trista_zevkia: (Wooo)
[personal profile] trista_zevkia
Title: I'm Chuffed
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Bertie/Reg
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: Attending a wedding, Bertie starts angsting. Fortunatly for him, Jeeves is thinking.
Disclaimer: All monies made will go to seducing people to the world of Wodehouse, even if it means making them watch the Fry and Laurie DVD’s.
Author's Notes: For chuffing comment here , to help me get out of my rut.



The meeting of Biffy Biffen and his love who he forgot the name thereof, had long lasting effects. For me, and not just him and his suddenly remembered intended. While Mabel and the Jeeves noble Viking bloodline planned out the simple, elegant ceremony, I had to spend two weeks as a guest at Biffy’s family’s country house. I was tasked with keeping track of Biffy, reminding him on a regular basis what was going on and who it was going on with.

“What ho, Biffy.” I’d call, entering a room inhabited by the blot in question.

“Morning Bertie.”

“We just finished lunch, Biffy.”

“Oh. Why were all those people eating with us?”

“They were your family, Biffy. They are here for the wedding, your wedding, tomorrow. To Mabel.”

“Isn’t Mabel just wonderful? I love her so, it makes me want to see you happily married. Why haven’t you found a Mabel yet, Balmy?”

“I’m Bertie, Balmy is coming in tonight.”

“Tonight? For what?”

And so it went with Biffy. I was used to it, after almost two weeks of the same thing, but this was the first time Biffy had asked after me. I couldn’t tell him, for many reasons, including the one where he’d accidentally say something to the wrong person. I was as married as I would ever be, for the simple fact that I was one of nature’s most bachelor of bachelors. I was happy, content with my lot, until the wedding.

I’d been to several of my friends weddings, often hiding behind pillars or Jeeves until the bride passed me by, least she spot me and change her mind. Sounds a bit conceited, if that’s the word that means full of self with no room for anyone else, but after the second time it happened I tend to hide.

Today, after bowing out of the race to be Biffy’s best man, as he’d asked three other people and forgotten, I was seated in one of the few remaining expanses of pew space. A murmur through the crowd and the prescribed change in music let it be known that the bride was entering and I turned with a bit of fear.

She was beautiful, in a simple and elegant gown that was probably a family heirloom. Did I mention her family included one Reginald Jeeves? Her father wasn’t available, so said Reginald Jeeves was walking her down the aisle, even though he’d said something about it not actually being an aisle and people who called it that didn’t know any better. I only just remembered what he said after he said it, but I sure couldn’t remember that word right now.

Beautiful was the only word I think of, at the sight of Reg in full fish and soup.

The bride does smile at me, but keeps walking. All that matters is the way Reg catches my eye as he walks by, and I know, for once in my mentally negligible life, that I am thinking the same thought as so brilliant his head sticks out Jeeves. I wish it was us walking down that aisle like thing.

They make it to the front, and I collapse into the pew. Everybody else sits after the benediction, so I don’t think anyone notices. After a few moments, my body manages to stand and sit with everyone else, my mind struggling with all the things Reg won’t have. No wife and little ones to look after, no one to keep his brilliance active, and that’s the best option, the one where we don’t get caught being unnatural together. The world should be peopled with Jeeves, and I’ve taken the most darling, fantastical specimen off the market.

I’m standing with the rest of the crowd, when I notice they are following the new couple down the aisle like thing. I sit back and try to look happy for them, or at least happy that Biffy has a new, permanent, and not Bertie Wooster keeper.

“Sir.”

That voice is probably the only thing in the world that could bring me out of my dark thoughts, but I can’t quite look into his blue eyes just yet. He moves away and I hear a door close, then his hand is pulling me up to stand beside him. Reg pulls my head up so that I have to look into his eyes, and the way they are smiling at me. It occurs to me that it’s not a smile I see in public, so I take a quick look around. We seem to be alone in the church, so I try to smile back at him.

“You should have a home and a family, not saddled with this blot.”

He looks at me for just a moment, then pulls me around, not to face him or anything one might wish, but to face the alter. He links my elbow with his, the way he’d done to his niece an eternity before, and starts to walk. I can’t help but move with him, even as I crane my neck around, to make sure we are alone. In front of the alter, we turn to face each other. He says the words I wasn’t paying attention to earlier, but I manage to squeak out my response in the right place. He guides me through my part, my part of getting him to say his part, and he does.

Everything is frozen for a moment, after Reg agrees to love this blot, and we lean together for a kiss. As married a kiss as I’ll ever have, even if we are only married in our eyes. A kiss in a public place, just as rare, even if there is no public in said p. p. He’s smiling at me, and I’m smiling back in the way that makes him want to touch me. He’s told me that on several occasions, but for now he simply reaches up to brush lightly over my hair.

The sound of the door opening turns his movement into something else, and he’s holding my head tilted back at an uncomfortable angle when a voice calls.

“Uncle Reg, Mable wants to know if you’re coming to the reception.”

“Shortly. Mr. Wooster has something in his eye.”

“I’ll tell her then.”

Footsteps recede, without the closing of the door, and Reg reluctantly lets me go.

“My nephew, William, has a distinctive footstep and tendency to gossip.”

“I understand, and even if I didn’t, I know you well enough to trust whatever seemingly mysterious, Jeevesian miracle you perform. My husband.”

The words slip out, tumbling out of the wide grin that’s been on my face for a while now.
Jeeves eyebrows don’t even twitch, but the rest of his face changes. He clearly likes those words, and only his remarkable self-control holds him back.

“Reg, no matter what my aunts or friends may say to me, I’ll know I’m not a blot.”

“What words of mine have finally convinced you of this fact, Bertram?”

“No words, that look you had a moment ago. You looked as if it took every ounce of your considerable youness to stop from devouring me on the spot.”

“I’m surprised I can avoid wearing that expression all the time, my husband.”

It’s a low blow, approximately in the region of my knees, as they start quaking like parts of San Francisco. Only Jeeves’ perfectly emotionless stuffed frog expression keeps me upright, and the glint in his eyes shows me he knows it.

“Sir, if I may be so bold as to suggest it, the time will pass quicker if we attend the reception.”

“It’ll still be ages before we make it back to the flat. I’m expected to visit Easeby after this, you know.”

“Indeed, sir, but it is only a few hours before I can see to your evening needs.”

That hits me above the knees and below the belt, so Reg does have to grab my arm to support me. When I’m ready to balance on my shaky legs again, he turns me to leave the chapel. I glance behind me and offer a prayer, even though I’m sure it will be granted. I pray, I hope, I know, that I’ll always appreciate the marvel in my life, my man Jeeves, my husband Reginald.
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