Work Text:
Jeeves's POV:
I never volunteer my Christian name. "Jeeves" is quite sufficient, as Mr. Wooster addresses me. When we encountered Mr. Binley again, the fellow didn't hesitate to use my first name. I have never held any fondness for Mr. Binley; he is invariably frivolous, inattentive to propriety, and engages in conversation with no sense of personal boundaries.
Upon our return to the flat, the young master developed a keen interest in the matter of my nomenclature. He emitted a satisfied exclamation over his whisky, his eyes bright with curiosity and a genuine smile playing about his lips, clearly intending to interrogate me.
"I say, Jeeves, your first name really is Reginald?"
"Yes, sir."
"R-E-G-I-N-A-L-D?"
"Indeed, sir."
"Splendid! I rather thought you mightn't have one at all—like being stuck with Bertie as a surname, so you'd rather not mention it, that sort of thing. But you've been in my service quite some time now, Jeeves. I have a, well, a small question. We Woosters believe in directness."
"Please do ask, sir."
I observed him shift from his lounging position on the sofa, sit upright, place his hands on his knees, take a deep breath, and fix me with a determined stare.
"Would it be alright if I called you... Reginald? Or Reggie, perhaps?"
My heart gave a little flutter. Even though our relationship has reached a stage that might be termed "friendship" at its highest level, Mr. Wooster is still my employer. In daily affairs, such familiar address could lead to misunderstandings best avoided.
"I'm afraid not, sir. You are my employer; we must avoid overly familiar forms of address that might land you in an awkward position again."
"But you're here, aren't you? It's just the two of us in the flat. Surely it would be alright then, just between us?"
He rose from the sofa, approached me step by step, hands on his hips, fixing me with that perplexed, slightly vacant stare. I confess it's sometimes difficult to refuse Mr. Wooster when he employs that expression. Those blue eyes of his held a glimmer of hope at that moment, and looking at his face, I felt my resolve beginning to melt.
I raised an eyebrow, conceding to him in a rare moment of leniency.
"Very well, sir. But only when we are alone."
"Top hole!"
I am not one to regret decisions, but ever since I acceded to the young master's request, he seems to have taken every opportunity to use my name during our conversations.
I recall the following recent instances:
After I had extricated him from a new predicament and matters were settled, as we were preparing to drive away, he announced:
"Off we go, Reginald! The night is young and full of possibilities!"
I simply drove off in silence.
While I was polishing silver in the flat, he would often flutter over like a butterfly, regaling me with the troubles his friends were facing and seeking my counsel. After I offered a few suggestions, I would hear a murmured:
"Thank you, Reginald."
My hand would pause in its work for a fraction of a second. Mr. Wooster is remarkably observant of my movements, using them to gauge my mood. My slight hesitation would alert him to his lapse, and he would correct himself back to "Jeeves."
Although I had consented to this change in address, my unscientific tally suggests the young master has been using my Christian name with increasing frequency. Roughly three to four times daily, on random occasions, with an indescribable variety of intonations.
There is, in itself, nothing improper about this. Christian names are, after all, meant to be used.
But when he said, "Goodnight, Reginald" last evening, I found myself standing in the corridor for an unconscionable time, quite unexpectedly affected.
After careful consideration, I felt it necessary to bring this matter to the young master's attention.
It has been a very long time since anyone called me "Reginald" or "Reggie." When I form the name with my own lips, it feels like a cold, distant incantation—uttering it feels strange, my lips stiff. The last time my Christian name was spoken with warmth and familiarity would have been by my family, and that was many years ago.
The young master had just returned. I took his coat and stick.
"Sir, may I venture to make a small request?"
"Mm? Go ahead."
"I feel it is perhaps not entirely proper for you to address me as 'Reginald.' You have begun using my Christian name of late. There is, in itself, nothing improper about this—Christian names are, after all, meant to be used. However, given the nature of our relationship, such familiar address seems more fitting between family members. As the poet—"
"Right ho, Jeeves, I understand." The young master interrupted my flow. "But might I be permitted to use your Christian name just one last time? Every story needs an ending, what?"
"As you wish, sir."
What followed was quite unexpected. He appeared struck by a sudden inspiration, produced the red rose he often carries for decorative purposes from his pocket, stepped towards me, and carefully tucked the flower into my lapel.
"Reggie."
He looked at me with that serious, determined expression, his blue eyes calling to mind the vastness of the Atlantic, threatening to draw me, a great ship, down into their depths.
I am not accustomed to strong emotional displays, but on this occasion, my composure was sorely tested. I felt the tips of my ears grow unaccountably warm. Forcing myself to remain calm, I formulated my response.
"Bertie Wilberforce Wooster."
He fixed me with that same perplexed, slightly desperate gaze, then let out a startled exclamation.
"Dash it all, Jeeves!"
I observed him drop his gaze, no longer meeting my eyes, his hand tightening on my lapel.
"Sir?"
"I mean to say—well—next time you must warn me before saying my name. Give a fellow some preparation, what?"
I watched as his head seemed inclined to rest against my chest, those soft curls appearing to tremble slightly, the tips of his ears and his cheeks suffused with a faint blush. I deduced my purpose had been achieved. Perhaps now he understood how profoundly significant a name can be, how it can signify more than any other form of address.
"Very good, sir. If that is to your satisfaction."