Sweet Charity fic: Jooster, "Round the World"

[triedunture]

Title: Round the World in a Goodish Bit of Time
Pairing: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: PG-13 (nothing too tawdry!)
Summary: For podfic_lover, who won me at the Sweet Charity auction. She requested a story about what happened during Bertie and Jeeves' round-the-world cruise. So here it is. Enjoy!




1. Depart from London, 7:25 in the ack emma

Bertie was none too pleased when the idea was first brought to his attention via polite coughs and subtly placed illustrated brochures, and he was none too pleased now, even as he climbed the gangway with a yawn. Jeeves was not far behind, perhaps seeing to the proper handling of the heavy baggage, self-satisfied and much too bright-eyed for such an early hour. But of course he was pleased; Jeeves had master-minded the entire wheeze that resulted in this round-the-world cruise in the first place.

Bertie didn't like to begrudge his faithful manservant anything, but, well, he could certainly dislike the early hour at which the HMS Windemere was scheduled to depart. Bertie looked up, tipping his head completely backwards to gaze up at the hulking ship that he was about to board in shuffling, sleepy steps.

Four months on this tin can, he thought. Four. Whole. Months.

Jeeves had better be content, was all Bertie could say.

Like a graceful trout slipping through a stream, Jeeves was suddenly at Bertie's side, somehow moving swiftly despite the sluggish tide of the other almost-passengers.

'I must commend you once again, sir, on your decision to take this cruise. It is a wonderful opportunity for a young man such as yourself to see the world.' If Bertie didn't know any better, he'd say Jeeves' cheeks were downright ruddy with gently suffused pleasure.

Bertie grunted and stepped aboard with Jeeves' supporting hand on his tired elbow.


2. The Atlantic

The boat rocked. Bertie moaned into his pillow.

'Sea-sickness,' he said, muffled into the down stuffing, 'is the absolute worst fate a man could ask for. I have never in my life felt as—' But his words were cut short by another violent pitch of the ship, and he clung to his pillow and trembled with the strain to not be sick.

'I do offer my sympathy, sir,' Jeeves said as he strode levelly round the suite. The rough seas didn't seem to affect his soundless glide at all; Bertie hadn't seen him stumble once. 'It is unusual for the weather to be so violent in this region. The ocean, I'm told, is often the picture of calm this time of the year.' With quick fingers, Jeeves picked up an abandoned sock from the seat of an ottoman and folded it neatly.

'Well, right now it's the picture of a bally carnival ride,' Bertie mumbled, his eyes squeezed shut against the waves of sickness that threatened to turn his stomach inside-out. 'How do you remain so upright during this mess, Jeeves?' He watched the valet walk steadily to the wardrobe, where he placed the mislaid sock.

'My nautical sense of balance, or "sea legs" as I've heard it called, developed when I was a young boy, sir. An uncle of mine worked on a fishing boat and I considered it a special treat to sail with him in search of the daily catch.' Jeeves swept over to the dressing table just in time to stop a pair of cuff links from rolling onto the floor. He captured the two bits in his palm and deposited them in a heavy box set in the table's corner.

Bertie lifted one woozled eye to his manservant. 'Is that where you got the taste for fish as well, for feeding your brain?'

A glimmer of movement at the corner of Jeeves' lips betrayed his uncrackable facade. 'Perhaps, sir.' He moved forward once more to stand beside the bed. 'Is there any assistance I may provide, sir, to alleviate your symptoms?'

Bertie's cheeks tinged a faint green as the ship rolled between two great waves. The room tilted, and Bertie shoved his face back in his pillow, speechless.

'Very good, sir.' The mattress dipped, and Bertie felt a broad hand rest gently on his back between his shoulderblades. Jeeves rubbed the area in small circles, his palm warm even through the cotton material of Bertie's pyjama shirt.

'Jeeves?' Bertie said weakly.

'Is the motion soothing to you, sir?' Jeeves asked.

Bertie still felt as if his lunch was about to make a surprise reappearance, but instead of saying so, he merely said, 'Well. Quite. Keep at it, Jeeves.'

'Yes, sir. You may sleep if you wish, sir.' Jeeves' hand continued down and up and around Bertie's back, its warmth, speed, and pressure the absolute best anyone could hope for. Which was not all that strange, given it was Jeeves' hand.

Bertie closed his eyes and, despite his jumping tum, drifted off to sleep.


3. Port of Havana

'I could absolutely kiss the solid ground, Jeeves,' Bertie exclaimed as he barrelled down the gangplank with his valet following at a more sedate pace. 'Have you ever seen anything so lovely as this Cuban evening? The air smells of flowers, the sky is free from clouds, and I'm sure if there are larks and snails in this country, they're in their proper places, what?'

'Undoubtedly, sir. It is a fine destination for our first port of call.' Jeeves adjusted the brim of his bowler hat against the brightness of the setting sun, which was throwing the last of its powerful rays against the horizon.

'I, for one, am going to head over to the storied casinos and rub elbows with the film stars and tobacco magnates. What do you have planned, Jeeves? A bit of fishing?'

'Not at this juncture, sir. I believe there will be time to pursue the great marlin tomorrow morning.' They strolled through the bustling port, which was brimming with passengers escaping the cruise ship and tanned Cuban men selling their wares at the top of their accented lungs. Under Jeeves' sense of direction, Bertie found himself on a lovely cobbled street leading into the heart of the city. 'Tonight, I believe I will merely take in the charms of the town,' Jeeves finished.

'Well, have a time of it, Jeeves. Toodle pip!' Bertie waved his farewell as he veered toward the entrance of La Puerta with its brightly lit sign featuring a roulette wheel. Inside, the casino was a strange mix of a gentleman's club and matinee showing. It certainly was lively, but Bertie found he wasn't clicking at the roulette table. After a few cocktails and an excellent cigar, he decided to find another platform for the Wooster losing streak.

He was making his way down a bustling boulevard when some downright topping music floated to his ear. Bertie followed the exotic sounds: two sprightly guitars, an unobtrusive shaker of some sort, a woman's voice crooning out words he didn't understand, a simple drumbeat under the entire thing. It was like nothing Bertie had ever heard. Mournful and toe-tapping at the same moment.

Bertie turned the corner and entered a relatively deserted avenue. The music was coming from a small storefront, a sort of local pub, he guessed. Not the sort of place for tourists at all. The song was wrapping up with a final strumming of the guitars, and Spanish voices called out in appreciation. Bertie ducked his way through the low-hanging doorway, removing his topper and letting his eyes adjust to the smoky darkness. The band of musicians seemed to be readying themselves for another number, so Bertie stuck near the back of the room as there didn't appear to be any unoccupied tables or chairs. In fact, most of the furniture was stacked and pushed away from the centre of the room to create a dance floor.

The guitars began wailing again and the singer clapped her hands in a snappy rhythm that everyone in the audience mimicked. The dance floor divided into couples, with the men circling their partners in synchronised time before pulling them into their arms. Bertie watched the spectacle in awe; the dance, like the music, was so different from the staid waltzes of London and even the frantic jitterbug of New York. It was controlled, but fluid. Fiery, but graceful.

A flash of crisp white shirtsleeve whispered at the edge of Bertie's vision, and he turned to see a sight that made his jaw drop. Jeeves. In his shirtsleeves, his waistcoat and tie missing. Moving on his feet as nimbly as a gazelle. Matching his partner, a pretty Cuban girl, step for step. A great deal of the dance consisted not of leading the lady at all, but rather moving in unison beside her. They touched only briefly, hands on each other's elbows, or suddenly pressed back to chest before separating again.

Bertie swallowed. His mouth was bone dry. Jeeves' feet were moving with such grace, his limbs with such speed; of course Bertie knew his valet was capable of moving like a zephyr wind through the flat as if he had caster wheels in place of shoes, but he'd never seen that talent put to such un-valetish use. And his hips. The less said about that, the better.

Jeeves, though his face was a study in concentration, seemed to be enjoying himself. Bertie thought he sensed a glimmer of a smile when Jeeves' dance partner did something particularly clever with her feet. The song ended with a flourish, and so did Jeeves, the girl dipped in his arms, her long black hair nearly brushing the floorboards. They separated to clap for the musicians and another young girl replaced the first one.

Bertie considered toddling over, saying what-ho before the next song began, perhaps pressing Jeeves to teach him those corking dance steps. But it felt wrong to spoil Jeeves' good time, and so Bertie watched him dance for a few moments more before replacing his hat and leaving.


4. The Panama Canal

'Do you speak Spanish, Jeeves?' Bertie asked as he leaned against the deck railing. Far below, dock workers scurried to and fro as the HMS Windemere was guided through the series of complex locks that allowed passage through the Canal. Nearly every passenger was on deck to witness the slow progress of their ship as it rose to meet the water on the other side. Jeeves was at Bertie's side. It had been his suggestion that they watch the passage, as he was certain it would be a fascinating display of nature meeting technology.

But Bertie was more concerned with thoughts of that night in Havana. He hadn't breathed a word of what he'd seen to Jeeves; he had waited for Jeeves to return to the ship for an explanation of his evening's activities. However, when Jeeves entered the suite the next morning with the pre-ordered breakfast tray and Bertie asked about his jaunt on the town, Jeeves merely answered, 'A most diverting evening, sir. More milk?'

And now, as Bertie watched the water level slowly rise below, he could only imagine how Jeeves was able to wrangle those young Cuban ladies as dancing partners if he didn't speak their language.

'I have a passable knowledge of Spanish, sir, mostly gleaned from a familiarity of the other Romance languages and the study of the original Don Quixote text. Were you in need of a translation of some kind?'

'No, nothing like that.' Bertie chewed at his lower lip and fought to analyse the sour feelings in his chest. Of course Jeeves knew Spanish; there was not one thing under the sun which escaped Jeeves. All those little tidbits of information, trapped like butterflies in a his great net. 'Don Quixote. He was the chap who tilted windmills, what?'

'Tilted at windmills, sir, with the lance on horseback. The gentleman was possessed of a peculiar imagination,' Jeeves said.

'Saw things that weren't there, you mean.'

'Precisely, sir.'

Bertie mused on this. Perhaps— But no, it had been Jeeves dancing in that little Cuban music hall. It hadn't been a dream or a mirage. He'd been turning the details over in his brain for days, and he had no doubt about what he'd seen. Though Bertie now wondered why such a thing was dogging his thoughts so.

'Sir?'

Bertie's eyes snapped up to his valet, standing close in the press of the crowd at the railing.

'Are you feeling unwell again, sir? Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but you do not appear to be in your usual spirits.'

'Too much sun, I think.' Bertie swallowed. Had his morose mood been that obvious? 'I suppose I should go lie down before dinner is served.'

'Certainly, sir. Might I run a bath for—?'

'No, Jeeves. You keep watching the lock thingummy. I'll dress at six.'

'Very good, sir.' But Jeeves' bemused tone didn't sound very good at all. Bertie turned away from his valet and the edge of the deck and picked his way through the crowd.


5. Some Bloody Island

Many weeks into the cruise, and Bertie was still not enjoying himself. He was, at heart, a creature of habit, and he found himself missing the familiar smoking room at the Drones Club, the beloved faces of his friends, the little area of London he called home. The worst of it was that his fellow shipmates were a bit lacking; he had been assigned to a table in the dining room filled with old counts and earls and their wives. There were few young people of his own set on board the Windemere, and those few were overwhelmingly likely to be a dreaded female with her eye on marrying anything that wasn't nailed down.

Bertie worried about the danger of an engagement. Even a Wooster could be worn down by such a lengthy time in oceanic isolation. It was very similar to those coves who, after spending weeks in the jungles of the Congo, decide that worms and winged insects actually make a ripping first course. Without the steadying presence of home, how was a chap supposed to keep his head on straight?

So, no, Bertram Wooster was not enjoying himself.

'It is an exquisite afternoon, sir,' Jeeves ventured to say.

Bertie scoffed in frustration. Fine-grained sugar sand was filling his shoes; the sun beat down even through the weave of his Panama hat; the air was thick as treacle. 'Do you think so?' he asked Jeeves, and he meant it to sting.

They were ashore some new tropical island, one of dozens that the ship had anchored near for the purpose of allowing the inmates a chance to admire its scenic beauty and fabulous sights. This particular spit of godforsaken land was supposedly home to a great deal of caverns, and Bertie had let Jeeves bully him into climbing into one of the small lifeboats that would take them, along with the other adventurous passengers, to explore.

But as Bertie paused to empty his shoe of sand yet again, it became clear that he and his trusted manservant had fallen behind the pack, as it were. Squint as he might into the underbrush, Bertie could make hide nor hair of their party.

'Fantastic,' Bertie seethed. 'We're lost in the bally jungle.'

'Forgive me for correcting you, sir, but I believe I recall the path back to the boats. If you will observe, it is a very well-worn track that we might follow to the water's edge once more.' Jeeves gestured at said path. 'However, if you will permit me to make a suggestion, sir,' he tilted his regal head as if listening to something in the distance, 'you might be gratified to follow me in this direction instead.'

Jeeves pointed to the left. Bertie looked askance at the left.

'Into the bramble?' he sputtered.

'Yes, sir.'

'Away from the boats?'

'Indeed, sir.'

'Straight into the jaws of a man-eating tiger?'

'I do not believe the island is capable of supporting a species so large as the tiger, sir.'

Bertie clapped his shoe back on his stockinged foot and sighed. 'Very well. Into the pit of vipers, then. Lead on, Jeeves.'

Jeeves glided through the trees, parting branches and huge heart-shaped leaves with the ease of an aboriginal guide. Bertie shuffled his way through the line that Jeeves cleared. Jeeves held branches back with a delicate touch, waiting for Bertie to clear their reach before allowing them to snap back into place.

'This entire excursion is your fault, by the by, Jeeves,' Bertie started in again. He was just warming to his theme. 'The bugs, the sun, the sand, it's all your doing. There's no reason why I shouldn't be tucked in safely at home, feet on the mantle, a song on my—'

'Look, sir,' Jeeves whispered.

Bertie finally raised his sullen gaze from the sandy ground to look at where Jeeves pointed. There, rising before them and roaring like the dickens, was a glorious waterfall, tumbling down the glistening rock face and depositing itself neatly into a crystal pool. Along the edges of rock and water, bright purple flowers bloomed on cheery vines. The falls gave off a fine, cooling mist, and the bright sunlight cast an ephemeral rainbow of colour through the whole thing, just the last word in fairy-tale beauty.

'I chanced to hear the falls and imagined you would prefer this to the tour of the caverns, sir,' Jeeves said.

'My word. Rather!' Bertie tugged at his necktie with a grin. 'Come on, then! This calls for a swim!'

'But sir, we have no towels or—'

'Jeeves, if you do not divest yourself of your bowler hat and morning coat in the next few moments, you will soon find yourself pitched in fully clothed. This is too wonderful a spot to just stand idly by and remark, "Yes, it is nice to look at, isn't it?"'

Bertie had nearly shrugged out of his shirt before he realised that his feather-brained suggestion would mean both he and Jeeves in the altogether. Together. But that wasn't too strange, was it? Bertie remembered swimming in the river by Boko Fittleworth's house in nothing but his birthday suit, and Jeeves had reported that he has indulged in much the same activity, albeit at a different time.

Still. Coupled with the rummy thoughts that night in Havana had left in the Wooster melon, perhaps the best course of action would be to—

Bertie turned to tell Jeeves he'd changed his mind, that they could just admire the view and then walk back to the shore. But the sight that greeted him dropped his jaw and stole his voice: Jeeves, arranging the last of his undergarments on a low-hanging tree branch, as naked as Adam before The Fall. Apparently, the man could glide out of his clothing with the same ease he navigated parlours.

Jeeves turned his head to look over one perfectly formed shoulder and caught Bertie's stare. 'Sir? Do you no longer wish to partake of the waters?'

'No, no. A quick dip.' Bertie wet his lips. 'Right-ho.'

As Bertie scrambled out of his trousers, Jeeves stepped to the edge of the pool and executed a perfect swan dive, plunging into the water and throwing a blast of cool water in Bertie's direction. Bertie followed with much less grace, but soon they were swimming and splashing about like a pair of sleek young otters, and Bertie was convinced he heard Jeeves laugh.


6. Down Under

It was a dreary afternoon in Sydney. The ship had slotted itself in the city's harbour and was supposed to disgorge its passengers for a full day's worth of rambling. Motorcars had been arranged at the docks to carry those willing to the exotic Outback, where kangaroos would be petted and koala bears would be held. But a violent thunderstorm had scrapped those plans. One couldn't even go for a pensive stroll round the deck without fear of being blown into the water by a gust of Australian wind.

Bertie was restless. His suite was becoming much too small for him, the same bolted-down bed and bolted-down dressing table and bolted-down wardrobe. It wasn't that Bertie was tired of looking at the same things for months at a time; he was, after all, a man who enjoyed the familiar comforts. But it was the familiar comforts of home he was after, and no amount of squinting could dissolve this bolted-down suite into the flat in Berkeley Square.

He considered ringing for Jeeves. Well, there wasn't a proper bell on this ship, so it wouldn't be a ring so much as a buzz that was operated at the press of a button. The buzzer, Bertie was told, would be heard by the ship's cabin crew, who would dispatch a boy to the appropriate servant's quarters to tell said servant he was needed. Quite a modern convenience: noisy and many-stepped.

Bertie decided to forgo the push-button and headed into the corridor on his own two feet. He didn't need Jeeves to come running for the sake of a chat or a game of chess. Bertie could just as easily bring himself to Mohammad, if that was the phrase he was after. Besides, he reasoned, the servants' berths were the only parts of the ship he hadn't had a chance to explore in all the long months aboard the Windemere.

He knew their approximate location, back towards the stern of the vessel. It was but the work of a moment to sling on the suit coat and hat and toddle off in that general direction. Bertie descended into the labyrinth of narrow corridors filled with stewards and ship staff bearing covered dishes on platters. A weaker man than a Wooster might have felt positively claustrophobic as he squeezed past, but Bertie kept his spirits high and his upper lip stiff. Eventually, he rounded a bend and found himself in a hallway with only one or two black-suited and bowler hatted men roaming the thoroughfare: this was valet territory.

'What ho, pardon me,' Bertie said as one gentleman's gentleman was about to slither by. 'Could you possibly direct me to my valet's cabin? Jeeves is the name. Well, his name, not mine, as that wouldn't help you much. Though it's Wooster if you want to know.'

The elderly valet eyed Bertie in much the same fashion as Jeeves eyed his new ties. Disapproving was the word. 'Have you attempted to use your room's push-button bell, sir?' he asked.

'Well, no, not—'

'The button is red in colour and can be found near the entry door of your suite.'

'Yes, I know where it's located. But a thought floated into the old bean that the stilts could use a stretch, what?'

The old valet stared.

'Look, do you know where Jeeves is holed up or not?' Bertie sighed, a hand on his hip.

'Two rights, on the left hand side.'

'Right. Many thanks.' Bertie continued down the hallway, taking the prescribed turns. Topside in the gentry suites, little name plates were affixed to the doors to give one a sense of belonging during the long months at sea. But here in the valets' quarters, one could only expect a piece of pasted paper with a name scrawled in light pencil. Here, on the left: R. Jeeves. Bertie rapped cheerily.

Jeeves answered the door with his morning coat and tie still in place. Bertie had nearly been able to imagine the articles missing during his valet's downtime. He knew for a fact they weren't welded on; the dip in the pool on that island had proved that.

'Sir?' If Jeeves could appear startled, he did so now, raising both eyebrows an eighth of an inch. 'Has the push-button bell in your room malfunctioned?'

'No, just as buzzy as ever, I'm sure.' Bertie clacked his empty fists together. 'Why are all the valets in this neck of the woods so keen on my use of that bally bell? I passed a cove in the corridor who wanted to ship me back upstairs in an eye-blink.'

'It is merely an unusual occurrence, sir, to have a gentleman wander down into the servants' quarters.'

'Why? Is there something down here you must keep from said gentlemen?' Bertie stood on tip-toe to peer over Jeeves' shoulder into the room. 'Do you have bomb-makings or some such stashed away in there?'

'No, sir.'

'Well, perhaps one might, under the circumstances, be invited inside, then.'

'Of course, sir,' Jeeves said, opening the door wider and stepping aside to allow Bertie to walk through. Bertie did so, removing his hat and looking round the place. Jeeves shut the door behind him.

'My word. Dashed small.' There wasn't enough space for a man to lie width-wise, and the length wasn't much to write home about either. Bertie imagined his suite's bathroom was a touch larger than this.

'I do not spend much time in the space, sir. And I am fortunate not to share this cabin with another valet.' Jeeves demonstrated where this second man might fit by unfolding another bunk from where it was bolted to the wall above the first bunk.

'Golly! And they expect two full-grown chaps to dress and sleep in here without squashing each other?'

Jeeves coughed into his fist and hovered near the door, which, considering the lack of room, was fairly near Bertie. 'It serves its purpose, sir. Forgive me for seeming inhospitable, but was there a particular reason for your visit?'

Bertie looked round for a hook on which to hang his hat while he answered absent-mindedly. 'Today's been a washout as far as kangaroos go. I've been confined to my suite for hours waiting for the rain to subside. I was going to come to you and complain about being cooped up, but it now seems I have nothing to complain about. Ah! There's a place to hang my hat.' He placed his skimmer on the hook that protruded from the side of the plain wardrobe cabinet.

'Yes, sir,' Jeeves agreed vaguely.

Bertie wandered over to the single, tiny porthole window and peered out. The constant wash of rain made it difficult to see; the world outside was a grey and desolate place. A flash of lightening startled Bertie back a pace, and he was suddenly aware that the room's smallness also made it feel very safe, very cosy in the midst of the downpour. Jeeves was right behind him, catching him with a helpful hand on his elbow to keep him steady.

'I would offer you a seat, sir, but as you can see, the room is not furnished with one.'

'Oh, that's quite all right. I don't—' Bertie turned his head and stopped mid-sentence. Jeeves' face was very near his, and its angles and planes were lined in shadow, painted beautifully in the dim light. Bertie thought of the day they'd gone swimming on the Pacific island, when the sun had illuminated every corner of Jeeves' map. He couldn't decide which he preferred; Jeeves looked dashing in both.

'Sir?'

'I—' Bertie clamped his mouth shut, because he knew what he had been about to say. And one didn't say 'I'm going to kiss you' to one's valet.

Apparently, one just went ahead and did the thing, because that's what Bertie found himself doing nought-point-two seconds later. It lasted only a moment, just a tremulous touch of lips to paragon-lips; Bertie was sure he'd launched much better kisses in his time. Why, the kiss he'd bestowed on Florence before their first engagement, for example. That had been a real corker. And yet, somehow, when faced with Jeeves, Bertie had only managed to undertake the barest flutter of a kiss.

As soon as he pulled back, Bertie resolved to give it another try, this time with more gusto. Really show what the Wooster blood could do. But instead of diving back into the thick of things, Bertie stayed motionless, Jeeves' hand still resting on his arm. He could feel the slight tremble shuddering through both their frames, still so close in that tight cabin.

Another rumble of thunder passed through the ship. Bertie looked up into Jeeves' face to find the other man's lips parted. In shock? In dismay? In expectation? Bertie closed his eyes and leaned forward minutely, the sight spurring him to act again, and quickly.

Jeeves cleared his throat. Bertie paused and blinked his eyes open.

'Sir, you must tell me what you want,' Jeeves said in a low, husky voice, as if someone had poured gravel down his dulcet-toned throat.

'Why?' Bertie asked on reflex.

'So that I might,' Jeeves ran his hand up Bertie's arm to his shoulder, his eyes never leaving his master's mouth, 'accommodate you however you wish.'

Bertie felt something inside his chest shrink. His gaze fell from Jeeves' stunning face, and his eyes darted back and forth in the empty space between them. 'Accommodate me?' he whispered.

Jeeves stepped closer and spoke directly into the shell of Bertie's ear, his breath tickling Bertie's neck. 'I am yours to direct,' he said simply.

Bertie's face pinched in pain. Jeeves was his to direct. He was an employee, dash it, and here was Bertram, playing the horrible, evil, despicable, awful, and perverted employer. Of course Jeeves would endeavour to please him, if only to keep the apple-cart upright and steady. What sort of animal was this Wooster, forcing a gentleman's gentleman into bed? Harassing and molesting one of the finest men to walk the globe and all because Bertie couldn't seem to keep his mind occupied with other thoughts during the four-month trip round said globe. After all, he had never harboured any untoward thoughts about the manservant when they had resided in Berkeley Square. The whole mess had cropped up on the blasted boat, and Bertie's weak will was no match for it.

One thing was clear: this was a mistake.

Bertie ducked his head, ashamed. 'I—I'm sorry—' And he pushed by Jeeves and fled the tiny cabin.


7. Bombay

The Windemere sailed into Bombay on a windy day. Smaller boats dotted the harbour, their sails tied down, bobbing at the end of their anchor tethers like rubber ducks in bathwater. Bertie watched from the deck as the cruise ship navigated the jumbled mess of European schooners and Asiatic junks. This was India: dashed confused about what it was supposed to be. Was it British? Was it independent? It didn't seem to matter what flag was flying over the city; it pulsed with vigorous energy. Even at this distance, Bertie could sense how vibrant it was. The brisk wind smelled of movement, of restlessness.

Bertie sighed. One felt sympathy for Bombay, of course, but Bombay probably hadn't planted a smacker on its valet, had it?

Since that awful afternoon, Bertie had been walking on eggshells. It was impossible to avoid Jeeves completely, as being stuck on the same boat made it rather difficult. Breakfast in particular was uncomfortable. The first morning after the slip-up, when Jeeves had arrived with the tray as usual, it had been all Bertie could do to keep his eyes fastened anywhere but Jeeves' face, which was sure to be drawn in anger. Few words had been exchanged. Bertie began attending breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the rabble after that. Waking before eight in order to secure the grub was a chore, but these things needed to be borne, Bertie felt.

Jeeves, being Jeeves, must have noticed the absence of the young master, and Bertie had braced himself for the soft cough that was to announce A Talk about What Had Occurred. But none came. Apparently, it was just as awkward for Jeeves to be in the same room as Bertie, because the few times they had been in each other's orbit that week, silence and the occasional remark on the weather reigned supreme.

Bertie turned from the railing. If he was to board the launches headed for shore, he would need to change into a city suit. A day off the mouse-trap maze of a ship would do him good.

Upon entering his suite, he nearly ran straight into Jeeves' massive chest.

'Oh, I say! Terribly sorry—'

'Apologies, sir—'

A tense silence.

'My city suit—'

'I have laid out—'

Another clamping of mouths. Jeeves cleared his throat before starting off again in earnest. 'I was just leaving, sir,' he said, looking somewhere to the left. 'The blue stripe is ready for you. I hope the choice is suitable.'

'Suitable? I see what you did there, Jeeves.'

'Sir?'

'The suit. Suitable.' Bertie laughed nervously.

'Ah. I see, sir.'

'Not deliberate, then?'

'No, sir.'

'Oh. Shame.' Bertie would have liked very much to go back to the easy banter he used to share with his valet, but it looked like that was not the case. 'Will you be going to shore with the rest of us, Jeeves?'

'I did desire to purchase some of the native spices in the marketplace, sir,' he answered slowly, 'but if you'd prefer I stayed behind while you went on the excursion...'

'Oh! Well, no reason why you shouldn't go wrangle your spices, Jeeves. I could sit this one out, I suppose.'

'If you wish to see Bombay, sir, I would gladly—'

'Wait, wait, just wait a moment,' Bertie interrupted with an impatient gesture. 'It's a large city, isn't it, Jeeves? No reason why the both of us couldn't go, you to the market and I to the, well, tourist bits. I only know India from my sister's letters, and it would be jolly good to see the thing for myself, what?'

'Yes, sir.' Jeeves turned his head slightly to gaze at the suit laid out on the bed. 'Shall I dress you now, sir?'

Bertie faltered. He had been dressing himself this past week, making some excuse or other why Jeeves shouldn't bother. But now it seemed almost cruel to deny the man a shot at straightening the lapels and arranging the knot in the necktie.

'Right-o.' Bertie reached up to pull his current tie from his neck. 'Thank you, Jeeves.'

'My pleasure, sir,' Jeeves murmured, and Bertie was dressed in complete silence.


8. The Sands of the Lost Whatsit

By the time the ship made landfall in Egypt, Bertie and Jeeves were on speaking terms again. It had been inevitable; they were in each other's presence daily, and continued interaction wore away the patina of awkwardness that surrounded them. Bertie could mention the frightfully dull conversation he'd had to endure at the dinner table and how he'd wanted to pitch a roll at the Earl of Southwickhamshire with all the fervour in his young soul, and Jeeves could say, 'Indeed, sir?'

Everything was back as it should be. Time, that great healer, had done its hat trick yet again. It was with a buoyed heart that Bertie disembarked at Alexandria with Jeeves in tow. They were scheduled to see the site of the ancient lighthouse. Bertie stood on the rocky outcropping that lined the shoreline, blinking away bits of sand that flew at his face. Other than Jeeves and himself, the bit of coastline was deserted. The other passengers had gone off into town, presumably.

'Hm. Doesn't seem to match the picture, does it?' Bertie remarked as he examined the informational pamphlet in his hands. The drawing therein showed an impressive structure by the sea, but Bertie saw nothing before him but rocks, sand, and waves. 'You don't think we passed it without noticing?'

'The Lighthouse of Alexandria is no longer standing, sir,' Jeeves said. 'Historians theorise that fort you see in the distance, the Citadel of Qaitbay, was built on the lighthouse's old foundation.' He pointed to the spit of land some distance off.

'Golly. I'm not much for military things. What about the Library?' Bertie flipped through the thin pages of his booklet. 'Do you think we might still be able to catch that? Sounds right up your alley.'

'Also gone, I fear, sir.'

'Rummy that they haven't been able to hold on to anything in this place, what?'

'In the country's defence, sir, there is a harsh environment to be dealt with. I may point out that the pyramids at Giza still endure despite this.'

'Well.' Bertie tucked the pamphlet into his coat pocket and raised his eyes to the wheeling seagulls overhead. 'I see now why the other inmates of the Windemre went off to visit the town. I feel a fool, leading you here to an empty stretch of beach to look at some blasted fort.'

'With some imagination, sir, I believe we might still experience the lighthouse.' Jeeves stepped up to the edge of the rock cliff and gestured to the island below. 'Its light, the ancient texts purport, could be seen over thirty miles away.'

'I say.'

'Truly one of the great wonders,' Jeeves agreed. 'The topmost portion of the lighthouse might have reached as high as 500 feet. It would have been the tallest structure in the ancient world.'

'What, about that tall, would you say?' Bertie shut one eye and placed his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart, trying to place the imaginary lighthouse on top of the fort in the distance. The tip of his tongue poked from between his lips in concentration.

'Perhaps even more so, sir. If I may.' Jeeves stepped behind Bertie and, squeezing his right eye shut, adjusted Bertie's fingers wider.

'Now that is tall,' Bertie said, still one-eyed.

'Indeed, sir.'

Bertie turned to regard Jeeves, who was still cradling Bertie's hand in both of his. They were rather close together, and Bertie fought the tremor of fear that ran through his frame. It would be the simplest thing in the world to forget himself again and impugn Jeeves' honour. One had to be constantly on guard against one's baser emotions. Bertie took his hand back and slowly stepped sideways.

'Very educational, Jeeves,' he said quietly. 'But I think the wind is picking up. Might want to get back to the ship before a sandstorm overtakes us, what?' He turned to leave down the winding path.

'Sir,' Jeeves said, and something in the way he said it made it a half-question.

'Yes, Jeeves?' Bertie turned round again.

Jeeves appeared to ponder for a moment before speaking. 'When you kissed me in Sydney—'

'I didn't!' Bertie cried. 'I mean, dash it, I didn't mean for it to happen. You mustn't hold it against me, Jeeves. I was all mixed up and not thinking properly. I'm sorry, I said I was sorry! Can't we just leave it at that? I—if you wish to leave, I will pay for your passage directly back to London. Or you could stay on the Windemere and I could take the direct route back. This trip was for you, after all. You should enjoy it, Jeeves.'

'Sir, this trip was intended to be for the benefit of the both of us,' Jeeves said softly.

'Then it's been a fantastic failure on both fronts,' Bertie sighed. 'I'm sorry I went off my rocker, Jeeves, and ruined things between us.' He turned again to trudge down the hill.

Jeeves stepped in front of him, his footfall so light that Bertie hadn't heard him coming. 'You've ruined nothing, sir,' he said. 'In Sydney, when you ran from my room, I believed—' He paused, studying Bertie's face like a scholar would a text. Bertie felt himself wilt under the penetrating eyes. 'I came to believe it was something I'd done, sir, that forced you to act in the first place. You are possessed of such a caring nature that I wondered if you had come to understand my feelings and were compelled to act against your own nature.'

'I'm not following you, Jeeves,' Bertie said with a frown.

Jeeves pressed his lips into a thin, worried line. 'Sir, with your permission, I will speak plainly.' Bertie gave him the nod, and Jeeves forged ahead. 'Did you kiss me because you thought I wanted it, or because you wanted it for yourself?'

'I—' Bertie blinked. 'I did it because...' He swallowed. 'I saw you dancing in Havana.'

'Havana, sir?'

'You were marvellous.' A nervous tongue darted out to wet dry lips. 'Quite extraordinary. How can I want that for myself, Jeeves? It would be like asking for lightning in a bottle. And yet—' Bertie shook his head. 'It was nothing you did, Jeeves. You've always been the picture of dignity. I blame myself entirely.'

Jeeves reached for Bertie's hand, grasping it in his fingers. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the soft palm. While the kiss lingered, Bertie's eyes widened. 'Then I, too, shall blame you entirely, sir,' Jeeves murmured against his hand when he was finished.

'Jeeves?' the young master whispered.

'I should have done this some time ago,' Jeeves said, and kissed him.

Oh my, Bertie thought as his eyes drifted shut. This was the show-stopping kiss that he'd been aiming for.


9. The Strait of Gibraltar

It was a still, dark night that the HMS Windemere approached the passage between Africa and Spain. Bertie allowed the dull dinner conversation of the earls flit through one ear and out the other. In just a few more days, the ship would be back in England, and Bertie would be home again.

Home. Now that it was so close, Bertie wished it would never reappear. Ever since Alexandria, he had wanted only to stay here on this boat in Jeeves' wonderful company. Between meltingly good kisses and tender caresses of the Wooster cheek, Jeeves had finally explained all to Bertram: that it wasn't one of them or the other who had gone off the deep end and made a mess of things. The urges, such as they were, were shared, returned, requited. Bertie had been walking through the past few days as if in a dream. A dashed fine dream.

However, one of the downsides of this new state of affairs was the pace. Bertie knew how he would treat a lady in this situation: after the declarations were made, a proposal would be flung into the mix, and then the girl's parents would need to be notified, etc. But Jeeves was different, and thank the Lord Almighty for that! Bertie wasn't positive, but he assumed that Jeeves being a cove meant a certain shortening of the normal time-line. That is, the distance between a kiss and the bedroom was nothing at all. It was only Bertie's own gentlemanly code that had stopped him from ravishing the man as soon as they set foot in the suite.

Well, the code and the quite unfounded notion that Jeeves might change his mind. Or suddenly tear a mask from his face, revealing that it had all been an elaborate hoax. But tonight, as the ship passed out of the Mediterranean, Bertie wondered if this step could be taken.

He mused on this as he walked back to his suite in his dinner jacket and white tie, hands in his trouser pockets. Bertie took the route that led round the deck. From there, he could see the near-full moon shining off the surface of the water. Everything in the world seemed hushed and perfect. Yes, a good night for loving, Bertie decided, relishing the squirmy, pleasant feeling in his stomach.

He rang for Jeeves when he arrived in his rooms. While waiting for his valet to appear, he shucked his shoes and socks, undid the faultless butterfly of his tie, and slung his dinner jacket over the back of a chair. He didn't even have time to undo his cuff-links before Jeeves breezed into the suite, hung up the jacket, placed the shoes in the wardrobe, and folded the socks and placed them in the wash basket.

'Good evening, sir,' he said, reaching for the tie hanging loosely from Bertie's neck. Bertie flushed with pleasure as the valet removed the tie and folded it neatly.

'Good evening, Jeeves,' Bertie returned.

'Shall I lay out the pale coral pyjamas for you, sir?' Jeeves was already at the wardrobe, stowing the tie and leafing through the stack of folded nightwear.

'No, I don't think so, Jeeves.'

'The blue, sir?'

'Also not what I had in mind.'

'The cream with the red piping?' Jeeves tried again.

Bertie stepped behind Jeeves and placed a light kiss on the back of his neck. 'I must answer in the negative again, my good man,' he murmured along Jeeves' ear. 'I don't believe I shall wear anything at all to bed tonight.'

Jeeves turned round, and if Bertie hadn't known how to read Jeeves' exquisite map, he might have thought Jeeves unmoved by his words. But Bertie was well-versed in Jeeves' few expressions, and this one definitely shouted approval.

Bertie tilted his head back to receive Jeeves' eager kiss, allowing their mouths to play against each other.

'Are you truly ready, sir?' Jeeves asked quietly against his cheek.

'Do you really want me to wait any longer, Jeeves?' Bertie gasped.

The corner of Jeeves' mouth twitched. 'No, sir. I thought it only polite to ask.' His clever hands came up to Bertie's shirt studs, deftly undoing each little mother-of-pearl nub until he reached the waistcoat. Jeeves set the studs aside one by one on the dressing table, moving at a maddeningly slow pace. Bertie wondered what had happened to the normal rate of undressing.

'Dash it, just pluck me out of the shirt with the same speed you shove me in, Jeeves. In reverse, of course.' Bertie placed his hands on Jeeves' narrow hips, swaying on his feet.

'Patience, sir,' Jeeves said in a dreamy voice as he relieved Bertie of his cuff-links. The pocket watch was next, then the white waistcoat, then the white silk braces, then the remainder of the shirt studs. 'Have I ever shared with you, sir, the principles of the rumba?'

'You mean that Cuban dance you do so well?' Bertie glanced to the left and realised they were positioned strikingly within the frame of the full-length mirror. He watched as Jeeves tugged his shirttails from his trousers. 'Pray tell, Jeeves.'

'The partners are, in effect, miming the act of love, though with a minimum of bodily contact. When the two partners do touch, it is brief, like the flutter of a bird's wing.' Jeeves stepped smoothly behind Bertie and whipped his shirt from his frame like a magician doing that table-cloth gag. 'The idea being, sir, that the sensuality can only be heightened when one is not allowed prolonged contact with the other.'

Bertie watched the mirror carefully, waiting for the right moment before spinning round and grasping Jeeves' tie, pulling it loose and free in an instant. Then he dropped the black tie to the carpet, where it slithered into a pile. 'I believe I catch your meaning,' he said, allowing a smirk of mischief on his face. 'That's been somewhat of the rock of our relations, wouldn't you say?'

'Indeed, sir.' Jeeves, smart one that he was, began unbuttoning his waistcoat as Bertie circled him. The young master stopped behind Jeeves once more and relieved his valet of his suit coat with all due speed.

If he peeked over Jeeves' shoulder, he could see them in the mirror: Bertie, naked to the waist, undressing Jeeves from behind. Next came the waistcoat and the braces and the shirt buttons.

'Will we be like this in Berkeley Square?' Bertie asked softly. 'Will you still come to my bed, Jeeves?'

Jeeves turned his head to gift Bertie with a kiss. 'Of course, sir,' he breathed into parted lips. 'Of course.'

'This entire excursion feels like a dream, and I fear it might end.' Bertie peeled the crisp white shirt from Jeeves' shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground along with the rest of the sartorial paraphernalia.

'I will see that it does not.' Jeeves reached for the flies of Bertie's trousers just as Bertie reached for his. There was a mad jumbling of arms, and Bertie laughed.

'Race you!' he chortled, and managed to be beaten only by a few seconds. Jeeves caught him up in another kiss, perhaps in an attempt to win, while Bertie stepped out of his trousers and Jeeves did the same as well as toed off his shoes and socks.

Bertie broke the kiss to look at Jeeves for a moment, holding him at arm's length. He'd seen him in the buff once before, certainly, but somehow he seemed even more perfect now. It might have been the state of arousal; it did add an extra something. Bertie told him so. Jeeves deflected the compliment with one for Bertie. It was an altogether matey sort of conversation.

Before he knew it, Bertie found himself laid out on the impeccably made bed with about one metric ton of warm valet on top of him. Bertie arched his back like a cat and said, 'The rumba is all well and good, Jeeves, but there's something to be said for eventual skin-on-skin, what?'

'Undoubtedly, sir,' Jeeves said while nipping his way down Bertie's chest.

'Wait one moment.' Bertie took hold of Jeeves' face in both his hands and held his gaze. 'I want to remember this.'

'I assure you, sir,' Jeeves said, pressing a kiss to one of Bertie's inner wrists, 'this is one of many repeat performances we will enjoy together.'

'Yes, but none will be so precious to me.' Bertie's eyes fell to Jeeves' lips, pinked and wet from kissing. 'I love you, you know.'

They hadn't said those words to each other; Bertie supposed there had been no need before. Except that now, when he was about to give Jeeves his all and would receive Jeeves' in return, it was something Bertie felt compelled to say. And as soon as he said it once, he couldn't stop.

'I love you.' He kissed Jeeves' cheek.

'I love you.' He kissed Jeeves' smooth shoulder.

'I love you,' his neck, 'I love you,' his temple, 'I love you,' his lips.

'Sir, I—'

'Shush,' Bertie admonished. 'You don't need to—'

'Of course I love you, too,' Jeeves finished anyway.

Bertie attempted to stem the pleased grin he felt spreading across his face, but it was a losing battle. 'Right-o.'

'Now,' Jeeves traced Bertie's lips with his fingertips, 'may I proceed to show you the depth of my feelings, sir?'

'Certainly, Jeeves,' Bertie said, and didn't recall saying much in the way of intelligible English for a long time afterward.


10. Disembark: London

Bertie whistled as he disembarked one final time from the Windemere. The weather had changed in the four months they'd been at sea, and the summer was tapering to its natural end. The sun was out and everything was absolutely fine.

'Jeeves,' Bertie said to the man at his side, 'this cruise business was your best idea yet.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I feel invigorated. Like a whole new man.'

'Very good, sir.'

'Just like you to come up with a red hot plan such as this.'

'It is pleasing to hear you say so, sir.'

'Nonetheless, it will be good to be home again.' Bertie turned to smile a tad soppily at his manservant. 'With you.'

'My sentiments exactly, sir,' Jeeves said, and in the bustling crowd, he was able to slip his hand in Bertie's for the briefest moment, squeezing warmly before releasing.



fin.

Whew! I always wanted to write a story about Jeeves dancing, and I managed to shove it in here, didn't I? Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed the silly global shenanigans. It was a lot of fun to write. Thanks to podfic_lover for bidding on me and giving me a chance to write it.