Note: This hypothetically takes place at the beginning of the novel, Jeeves in the Offing, inspired by its description of Jeeves's departure (which I used as the fic summary).

It was that dreaded time of year again when Jeeves took his annual vacation. As chummy as things have always been between us, Jeeves is a hardworking man and deserves his well-earned rest. That's not to say I don't look upon the long days of his absence with more than a little trepidation, but, well, I tried to keep a stiff upper-lip as we stood in the hall for our tearful farewells.

I clapped him on the shoulder and attempted to unship a toothy beam.

It must not have passed muster, however, because Jeeves answered, "Are you certain you do not wish for me to remain another day?"

"Not at all," I insisted valiantly - if that conveys the sense I want - "I'll just be off to Aunt Dahlia's where I can relax without a care in the world." I gave an airy wave of my arm for emphasis.

"Indeed, sir."

I detected that old vein of skepticism of his, which earned him a reproachful look, but I confess I didn't really have the heart to argue. Even a man with as much sang froid as I couldn't help feeling a little drippy at this juncture. Still, I forged on, "And don't you worry, I won't so much as think Bobbie Wickham's name. Consider it abolished from the Wooster memory! The only name upon my lips will be your own."

On this point some explanation may be needed. Roberta Wickham, slotted to be one of my fellow inmates at the aged relative's abode, was a beautiful girl who, on one occasion, I'd gone so far as to ask to marry me, much to Jeeves's chagrin. Fortunately it hadn't worked out. She turned me down with a laugh, though it took stabbing Sir Rodrick Glossop's hot-water bottle at her suggestion for me to see that Jeeves had been quite right about her; I wouldn't have another peaceful moment if I took her to the altar. A stronger man than I was needed for such an office, if such a man could be found.

Getting back to the present moment, Jeeves replied, "Very good, sir," and he seemed pleased, though sometimes it's a bit hard to tell with him. The corner of his lips lifted a smidge and I took it as a good sign.

"Well," I said after a pause, shifting my feet awkwardly and taking Jeeves's hand with some thought of shaking it, "I suppose you must be popping off. I wouldn't want to keep you from your shrimp."

"Not at all, sir. Parting is such sweet sorrow that I'll say goodnight till it be morrow."

I thought I recognized the gag from somewhere. "Shakespeare?" I hazarded a guess.

"Very good, sir. Romeo and Juliet."

When in doubt, Shakespeare is usually as good a guess as any and Jeeves is particularly fond of his romantic stuff. "A lucky guess," I admitted.

"Yes, sir."

My smile wavered. "I feel like that fellow who's always moaning about losing gazelles. How does it go? 'I never nursed a dear gazelle' - and something about 'a soft black eye' - 'but when it came to know me well, and love me, it was sure to die.'"

"'To glad me with its soft black eye', sir."

"'Glad'? You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you say so, Jeeves."

"It's an archaic form equivalent to 'gladden', meaning 'to make glad'."

I gave it some consideration. "I'm certainly not glad now, but I think I understand the principle. But don't you worry about me, enjoy your shrimping and return tan and fit. In the meantime I'll make like Daniel in the lion's den and emerge a friend to all - except Bobbie Wickham, of course."

"Very good, sir."

I belatedly released Jeeves's hand after making only a cursory attempt at giving it a proper shake.

He paused a moment on the threshold, one hand on the doorknob about to turn. Instead, abruptly, he lifted my chin and leaned in toward me. His dark eyes seemed to hide infinite depths. He pressed his lips to mine for but an instant and then he was gone.