Fic: Oceans, part 9 (PG-13)
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Mrs. Gregson handed her hat and gloves to me, shooting me a short, disdainful glare, and bustled into the flat, pushing Mr. Wooster towards the sitting room before taking a seat on the edge of a chair. “Bertie.” She said, her voice booming and direct, arresting Mr. Wooster’s attention. “Sit.” He obeyed, looking to me with wide, panic stricken eyes. I gave him the briefest sympathetic glance before assuming my duties, retreating to the kitchen to bring the tea pot. Unfortunately, this required that I prepare the tea, which meant that I was, for the moment, out of earshot. I hurried, and, upon entering the room, I observed how pale Mr. Wooster had become. He was stammering objections.
“-But, dash it, Aunt Agatha!” he cried. He splayed his hands incredulously and put his pleading eyes to mine.
“Do be quiet, Bertie.” She sighed, taking the cup and saucer from my hands without actually seeming to acknowledge my existence. “And do watch your language, it is atrocious. This is for your own good.”
“But… but Roderick Glossop is horrid. He’s a quack of the first order!” Again, he pleaded his case with his eyes, and I held my tongue.
“So, you remember Sir Roderick, and nothing else, then?” She asked, with an impatient, arched eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe, dear child. Who has been feeding you such nonsense?” For a brief moment, her eyes fell on me, and flitted back to her nephew’s face.
“I read about him.” He frowned. “My own words. Lucky thing I kept notes, too, or I’d go into this wretched ordeal trusting him.” He shuddered.
“It seems that I have made a grave mistake in leaving you here alone, Bertie.” She added. “All alone, with no one to guide you to your proper place in the world, no one to see that you resume your life as intended.”
“I appreciate it, aged relative, really I do, but I’m not alone.” He said, attempting to sit up in a straight, reassuring manner. “Aunt Dahlia has been with me. I have Jeeves.” He added. It was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have said. She stood, and looked down her long nose at him. It would seem that he had touched on an exposed nerve. Mrs. Gregson’s fingers tightened on her tea cup, and she set her strong jaw in displeasure.
“Dahlia is not the head of this family.” She sneered. “You, and she, would do well to remember that. Dahlia never had sense enough to look after herself properly, let alone anyone else, and Jeeves is a servant.” She spat the last part, indicating me with a sudden, wild gesture that somehow managed to look severe and graceful despite its spontaneity. “He is not family. He is nothing. Perhaps you were gullible enough to be taken in by him in the past. You are a foolish, frivolous thing, so it can hardly be helped, I suppose, but you will not continue to disgrace the family name by allowing your personal affairs to be run by a mere…” She looked me over, from head to toe, in one quick motion, and wrinkled her nose, just a little, just enough to notice if you were to look for it. Deciding that she did not know a word that was both demeaning enough to describe me while being proper enough for a society woman to speak, she redirected her wrath to Mr. Wooster.
“You will see Sir Roderick this afternoon.” She pressed a card into his hand. “You will thank me for this, Bertie. This is what you need.”
“But-“ he protested, stunned into silence by her outburst.
“Do be quiet!” she snapped, and he obeyed, looking downwards, meekly. “You will go to see Sir Roderick, Bertie. If you do not, I will hear of it, and you will regret it.” He nodded then, not doubting her words. I fetched her hat and gloves, and bowed slightly as I opened the door for her, and in a moment, she was gone. My nerves were shaken, but I did not betray a trace of it. I looked instead to Mr. Wooster, who was still trembling on the settee.
“Sir.” I poured him a cup of tea, and urged him to take it. His long fingers curled around it, and he stared at the amber liquid gloomily.
“You’re not just… just…” He curled in on the steaming cup.
“I know, sir.” I said, quietly. “I am grateful to serve you.” He was, perhaps, a bit out of practice. Mrs. Gregson’s visit had rattled him as though he were still a child.
“I should be grateful, Jeeves.” He took a long swallow of the tea and sighed. “I’m such a coward.”
“Not at all, sir.” I replied. “Mrs. Gregson is a formidable woman, and she is your family.”
“Thank you, Jeeves.” He sighed. “Even if it’s not true… thank you, old thing. I suppose I shall have to go.” He turned the card over in his hands, gingerly.
“It would be for the best, sir.” I agreed.
…………………………………………
That evening, as I was finishing preparations for his dinner, Mr. Wooster returned. He looked disturbed, and took his seat silently.
“Sir.” I placed his meal before him. He looked up at me, and then down to his plate.
“Jeeves.” He began, but did not continue.
“Sir?”
“Would you… sit with me? Take a meal with me, I mean.” he looked up to me, uneasily.
“If that is your wish, sir.” Mr. Wooster never had his dinner with me at home, nor his breakfast. Tea was the only meal we shared, as he ate in the kitchen. I set a second place, and joined him, anxiously.
“Jolly good of you to make a roast today, old thing. It’s not even Sunday.” He poked the slice of beef and gravy with a fork.
“I assumed that you would be in need of a comforting meal.” He looked so lovely in the light of the candles between us. It illuminated his golden hair, and made his eyes shine, as though he were a gilded angel. I sat, stunned by the realization that I had imagined such a meal for so long, and the problem between us was all that was keeping me convinced that it was occurring in reality and not a dream.
“Roderick Glossop doesn’t know what to do with me.” He sighed. “I’m a hopeless case. He didn’t say that, of course, but you know how it is. He asked me so many questions, and none of them had to do with losing my memory. Just looking at bally ink blots and asking me questions about my past that I don’t remember. He wanted me to go to his hospital, but I drew the line there. I’ll go see him, I say, but I’m not some dangerous criminal that needs locking up and looking after. Aunt Agatha can’t complain about that, can she? I mean…"
“It is frightening, sir.” This was what he so desperately wanted to say, but could not admit.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t leave this flat. I wouldn’t go to that ghastly place without you there. Jeeves…” he glanced at me, nervously. “Tell me, will you. My letter said that I loved you, and I know that I probably did, or else I was a fool. I mean, you’re so good to me, and quite handsome. Wouldn’t it be easier if we just pretended that nothing had changed? Take me to bed, and all. It’s a shame to make you sleep in the servant’s quarters if you’re not used to it. I mean to say, well maybe I won’t remember, but you can keep the money. It would be easier that way. That is… if you ever loved me, that is. I’m assuming, you know. You don’t have to, of course. Just… just take care of me, and I’ll do anything you ask.” His cheeks burned with the embarrassment that had so endeared him to me in his moments of passionate confessions.
I sat, stunned, for a moment or two. I wanted nothing more, of course, and yet…
“Not like this, sir.” I said, softly. “I would not, could not, do that to you. I will always take care of you, you must not fear that I would do otherwise.”
“I see.” He lowered his eyes to the plate before him. “Bally stupid of me to think...” He stood, pushing his plate away. “I’m for bed, old thing. You can take the night off, why don’t you. Go to the club or something.” He scurried to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. I found I had lost my taste for the fine meal I had prepared, so I cleared the table, and took his advice, heading to the Junior Ganymede for a sorely needed restorative.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Mrs. Gregson handed her hat and gloves to me, shooting me a short, disdainful glare, and bustled into the flat, pushing Mr. Wooster towards the sitting room before taking a seat on the edge of a chair. “Bertie.” She said, her voice booming and direct, arresting Mr. Wooster’s attention. “Sit.” He obeyed, looking to me with wide, panic stricken eyes. I gave him the briefest sympathetic glance before assuming my duties, retreating to the kitchen to bring the tea pot. Unfortunately, this required that I prepare the tea, which meant that I was, for the moment, out of earshot. I hurried, and, upon entering the room, I observed how pale Mr. Wooster had become. He was stammering objections.
“-But, dash it, Aunt Agatha!” he cried. He splayed his hands incredulously and put his pleading eyes to mine.
“Do be quiet, Bertie.” She sighed, taking the cup and saucer from my hands without actually seeming to acknowledge my existence. “And do watch your language, it is atrocious. This is for your own good.”
“But… but Roderick Glossop is horrid. He’s a quack of the first order!” Again, he pleaded his case with his eyes, and I held my tongue.
“So, you remember Sir Roderick, and nothing else, then?” She asked, with an impatient, arched eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe, dear child. Who has been feeding you such nonsense?” For a brief moment, her eyes fell on me, and flitted back to her nephew’s face.
“I read about him.” He frowned. “My own words. Lucky thing I kept notes, too, or I’d go into this wretched ordeal trusting him.” He shuddered.
“It seems that I have made a grave mistake in leaving you here alone, Bertie.” She added. “All alone, with no one to guide you to your proper place in the world, no one to see that you resume your life as intended.”
“I appreciate it, aged relative, really I do, but I’m not alone.” He said, attempting to sit up in a straight, reassuring manner. “Aunt Dahlia has been with me. I have Jeeves.” He added. It was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have said. She stood, and looked down her long nose at him. It would seem that he had touched on an exposed nerve. Mrs. Gregson’s fingers tightened on her tea cup, and she set her strong jaw in displeasure.
“Dahlia is not the head of this family.” She sneered. “You, and she, would do well to remember that. Dahlia never had sense enough to look after herself properly, let alone anyone else, and Jeeves is a servant.” She spat the last part, indicating me with a sudden, wild gesture that somehow managed to look severe and graceful despite its spontaneity. “He is not family. He is nothing. Perhaps you were gullible enough to be taken in by him in the past. You are a foolish, frivolous thing, so it can hardly be helped, I suppose, but you will not continue to disgrace the family name by allowing your personal affairs to be run by a mere…” She looked me over, from head to toe, in one quick motion, and wrinkled her nose, just a little, just enough to notice if you were to look for it. Deciding that she did not know a word that was both demeaning enough to describe me while being proper enough for a society woman to speak, she redirected her wrath to Mr. Wooster.
“You will see Sir Roderick this afternoon.” She pressed a card into his hand. “You will thank me for this, Bertie. This is what you need.”
“But-“ he protested, stunned into silence by her outburst.
“Do be quiet!” she snapped, and he obeyed, looking downwards, meekly. “You will go to see Sir Roderick, Bertie. If you do not, I will hear of it, and you will regret it.” He nodded then, not doubting her words. I fetched her hat and gloves, and bowed slightly as I opened the door for her, and in a moment, she was gone. My nerves were shaken, but I did not betray a trace of it. I looked instead to Mr. Wooster, who was still trembling on the settee.
“Sir.” I poured him a cup of tea, and urged him to take it. His long fingers curled around it, and he stared at the amber liquid gloomily.
“You’re not just… just…” He curled in on the steaming cup.
“I know, sir.” I said, quietly. “I am grateful to serve you.” He was, perhaps, a bit out of practice. Mrs. Gregson’s visit had rattled him as though he were still a child.
“I should be grateful, Jeeves.” He took a long swallow of the tea and sighed. “I’m such a coward.”
“Not at all, sir.” I replied. “Mrs. Gregson is a formidable woman, and she is your family.”
“Thank you, Jeeves.” He sighed. “Even if it’s not true… thank you, old thing. I suppose I shall have to go.” He turned the card over in his hands, gingerly.
“It would be for the best, sir.” I agreed.
…………………………………………
That evening, as I was finishing preparations for his dinner, Mr. Wooster returned. He looked disturbed, and took his seat silently.
“Sir.” I placed his meal before him. He looked up at me, and then down to his plate.
“Jeeves.” He began, but did not continue.
“Sir?”
“Would you… sit with me? Take a meal with me, I mean.” he looked up to me, uneasily.
“If that is your wish, sir.” Mr. Wooster never had his dinner with me at home, nor his breakfast. Tea was the only meal we shared, as he ate in the kitchen. I set a second place, and joined him, anxiously.
“Jolly good of you to make a roast today, old thing. It’s not even Sunday.” He poked the slice of beef and gravy with a fork.
“I assumed that you would be in need of a comforting meal.” He looked so lovely in the light of the candles between us. It illuminated his golden hair, and made his eyes shine, as though he were a gilded angel. I sat, stunned by the realization that I had imagined such a meal for so long, and the problem between us was all that was keeping me convinced that it was occurring in reality and not a dream.
“Roderick Glossop doesn’t know what to do with me.” He sighed. “I’m a hopeless case. He didn’t say that, of course, but you know how it is. He asked me so many questions, and none of them had to do with losing my memory. Just looking at bally ink blots and asking me questions about my past that I don’t remember. He wanted me to go to his hospital, but I drew the line there. I’ll go see him, I say, but I’m not some dangerous criminal that needs locking up and looking after. Aunt Agatha can’t complain about that, can she? I mean…"
“It is frightening, sir.” This was what he so desperately wanted to say, but could not admit.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t leave this flat. I wouldn’t go to that ghastly place without you there. Jeeves…” he glanced at me, nervously. “Tell me, will you. My letter said that I loved you, and I know that I probably did, or else I was a fool. I mean, you’re so good to me, and quite handsome. Wouldn’t it be easier if we just pretended that nothing had changed? Take me to bed, and all. It’s a shame to make you sleep in the servant’s quarters if you’re not used to it. I mean to say, well maybe I won’t remember, but you can keep the money. It would be easier that way. That is… if you ever loved me, that is. I’m assuming, you know. You don’t have to, of course. Just… just take care of me, and I’ll do anything you ask.” His cheeks burned with the embarrassment that had so endeared him to me in his moments of passionate confessions.
I sat, stunned, for a moment or two. I wanted nothing more, of course, and yet…
“Not like this, sir.” I said, softly. “I would not, could not, do that to you. I will always take care of you, you must not fear that I would do otherwise.”
“I see.” He lowered his eyes to the plate before him. “Bally stupid of me to think...” He stood, pushing his plate away. “I’m for bed, old thing. You can take the night off, why don’t you. Go to the club or something.” He scurried to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. I found I had lost my taste for the fine meal I had prepared, so I cleared the table, and took his advice, heading to the Junior Ganymede for a sorely needed restorative.