indeedsir_backup | [Fic] Jeeves and the Perfect Christmas Gift

georgeodowd.livejournal.com posting in

Just a little something I cooked up. Merry Christmas!

Summary: Bertie is troubled this holiday season by the weight of selecting the perfect gift for his man Jeeves. A story we all, perhaps, can relate to as we wrap up our shopping adventures and relax by the fireside with a cup of warm cider.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Happy Christmas, Mr. W, old fruit! You see, I know how to lay it between the lines, too!
Notes: Things like this happen when I have a lot of other business I ought to be up to. But, I say, who can resist a Christmas fic when it comes unbidden?
Words: ~3400
Beta-ed by the darling

triedunture.

Jeeves and the Perfect Christmas Gift

The Yuletide season has a rather rummy habit of coming round once per annum, as you may well know. Normally this is a cause for joy in the Wooster breast, but this year a troubling matter brought only dread with the approaching snowfall and jingly Christmas carols. You see, it was two days before the Big Event, and I had not the slightest idea what to get for my man.

In years previous, a generous bonus and a shared toast on Christmas Eve would have sufficed, but after nearly a decade of service and a declaration of 'ties that bind,' I now considered Jeeves a very dear friend firstly and the man who scrubbed and swept only after that. In fact, I had stopped writing the man a steady paycheck some months ago, giving him full control of the Wooster account and allowing him his share out of it as he saw fit. So, as you can see, any monetary gift would be rather redundant.

I bustled about in a cloud of gloom for some days until Jeeves stepped in to check the habit before I grew completely morose. He coughed lightly in that way he has, like a bug bustling about in the dirt beneath a log, as he rested the service on my lap on the well-chilled morning of December the twenty-third.

'Hullo, Jeeves,' I said, not quite able to look him in the eye.

'Good morning, sir,' he replied, and if it didn't quite cause rays of sunshine to burst through the curtains, it was a rather cheery 'Good morning' nonetheless.

I took a sip of the tea and fingered the bedclothes. Jeeves gave out another muffled cough, like wind stirring leaves on a tree.

I looked up at him, and I must have given him a very sorry look indeed, for his eyebrows quirked sympathetically and he rocked forward on his feet a bit.

'If I may be so bold, sir,' he began.

I waved a hand. 'You know you may, Jeeves. No walls between us, what?'

'You seem unusually depressed for the time of year, sir. I am accustomed to seeing you with crowns of tinsel singing carols round the flat by now.'

I frowned, thinking how jolly it would be to pop out of bed and do just that.

'No, Jeeves,' I said firmly. 'Celebration must wait. Bertram must accomplish a certain task first.'

'Holiday shopping troubles, sir?'

I confess I nearly leapt out of the bedclothes. How had I not foreseen, I wondered, the likelihood that Jeeves would know exactly what the deuce was wrong?

'Er,' I said, as I came to rest on the mattress once more.

'We have already procured gifts for the Missus' Gregson and Travers, sir,' Jeeves went on, 'as well as all your uncles, cousins, and their respective children. You said you would forego giving individual presents to your fellow club members this year in favour of providing seven noble firs for the club dining room, and packages have been mailed to all friends and acquaintances outside of the immediate city. Is there anyone we have missed, sir?'

I eyed the man keenly.

'Yes, Jeeves, I daresay there is.'

'Might I enquire as to the identity of this person, sir?'

I debated a moment.

'No, Jeeves,' I said at last, 'you may not.'

He looked a trifle wounded at that, and I regretted that I had to take the hard line, but there you have it - you can't get a proper gift for a man if you have already gone and alerted him to the fact that you are on the hunt. He is apt to start dropping hints left and right or, more likely in the case of Jeeves, insist vehemently against the need for getting him a gift in the first place. Better to take the circuitous route, however costly.

'Will that be all, sir?' Jeeves said, a trifle coolly.

'Yes, Jeeves,' I said, reluctantly waving him away.

'Very good, sir.'

I watched him bow out, feeling my mood sink even lower.

~

That afternoon I set into the thing in earnest. I scanned the advertisements section of the morning paper, looking for ideas, for I had not the slightest idea where even to begin. Everything seemed far too plebeian for a man such as Jeeves, and practical gifts were altogether too likely to offend his delicate tastes. No, the silk scarves and gilt cigarette cases were out. So too were the fancy colognes and embossed notebooks. I tossed the newsprint onto the floor in disgust.

There was nothing for it. I was going to have to brave the cold and swarms of shopping parasites to see if I couldn't land my hands on something truly one-of-a-kind that would adequately reflect my respect and affection for my man.

I announced my plan - the going-out-into-the-cold one, that is, not the gift-buying one - to Jeeves, who was busy scrubbing at the silverware in the kitchen. He escorted me to the door, helping me into coat and hat, and handed over the whangee.

'I say, Jeeves,' I ventured. 'I don't suppose there's anything I can get for you while I am out?'

'Thank you for enquiring, sir. However, I have just finished the week's errands and am not wanting for anything.'

'Nothing at all?'

'No, sir.'

I was about to exit when another idea struck.

'I say, Jeeves, hasn't that Spinoza bird written anything new?'

'I am sorry to say that that would be enormously unlikely, sir, as he has been dead for nearly three hundred years.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Rather.'

We regarded each other for a moment.

'Hm,' I said finally.

'Sir?'

'Nothing, nothing, Jeeves. Only...'

I received a supercilious gaze.

'Well. No. Nothing. I shan't be dining in tonight, and don't wait up.'

'Very good, sir,' Jeeves said, and I biffed out.

~

I spent a goodish amount of time going round to all the obvious places: boutiques in Camden Town, shops in Covent Garden, and, in a fit of desperation, even the Billingsgate fish market. As much as the blighter fueled off fish, however, I didn't think a large, glassy-eyed trout wrapped in newsprint would deliver quite the heartfelt message I intended.

I tripped round for a while after that, feeling nauseated and peaky from the lingering fish smell haunting my nostrils, before disembarking from the train at the outskirts of the Soho district. It was admittedly not the best place for an upstanding chap in tailored suits to find himself as the afternoon sun waned.

An awkward-looking woman was leaning against a wall, wearing a dress that looked as though it had returned from the dead. She eyed me seedily.

'Er, hullo,' I said, giving her a turn of the preux chevalier spirit in sympathy.

''Allo, sweets,' she said. 'Give you 'alf an 'our for a 'alf a crown! Christmas special!' She laughed, unclothing a set of rotten teeth, and rolled her eyes liked a startled horse.

'Half an hour of what?' I said, confused.

She laughed again.

'I like this one,' she said, twirling a loose ribbon on her bodice. 'Got a bi' of cheek on 'im.'

I squinted at her, trying hard not to breathe too deeply from the perfume of the unwashed and uneaten, which was making me feel decidedly woozy.

Behind me a loud voice boomed out, quite in contrast to the screechy contralto of the woman.

'Ooz this?' it demanded. It was accompanied by a meaty digit poking me in the shoulder, and I spun round to face a bearded ogre.

'Good Lord!' I emitted like a leaky squeezebox.

'Eez a customer!' the girl cried. ''Ands off, Bruno!'

'I tol' you, no more takin' customers or I'll kill 'em! Yer my lass!' The ogre boomed. His tiny eyes peered down at me with homicidal glee.

'Th-there's been some sort of misunderstanding, I assure you!' I said, backing away and waving my whangee at him. 'I'm no customer of hers.'

'That's what they all say when I catch 'em at it!' He whistled, and I heard a noise like an avalanche. In the distance, a horde of more ogres appeared from the innards of a tavern and rushed headlong toward us.

Now, there is only one thing to be done in a situation such as this, when a chap faces an approaching horde of unfairly enormous men barreling down on him at breakneck speed when he is equipped with only a stick of wood. I will tell you what this thing is, because it is what I did. I ran.

I dashed round corners and under lines of washing and over flocks of pigs navigating the alleyways, with the ogres in hot pursuit. One of them gave out a battle cry that made my blood run cold.

I was nearly out of breath and ready to surrender when I saw a welcoming sign up ahead. It said something about antiques in peeling gilt letters, but it may as well have said Ladies Underclothing Emporium for all I cared at the moment. I bunged myself inside and latched the door, which was only seconds later rattled in its frame by the flailing arms of the mob outside.

'What the Devil do you think you're doing?' a shrivelled old voice said behind me.

As soon as I was convinced the door would hold I turned round. Behind the counter was a wizened old woman with a face like a plum left in the sun for too long.

'I, er, well,' I said. 'That is to say...' I pointed to the ogre faces pressed to the glass of the shop door. It should have been rather apparent what was going on, vis à a man taking refuge from a horde of angry ogres.

'You can't just go and lock the door,' the w. o. woman squealed. 'Those men might want to buy something.'

I attempted to explain how unlikely it was that a mob of irrational warriors would be interested in seventeenth century silver or Napoleon's mother's bureau plat, but it didn't hit home. The woman waved me off and waddled her way to the door, intent upon unlocking it and admitting the angry horde.

'I say!' I said sternly. 'If you let them in here, I won't buy anything!'

This had the desired effect. The woman's hand dropped from the deadbolt and she turned and looked at me with greedy eyes.

'Buy something, did you say?'

'Yes! Yes. I am looking for a gift for a very special person.'

'Ah,' she said. Her face lit up. 'The right gift for a sweetheart is very difficult to find.'

'Yes,' I said. 'I mean to say, that is, no! Not a gift for a woman. Good Lord, no. I need something for a very close friend. A decidedly man-like one.'

'Mhm,' was all she said.

She returned to her spot behind the counter and stared longingly at the ogres waiting to be let in. I started my browsing, not really hoping to find anything suitable for Jeeves, but searching for something that wouldn't excite his immediate disapproval upon its arrival in the home. The fact that a somewhat speedy selection had something to do with my survival of the next ten minutes added unwanted pressure, but what is one to do? I was no antique connoisseur, but I had had some run-ins with silver creamers, so I surveyed those first. We had a very nice one at home already, however, and none of the present specimens seemed worthy of replacing it.

I wandered further into the store, feeling the remaining moments of my safety dripping into the bottom of the hourglass. I was just on the verge of giving up and snatching the next thing I set eyes on when I saw it.

It was a perfectly-shaped crystal star, dangling from the eye socket of an embarrassed suit of armor. It short of shimmered, if you know what I mean, and although it ought to have seemed just as unsuitable as any of the rest of the rusty old artefacts in the shop, I knew instantly this was the gift for Jeeves. Normally I am not one to be moved by decorative ornaments, but something about this particular one called to me. You might say it had a certain gleam that reminded me of the one Jeeves sometimes got in his eye when a particularly corking plan entered the old bean.

I zipped it off the poor knight's helmet and up to the counter, where I smugly presented it before my captive audience.

'I'll just have this, then,' I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders.

The wizened woman frowned.

'Is this all? This little trinket?'

'Yes,' I said confidently.

'I think you would look very nice in that mirror over there.' She pointed to a hulking gilt-edged thing against the far wall.

'Er, no,' I said. 'There are more than enough mirrors in the home to keep my head from swelling.'

It took some insistence, but I managed to convince her that nor did I need a heavy wooden throne, a rusted rapier, or a sack of Egyptian emerald marbles. I paid for the shiny little star, plus a few pounds extra for an exit out of the back door, and toodled home.

It was nearly midnight by the time I arrived, and I snuck in, not wanting to disrupt Jeeves's nocturnal adventures. There was a roll of leftover printed paper in the hall closet, which I bunged out and carried to my bedroom.

I must say, attempting to neatly package an oddly shaped object with sharp points is a difficult task when a man is in possession of his complete faculties, but after a day of running about the city, I was not at full capacity. I ended up ripping holes in a dashed lot of paper before I got the idea to smother the thing in the rest of the roll. It ended up looking like a pie that has been dropped from a second storey window, but, on the bright side, even Jeeves wouldn't be able to divine its contents.

I toed into the sitting room and laid the lump reverently beneath the Christmas tree.

~

The following evening was, of course, Christmas Eve. As tradition had it, Jeeves and I would enjoy a bit of nog and brandy in front of the fire and hash out the highs and lows of the past year, and if any gift exchanging was to be done, it was then.

We were firmly ensconced in the sofa by six o'clock, warmed by the fire and the drink (or several, in my case), when I remembered that this year I had more to give Jeeves than a slip of paper with fifty pounds penned on it.

I got up and reached under the tree for the thing.

'This one appears to have your name on it, Jeeves,' I said, bringing it over to the sofa and handing it to him.

The man's noble brow furrowed. He accepted the lumpy package, turned it over a few times, and deftly removed the wrapping.

There was a brief moment where breath halted as he regarded the crystal star and I feared he would give out a weak obliging smile, thank me decorously, and place the thing aside.

His reaction, however, was far worse than that.

He did not smile at all. In fact, his eyes grew wide, and he looked at me in horror. I was about to start dishing out the apologies when he sprung a small leak about the eyes.

'I say!' I said in shock. I had given out some bally flat-liners as gifts before, but I had never caused anyone to launch into tears after the paper came off.

'I- ' Jeeves croaked like a laryngitic frog.

'Well!' I said.

There was a brief moment while we each struggled for words.

'I know it's- ' I started.

'Where did you- ' Jeeves gave out simultaneously.

'You first,' I offered.

'Sir,' he said, still suffering. 'Where in Heaven's name did you find this?'

For a moment I thought the thing bore some evidence of its seedy origins, and Jeeves was entertaining a notion of the types of Christmas trafficking in which I had indulged to come by it.

'It's not how it looks,' I said. 'I- '

'But this is- ' Jeeves said.

'Only went- '

'It looks- '

'I say!' I said again. 'Listen here, I don't make a habit of visiting the place. I just ended up there, having exhausted every other blasted shop in London, and, well, if you don't like it, I'm more than happy to take it back and exchange it for a pair of bally cuff links or something! Only I didn't know what else to get you.'

Jeeves did not say anything for a small space of time, unless he meant to convey a message by blinking at me.

Finally he spoke.

'I am afraid you have mistaken my reaction, sir.' He wiped idly at a drying tear on his cheek. 'I am by no means displeased with your gift. In fact, it is more wonderful than you can know. It is, if I may say so, the perfect gift.'

I looked at him in amazement.

'Should I have gotten you fish instead, Jeeves?'

'Sir?'

'I mean to say, are you sure you are firing all pistons this evening? It's a blasted ornament. Hardly worth even a sincere "thank you, sir".'

'Oh no, sir.'

'No?'

'This star belonged to my grandmother, sir, with whom I spent most of my childhood. It was given her by her father, who had it made in Africa by a famous artisan. It used to hang on the tree every Christmas, and I remember it as a symbol of my favourite season, and thus, great joy. When my grandmother passed away, all of her effects were sold at auction, and I was allowed to keep nothing of hers. You have made me happier than I can say, sir, by retrieving it for me.'

'Well!' I said, and it seemed the only thing to say.

'Indeed, sir,' said Jeeves, quite overcome with the emotional stuff.

Christmas, as you will know, is a time of miracles, a time when nearly anything can happen. Even Jeeves, as it turns out, is not exempt from this rule. Knowledge of this fact, however, did not prepare me for what next transpired.

In that silent, sudden, and floating way that Jeeves has, he closed the distance between us to mere inches. I had no time to react before he reached out and wrapped his arms about my person. We sat like this for a moment, Bertram stiff as a board and afraid to move, and Jeeves wrapped round him like a sprung bear trap.

Perhaps I was more like an ice sculpture than a board, though, for it was not long before I began to melt. The stiffness slowly dripped away and I leaned into the thing. After the initial shock of the assault, it wasn't such a bad thing, really, being held by Jeeves. He was warm and smelled like spiced cider.

I carefully returned the embrace.

'Merry Christmas, Jeeves,' I whispered into his ear.

'Merry Christmas, sir,' he whispered back. From somewhere in the distance, I thought I could hear bells ringing and merry voices uplifted in song.

Fin

Happy Christmas, children! All the Best Wishes to you and yours this Holiday Season!

Current Mood: sleepy

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

emeraldreeve.livejournal.com

Very lovely! A perfect Christmas fic. I love this: As much as the blighter fueled off fish, however, I didn't think a large, glassy-eyed trout wrapped in newsprint would deliver quite the heartfelt message I intended.

and this: You might say it had a certain gleam that reminded me of the one Jeeves sometimes got in his eye when a particularly corking plan entered the old bean.

Merry Christmas!

From:

A Jeeves & Wooster Fan-Community

[Fic] Jeeves and the Perfect Christmas Gift

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