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indeedsir_backup2010-05-16 07:23 pm
hazeltea.livejournal.com) wrote in indeedsir_backup2010-05-16 07:23 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Oceans, part 18 (PG-13)
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not profit from the lovely works of Wodehouse.
part 17: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/813370.html#cutid1
part 16 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/804475.html#cutid1
part 15 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/750867.html#cutid1
part 14 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/743385.html#cutid1
part 13 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/741218.html#cutid1
part 12 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/727612.html#cutid1
part 11 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/723716.html#cutid1
part 10 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/722065.html#cutid1
part 9 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/715646.html#cutid1
part 8 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/709635.html#cutid1
part 7 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/707880.html#cutid1
part 6 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/704354.html#cutid1
part 5 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/701596.html#cutid1
part 4 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/695505.html#cutid1
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
As I stood on the dock gazing at the ship we were about to board, trepidation stirred in my heart once more. I stole a sidelong glance at Mr. Wooster. His expression was that of pleasant determination, his eyes steady and clear beneath the brim of his hat. “Are you certain of this, sir?” I asked, quietly, for perhaps the fifth time that day, and the hundredth that week.
His mouth quirked into a small, scolding frown. “Of course I am, Jeeves. We’ve discussed it, haven’t we?”
I nodded. We had discussed this trip at great length, indeed. Unwilling to leave Mr. Wooster for my annual leave, he had suggested that he travel with me, and perhaps, once we had quit the continent for England, that he should leave me a few days to myself and await my return to London.
The ship had seemed a good idea at the time; for Mr. Wooster and I both loved to travel overseas, and the shorter trip would be essential before I could be assured that he would not suffer anxiety on an extended trip in the future. Already, we had taken a short ferry ride together, braced against the wind on the top railing, with no ill effects. I decided that I would not ask him any more questions. It might crack the brave mask that I was sure he was wearing.
Our cabin was first class, or course, and contained two luxurious, though narrow, beds, and a locking door. Mr. Wooster’s traumatic experience allowed us an excuse to share quarters, of which I was grateful, for I had not yet grown comfortable with letting him out of my sight for more than an hour at a time. Having stowed our belongings, I escorted Mr. Wooster to the fine dining hall, where he would be served while I took my own meal one deck below. I ate very little, and left to wander near the railings and gaze at the sea.
Once, the sea had called to me, the endless rippled surface promising wonders I could scarcely imagine. It had always calmed me, soothed me, assured me of my connection with the world, somehow. I imagined the rocking of the ship in sync with the beating of my heart, the ebb and flow of the water at one with the blood in my veins. Now, for the first time, I eyed it with wariness alongside my wonder; remembering how my beloved ocean had betrayed me, and snatched Mr. Wooster from my stiff, freezing fingers. Now, each dip of the ship in the water matched a twinge in the pit of my stomach. I must go to him, I had been away too long.
Had I consulted my watch, I would have realized it had scarcely been three quarters of an hour since I had delivered him. I stood rigid my the entrance of the hall, willing myself not to pace to and fro. At long last, Mr. Wooster appeared, sated by his meal and in good spirits.
“Did they treat you well down there, Jeeves?” he asked, as he closed the door to our cabin behind him. “Five course meal, good wine, and all?” The familiar glint of anxious guilt shone in his eyes. Mr. Wooster hated to think of me being treated as his inferior, although he understood that as a valued servant, I was treated quite well by all.
The meal had been simpler by far, but I nodded. I recalled a chop and boiled potatoes, with a side of apple tart. I had been distracted, and had not tasted what I had eaten, but it was a reassuring weight in my stomach. “It was more than adequate , sir. “ I replied.
“If only we didn’t have to live as master and servant.” He sighed. “I wish I could have dined with you.”
“It is fortunate that such roles are in place, sir.” I said, as gently as I could. “Your social status enables you to keep me in your home. I would not trade that for any title or prestige.”
His eyes softened. “Our home, Jeeves.” He corrected me, and bit his lip in thought. “ I say, are you truly content with your lot in life? Surely, the care and feeding of this idiot is beyond someone with your abilities.” He muttered. “All the bally wonderful things you do for me, Jeeves…”
I sat beside him, and pulled him into my lap. “It is the only life which I would willingly choose, sir, and you are by no means an idiot."
He curled against my chest then, and after a moment, his lips were on me quite suddenly, trailing lavish kisses from my lips to my earlobe. “If only I could make you…” he trailed off, looking down.
“I will do anything you ask of me.” I said, simply.
Mr. Wooster smiled meekly, and shook his head. “We can’t get ahead of ourselves, Jeeves. Not here, it’s too risky.”
I nodded in agreement. Tomorrow, we would settle into our rented cottage in a quaint French village, where it would be quite safe to share a bed and dine together. For now, we must be careful. Neither of us trusted the locked door of our cabin for more than the most basic security. There was simply too much at stake.
Once I had put Mr. Wooster to bed, I took my place in the adjacent bunk, and admired the sight of him in the sliver of moonlight provided by the porthole. After a moment, Mr. Wooster extended his arm, twined his fingers into mine, and indulged me in a sleepy smile. With the warmth of his hand in mine, and the steady beat of his pulse under my thumb, I fell into a pleasant slumber.
***
He was screaming for me. Sharp pain stabs in my lungs as they fill with the icy water, and I can no longer feel my hands. Bits of debris are alight with flame, the only light on the dark, choppy water. I cannot feel my arm. The flames are close, close enough to illuminate Mr. Wooster’s golden hair as he struggles to keep afloat. Is my arm the source of the flames? I can no longer differentiate between heat and cold. Everything is the same, a numb pain spreading out from my chest, my lungs unable to take in the air needed to call for him, and I think desperately only to save him, he is dying, my master is slipping under, and my master must live!
I grapple an oar from another life boat, tearing it from the hands of a terrified woman, kicking her vessel aside with the last of my strength so that she cannot wrest it from me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for you, madam, but my master must live. Please forgive me, madam. I am choking on grimy smoke and salt water, blindly reaching out with ill gotten prize, gasping for Mr. Wooster to grab hold. Please, Lord, let my master hold on. Please spare him. Please forgive me…
I did not know where I was at first. It was warm, and soft, and Mr. Wooster’s arms encased me. His melodic voice was murmuring comforting, nonsense words, and his long, delicate fingers were wiping gently at my cheek. The only pain in my chest was that of grief, and I realized with relief and some embarrassment that I had been dreaming. The soft cooing in my ears formed into words I could understand.
“Jeeves, shh, my love, please wake up, it’s just a dream, my love…”
I stilled, and ceased my tears, but did not trust myself to speak. His fingers continued to stroke back my hair, and down my cheek.
“… safe, my love…”
A moment or two more, and I was able to find my voice. ‘Sir.. oh, sir, you are with me.” I pushed away the images that had burned against my eyelids moments before.
He nodded. “You were talking.” he said, sadly. “I shouldn’t have suggested this trip. I thought it would be okay.”
I cleared my throat, and assumed what little dignity I could muster. “I will be composed directly, sir.”
“You needn’t be.” He protested.
“I did not consider this outcome, sir. I had worried about your dreams extensively, but not my own.” I was shamed by my weakness. What if Mr. Wooster had also dreamed such horrors? I had to be strong.
“I haven’t had any nightmares.” He confessed. “It must be hard to dream of what I can’t remember, what? There’s a silver lining right there. I’m sorry that I didn’t even think about what it must be like for you, love. You suffered the same as I have, but you bear it alone.”
“I am no longer alone, my Bertram.” This coaxed a smile from his soft lips, which in itself was a balm to my frayed nerves.
“Will you be all right for the rest of the night, Jeeves? And the trip back?” he asked, worriedly.
I was determined to overcome the ghosts of my fears, so I nodded, and settled back into his arms. “As long as you are by my side.” I declared. In the safety of his embrace, I was able to sleep for several hours. When we once again set foot upon dry land, it was with a feeling of victory. It was a small battle fought within myself, but I had won it.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not profit from the lovely works of Wodehouse.
part 17: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/813370.html#cutid1
part 16 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/804475.html#cutid1
part 15 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/750867.html#cutid1
part 14 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/743385.html#cutid1
part 13 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/741218.html#cutid1
part 12 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/727612.html#cutid1
part 11 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/723716.html#cutid1
part 10 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/722065.html#cutid1
part 9 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/715646.html#cutid1
part 8 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/709635.html#cutid1
part 7 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/707880.html#cutid1
part 6 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/704354.html#cutid1
part 5 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/701596.html#cutid1
part 4 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/695505.html#cutid1
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
As I stood on the dock gazing at the ship we were about to board, trepidation stirred in my heart once more. I stole a sidelong glance at Mr. Wooster. His expression was that of pleasant determination, his eyes steady and clear beneath the brim of his hat. “Are you certain of this, sir?” I asked, quietly, for perhaps the fifth time that day, and the hundredth that week.
His mouth quirked into a small, scolding frown. “Of course I am, Jeeves. We’ve discussed it, haven’t we?”
I nodded. We had discussed this trip at great length, indeed. Unwilling to leave Mr. Wooster for my annual leave, he had suggested that he travel with me, and perhaps, once we had quit the continent for England, that he should leave me a few days to myself and await my return to London.
The ship had seemed a good idea at the time; for Mr. Wooster and I both loved to travel overseas, and the shorter trip would be essential before I could be assured that he would not suffer anxiety on an extended trip in the future. Already, we had taken a short ferry ride together, braced against the wind on the top railing, with no ill effects. I decided that I would not ask him any more questions. It might crack the brave mask that I was sure he was wearing.
Our cabin was first class, or course, and contained two luxurious, though narrow, beds, and a locking door. Mr. Wooster’s traumatic experience allowed us an excuse to share quarters, of which I was grateful, for I had not yet grown comfortable with letting him out of my sight for more than an hour at a time. Having stowed our belongings, I escorted Mr. Wooster to the fine dining hall, where he would be served while I took my own meal one deck below. I ate very little, and left to wander near the railings and gaze at the sea.
Once, the sea had called to me, the endless rippled surface promising wonders I could scarcely imagine. It had always calmed me, soothed me, assured me of my connection with the world, somehow. I imagined the rocking of the ship in sync with the beating of my heart, the ebb and flow of the water at one with the blood in my veins. Now, for the first time, I eyed it with wariness alongside my wonder; remembering how my beloved ocean had betrayed me, and snatched Mr. Wooster from my stiff, freezing fingers. Now, each dip of the ship in the water matched a twinge in the pit of my stomach. I must go to him, I had been away too long.
Had I consulted my watch, I would have realized it had scarcely been three quarters of an hour since I had delivered him. I stood rigid my the entrance of the hall, willing myself not to pace to and fro. At long last, Mr. Wooster appeared, sated by his meal and in good spirits.
“Did they treat you well down there, Jeeves?” he asked, as he closed the door to our cabin behind him. “Five course meal, good wine, and all?” The familiar glint of anxious guilt shone in his eyes. Mr. Wooster hated to think of me being treated as his inferior, although he understood that as a valued servant, I was treated quite well by all.
The meal had been simpler by far, but I nodded. I recalled a chop and boiled potatoes, with a side of apple tart. I had been distracted, and had not tasted what I had eaten, but it was a reassuring weight in my stomach. “It was more than adequate , sir. “ I replied.
“If only we didn’t have to live as master and servant.” He sighed. “I wish I could have dined with you.”
“It is fortunate that such roles are in place, sir.” I said, as gently as I could. “Your social status enables you to keep me in your home. I would not trade that for any title or prestige.”
His eyes softened. “Our home, Jeeves.” He corrected me, and bit his lip in thought. “ I say, are you truly content with your lot in life? Surely, the care and feeding of this idiot is beyond someone with your abilities.” He muttered. “All the bally wonderful things you do for me, Jeeves…”
I sat beside him, and pulled him into my lap. “It is the only life which I would willingly choose, sir, and you are by no means an idiot."
He curled against my chest then, and after a moment, his lips were on me quite suddenly, trailing lavish kisses from my lips to my earlobe. “If only I could make you…” he trailed off, looking down.
“I will do anything you ask of me.” I said, simply.
Mr. Wooster smiled meekly, and shook his head. “We can’t get ahead of ourselves, Jeeves. Not here, it’s too risky.”
I nodded in agreement. Tomorrow, we would settle into our rented cottage in a quaint French village, where it would be quite safe to share a bed and dine together. For now, we must be careful. Neither of us trusted the locked door of our cabin for more than the most basic security. There was simply too much at stake.
Once I had put Mr. Wooster to bed, I took my place in the adjacent bunk, and admired the sight of him in the sliver of moonlight provided by the porthole. After a moment, Mr. Wooster extended his arm, twined his fingers into mine, and indulged me in a sleepy smile. With the warmth of his hand in mine, and the steady beat of his pulse under my thumb, I fell into a pleasant slumber.
***
He was screaming for me. Sharp pain stabs in my lungs as they fill with the icy water, and I can no longer feel my hands. Bits of debris are alight with flame, the only light on the dark, choppy water. I cannot feel my arm. The flames are close, close enough to illuminate Mr. Wooster’s golden hair as he struggles to keep afloat. Is my arm the source of the flames? I can no longer differentiate between heat and cold. Everything is the same, a numb pain spreading out from my chest, my lungs unable to take in the air needed to call for him, and I think desperately only to save him, he is dying, my master is slipping under, and my master must live!
I grapple an oar from another life boat, tearing it from the hands of a terrified woman, kicking her vessel aside with the last of my strength so that she cannot wrest it from me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for you, madam, but my master must live. Please forgive me, madam. I am choking on grimy smoke and salt water, blindly reaching out with ill gotten prize, gasping for Mr. Wooster to grab hold. Please, Lord, let my master hold on. Please spare him. Please forgive me…
I did not know where I was at first. It was warm, and soft, and Mr. Wooster’s arms encased me. His melodic voice was murmuring comforting, nonsense words, and his long, delicate fingers were wiping gently at my cheek. The only pain in my chest was that of grief, and I realized with relief and some embarrassment that I had been dreaming. The soft cooing in my ears formed into words I could understand.
“Jeeves, shh, my love, please wake up, it’s just a dream, my love…”
I stilled, and ceased my tears, but did not trust myself to speak. His fingers continued to stroke back my hair, and down my cheek.
“… safe, my love…”
A moment or two more, and I was able to find my voice. ‘Sir.. oh, sir, you are with me.” I pushed away the images that had burned against my eyelids moments before.
He nodded. “You were talking.” he said, sadly. “I shouldn’t have suggested this trip. I thought it would be okay.”
I cleared my throat, and assumed what little dignity I could muster. “I will be composed directly, sir.”
“You needn’t be.” He protested.
“I did not consider this outcome, sir. I had worried about your dreams extensively, but not my own.” I was shamed by my weakness. What if Mr. Wooster had also dreamed such horrors? I had to be strong.
“I haven’t had any nightmares.” He confessed. “It must be hard to dream of what I can’t remember, what? There’s a silver lining right there. I’m sorry that I didn’t even think about what it must be like for you, love. You suffered the same as I have, but you bear it alone.”
“I am no longer alone, my Bertram.” This coaxed a smile from his soft lips, which in itself was a balm to my frayed nerves.
“Will you be all right for the rest of the night, Jeeves? And the trip back?” he asked, worriedly.
I was determined to overcome the ghosts of my fears, so I nodded, and settled back into his arms. “As long as you are by my side.” I declared. In the safety of his embrace, I was able to sleep for several hours. When we once again set foot upon dry land, it was with a feeling of victory. It was a small battle fought within myself, but I had won it.