Fic: The Complications, part 5
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.
Sugary sweet fluffy epilogue!
Comes after
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Hazel did survive the winter, in fact, she thrived. It was the specialist and his sickly sweet concoctions that gave her such vim, despite being of a small and delicate nature, I believe. While she still can’t manage to say “Uncle Bertie”; she frequently tumbles into my arms with an enthusiastic “buh!”, which I feel is in the right spirit. She is dashed intelligent, I can tell, always curious about the world around her. She took it upon herself one day to bang her hands down on the piano, incurring the wrath of the neighbors as well as her father’s disapproval, but once I explained that it was a natural curiosity of a growing girl, the protests lessened, just a little. She often sits on my knee these days, composing her own discordant tunes with hefty slaps of her little hands. I don’t mind that the piano needs tuning more than ever, because I saw Jeeves ‘ lip twitch, just a little on the left side, as it is wont to do when he approves of something that isn’t proper.
She’s grown the most amazing mane of unruly, dark hair, which tends to flop into her eyes until Jeeves tames it. One he has her in ribbons for the day, one would imagine she could melt the stoniest of hearts, but in this I was mistaken. My Aunt Agatha, the one that eats scorpions for breakfast, was clearly not a fan. She said some terrible things about the situation, me being Hazel’s godfather, insinuating that Jeeves was an intentional drain on my finances. I won’t repeat all that she said here, for I will not allow such slurs against my loved ones to be put to paper.
My Aunt Dahlia of course took a far more logical view of matters, having been thoroughly charmed on the first meeting; although she insisted that the arrangement was an insane scheme. Of course Hazel is too small to be taken from her father’s side now, she said, but a fine ass you’ll look if you have your own goddaughter come to Brinkley Court through the servants’ entrance. And won’t the child feel odd, she asks, when I do the correct thing and set her up in a proper room while her father sleeps in the servants’ hall? I must admit that I had considered none of this, and told her that it couldn’t be helped. She agreed, and called me a stupid ass once again, before unloading an armful of trinkets on the child. Jeeves managed to accept them with only a slight trace of embarrassment.
I had hired a nurse to come in the afternoons for four hours a day, to give Jeeves some time to either complete some involved task that babies are not conducive to or to rest, for even a marvel needs to relax sometimes. He hates to admit it, though. Often the nurse, Mrs. Adams, would take Hazel to the park for the afternoon, because the specialist advocated fresh air for her lungs as often as possible. I liked these days best of all, since it allowed us to be alone.
I’d never ask for his down time directly. I watch him, to see if he’s well rested and ready. I meet his eyes and smile. Then he makes his move. He often indulges my romantic side. Sometimes, he reads to me, lovely poems about two chaps in love from some little book bound in limp lavender leather. Once, he’d closed all of the drapes, locked the door, and turned on the wireless. He offered to dance with me, as I’d mentioned that I rather missed that activity. He let me hold him close as we danced. Truly a marvel, in every last way. His arms are so strong, and he glides along the floor like a leading man.
As wonderful as these activities sound, what makes my heart stop in my chest is when he very deliberately sets my alarm clock. With the clock set and the doors locked, we are free to make love. It feels like I’ve learned every bit of his body, and I’m finally confident enough to relax, to show him all that I’ve learned. He does such subtle, exquisite things to me, and I wish the feeling could last forever. Then the alarm rings, and he kisses me deeply and rises to draw my bath. Tough luck, that. I know that we’ll be able to share a bed someday, when Hazel is at school. We’d decided that we won’t tell her, not until she is much older, old enough to understand that a careless word could destroy our family; or, even more horrifying, take her from her father as well as from me.
When the nurse returns, Jeeves takes Hazel into his arms and carries her to the kitchen. His eyes meet mine over her head and I smile, knowing that no matter what terrible things have led to this, I can’t regret a thing- not when his eyes shine in that way that only I can see.
to Where We Belong part 1
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Sugary sweet fluffy epilogue!
Comes after
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Hazel did survive the winter, in fact, she thrived. It was the specialist and his sickly sweet concoctions that gave her such vim, despite being of a small and delicate nature, I believe. While she still can’t manage to say “Uncle Bertie”; she frequently tumbles into my arms with an enthusiastic “buh!”, which I feel is in the right spirit. She is dashed intelligent, I can tell, always curious about the world around her. She took it upon herself one day to bang her hands down on the piano, incurring the wrath of the neighbors as well as her father’s disapproval, but once I explained that it was a natural curiosity of a growing girl, the protests lessened, just a little. She often sits on my knee these days, composing her own discordant tunes with hefty slaps of her little hands. I don’t mind that the piano needs tuning more than ever, because I saw Jeeves ‘ lip twitch, just a little on the left side, as it is wont to do when he approves of something that isn’t proper.
She’s grown the most amazing mane of unruly, dark hair, which tends to flop into her eyes until Jeeves tames it. One he has her in ribbons for the day, one would imagine she could melt the stoniest of hearts, but in this I was mistaken. My Aunt Agatha, the one that eats scorpions for breakfast, was clearly not a fan. She said some terrible things about the situation, me being Hazel’s godfather, insinuating that Jeeves was an intentional drain on my finances. I won’t repeat all that she said here, for I will not allow such slurs against my loved ones to be put to paper.
My Aunt Dahlia of course took a far more logical view of matters, having been thoroughly charmed on the first meeting; although she insisted that the arrangement was an insane scheme. Of course Hazel is too small to be taken from her father’s side now, she said, but a fine ass you’ll look if you have your own goddaughter come to Brinkley Court through the servants’ entrance. And won’t the child feel odd, she asks, when I do the correct thing and set her up in a proper room while her father sleeps in the servants’ hall? I must admit that I had considered none of this, and told her that it couldn’t be helped. She agreed, and called me a stupid ass once again, before unloading an armful of trinkets on the child. Jeeves managed to accept them with only a slight trace of embarrassment.
I had hired a nurse to come in the afternoons for four hours a day, to give Jeeves some time to either complete some involved task that babies are not conducive to or to rest, for even a marvel needs to relax sometimes. He hates to admit it, though. Often the nurse, Mrs. Adams, would take Hazel to the park for the afternoon, because the specialist advocated fresh air for her lungs as often as possible. I liked these days best of all, since it allowed us to be alone.
I’d never ask for his down time directly. I watch him, to see if he’s well rested and ready. I meet his eyes and smile. Then he makes his move. He often indulges my romantic side. Sometimes, he reads to me, lovely poems about two chaps in love from some little book bound in limp lavender leather. Once, he’d closed all of the drapes, locked the door, and turned on the wireless. He offered to dance with me, as I’d mentioned that I rather missed that activity. He let me hold him close as we danced. Truly a marvel, in every last way. His arms are so strong, and he glides along the floor like a leading man.
As wonderful as these activities sound, what makes my heart stop in my chest is when he very deliberately sets my alarm clock. With the clock set and the doors locked, we are free to make love. It feels like I’ve learned every bit of his body, and I’m finally confident enough to relax, to show him all that I’ve learned. He does such subtle, exquisite things to me, and I wish the feeling could last forever. Then the alarm rings, and he kisses me deeply and rises to draw my bath. Tough luck, that. I know that we’ll be able to share a bed someday, when Hazel is at school. We’d decided that we won’t tell her, not until she is much older, old enough to understand that a careless word could destroy our family; or, even more horrifying, take her from her father as well as from me.
When the nurse returns, Jeeves takes Hazel into his arms and carries her to the kitchen. His eyes meet mine over her head and I smile, knowing that no matter what terrible things have led to this, I can’t regret a thing- not when his eyes shine in that way that only I can see.
to Where We Belong part 1