indeedsir_backup | Fic: Oceans, part 4 (PG-13)

Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.

part 3 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/693063.html#cutid1
part 2 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/689461.html#cutid1
part 1 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/687730.html#cutid1

I paid Mr. Green, and helped Mr. Wooster gather his meager belongings, mostly stacks of paperbacks, as I assured him that he had clothing enough at the flat. He needed the rags on his back for modesty, but I intended to destroy them almost immediately. I explained to him my duties, feeding him, bathing him, clothing him, tending to the flat and the finances, and any other minor task that might need attention. He listened in a dumbstruck awe.

“What do I do, then?”

I weighed the words in my mind. “You do as you wish, sir. You have many friends and relations that you visit quite frequently, but most of your time is taken up playing your piano, reading, and writing in the flat.”

He was beaming at his good fortune as I carried his battered suitcase into Berkley Mansions, but seemed mildly intimidated upon entering the flat. “We’re home, sir.” I said, placing down his bag.

His brow furrowed as he paced slowly around the flat, and stood beside the piano, tenderly caressing the lid. “I know this place.” Hs said, softly. “I’ve dreamed of it. I didn’t think it was real. You’re not lying about who I am, are you?”

“No, sir. This is our home. Let me draw your bath and tend to you.” I felt emboldened by this revelation. Surely, Mr. Wooster would regain his memories soon. Surely, it was shock, this lapse. Yet, he did not know me, the heart of his home, as he was wont to say. That phrase had always filled me with an arrogant pride, and I was saddened that I was not likely to hear it from his lips any time soon.

I drew the bath, and helped him out of his clothes, suppressing the part of myself which wanted to dispose of the clothing for another reason altogether. I ached as I saw that he had suffered yet more wounds, one on his left shoulder and another gash across his back, neatly stitched and healed into scar tissue.

“They say I got that at sea.” He said, noticing my worried stare. He sighed as he slipped into the hot water.

“Do you remember getting injured, sir?”

“No.” he arched his back and then slid down to his chin. “All I remember was being in the hospital, a little place run by the order of St. John. I played bridge and read Bible verses until I got better. The head nurse took a shine to me and got me the bed at the hotel. I had a gold watch with me, so I gave them the chain as payment. The rest of it is in my pocket, I kept it even though it was broken.” He seemed lost in the thought, and I pushed it, hoping to trigger his memory.

“That is your father’s watch, sir. I regret to tell you that he and your mother passed away when you were a child. It was very precious to you. I will see to having it repaired.”

He turned his head with a bit of a smile. I melted, just a little.“Just like that, Jeeves? You really do see to everything.”

I flushed with pride. “Thank you, sir.”

He rose from the bath, and I bundled him in towels. I urged him to sit, and began setting right more than a year and a half of hardship. I massaged his scalp and neck, digging my fingers into the areas that I knew gave him the most pleasure, and he sighed under me. I cut his hair, which was impossibly unruly, and manicured his hands. I knelt then, propping up his leg to cut his toenails and massage the arches of his feet. His eyes had slid closed in utter bliss, and I sneaked a glance up at him, at his slightly parted lips and the towel draping over his lap, barely hiding his awakening erection. It was almost enough to undo me, yet I was strong.

I busied myself with the shaving brush, and tilted his head back. Mr. Wooster’s fingers touched my hand. “I can do that, Jeeves.” He said, taking the blade, and surveying himself in the mirror. Of course, Mr. Wooster, trusting and sweet, thought nothing of baring his throat to me as I slid a straight blade over it. John, on the other hand, thought otherwise. He did not trust me. It should not have hurt as much as it did.

“Very good, sir.” I replied, busying myself with his clothing. A short time later, he was dressed in a soft heather gray suit and the blue ticked tie that made his eyes shine, and I could not help but smile at the vision before me.

“Well, I cut quite a dashing figure, if I do say so myself.” He admired his reflection and ran his hands over the fine fabric.

“You do, sir.” I worried then that I was dreaming again, that I would awaken to find him lost once more.

He followed me to the sitting room, where I mixed him a potent drink of my own invention, and he took it gratefully. “I have something to show you, sir.” I said, leading him to a locked storage trunk. I opened the latches, and gestured to the stacks of paper inside. “These are your manuscripts. Perhaps you will remember them.”

I left him mulling over the stacks of pages I had lovingly transcribed from his handwritten scrawl. I telephoned the butcher, ordering a fine cut of beef for the evening meal. I would spare no expense or effort. Mr. Wooster would have all of his favorite things that night, steak braised in butter, bread pudding with marmalade glaze, and a perfect cup of tea. I would sleep alone in my tiny bed for the first time in nineteen months, and I would awaken early to serve him, to mend the pieces of our life together into what it once was. Tomorrow, there were relatives and solicitors to call, memberships to renew, letters to write, and still no end in sight.

I would fix him, I swore silently. He would be mine once more, and all would be well. However, these thoughts lost their reassuring ring in the dead of night when I found myself curled into my small, cold bed in the servant’s quarters , while the love of my life slept a stone’s throw away, dreaming disjointed dreams that did not include me.