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[cherrypep.livejournal.com]

Title: A Night at the Drones
Summary: Bad time to be having a bad time.
Rating: G
Word count: 1000
Disclaimer: I don't own any Wodehouse characters. Sadly.
Comment: What's this? A large number of unposted fics on my hard drive?...



A Night at the Drones

After an uncomfortable taxi-ride I reached my doorway, soggy, half-stewed and ruined of heart. When safely indoors I stripped off the worsted jacket, dislodging some errant pondweed. The trousers followed.

I perceived Jeeves staring at my shirttails. My heart sank. "Don't," I said. "Not today"

"Is that magenta garment the result of a practical joke?"

Bitterly: "Never mind my skivvies" but I knew he did.

I clutched at the waistband. He pulled at them. We fought over those drawers until they tore at the seam, leaving the Wooster corpus open to any and all criticism. I breathed deeply; my lungs burned; I closed my eyes.

"Sir", he said, in a voice gentler than any I had hoped to hear. "Are you injured?"

I shook my head, liar that I am.

I felt him trace the bruises on my outer hip. "You are hurt," he said. "What happened?"

I shook my head.

"Sir..."

I breathed in. Breathed out. I could do nothing else. I could smell him; the starch; the slight smell of burning that accompanies neatly ironed creases. In the dark, I concentrated on that smell, the scent of accuracy and neatness.

I heard him sigh, gently, more gently than I deserved. And then I heard him walk away.

My legs gave way, then; I let myself fall to the carpet, half-naked, wet and hopeless. I let my arms encircle my knees and pull them to me, for support, for touch, for the sense that I was not alone. I leant my head in my legs and let myself cry, just a little.

Then I heard the steps. Careful hands guided something warm onto my shoulders: a towelling dressing-gown, I thought. It smelled like me. I shivered. Jeeves pulled it around me. "Sir?" he said, gently.

"Yes...?"

"Hold my arm; I will lead you to your bed."

He half-led, half-lifted me to my feet, somehow tying the gown as we stood. I risked opening my eyes. My valet stood before me, gaze averted, his face radiating care. He said nothing at all. Obediently, I followed him to my room; obediently, I sat in bed; obediently, I folded my hands around the warm hot-water bottle he offered me; obediently, I sat as he towelled my limbs dry and sponged off the remnants of the dirt.

He cleared his throat. "I understand," he said, "that you may not wish to speak. Nonetheless... if there is anything... anything at all..."

I shook my head. "It's nothing," I said. "Nothing at all."

He gave a very, very slight nod, so slight that I might have imagined it. I pulled the covers up towards me and shivered into their embrace.

"Even so," he said. "I -"

A kettle whistled shrilly into the night. I shivered violently.

He opened the chest by the foot of the bed and pulled out another blanket, which he draped around my shoulders. "I shall return," he said, and left.

I dozed fitfully, waking to find a steaming mug of tea on the bedside table. Jeeves sat by the bed, watching me with a gentle compassion that, at that moment, cut me like a razor-blade. I shook my head.

"What happened?" he asked.

"A schoolboy prank."

Silence.

"A joke. It's nothing."

Silence.

I shook my head.

"If I can -" he began.

I breathed. In. Out. "Jeeves," I said. "We went to the park. And I- it's been a long night."

He nodded.

I took the cup, warming my hands, letting the steam heat my face. "Tuppy and I had a contest. I had to cross the duck pond using the stepping stones..."

His face was unreadable.

I said, "You're thinking about the episode at the swimming-baths, aren't you?"

Pause.

I said, "Tuppy promised that there'd be no funny business. He told us that he wouldn't cheat again..."

Pause.

I said, "He did, though."

And he had: he'd kicked the last of the stepping-stones over, propping the top slab roughly on the pile so that it looked stable. I hadn't noticed; besides, it looked like any other. So I stood on it, fell and tumbled into the rocks. It took a while to register the pain, and the Drones thought it hilarious, until I stood again, cried out and fell; then Oofy Prosser said, "I say, Bertie, are you all right?" and I limped out of the water, using the fence for support, ignoring them.

"I would suggest that you visit a doctor in the morning. But for now: what happened then?" Jeeves prompted. I shrugged.

"We went to the cricket pavilion," I said. "I was cold. And they decided then that Tuppy was at fault. So they dried me off using Tuppy's jacket and insisted he provide replacements for my wet clothes."

Pause.

"He has my clothes," I said. "I wore his. They weren't perfectly dry, but..." I shrugged.

"Forgive me, sir," Jeeves said, "Isn't Mr Glossop's build rather more ..."

"Portly?" I volunteered.

"I should have expressed it otherwise, sir," Jeeves said. "However, I am in agreement with the sentiment..."

"Yes," I said. "And that's why I said that he had, rather than wore, my clothes. To the best of my knowledge, he returned home wearing nothing but a strategically placed handkerchief."

Jeeves smiled a little. "I see; there was nothing else?"

I shook my head.

"I am sorry," he said.

That you were betrayed, I thought.... that your friend broke his promise. I said nothing. I drank my tea to the last dregs, put the cup down, and lay deliberately back in bed. Jeeves took the cup and saucer, neatly folded the blankets into place over my chest, and turned to leave.

"Jeeves -" I said.

He turned back.

"Would you put the radio on, just for a little while? It's about the right time, and I should like to listen to the shipping forecast..."

"Of course," he said, and I closed my eyes, listening to the familiar voice read a list of meaningless names and numbers.

And somehow, eventually, despite the pain, I fell asleep.