “Sir, the metropolis is no place for a child like Hazel…”
“There’s no better place! You can’t throw a brick in London without hitting a medical man with a wall full of degrees.” I persisted.
“Sir.” He sighed, heavily. “You can’t do this for us. It isn’t proper behavior for a gentleman of your station.”
If I hadn’t been so fired up, I probably wouldn’t have been struck by inspiration. “It jolly well is if she’s my goddaughter.” I growled. “Shall we biff on down to the chapel and make this official, then?”
He actually startled. I gave him what amounted to my best hard, steady glare. It might have been this that convinced him; but it was more likely the weight of the bills that specialists can produce with such alarming speed that finally broke his spirit.
Part 3
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Comes after Part 1
Jeeves poured a cup of tea and pressed it into my palm. It was such a natural gesture that I forgot, for a moment, the reason we were meeting- that he had left my service and hadn’t been pressing cups of steaming tea into my hand for over three long years, nor brandy and sodas, nor healing elixirs. I took a long sip, and the warm liquid supplied by him did more to soothe my shaky hands than the three quick ones I’d taken just prior to his arrival. By then, he’d sat across the table, looking into my eyes steadily. I took a deep breath and began my pitch.
“I read about… I mean to say… dash it, Jeeves, I’m sorry.” I stammered. I’d had a touching, elegant speech planned in my head, and now the moment was gone and I felt a complete and utter chump.
The corner of his mouth twitched in sympathy, and his eyes softened just a bit. “I appreciate your concern, sir.” He said, smoothly. “Life has been… most difficult as of late.”
The distant look in his eyes just about broke my heart. “She was a good girl, what?” I added, to show my support, though I had no idea what she was like at all.
“You aren’t married, sir.” He stated, disarming me with an unexpected topic.
I stammered once more. “No. No, thank heavens not, Jeeves. No.” I couldn’t express this firmly enough, and luckily, it was easy enough to express with one short word.
A slight clearing of his throat, and he was gazing at me again, scrutinizing. “If I might take such a liberty, sir, what became of your alliance with Miss Wickham?”
“Well.” I began. This was a bit harder to explain. “I left her at the altar.” I concluded, lamely. I felt my cheeks burn. I still felt terribly ashamed over the whole bally episode.
“Sir?” to credit his faith in my good name, he looked suitably surprised. I nodded.
“I didn’t mean to, but the day came, and I panicked.” I explained, raking back my hair. “I started to drive to the church, but when I got there, I kept driving. I wound up in Glasgow.” Here, I could sense Jeeves’ amusement before the tired chuckle fell on my ears. I remembered the day Bobbie had finally caught up with me, mad as a wet hen. She’d been quite adamant about not wanting to marry me anymore; but she demanded an explanation for why I’d made a fool of her in front of all of Market Snodsbury, and I could see her point. I’d told her through a haze of brandy that marriage destroys people’s lives. I’d been under the table at the time, and brooding on Jeeves.
“Bobbie’s a good egg, though. She abused me quite soundly to any girl that would listen, so my market value took quite a plunge after that. Combined with the fact that most of the girls I’d proposed to in my rowdy younger years had already gotten hitched, I’ve been relatively safe. Well, not safe from relatives. Aunt Agatha is developing a bit of dyspepsia over the sate of affairs.” I fell silent, having run my course. Jeeves had such a serious look in his eyes, for a moment I thought it was almost hostile. Then I saw the pain in them and understood that my troubles were small talk to the ones that must weigh so heavily on his mind.
“Jeeves… there’s something I wanted to discuss, you know, about the state of our lives at the mo. That is, to say, what can I do to convince you to come back here?” I asked, sneaking a sidelong glance at him from behind the teapot. “I know it’s sudden to ask, what with everything having just… happened…but…” But, Jeeves wouldn’t want to hear what I had to say, especially not while he was in mourning. Pace yourself, Bertram, I thought, lure him back without being rude. “But I hear that a change of scenery does a broken heart good. I could swear I heard Pop Glossop say something of the sort once, so it’s a medical fact.”
He shook his head. “It is an extremely kind offer, sir, but I couldn’t impose on your life in such a way right now.”
“Impose? Certainly not, Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “My life would be all the better for your so called imposing!” Surely he could see what a mess I was. Without him, I was quite the slovenly bachelor. I gave him my best lopsided smile, the one that had sometimes, though rarely,softened him up in the past.
That look again! As though he were impossibly angry with me, but a lingering fondness dulled the overall effect. “Sir, I have serious and unpleasant responsibilities. I fear that you would find that I could not provide the level of satisfaction you are accustomed to in my duties while caring for a sick child.” His voice was cold, and hollow. Said l. was still piercing me through and through.
“Sick?” I asked. His voice, his expression, made me worry.
“Yes, sir. Little Hazel, my daughter, was born some weeks prematurely. Her delivery involved some complications, and because of this, she was born in a hospital, where her mother contracted a fever and expired.” He drew in his breath sharply. “I was advised to not expect her to survive the winter.”
I was horrified, and then, mercifully, my emotions rallied. “What rot! “ I cried. “Bring her here, Jeeves, and I’ll hire specialists by the dozen. I’ll import them from New York if I have to.”
He looked away. “Sir, the metropolis is no place for a child like Hazel…”
“There’s no better place! You can’t throw a brick in London without hitting a medical man with a wall full of degrees.” I persisted.
“Sir.” He sighed, heavily. “You can’t do this for us. It isn’t proper behavior for a gentleman of your station.”
If I hadn’t been so fired up, I probably wouldn’t have been struck by inspiration. “It jolly well is if she’s my goddaughter.” I growled. “Shall we biff on down to the chapel and make this official, then?”
He actually startled. I gave him what amounted to my best hard, steady glare. It might have been this that convinced him; but it was more likely the weight of the bills that specialists can produce with such alarming speed that finally broke his spirit.
Part 3