indeedsir_backup | Fic: Redemption, part 8 (PG-13)

This has been rattling around in my brain since I read Yours, Plum: The Letters of P.G. Wodehouse a few years ago.I wanted to try continuing the 1953 fanfic by J. Maclaren-Ross , which was lovingly trascribed here by

chaoticchaos13

Pairing:Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: I make no profit from the lovely world of Wodehouse.

Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/849688.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/851698.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/853433.html#cutid1
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/854770.html#cutid1
Part 5: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/856387.html#cutid1
Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/861280.html#cutid1
Part 7: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/864721.html#cutid1

A sense of dread hung about me for quite a few days. It was difficult to place why, really. It could have been that the weather had turned frightfully chill and rainy, making my gammy leg ache so that I had to use my cane about town. For awhile, I imagined I was preoccupied with the looming specter of Stiffy in my sub-what sit mind. What if she came around causing trouble for Jeeves? What if she’d somehow guessed that I’d been carrying on with her husband again? The thought was sobering, but then again, she surely couldn’t have guessed that. If she’d known my inclinations, she’d have blackmailed me with them long ago. Also, Jeeves was more than capable of disarming any trouble from her quarter, unless she threatened to tell him what a pervert I was. Aside from risking his disgust, I didn’t want to trouble him. I no longer had that right.

I distracted myself with thoughts of Jeeves, which really wasn’t difficult as they drifted in his direction whenever my mind was left to itself, anyway. I endeavored to please. I couldn’t flit about the flat as he had, in fact I think I rather hovered, which is probably dashed annoying, come to think of it. I loved to bring him drinks, to light his gaspers, to fetch him a book, just to watch him- but most of all, I loved to draw his bath, and sneak selfish gazes. Jeeves is altogether different when his hair is wet and untidy, when he is unshaved, when he is in a robe or in the altogether. He’s broad and manly and irresistible, while retaining that cool, civilized expression that only he can carry anywhere. I spent hours wondering how it is that he can be so bally well perfect and handsome in uniform or tailored suit, and yet be a different sort of perfection when stripped of them. I couldn’t say which façade I desired most, but I did desire, adamantly, until my body would begin to betray me and I would have to think of the summer in Cannes where Madeline (nee Bassett, now Lady Sidcup) had indulged heavily in the juice of the grape and insisted that I hold her hand as we walked in the moonlight discussing the wee fairy folk to recover my composure.

I was dressing for bed as I pondered this, and another disheartening fact settled upon me as I gazed in the mirror. My hair seemed to be getting thinner every day, and was now more steely gray than gold. Lines which had once made people refer to me as ‘expressive‘, and then ‘dignified’ , could no longer be denied as looking tired. I had regained a bit of color since coming to Jeeves, but that was my only consolation. I remained too thin, too worn, too blasted old. Old. Ah, yes, there was that. I was to be another year older in a scant three hours. Jeeves might be older than I was, but he wore it better, that was for certain. I crawled into bed, and , feeling lonely, tucked his photo beneath my pillow.

When I awoke, I was greeted by the sight of a large shop box of dull silver at my side. A tag with my name hung from the label. Cautiously, I pulled off the top and rummaged through the layers of tissue paper, until my hands fell upon fabric, and I rather forgot to breathe as I pulled out the loveliest suit of heather gray twill. There was a shirt of excellent quality, and a silk tie woven of threads the colors of the ocean in the Caribbean.

Jeeves appeared suddenly, bearing a tray of tea. I wondered if I might be dreaming. “M’lord?” I asked, my voice being a squeaky sort of croak.

“Not on this day, sir.” he responded, setting down the tray.

“M’lord… I mean, dash it, oh, good lord, my god… Jeeves.” I whispered. I thought I would never hear it again, that short, sweet word. In layman’s hands, it is just an address, short, formal, precise. In Jeeves’ mouth, it can serve a plain purpose when addressed to another, but to me… to me it had an extra sort of something, you know. Another meaning that meant something grand. It meant, ‘you needn’t worry, Bertram’ Of course, certain intonations could imply, ‘Those shoes are not the done thing’, but mostly, they way he said it always implied a fond loyalty. Reassuring, that’s it.

“Sir?”

I hadn’t realized that I was shaking until his hands were on my shoulders. “I’m all right, Jeeves… I say, might I call you ‘Jeeves‘?” I asked, having suddenly gone shy.

“It would honor me, sir, while we are alone.” he replied.

“You remembered today. I mean, I expect you’d remember, but you shouldn’t have made a fuss, and you shouldn’t be calling me ‘sir’. I don’t deserve it, and what’s more…” I would miss it all the more sorely the next day. I tried to communicate this to him with my eyes, as my mouth couldn’t form the right words.

“In my thoughts, you are always ‘sir.’” he said, sternly.

“Dash it, Jeeves, I can’t take much more of this!” I exclaimed, letting the tie fall from my hands.

“Sir?”

“What are you after? First the portrait, then the business with my title, and now this! You know I can’t bally well be what I was!” To my horror, I sniffled.

“Sir.” That soft, dark voice again, soothing and lulling me. “I have wronged you, sir, in many ways. I did not realize that my behavior had caused you this level of distress. I simply wished to remind you of who you are.”

I blinked back the wetness, unbelievingly. “I know who I am, Jeeves, you’re the one who can’t bally well accept what I’ve become.”

He frowned, as much as he is able to. “You are a gentleman of old, aristocratic blood and fine breeding.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore. You and I are relics, Jeeves. Don’t you see?”

His jaw set tighter. “Socialism prevails, that much is true, sir. However, we must not let our standards sink to the gutter. The palace has been bombed, but it still stands, and so must we.”

“And what of tomorrow, then?” I asked, quietly. “What about my situation?”

“Consider it, as you were once fond of saying, a “wheeze”, sir. You now hold a secure position as Secretary in the Junior Ganymede. I am certainly grateful for your assistance in household matters, especially in serving my guests. “

My heart sank. “So then, I should pack up for the Junior Ganymede.” I’d known this day would come, and I’d done my best to not think of it much.

“Sir, it is my wish that you stay on here.”

“Oh.”

“I have wronged you, sir. I abandoned you without securing your happiness. I caused you permanent physical pain. I know you well, sir, and you are thinking that this is a matter of guilt. Let me assure you that it is not, at least, not entirely. I genuinely need the assistance, and greatly desire your company and friendship.”

I was momentarily astonished by having my mind read, until remembering that such a thing is a mere trifle for Jeeves.

“Tonight we shall dine together as equals, if that pleases you, sir.”

I am shamed to admit that I very nearly swooned. “Oh, rather!”