Shropshire Seattle
Oct. 16th, 2011 01:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trista_zevkiaTitle: Shropshire Seattle
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster, X-men: First Class
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH unbeta'd
Summary: Strange mutants meet strange, but polite, mutants.
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: An FLister, who shall remain anonymous unless she'll admit to her part in this, was talking about crossovers doing a great deal of sucking. I attempted to explain that they work, but only if the author sicks with the confines of the universes of both fandoms. Some fandoms, like Jeeves and Wooster and Dr. Who or Star Trek, are canonically all over or such fluff, that anything goes. And then somebody pimped the muti-fandom crossover exchange, which had a pic of Rogue and Jeeves & Wooster. So none of what follows is my fault!
The Fluff
“What kind of person decides to live in Seattle?” Erik muttered, turning up his collar against the damp.
“I told you he was weird.” Charles replied, trying not to think of how much it reminded him of England. Well, rural England, with a lot more trees. Weird? No, this was a bizarre one. Cerebro only let him see the mutants, not what they were capable of, but he doubted transplanting a patch of England to Seattle would be a useful gift. Cerebro had shown him this mutant, a powerful one in a colorful suit from the 1920’s.
The gate was half a mile from the house, a twisting path lined with trees. Beyond the trees were only darkness and fog, though it wasn’t six at night yet. They’d parked at the locked gate, and walked toward a stately home that looked like it had been transferred from another time. A gust of cold wind blew the fog away for a brief second, and Erick made a confused noise.
“Looks like a house in Shropshire.”
Charles knew better, but he still checked to make sure he hadn’t planted the idea in Erik’s head. He’d never made it to Shropshire, so he couldn’t have given Eric the idea. “I thought rural England, so I guess that works too.”
A flick of Erik’s hand and the old fashioned door knocker announced their presence. They didn’t have to wait long, as the door was opened by an old man in an old fashioned suit.
“A butler?” Erik asked, and the old man twitched a bushy eyebrow at them.
“May I assist you, sirs?”
“We’d like to speak to the…”
“Actually,” Charles interrupted, knowing Erick was about to ask for the mutant of the house. “We’d like to speak to a Bertie Wooster.”
“I see, sir.” The polite voice still managed to convey a certain scorn for those who would associate with such a person. “If you would follow me?”
The butler moved quicker than they expected, not leaving the guests much time to marvel at the old fashioned house. The butler walked them to the sitting room, and vanished so quickly he could have disappeared. Erik walked around the room, looking at everything before sitting across from Charles.
“Consider I can move metal with my mind and that I’m saying this to you, a person who can read my mind. This place is weird.”
“Yeah, it’s fifty years out of date or something. I think it’s been longer than that since Americans had butlers.”
“Oakshott came with the house, I don’t know what we’d do without him.” A dark haired girl with a British accent spoke, moving in from the door.
Charles started. He was a telepath and even when not actively using his gifts, he still knew what was going on around him. This made him a hard man to sneak up on, but this girl had just done that!
“I’m Florence Craye.” She held out a hand to Erik, and he shook it.
He was staring at the starched lace collar that covered her entire neck. It was more than a little out of fashion, but this young lady seemed too serious to be concerned with such things. “Erik, Miss Craye. We’re here for Mr. Wooster.”
“Oh, that blot! Shouldn’t you be wearing white coats, if you’re here to take him away?”
Charles stood, attracting her attention. As they shook hands, he skimmed the surface of her mind. She was angry at Bertie, something about going down a drainpipe and landing on a dog. She wasn’t specific on the details, nor did she have proof, but she knew Bertie was at the heart of it. “My name is Charles. We’re classmates of Bertie’s.”
“So you know what a complete ass he is! Can you believe I almost married him?” The look she turned on Erik wasn’t searching for sympathy. “Luckily, I’m waiting for the perfect intellectual companion.”
“Charles there is a doctor.” Erik said, pointing behind Florence.
Charles choked back a laugh at how quickly Erik sought refuge from this woman.
“What do doctors know?” Florence dismissed Charles with a boney hand. “I’m looking for someone who can debate ethical theory and the wonders of resurgent womanhood.”
A delicate cough, and Florence turned to stair haughtily at the doorway. A tall, dark headed man in an outfit like the butler’s was there, emotionlessly handling her scorn.
“Forgive me, Madame, but master Edwin is seeking you.”
Florence turned back to Erik with a fake smile and harsh eyes. “Oh dear. I must attend to my brother, but I do hope we’ll get to talk later.”
Florence left the room, and Charles let himself laugh at the look on Erik’s face. Erik wasn’t amused at all, which only made Charles laugh more. He managed to sober up as a new presence closed in on the room. The presence stopped to knock softly on the door.
“Miss Craye has left the room, Sir.” The second butler said, opening the door in question. A fair haired young man in a dapper suit darted into the room.
Charles could feel the sympathy coming from Erik, who knew this was the man who almost married Florence.
“What ho, what ho! I’m Bertie Wooster.” The man offered a friendly handshake, worlds away from the calculation and judgment of Florence. Charles and Erik both relaxed, grinning a little.
“I’m Charles Xavier, and this is Erik.” Charles nodded toward Erik, and took a glass from the tray held before of him. The brandy was perfect, just the thing after a walk in the cold and fog. “Mr. Wooster, could we speak to you in private?”
“Jeeves, is someone listening in?” Mr. Wooster turned to the butler with wide, innocent eyes.
“I believe Mr. Xavier was asking me to leave, Sir.”
“Oh! Well, if you’ve come for my help, you’d best let Jeeves stay.”
“We’ve come to talk to you about mutants, Mr. Wooster.” Erik cut in, not caring about who overheard him.
“Bertie, please. What’s a mutant?”
Jeeves moved back in, sliding Bertie a new glass of liquid. Bertie accepted it, without seeming to realize he’d finished the first.
Charles touched Bertie’s mind, proving the innocence was genuine. “Mutants, Bertie, are people with special abilities.”
“I thought Jeeves was just moved in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.”
Charles? Erik reached out mentally, curiosity getting the better of him.
Yes? Charles sent back, while sipping from his brandy.
Is this guy stupid?
Jury’s out on that, but his every other thought is about Jeeves.
Two for the price of one?
Depends on Jeeves’ gift.
Putting up with Bertie.
Charles snorted into his glass, more amused than he should have been. Making his face serious, Charles looked up to see his host was asleep on the couch.
Jeeves pulled the glass from Bertie’s hand before it could fall, and carried it to the sidebar. Hands empty, Jeeves turned to stare down at them, eyes guarded. Behind him, the walls melted, changing to reveal a modern, American house.
Charles reached out, and found only the four of them for miles. “They’re not real!”
“Not any longer, sir.”
“I touched Florence, felt her mind.”
“Should you have probed deeper, you would have found Mr. Wooster and his memories of the lady, sir.”
“He’s projecting his memories, and doesn’t know it?” Erik’s voice was soft, and even a non-telepath could feel his anger. A mutant’s gifts were not to be denied or belittled in Erik’s world.
“How do you suggest I should tell him all the people he loves are dead, sir?” Jeeves asked in a calm voice, carefully hiding the anger in his eyes. “Perhaps, I should tell you his story before you answer that question.”
“We’d appreciate that, since you seem to know so much.” Charles offered a smile with his flattery and sent Erik a mental message to hold back his anger.
“I will explain so that you will leave him in peace, sir, your flattery is not necessary.”
Charles bit back an apology, knowing that wouldn’t be any more welcome than his flattery.
“Mr. Wooster served bravely in World War 1, where he was injured.” Stepping to Mr. Wooster, Jeeves gently rolled his head and brushed his hair away from around his left ear. An old scar was visible, traveling along the side of his head. As if he was handling something fragile, Jeeves stroked the hair back into place before moving away. “His gift manifested as he recovered. At first, only he could see the people he talked with, and there was talk of having him committed. Do you know what mental health medicine was at the time?”
“Yes.” Charles said in a small voice. He knew what it was then, and he knew what it was now. Vast improvements, but still little better than torture.
“Would you allow the man who saved your life to go to such a place?” Jeeves maintained his placid outlook as he spoke.
“I would rip them apart, bolt by bolt.” Erik commented, his own war memories surfacing.
Charles didn’t answer the rhetorical question, knowing more was going on here.
“I helped him pass the psychological tests, and escorted him home. In order to avoid separation, I told his acquaintances that I was his valet. They aged, married and died, while Mr. Wooster stayed young, so I kept him traveling. With his parents dead, they simply forgot how old he was supposed to be.”
“They forgot he was supposed to age?” This time, Erik’s outburst spoke for Charles as well.
“I may have encouraged such an outcome. All was well, until World War II.”
Erik shifted in his seat, as if daring Jeeves to say the wrong thing.
“I abandoned Mr. Wooster, to fight in the war. My Grandmother was Jewish, and the wisest person I ever met. I could not allow such hatred for her to exist.”
Erik didn’t move, afraid of showing how tense he had been. He wasn’t one to show that much of himself to a stranger.
“I returned for Mr. Wooster, and found him like this. He was half dead, eating only his imaginary food. His friends and family had scattered and died. He had aged in the four years I was away, but not enough that he could take the title that was rightly his. I have cared for Mr. Wooster ever since. On occasion, I attempted to explain things to him, but the results have been discouraging.”
Jeeves tried to hide it, and would have from most people. Charles wasn’t most people, so he got to see Bertie screaming, crying, trying to claw his own skin open, to get out the pain he couldn’t stand. Charles saw Jeeves holding Bertie, whispering it was all a lie, just live, Sir.
“What about you?” Erik stood, staring at Jeeves while sending Charles a message. Why didn’t you see this Jeeves on Cerebro?
“I am a valet, Sir. I exist only to see to Mr. Wooster’s comfort.” Jeeves stared down Erik with the same lack of emotion that he’d shown for Florence Craye, the figment of his master’s imagination.
Maybe that’s his gift, hiding behind Bertie? Charles sent to Erik even as he spoke to Jeeves. “Jeeves, please, we’d simply like to know how you care for Bertie. If his gift is the projection of the world he wants, how do you keep track of it all? Couldn’t he fall asleep in Shropshire and wake up in New York?”
“Most often, sir, his dreams dictate how his day will go, as does his moods.”
“He decides to drive to London, you put him to sleep and he wakes up there?”
“That has occurred, sir.”
“What does he have to say about you being with him all the time?”
“If Mr. Wooster requests that I leave, I do so, sir.”
Erik snorted, seeing what Charles wasn’t asking. “But he doesn’t, because you’ve got him dependent upon you, and he keeps you young.”
Jeeves replied with the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow.
“No, Erik. Jeeves keeps them both young. How?”
“Do not ask if you seek the secret for yourself, sir.”
“I’m a scientist. We’re trying to find people, mutants, to use their gifts for all of mankind.”
“I do not believe my abilities would assist you with that, sirs.” Jeeves considered a moment, and gave a small nod as if agreeing to the request. “I am an emotional vampire. I passively absorb the feelings of people around me, and can direct those energies to whatever I choose. Such as keeping Mr. Wooster young, rich and comfortable.”
“That’s very impressive!” Charles was being honest, knowing less would not be accepted from this man. Jeeves absorbs from Bertie, so Cerebro only saw Bertie. “How did you figure all this out, when mutants are so new? A lot of scientists think they’re the results of experiments with atomic power.”
“Mutation is the basis of all genetic diversity, sir, and unsuccessful mutants do not reproduce. It would be hubris to think mankind was the only precursor of any such division.”
“What were you before you were a valet, and before a WWI soldier?” Erik clearly thought a glorified butler shouldn’t be this clever.
“Lost, sir.” Jeeves did not mean physically.
Erik could understand that, more than he would admit. “Bertie didn’t save you from a bullet.”
“His cheerful disposition is never-ending, sir. In the trenches, even while seeing reality, Mr. Wooster still believed that the men shooting at us were men. Real people with the same desires for love, family and comfort. He knew we could all die horribly at any moment, and when I was shot in the leg, he spoke of how great things would be after the war.” Jeeves let his gaze settle on Erik, sharpening his focus. “Men who desire only power often forget the things that bind us all together.”
Erik crossed his arms, staring right back.
Charles thought it might be a good idea to get up and stretch. If this caused him to walk between them, he could live with that. “So you feed off of Bertie’s energy, putting it to use keeping him young, and feeding you energy.”
“Essentially. I can feed off of many people, but have only been able to keep Mr. Wooster young.”
“Because you love him.” It was obvious to Charles, but he knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment it left his mouth.
“Sir, there are some theories you should keep to yourself.” Jeeves voice held an edge, and a flare of power.
“Please, that’ll get you into a lot less trouble than being a mutant!” Erik dismissed it as a relic of a bygone era.
“Eric, it’s still illegal, and being a mutant isn’t.”
“He can live forever with Bertie as his battery! Why should he hide from the law?”
“Sir, a world without laws and rules would allow me to do this.” Jeeves didn’t move, but worked his power.
Erik’s suspicions returned to him, strengthened, redirected. He turned to Charles with panic in his eyes, knowing that Charles would rip open his mind, pull out his skills and make him ordinary!
Charles could feel it all, but couldn’t stop it without a hurting Erik, unless he stopped Jeeves. A glance at Jeeves, and it stopped.
The valet could have been another piece of furniture for all he was affected by it. “My moral code, my personal law, prevents me from doing such a thing with impunity.”
British polite, but still a clear threat: I chose not to harm you, but mess with Mr. Wooster, and I will do so.
“I understand, Mr. Jeeves.” Erik said, carefully controlling his response to such an attack. Not from fear, but from a real understanding.
Charles would consider this unexpected side of Erik later, this version of him that understood a hidden love. For now, Charles went to set his empty glass on the sideboard, and looked out the window. While his body did that, slipping into Bertie’s mind was easy. Even as Bertie dreamed of golf, Jeeves was caddying for him. Charles took control of that dream version of the valet, and had him turn to Bertie.
”Sir, what do you think of me?”
“Jeeves, don’t talk rot.”
“Rot?”
“I’m under par, which means I’m dreaming. You don’t get to seduce me in my dreams and be so proper when I’m awake.”
“I would let you seduce me, when we are both awake.”
“What?”
“We belong together. It’s obvious to the world.”
“Except the world would give us two years at hard labor.”
"Don’t you trust me to keep you safe?”
“What do you want me to say? Jeeves, if it’s not too much to ask, would you add the care and feeding of your young master’s heart to your list of duties?”
“A single step is all I ask sir.”
Bertie drops his club, as streams of people surround him. They are screaming at him, demanding things so loudly that they can’t be understood. The tide pushes them apart, even though neither had moved in this dream world.
Charles understands, here in Bertie’s dream the demands of Bertie’s world kept him from reaching for the man he loves. Jeeves felt it would be taking advantage of a wounded man to make the first move, and the fear of reprisals was to firm in him. But Charles was an impartial observer, someone who wanted to fix that hurt. Jeeves’ dream form moved, flying over the crowd to land behind Bertie.
“I will wait for you, always.”
Bertie swings around, reaching for Jeeves even as he tried to wake up. Charles pushes him back to sleep, and suggests he remember this dream the next time he was in London. Until he was in London, this dream would fade from his memory Back with his body, the curtain was still swinging from where he had moved it aside to look outside. Time moved differently in his mental world, so Charles hid his pleasure at fixing this for Bertie and Jeeves. Turning back he smiled at Erik.
“Obviously, they don’t want to join. I guess we should be going.”
Erik knew Charles had done something, but wasn’t going to ask about it in front of Jeeves. “Good idea. I want to get to the car before it gets any colder. It was interesting meting you, Mr. Jeeves.”
“Thank you. I hope you both have a safe journey, sirs.” Smoothly, Jeeves lead the way to the front room. It was a spacious house, bought with the idea of giving Bertie’s imagination and memories room to live. Jeeves even managed to keep it immaculate, when most of the time it would be covered with an illusion.
Charles let himself smile as he moved to the front door. “We will, Jeeves. The drinks were perfect.”
“I endeavor to give satisfaction, sirs.” A polite nod, and Jeeves closed the door behind them.
Charles mentally explained to Erik, as they walked back to the car in silence. Reaching behind them, Charles felt Bertie start to wake from the drug Jeeves had slipped him.
“Jeeves?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’m ready to tackle that Morpheus chap.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“I also feel like it’s time to return to the metrop.”
“I shall pack your things, Sir.”
Charles smirked as he got into the car, knowing Jeeves was about to discover a love worth waiting for.
J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster, X-men: First Class
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH unbeta'd
Summary: Strange mutants meet strange, but polite, mutants.
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: An FLister, who shall remain anonymous unless she'll admit to her part in this, was talking about crossovers doing a great deal of sucking. I attempted to explain that they work, but only if the author sicks with the confines of the universes of both fandoms. Some fandoms, like Jeeves and Wooster and Dr. Who or Star Trek, are canonically all over or such fluff, that anything goes. And then somebody pimped the muti-fandom crossover exchange, which had a pic of Rogue and Jeeves & Wooster. So none of what follows is my fault!
The Fluff
“What kind of person decides to live in Seattle?” Erik muttered, turning up his collar against the damp.
“I told you he was weird.” Charles replied, trying not to think of how much it reminded him of England. Well, rural England, with a lot more trees. Weird? No, this was a bizarre one. Cerebro only let him see the mutants, not what they were capable of, but he doubted transplanting a patch of England to Seattle would be a useful gift. Cerebro had shown him this mutant, a powerful one in a colorful suit from the 1920’s.
The gate was half a mile from the house, a twisting path lined with trees. Beyond the trees were only darkness and fog, though it wasn’t six at night yet. They’d parked at the locked gate, and walked toward a stately home that looked like it had been transferred from another time. A gust of cold wind blew the fog away for a brief second, and Erick made a confused noise.
“Looks like a house in Shropshire.”
Charles knew better, but he still checked to make sure he hadn’t planted the idea in Erik’s head. He’d never made it to Shropshire, so he couldn’t have given Eric the idea. “I thought rural England, so I guess that works too.”
A flick of Erik’s hand and the old fashioned door knocker announced their presence. They didn’t have to wait long, as the door was opened by an old man in an old fashioned suit.
“A butler?” Erik asked, and the old man twitched a bushy eyebrow at them.
“May I assist you, sirs?”
“We’d like to speak to the…”
“Actually,” Charles interrupted, knowing Erick was about to ask for the mutant of the house. “We’d like to speak to a Bertie Wooster.”
“I see, sir.” The polite voice still managed to convey a certain scorn for those who would associate with such a person. “If you would follow me?”
The butler moved quicker than they expected, not leaving the guests much time to marvel at the old fashioned house. The butler walked them to the sitting room, and vanished so quickly he could have disappeared. Erik walked around the room, looking at everything before sitting across from Charles.
“Consider I can move metal with my mind and that I’m saying this to you, a person who can read my mind. This place is weird.”
“Yeah, it’s fifty years out of date or something. I think it’s been longer than that since Americans had butlers.”
“Oakshott came with the house, I don’t know what we’d do without him.” A dark haired girl with a British accent spoke, moving in from the door.
Charles started. He was a telepath and even when not actively using his gifts, he still knew what was going on around him. This made him a hard man to sneak up on, but this girl had just done that!
“I’m Florence Craye.” She held out a hand to Erik, and he shook it.
He was staring at the starched lace collar that covered her entire neck. It was more than a little out of fashion, but this young lady seemed too serious to be concerned with such things. “Erik, Miss Craye. We’re here for Mr. Wooster.”
“Oh, that blot! Shouldn’t you be wearing white coats, if you’re here to take him away?”
Charles stood, attracting her attention. As they shook hands, he skimmed the surface of her mind. She was angry at Bertie, something about going down a drainpipe and landing on a dog. She wasn’t specific on the details, nor did she have proof, but she knew Bertie was at the heart of it. “My name is Charles. We’re classmates of Bertie’s.”
“So you know what a complete ass he is! Can you believe I almost married him?” The look she turned on Erik wasn’t searching for sympathy. “Luckily, I’m waiting for the perfect intellectual companion.”
“Charles there is a doctor.” Erik said, pointing behind Florence.
Charles choked back a laugh at how quickly Erik sought refuge from this woman.
“What do doctors know?” Florence dismissed Charles with a boney hand. “I’m looking for someone who can debate ethical theory and the wonders of resurgent womanhood.”
A delicate cough, and Florence turned to stair haughtily at the doorway. A tall, dark headed man in an outfit like the butler’s was there, emotionlessly handling her scorn.
“Forgive me, Madame, but master Edwin is seeking you.”
Florence turned back to Erik with a fake smile and harsh eyes. “Oh dear. I must attend to my brother, but I do hope we’ll get to talk later.”
Florence left the room, and Charles let himself laugh at the look on Erik’s face. Erik wasn’t amused at all, which only made Charles laugh more. He managed to sober up as a new presence closed in on the room. The presence stopped to knock softly on the door.
“Miss Craye has left the room, Sir.” The second butler said, opening the door in question. A fair haired young man in a dapper suit darted into the room.
Charles could feel the sympathy coming from Erik, who knew this was the man who almost married Florence.
“What ho, what ho! I’m Bertie Wooster.” The man offered a friendly handshake, worlds away from the calculation and judgment of Florence. Charles and Erik both relaxed, grinning a little.
“I’m Charles Xavier, and this is Erik.” Charles nodded toward Erik, and took a glass from the tray held before of him. The brandy was perfect, just the thing after a walk in the cold and fog. “Mr. Wooster, could we speak to you in private?”
“Jeeves, is someone listening in?” Mr. Wooster turned to the butler with wide, innocent eyes.
“I believe Mr. Xavier was asking me to leave, Sir.”
“Oh! Well, if you’ve come for my help, you’d best let Jeeves stay.”
“We’ve come to talk to you about mutants, Mr. Wooster.” Erik cut in, not caring about who overheard him.
“Bertie, please. What’s a mutant?”
Jeeves moved back in, sliding Bertie a new glass of liquid. Bertie accepted it, without seeming to realize he’d finished the first.
Charles touched Bertie’s mind, proving the innocence was genuine. “Mutants, Bertie, are people with special abilities.”
“I thought Jeeves was just moved in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.”
Charles? Erik reached out mentally, curiosity getting the better of him.
Yes? Charles sent back, while sipping from his brandy.
Is this guy stupid?
Jury’s out on that, but his every other thought is about Jeeves.
Two for the price of one?
Depends on Jeeves’ gift.
Putting up with Bertie.
Charles snorted into his glass, more amused than he should have been. Making his face serious, Charles looked up to see his host was asleep on the couch.
Jeeves pulled the glass from Bertie’s hand before it could fall, and carried it to the sidebar. Hands empty, Jeeves turned to stare down at them, eyes guarded. Behind him, the walls melted, changing to reveal a modern, American house.
Charles reached out, and found only the four of them for miles. “They’re not real!”
“Not any longer, sir.”
“I touched Florence, felt her mind.”
“Should you have probed deeper, you would have found Mr. Wooster and his memories of the lady, sir.”
“He’s projecting his memories, and doesn’t know it?” Erik’s voice was soft, and even a non-telepath could feel his anger. A mutant’s gifts were not to be denied or belittled in Erik’s world.
“How do you suggest I should tell him all the people he loves are dead, sir?” Jeeves asked in a calm voice, carefully hiding the anger in his eyes. “Perhaps, I should tell you his story before you answer that question.”
“We’d appreciate that, since you seem to know so much.” Charles offered a smile with his flattery and sent Erik a mental message to hold back his anger.
“I will explain so that you will leave him in peace, sir, your flattery is not necessary.”
Charles bit back an apology, knowing that wouldn’t be any more welcome than his flattery.
“Mr. Wooster served bravely in World War 1, where he was injured.” Stepping to Mr. Wooster, Jeeves gently rolled his head and brushed his hair away from around his left ear. An old scar was visible, traveling along the side of his head. As if he was handling something fragile, Jeeves stroked the hair back into place before moving away. “His gift manifested as he recovered. At first, only he could see the people he talked with, and there was talk of having him committed. Do you know what mental health medicine was at the time?”
“Yes.” Charles said in a small voice. He knew what it was then, and he knew what it was now. Vast improvements, but still little better than torture.
“Would you allow the man who saved your life to go to such a place?” Jeeves maintained his placid outlook as he spoke.
“I would rip them apart, bolt by bolt.” Erik commented, his own war memories surfacing.
Charles didn’t answer the rhetorical question, knowing more was going on here.
“I helped him pass the psychological tests, and escorted him home. In order to avoid separation, I told his acquaintances that I was his valet. They aged, married and died, while Mr. Wooster stayed young, so I kept him traveling. With his parents dead, they simply forgot how old he was supposed to be.”
“They forgot he was supposed to age?” This time, Erik’s outburst spoke for Charles as well.
“I may have encouraged such an outcome. All was well, until World War II.”
Erik shifted in his seat, as if daring Jeeves to say the wrong thing.
“I abandoned Mr. Wooster, to fight in the war. My Grandmother was Jewish, and the wisest person I ever met. I could not allow such hatred for her to exist.”
Erik didn’t move, afraid of showing how tense he had been. He wasn’t one to show that much of himself to a stranger.
“I returned for Mr. Wooster, and found him like this. He was half dead, eating only his imaginary food. His friends and family had scattered and died. He had aged in the four years I was away, but not enough that he could take the title that was rightly his. I have cared for Mr. Wooster ever since. On occasion, I attempted to explain things to him, but the results have been discouraging.”
Jeeves tried to hide it, and would have from most people. Charles wasn’t most people, so he got to see Bertie screaming, crying, trying to claw his own skin open, to get out the pain he couldn’t stand. Charles saw Jeeves holding Bertie, whispering it was all a lie, just live, Sir.
“What about you?” Erik stood, staring at Jeeves while sending Charles a message. Why didn’t you see this Jeeves on Cerebro?
“I am a valet, Sir. I exist only to see to Mr. Wooster’s comfort.” Jeeves stared down Erik with the same lack of emotion that he’d shown for Florence Craye, the figment of his master’s imagination.
Maybe that’s his gift, hiding behind Bertie? Charles sent to Erik even as he spoke to Jeeves. “Jeeves, please, we’d simply like to know how you care for Bertie. If his gift is the projection of the world he wants, how do you keep track of it all? Couldn’t he fall asleep in Shropshire and wake up in New York?”
“Most often, sir, his dreams dictate how his day will go, as does his moods.”
“He decides to drive to London, you put him to sleep and he wakes up there?”
“That has occurred, sir.”
“What does he have to say about you being with him all the time?”
“If Mr. Wooster requests that I leave, I do so, sir.”
Erik snorted, seeing what Charles wasn’t asking. “But he doesn’t, because you’ve got him dependent upon you, and he keeps you young.”
Jeeves replied with the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow.
“No, Erik. Jeeves keeps them both young. How?”
“Do not ask if you seek the secret for yourself, sir.”
“I’m a scientist. We’re trying to find people, mutants, to use their gifts for all of mankind.”
“I do not believe my abilities would assist you with that, sirs.” Jeeves considered a moment, and gave a small nod as if agreeing to the request. “I am an emotional vampire. I passively absorb the feelings of people around me, and can direct those energies to whatever I choose. Such as keeping Mr. Wooster young, rich and comfortable.”
“That’s very impressive!” Charles was being honest, knowing less would not be accepted from this man. Jeeves absorbs from Bertie, so Cerebro only saw Bertie. “How did you figure all this out, when mutants are so new? A lot of scientists think they’re the results of experiments with atomic power.”
“Mutation is the basis of all genetic diversity, sir, and unsuccessful mutants do not reproduce. It would be hubris to think mankind was the only precursor of any such division.”
“What were you before you were a valet, and before a WWI soldier?” Erik clearly thought a glorified butler shouldn’t be this clever.
“Lost, sir.” Jeeves did not mean physically.
Erik could understand that, more than he would admit. “Bertie didn’t save you from a bullet.”
“His cheerful disposition is never-ending, sir. In the trenches, even while seeing reality, Mr. Wooster still believed that the men shooting at us were men. Real people with the same desires for love, family and comfort. He knew we could all die horribly at any moment, and when I was shot in the leg, he spoke of how great things would be after the war.” Jeeves let his gaze settle on Erik, sharpening his focus. “Men who desire only power often forget the things that bind us all together.”
Erik crossed his arms, staring right back.
Charles thought it might be a good idea to get up and stretch. If this caused him to walk between them, he could live with that. “So you feed off of Bertie’s energy, putting it to use keeping him young, and feeding you energy.”
“Essentially. I can feed off of many people, but have only been able to keep Mr. Wooster young.”
“Because you love him.” It was obvious to Charles, but he knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment it left his mouth.
“Sir, there are some theories you should keep to yourself.” Jeeves voice held an edge, and a flare of power.
“Please, that’ll get you into a lot less trouble than being a mutant!” Erik dismissed it as a relic of a bygone era.
“Eric, it’s still illegal, and being a mutant isn’t.”
“He can live forever with Bertie as his battery! Why should he hide from the law?”
“Sir, a world without laws and rules would allow me to do this.” Jeeves didn’t move, but worked his power.
Erik’s suspicions returned to him, strengthened, redirected. He turned to Charles with panic in his eyes, knowing that Charles would rip open his mind, pull out his skills and make him ordinary!
Charles could feel it all, but couldn’t stop it without a hurting Erik, unless he stopped Jeeves. A glance at Jeeves, and it stopped.
The valet could have been another piece of furniture for all he was affected by it. “My moral code, my personal law, prevents me from doing such a thing with impunity.”
British polite, but still a clear threat: I chose not to harm you, but mess with Mr. Wooster, and I will do so.
“I understand, Mr. Jeeves.” Erik said, carefully controlling his response to such an attack. Not from fear, but from a real understanding.
Charles would consider this unexpected side of Erik later, this version of him that understood a hidden love. For now, Charles went to set his empty glass on the sideboard, and looked out the window. While his body did that, slipping into Bertie’s mind was easy. Even as Bertie dreamed of golf, Jeeves was caddying for him. Charles took control of that dream version of the valet, and had him turn to Bertie.
”Sir, what do you think of me?”
“Jeeves, don’t talk rot.”
“Rot?”
“I’m under par, which means I’m dreaming. You don’t get to seduce me in my dreams and be so proper when I’m awake.”
“I would let you seduce me, when we are both awake.”
“What?”
“We belong together. It’s obvious to the world.”
“Except the world would give us two years at hard labor.”
"Don’t you trust me to keep you safe?”
“What do you want me to say? Jeeves, if it’s not too much to ask, would you add the care and feeding of your young master’s heart to your list of duties?”
“A single step is all I ask sir.”
Bertie drops his club, as streams of people surround him. They are screaming at him, demanding things so loudly that they can’t be understood. The tide pushes them apart, even though neither had moved in this dream world.
Charles understands, here in Bertie’s dream the demands of Bertie’s world kept him from reaching for the man he loves. Jeeves felt it would be taking advantage of a wounded man to make the first move, and the fear of reprisals was to firm in him. But Charles was an impartial observer, someone who wanted to fix that hurt. Jeeves’ dream form moved, flying over the crowd to land behind Bertie.
“I will wait for you, always.”
Bertie swings around, reaching for Jeeves even as he tried to wake up. Charles pushes him back to sleep, and suggests he remember this dream the next time he was in London. Until he was in London, this dream would fade from his memory Back with his body, the curtain was still swinging from where he had moved it aside to look outside. Time moved differently in his mental world, so Charles hid his pleasure at fixing this for Bertie and Jeeves. Turning back he smiled at Erik.
“Obviously, they don’t want to join. I guess we should be going.”
Erik knew Charles had done something, but wasn’t going to ask about it in front of Jeeves. “Good idea. I want to get to the car before it gets any colder. It was interesting meting you, Mr. Jeeves.”
“Thank you. I hope you both have a safe journey, sirs.” Smoothly, Jeeves lead the way to the front room. It was a spacious house, bought with the idea of giving Bertie’s imagination and memories room to live. Jeeves even managed to keep it immaculate, when most of the time it would be covered with an illusion.
Charles let himself smile as he moved to the front door. “We will, Jeeves. The drinks were perfect.”
“I endeavor to give satisfaction, sirs.” A polite nod, and Jeeves closed the door behind them.
Charles mentally explained to Erik, as they walked back to the car in silence. Reaching behind them, Charles felt Bertie start to wake from the drug Jeeves had slipped him.
“Jeeves?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’m ready to tackle that Morpheus chap.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“I also feel like it’s time to return to the metrop.”
“I shall pack your things, Sir.”
Charles smirked as he got into the car, knowing Jeeves was about to discover a love worth waiting for.
