Semi Angsty sequel
Oct. 10th, 2009 02:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupThe second installment of my "Falling Farther In" series.
Title: Misery Wakes Us in the Morning
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Summary: Jeeves muses, Mabel speaks up.
Rating: G
Words: 1,514
Disclaimer: Characters simply aren't mine. For the most part.
Didn't read part one?
Jeeves heaved another great sigh, still staring into the water glass Elizabeth had brought him over an hour ago. His throat was still dry—made hoarse from seven days’ worth of repressed cries and unshed tears—yet he could not manage the momentum required to break this somehow concentration, nor his stoic demeanour. He sat, perched on his bed, more akin to a pillar of salt than a human being, made pale from his will to leave the house, and more specifically his room, as infrequently as possible, made idle by his depression, this pure black loneliness that filled his existence. Yet he wanted that loneliness to continue, for the only company worth keeping was the company he would likely never keep again.
One week, he thought, seemingly procuring the figure from thin air, although in reality to Jeeves they seemed two of the most important words anymore. One week and he had not brought himself to contact the agency about adding his name to the directory of eligible gentlemen’s personal gentlemen. One week and he had given next to no thought of contacting anyone in the Junior Ganymede. One week he had stayed with his widowed sister.
One week, and everything he saw or heard within that space of time had reminded him of Mr Wooster.
When he slept—if he slept—he would sleep a dreamless sleep, more akin to a coma or blackout from exhaustion, or, worse still, dream of the man he still adored. He saw him without seeing him, heard him without hearing any noise at all, and felt him, their proximity being miles apart.
And when he woke, the larks all sang the same songs that Mr Wooster played ardently, joyously, passionately at his piano. For a moment after he awoke, always far too soon after he’d fallen into sleep, he thought on mustering the necessary energy to rise, perform his ablutions, and fetch Mr Wooster his Darjeeling. Then, it would occur to him to wonder why Mr Wooster would be awake at such a remarkably early hour, and why he was singing at this hour.
In a moment of panic, confusion, or delirium, or a possible combination of all, Jeeves would bolt upright and look straightforward, only to be reminded that he was, in fact, in the spare bedroom in his sister’s house. That the lovely notes caressing his ears were those of larks, and not the graceful gentleman he knew and loved. That he would have to live through this hell, and fall asleep again that night or the next, or eventually, and wake to the same sharp sting until it dulled into a perpetual, never-ending ache. A cross to bear till the misery, till his existence, ended.
But then, he knew this would happen. Didn’t he?
The last time he and Mr Wooster underwent a schism it was different: he was not as attached to Mr Wooster then. And yet, by a twist of fate, he had obtained employment within proximity to Mr Wooster. He had been able to still manage the affairs of his young master. For no matter whose service it was Jeeves entered, temporarily or permanently, Mr Wooster would always be his master. If not the master of his lifestyle, of his salary, of his employment then the master of his heart. Indubitably.
But now, it was different. Perhaps not ostensibly, not visually, not to the untrained eye. But to Jeeves—well, Jeeves himself had changed. He’d noticed the change almost immediately. Somehow his years of being a trained, detached valet had ended after more time with Mr Wooster. The old phrase ‘you do not know what you have until it is gone’ brought itself to the front of his mind. He understood now that he had become attached, sentimental, even enamoured of Mr Wooster. That somehow he had fallen in love, and in doing so tied his own rope; he had to live the rest of his life never knowing whether it was a love requited or not, just that it was a love genuine, a love forbidden, a love lost.
It was a remark of otherwise playful banter. It was nonsense, and yet somehow declared more truth about the two men than most of their customary discourse ever had. It was a typical scene; Mr Wooster bringing home an objectionable piece of cloth that the makers dared to pass off as a tie, Jeeves being visibly and audibly displeased with the item, Mr Wooster rebuking the comment as poor fashion sense and going on to banter on about how conservative Jeeves’ tastes were, and what happened to the old feudal spirit, and oh-we’re-not-going-to-have-another-disagreement-about-this-what’s-next-the-number-of-stitches-in-my-socks. Mr Wooster’s good humour, however, did not extend into Jeeves’ rebuttal of, perhaps-sir-would-be-so-kind-as-to-leave-my-letter-of-reference-on-the-table-before-he-retires. Somehow the conversation had turned into a heated argument, both men too proud not to take any drastic measures and too weak to avoid them being taken. The scene playing before his eyes blurred, snug behind the thick blanket of unshed tears that now shrouded his eyes.
“Uncle Reggie!” The door creaked open and stirred Jeeves’ miserable reverie. Mabel slid through the leeway, as though trying to stave off something on the other side.
“Do you want Charity to come in?” Mabel, unlike her younger sister, better understood her favourite uncle’s current situation. Jeeves, of course, had not told her nor her mother of the real reason for his pain. But they knew that he was out of the job; that he had lost an employer he was fond of—this he had told them before, when discussing his life at work and in general conversation—and that he had lost a friend. This much they had had to gather of their own Jeevesian sense of intuition and deduction.
He shook his head in the negative, and Mabel slipped the rest of herself into the room and shut the door, quickly locking it while on the other side, a disgruntled Charity pounded at the door, still shouting for Uncle Reggie.
“Reg, mum and I wish you would tell us what’s wrong.”
“You know perfectly well why I am here.”
“Yes, but we want to know what’s wrong. You’re not out of the job for good, you know. I’m sure half of the men in London would be happy to have you has their valet. The other half are married and wouldn’t bear considering for you. I’d have Biffy employ you, and you could come work for us, but something tells me he’d forget to pay you...”
“Dear girl,” Jeeves gave a half-hearted smile and lifted his niece’s chin. She had done this since age six, trying to cheer her uncle up whenever he seemed out of his sorts. She always tried to fix the problem herself. And although she rarely could take away the cause, somehow seeing her smile lit up any dark that Jeeves had hid from the world. “I would not enter the employ of my nephew-in-law. It would be absurd; though I do appreciate you’re trying to help. But there are some things, Mabel, that neither you, nor I, nor God, can fix.”
“There is nothing that you can’t fix. I don’t know God—I don’t know what He’s done, or what He’ll do. At least I’ve seen your miracles. You brought Biffy and I together. Heaven’s sake, you’ve done so much for me, all my life, and I just wish there was some way...”
“There is not. Thank you, but there’s nothing that can be done in this.”
“Have you thought about it?”
“All too much.”
“Have you tried anything.”
“No solution has presented itself.”
“Well... perhaps you should present yourself, to the solution.”
She turned to leave, but as she lay her hand on the doorknob, Jeeves lay his on her shoulder. Mabel was the only girl who could ever truly engage Jeeves’ mind. She was bright, perhaps as bright as her mother, if not even more so. She spoke so wisely, Jeeves was not always sure that her words had meaning. In short, there were times when she could almost surpass his comprehension, if he did not take the time to consider it.
“Would you care to elaborate?”
She turned to him and smiled, laying one hand on his, the other still on the doorknob.
“I think you’ll figure it out. Heaven knows you think enough. There’s something to think about. Are you coming?”
“I see little point in staying in here while your sister is still undoubtedly positioned directly on the other side of this door, pouting.”
“Fair enough,” Mabel turned the handle, and Charity launched herself into Jeeves’ arms, which, large and capable, were ready to catch her.
“Uncle Reggie! Mama was calling for you.”
And, as she spoke, Jeeves’ name was shouted from the stairwell. He carried his youngest niece down the short flight of stairs and came to a stop upon seeing Elizabeth, standing nobly next to her telephone, holding it against her ear.
Jeeves gently let her daughter slide to the floor as she said, “A Mrs Dahlia Travers for you, Reg.”
TBC
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Date: 2009-10-10 08:32 pm (UTC)Although..."They other half are married"?
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Date: 2009-10-10 09:13 pm (UTC)Right.. stupid mistakes... will fix. Thanks much.
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Date: 2009-10-10 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 09:41 pm (UTC)Very interesting last line, makes me really wait for more.
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Date: 2009-10-10 10:07 pm (UTC)Oh, I'm loving this too much already :D
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Date: 2009-10-10 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 10:39 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you're enjoying this. ^_^ Thanks for reading.
Rest should be posted sooner rather than later.
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Date: 2009-10-11 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 06:14 am (UTC)