Fic: Jeeves Has a Theory
Jeeves Has a Theory

By kalimyre

Rating: PG

Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster

Summary: In which Jeeves is surprised, Bertie hides in a closet, and there are far too many scenes involving ties.

Notes: Tremendous thanks to ennui_blue_lite for the liberal application of much needed red ink. I wrote this because I see so many first time stories with clueless Bertie, I wondered what it would be like with clueless Jeeves. Not completely clueless; he’s still Jeeves, after all.

~~~

I have long been a student of psychology, both in my capacity as a valet and in my own efforts to improve my knowledge. It is necessary for me to anticipate my employer’s needs and be prepared to fulfill them, whatever they may be; therefore, I am a keen observer of each employer’s particular ways. This proved to be an easy task in the case of Mr. Wooster, who is possessed of an open, direct nature and expresses himself with little or no prevarication.

I was surprised, then, to discover a previously unknown facet of his personality some years after I had come into his service. I made this discovery when we had occasion to hide from one of his acquaintances in a small coat closet.

The series of events which had led up to our position at that moment are of the sort that Mr. Wooster chronicles in his own memoirs, so I will not repeat them in great detail here. Suffice to say that Mr. Tennysburg had been of a friendly disposition until his fiancé, Miss Farthington, had declared their engagement broken off and, furthermore, that she was to be engaged to my employer.

This drove the previously friendly Mr. Tennysburg into a fit of jealousy and, aided by what I suspect was a generous helping of spirits, whipped him into a froth of vengeance that had Mr. Wooster running across the garden with the gentleman in hot pursuit. I was well aware of the situation in the house, namely that it had been engineered by Miss Farthington for the express purpose of gauging the devotion of her erstwhile fiancé. She would surely be pleased with the overwhelming response to her actions.

At the moment, however, this knowledge did not help us. I doubted highly that Mr. Tennysburg would listen to reason, and as he was waving a fireplace poker about quite recklessly and shouting threats upon Mr. Wooster’s person, discretion seemed the better course. I expected that he would wear out his rage and in the morning, most likely incapacitated by the effects of his assiduous pursuit, he would be in a considerably more receptive frame of mind.

We stood silently in the small closet, jostling among the coats and hats, and listened to the man thunder up and down the hall, causing no little damage to the fixtures if the noise was of any indication. Mr. Wooster had evidently been running for some time before he’d come across me in the hall and gasped out a rather garbled version of events. He was still breathing rapidly, his back heaving up and down a scant few inches in front of me. I could hear him shifting slightly, fidgeting like a small and nervous child.

“I say,” he whispered after a particularly resounding crash of breaking glass. “He’s quite worked up, isn’t he?”

“Indeed, sir,” I replied.

Mr. Wooster inched forward cautiously, pressing his ear against the closet door. There came another shouted threat from directly outside and he flinched back, colliding with my chest. He froze, wary of making a sound, and it was then that I noticed the curious behavioral phenomenon.

During the moments in which my chest was in contact with his back, I could feel his breathing slow by marked degrees, and his faint trembling stilled. He drew in a deep inhale, then sagged somewhat, growing lax and giving a deep sigh. There was silence from outside, and silence within as well, but for our quiet breathing.

After a time, he made a soft, contented ‘hm’ sound, the sort I have heard when he steps into a perfectly hot bath or tastes a dish he is especially pleased with. “Do you think he’s gone?” he asked.

“I could not say, sir,” I answered. “Perhaps it would be better to remain here as a precautionary measure.”

“Oh, rather,” he agreed, and we were quiet again. I noticed he made no move to increase the space between us.

Although I have not told him this (and have no intention of ever doing so), my employer often reminds me of a half-grown puppy. Part of the reason for this is his propensity toward ceaseless movement, whether an airy gesture or a tapping foot. He is rarely still for any period of time outside of sleep. Although I could not see my watch, I estimated we were in that closet for greater than half an hour, and during that time, he remained quiescent and silent.

It piqued my curiosity, and I must admit, dented my professional pride. Here was something about Mr. Wooster that I had not known, and that should not have been. I determined, then, to uncover the reason behind this uncharacteristic stillness in the wardrobe.

~~~

Needless to say, we did not stay in the coat closet forever. Miss Farthington was informed of her ex-fiancé’s behavior (via a kitchen maid with a flair for storytelling and exaggeration with whom I spoke at length) and was suitably impressed with her young man’s devotion. They were happily reunited and my employer graciously accepted apologies for the attempted harm upon his person. He held no grudge against the gentleman, as I expected. Mr. Wooster is not given to grudges—that aspect of his personality, I had grown to know very well.

It was shortly after our return to London that I had an opportunity to form and test a theory regarding my employer’s curious behavior. It was midmorning, a quiet time for me: the gap between morning chores and Mr. Wooster’s awakening. I sat in the kitchen and occupied my hands with the mending and my mind with the psychology of the individual.

Perhaps, I thought, he had simply taken reassurance from my presence. Understandable, given that he was in fear for his safety. It was plausible, but struck me as an overly simple answer. I did not become a distinct calming influence until his startle had led him into direct contact with me.

It had to do with his innate nature, I decided. Being an open gentleman given to emotional reactions and impulses, Mr. Wooster had likely been the sort of child who reveled in the affection of his elders. The loss of his parents at a young age, I suspected, deprived him of some of the emotional stability he would have otherwise established in his youth. To the best of my knowledge, he was never mistreated; however, I have observed him with his friends and particularly with ladies who capture his interest, and while he is quite comfortable conversing for great lengths of time, he has been hesitant and awkward the few times I have seen him attempt to demonstrate his fondness for another physically. While his nature may crave human contact, he appears to have little experience and trouble asking for or initiating it.

So, when thrust into a situation of some intimacy beyond his immediate control, had he simply chosen to relax and enjoy it? I thought it likely.

Of course, further observation would be needed before I could be sure.

~~~

That very afternoon, I was preparing Mr. Wooster for a lunch outing with his Aunt Agatha. He seemed to be viewing the outing with his usual mixture of determined cheer and dread, and I saw an opportunity to explore my theory when he stood in front of the mirror to adjust his tie.

I approached from behind and began whisking a lint brush over his back. Ostensibly to hold him steady while I performed this task, I placed a hand at the curve of his neck and shoulder. I allowed my thumb to brush against the exposed skin at his nape, shifting slightly with each stroke of the brush.

“I say, Jeeves,” he said, and I detected a note in his voice I did not immediately recognize.

“Sir?”

“Do you... ah, do you suppose there’s any chance Aunt Agatha might have good news for me? I mean to say, it’s unlikely, but maybe she’s decided I don’t need improving after all, what?”

“The contingency is a remote one, sir,” I said.

He sighed, and I felt his shoulders rise and fall beneath my palm. I squeezed very slightly—it would have been barely perceptible through the layers of clothing. He tilted his head to one side and my thumb slipped a bit deeper, into the warm hollow between his shirt collar and his throat. When he next spoke, I could feel the vibration of his voice.

“I suppose so,” he said. “One can but hope, after all.”

“Indeed, sir.”

He nodded slowly, and it occurred to me that I had not applied the lint brush for nearly a half minute, but I had yet to release my grip on his shoulder. Glancing up, I found him watching me in the mirror. I met his regard steadily, and then stepped closer, reaching around him to fold his collar along the proper line. I was near enough for my breath to land on the nape of his neck, and he shivered, the skin there prickling and fine hairs reaching upward.

When I stepped away, he remained still for a long moment, fingering the collar I had just adjusted. “Well,” he said eventually, turning to face me. “Off I go to brace the dragon. Will you be here when I return?”

“Certainly, sir,” I replied.

“Jolly good. Well.” He seemed flustered for a moment, looking around as if he’d forgotten something. I noticed a touch more color than usual in his cheeks and his hands fluttered like uncertain birds with no place to land. “Right,” he said. “Toodle-pip.”

I inclined my head in response (as I am not given to farewells in the form of ‘toodle-pip’) and he left, casting glances at me over his shoulder.

Once I was alone in the flat, I pressed my hands together, still aware of the lingering warmth and tingling sensation—the repercussions of having touched Mr. Wooster. I, of course, touch him a hundred times in the course of my everyday, while dressing and neatening, serving and guiding, but this was the first time I had done so with such... intent.

Perhaps, I thought, this matter was more complicated than I had previously believed. It would require further study. In depth.

~~~

I began with the judicious application of small touches.

It is my habit to bring my employer his morning tea directly after he awakens; I altered my routine so that I arrived in his room minutes before he awoke, and watched him slowly rise from sleep. It was a process of fascinating vulnerability, in those moments between sleep and full wakefulness, when he was soft and indolent beneath the covers. I could see his sprawled form in vague silhouette outlined by the blankets, and I would lightly drop a hand upon his ankle or arm when he was still mostly asleep, and barely aware.

When his eyes opened and he sat up, I would be properly distant, holding the tea tray and waiting patiently. His gaze upon me those mornings was, as he would have put it, ‘rummy.’ Not suspicious, exactly, but confused and wondering.

I had always dressed him efficiently and with the crisp, professional distance of any good valet, but I found that time and familiarity will soften the boundaries of propriety. It was not difficult to allow my hands to linger on occasion, to brush my fingertips over his shoulders in smoothing his coat, to tuck a bit of errant hair back and straighten his hat.

It was during a difference of opinion regarding a tie that my theory first proved to be an advantage. As so often happens, my employer wished to wear one of his newer purchases, a tie of a most unfortunate green color with mustard piping. Sometimes I suspect he chooses these items to see how I will react.

“I couldn’t advise it, sir,” I said, eying the thing with an offended glance. Like a particularly bright glare of sunlight, it seemed to damage the eyes if stared at directly.

“Don’t talk rot, Jeeves,” he retorted. “I shall wear whatever tie I like.”

“As you say, sir,” I said, but before he could commit the mistake of wrapping the article about his neck, I stepped in with a far more suitable tie of a rich mahogany shade.

“I say!” he protested, his eyes growing wide and round. Rarely had I demonstrated my displeasure with his peculiar clothing tastes with more than a disapproving tone. He was clearly quite at a loss as to how to respond.

“If you will consider this choice, sir,” I said, slipping the silk around his throat. “If the appearance displeases you, I will say no more about it.”

“Well,” he said, and I felt his throat move beneath my hands as he swallowed. “Give it a try, you mean? And if I don’t like it, then there will be no more of this talk on the matter?”

“Yes, sir.” I took my time arranging the knot, my knuckles brushing against his chin and the freshly shaven skin beneath. I found if I tilted my hand just so, I could feel the rhythmic coursing of his heartbeat just above his collarbone. It sped perceptibly beneath my fingers.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Rather. Right. Carry on, then.”

By that point, I had taken considerably more time than is needed to properly affix the tie, but Mr. Wooster did not seem to notice and I felt it necessary to test my theory fully. It is always wise to be thorough. I adjusted his collar, slipping my fingertips inside to ensure it was not too snug about his neck. I had suspected it might be for a moment, as he seemed to be having some difficulty drawing a full breath.

When I looked at his face, I found him watching me, his gazed fixed not on my eyes or hands, but oddly, on my mouth. He looked away rapidly and cleared his throat, and I could feel the skin beneath my hands heat as a flush crept up his neck.

“That is quite straight enough, Jeeves,” he said, stepping back. He took a deep breath and settled himself, one hand absently stroking the tie that now lay neatly upon his chest.

“Does the tie meet with your satisfaction, sir?” I inquired.

“I cannot imagine why you feel the need to act so bally adamantly regarding ties!” he said. “Is adamantly the word I want?”

“I believe so, sir. I will, of course, exchange the garments if you wish it.” I lifted the unfortunate green tie, taking care not to look at it. Mr. Wooster seemed almost alarmed at the idea of my placing yet another tie on him, and he shook his head.

“No, no, wouldn’t want to cause you undue distress, old thing. This one shall suffice.”

“Very good, sir.”

I helped him into his coat and he headed off to his gentleman’s club for the afternoon with his customary cheerful farewell. It wasn’t until after he had left that it occurred to me he had never once looked at the tie in the mirror to determine if it was suitable.

Apparently, my theory required changing once again. Mr. Wooster’s reactions were not unlike those I have observed in his friend, Mr. Little, when that gentleman is in the company of a young lady who has captured his attention. Perhaps Mr. Wooster did not seek the attention of a parent, but of a paramour—a case I had long hoped for, but had previously considered a mere flight of fancy. A faulty assumption of that nature would be disastrous for both of us, though; I would need to be very sure.

~~~

Mr. Wooster soon reached a comfortable equanimity with my activities, reacting to the increased contact with smiles rather than uncertainty. He welcomed the closeness, but I hesitated to go beyond slight intimacy for fear of crossing the line into impropriety. I took my cues from him and made cautious advances.

My employer had come to expect this—he seemed especially fond of the point in the morning when I affixed his tie. Although he was perfectly capable of performing this task himself, he seemed to enjoy my help and in return, allowed me to choose all of his ties. I found it a quite equitable bargain as I had grown to enjoy the process as well.

One morning, as I made my then customary brush against his form beneath the blankets just before he woke, he made a soft sound and turned, gazing at me. I was somewhat caught off guard, but I have long since mastered the ability of projecting outward calm whatever the circumstances and did not twitch.

“Good morning, Jeeves,” he said sleepily. “I must say, your method of waking me is a dashed sight more pleasant than any of those frightful alarm clocks my aunts are always attempting to foist off on me.”

“Very kind of you, sir,” I replied. I noticed after a moment that my hand was still resting in the crook of his elbow and I had not actually made any motion toward serving his tea. Clearing my throat, I stepped back and corrected the lapse. He watched me over the rim of his cup, smiling merrily.

Since he had seemed so pleased the first time, I continued waking him with a soft touch at around his normal morning hour. I found, however, that I missed the opportunity to observe him while he still slept, so I began entering his room a little earlier and allowing myself a few minutes for that indulgence before waking him.

I deduced from his comfort in my presence and his pleasure at small, regular shows of affection that he would not be wholly averse to a deeper understanding between us. However, such an understanding must be approached carefully. Mr. Wooster had come to regard me as a reliable lodestone in his life; it would not do to unsettle him with rapid change.

I was therefore quite surprised one morning when Mr. Wooster responded to a mild stroke of my thumb over his jaw while I arranged his tie by clasping both hands behind my neck and kissing me soundly.

“Jeeves,” he said, somewhat muffled by the proximity of his lips to my own. “Were you planning on teasing me forever?”

I was not certain how to answer that, so it was fortunate that the capacity for speech was momentarily incapacitated due to my employer’s enthusiasm.

“Sir,” I said when I was able to catch my breath. “I believe your collar has become disarrayed.”

“Yes,” he said. “I believe yours has as well.”

I could not argue with him on this point.

“Sir,” I tried again somewhat later. “I must admit I am... surprised.”

He gave an exasperated sigh, which puffed rather distractingly against my neck. “Well, I am sorry about the way I sprung it on you like that, but a fellow can hardly be expected to endure temptation forever.” He paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t there a chap who had to? Something about a tarantula in the water. One of those big ones, you know, with the fangs and whatnot.”

I blinked at him, feeling rather dazed by recent events. Long practice with the vagaries of his mind soon brought me the answer, though. “I believe you mean Tantalus, sir, who was condemned to an eternity of temptation. He was forced to stand in a pool of water that receded when he attempted to drink.”

“Right, that’s the one,” he replied. “Well, ever since you found me out, I’ve felt like that poor fellow.”

“Sir?”

“You know, with all this cat and mouse bit you’ve been playing at. I thought you were never going to pounce. You could drive a man fully ‘round the bend with that sort of business, Jeeves.”

It was then that I realized I had applied more caution than necessary. Mr. Wooster was undeniably eager for this change in our relationship. I could not help feeling relieved that he did not, in fact, want a surrogate parent. I would have taken such a role if it pleased him, but I found this one far more suited to my own desires.

I conveyed to him my earlier suppositions about his childhood and my place as a parent figure in his life. He goggled at me in a way that I must admit I found rather endearing, and then he laughed for a very long time.

“A parent!” he sputtered, lolling in my arms, undone with mirth. “You, Jeeves? As if I’d mistake you for my dear old mother! I should certainly hope not, or this would be quite improper, what?”

It occurred to me that the activities we had been pleasantly engaged in over the past hour would also be frowned upon by polite society; however, I chose not to mention it to him. Such might discourage him from the highly gratifying activity which currently occupied his hands.

Never let it be said that I am reluctant to embrace new knowledge when it presents itself. Although I had not expected to reach such an understanding with Mr. Wooster so soon, I welcomed the change. I endeavor to be prepared and never caught unaware; the following morning, when he interrupted morning tea by wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back into the bed, I was not surprised at all.

~~~

End