Jooster multi-chapter series: The Long Road, Chapter 8

[triedunture]

Title: The Long Road, Chapter 8
[Previous parts: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven]
Rating: PG13? I feel very silly giving this a rating. Just make up your own minds!
Beta: the ever-so British hwshipper
Length: 2945
Warnings: Angst, violence, general dark themes.
Summary: A very bad thing happens. And then we must go on.

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Before the soaping and sponging could begin, Bertie had to unwind the strips of white cotton from Jeeves' torso. A roll of fresh bandages and gauze were sitting on the dresser. Good, Bertie thought; he could reapply the dressings when this was over. But now the problem of Jeeves' pyjamas confronted him.

'I'll just get these, shall I?' Bertie asked with an affected air of ease, as if young gentlemen pulled the pyjama bottoms from valets every day. He didn't want Jeeves to put up a fuss and try to do it himself; the strain might prove too much. And he didn't want to embarrass the man any more than he was already. So Bertie knelt very quickly and tugged the brushed cotton pyjamas from Jeeves' legs. Jeeves didn't say anything, just continued supporting himself with arms locked straight on either side, hands planted firmly on the covers and toweling, his eyes riveted to a far corner of the room.

Bertie pulled a bit of the bedsheet over Jeeves' lap before going any further. His eyes darted over the man's form, checking to see that the stitches looked strong and clean and that the wound was not reddening. It seemed to be doing well enough; there was some deep, ugly bruising, but it didn't look like the angry red of infection. Bertie sighed in relief and got to his feet once more.

Without his pressed clothes and slicked hair, Jeeves seemed somehow smaller. That is, his arms and legs were as lean and fit as they had previously appeared; his shoulders were just as broad; his head still bulged at the back with all that overflowing intelligence. Yet Bertie's eyes had never seen him so bereft of all the trappings that made Jeeves Jeeves. Perhaps it was the other man's state of exhaustion, but he appeared to be sloping inward somehow, shrinking into something approaching a mortal man.

Bertie shook his head, clearing these morose thoughts from his mind. 'Sorry, Jeeves.' He wet the sponge again and wrung it near-dry. 'We'll be through in a jiffy.'

Bertie crawled up onto the bed on his knees in order to sit behind Jeeves. He sopped the sponge down Jeeves' nape, scrubbing away at a bit of dirt that was stuck there. That alley really had been filthy. He rinsed the sponge in the warm water and squeezed it clean.

Jeeves must have been ruminating on how to fill the awkward silence that had descended during the bathing, because he tipped his chin in the direction of the cheery vase of daffodils sitting on the bedside table. 'Did my sister bring the flowers, sir?'

'She did,' Bertie said. He swiped the sponge across Jeeves' shoulders, then dipped it in the water again. 'Cheerful, what?'

Jeeves gave a small, dignified snort. A 'hmph,' really.

'What was that "hmph" for, Jeeves?' Bertie questioned as he washed Jeeves' broad back.

'My sister gave me daffodils on my birthday this year; I was inclined to tell her that they were my favourite though, in truth, I am not very partial to the flower. They strike me as a frivolous species.' Jeeves tilted his head to the side obediently as Bertie scrubbed behind his ears.

'I say! You lied to poor Catherine?'

'Only to spare her feelings, sir.'

Bertie hummed in understanding and dragged the sponge down Jeeves' flanks, minding the stitches as Mrs Fennaweave had instructed. 'So do you have a favourite flower, or are flowers in general too much of a bother for you?'

Jeeves paused for a moment before saying, 'I have never contemplated the question, sir.' He sounded almost shocked at himself.

'Well, if you arrive at an answer in the near future, let the young master know and I'll replace the thingummy of daffodils with something else.'

'Thank you, sir. But the sentiment behind these is enough.'

There was a moment of quiet wherein Bertie ran the soaked sponge down the backs of Jeeves' arms, over the corded muscles and tendons and warm, pale skin. He watched the water bead there, causing gooseflesh to rise in spots. For his part, Jeeves busied himself by trying to arrange the bedclothes in an orderly fashion underneath his legs, as if he needed a task too. His questing hand found something in the coverlet and he ended up holding a square of bleached white silk aloft.

'Sir,' he said, 'is this your handkerchief?'

'Oh, good Lord.' Bertie took the long-lost article from Jeeves' proffering hand. 'I must have dropped it when you were put to bed. Took it out for a moment to get a smudge of—' He stopped with a frown, disquieted by the memory. 'Well. Thank you, Jeeves, for returning it to me. I've been wondering where it went.'

'I'm glad to have restored it to you, sir,' Jeeves said. He turned his head to peer over his shoulder at Bertie's hands, which were folding the wrinkled handkerchief into a neat square. 'The household would benefit greatly from a thorough cleaning so that no other items are misplaced. May I ask when the Ganymede will arrange for a replacement to—?'

'No, Jeeves, you may not,' Bertie said sharply. He dunked his sponge with more force than was necessary and began swabbing Jeeves' back once more. 'I don't need another valet. There's nothing to be done for me at the moment; it's not as if I'm going to be dressing to go to the theatre or the club anytime soon.'

'Why do you say so, sir?' Jeeves twisted his neck a touch further to meet Bertie's eye.

'Because, Jeeves, my place is here right now. You'd do the same for me, what?' He ran the sponge across Jeeves' shoulder-blades, back and forth, back and forth. It was rather hypnotic, watching the skin shift under the ministrations.

'Sir, the good nurse is here to see to my care. My father is here to raise my spirits, in his own way. Both he and my sister are available for any small household chore that might need doing for me.' Jeeves turned slowly, gingerly, and stopped Bertie's washing with a patient hand on his elbow. 'You need not attend to my sickbed, sir. I am provided for. It is for your well-being that I am concerned.'

Bertie's eyes dropped to the bedsheets and his fingers squeezed into the soft sponge. A few beads of water fell to the white linen, where they spread and stained the cloth dark. Bertie tried to calm his breathing, his rattled heartbeat.

Jeeves seemed to sense this, and he gave a questioning raise of his eyebrows.

'He knows where we are, Jeeves,' Bertie whispered. 'The name cards in my billfold. He knows.'

'Sir?'

'I, I don't pretend to be a hulking bodyguard of any kind,' Bertie said with a trembling laugh, 'but I'd feel a dashed good bit better if I stuck about the flat for the time being. There's no telling what might happen, Jeeves, if he were to—'

'Sir.' Jeeves touched his fingertips to Bertie's chin and lifted it gently. 'He will not.'

'But how do you know—?'

'He. Will. Not.' Jeeves spoke so resolutely, with such command, that Bertie was convinced that he knew something, some secret reason as to why and how the mad gunman would never step foot in Berkeley Square. Because when Jeeves spoke like that, it couldn't be anything but true, could it?

Bertie swallowed and averted his eyes. Perhaps a few days ago he could have trusted in the rock that was Jeeves, but now? One had to question everything now. 'Were the cards removed from my billfold recently, Jeeves? Were you perhaps planning on replacing them with a new set?'

'Well, sir...'

'Are you well-versed in the habits of cash-pinching thieves? Can you say with any scholarly certainty that he wouldn't peruse the entire contents of the wallet?'

'Sir, I merely posit...'

'Do you have any cause to believe, Jeeves,' Bertie said with rising pique, 'that a complete stranger who shot you for no discernible reason would not be so loony as to come after you a second time!?'

Jeeves dropped his hand from Bertie's chin and sighed; a soft, defeated sound. 'No, sir. I suppose not.'

'Then how can you promise such things? I'm not a child, Jeeves.' Bertie clenched his jaw in an effort not to spring a leak in the ocular region. 'I'm aware of all the responsibilities we're now faced with: you with your recovery and I with the safety of the household.'

'But sir, you cannot remain inside the flat indefinitely. In time, you will need to step out into the world once more.' Jeeves took the strangled sponge from Bertie's hand and placed it back in its water bath. 'You will need to continue living your life, sir.'

Bertie gave a scowling, mirthless chuckle. 'It is kind of you, Jeeves, to classify my heretofore frivolous existence as a life.' He shook his head, stymieing the protest that balanced precariously on Jeeves' lips. 'And now there's Mrs Fennaweave and your father to think of. Their being here puts them at risk too.'

'Sir, if you are so convinced of the threat, should we not contact the police?' Jeeves asked.

Bertie gave a half-hearted shrug. 'Do you think they'd post a sentry at the door or something? Wouldn't they consider it an awful waste, guarding some silly ass who still keeps name cards in his billfold?'

'If the perpetrator of the crime is indeed a serial attacker as Mrs Fennaweave has told me might be the case, then the authorities will doubtlessly be eager to apprehend him at great expense.' Jeeves' hand moved slightly, and for a brief moment Bertie was convinced he was about to pat the back of Bertie's damp hand. But that was ridiculous, of course. 'You needn't shoulder this burden alone, sir. It would not be weak to request assistance.'

Bertie worked his tongue in his dry mouth. He finally got his lips round the words: 'Thank you, Jeeves.' He heaved a sigh. 'And now that you're more firmly in the land of the living, the inspector might want a word with you. I'd better give him a call.'

'A good idea, sir, though I fear I will not be much help to the police.' Jeeves faced forward once more and Bertie reached for the sponge to continue his valet-washing. 'I don't remember that day with any clarity. The last vivid memory I have is of leaving the flat; the time afterward is a blur.'

'Yes.' Bertie swallowed with some difficulty. 'I'm afflicted with much the same thing.' This was a lie, of course; it seemed that Bertie could remember nothing but the crystal-clear moments of that awful attack. Not anything helpful, like the exact hair colour of their attacker, but myriad useless details like the angle at which Jeeves' elbow was bent on the cobblestones. The images would replay in his mind's eye over and over during the course of the day, and there was no telling when or how violently the recollections would overcome him. Pondering it only made it worse. Even now, the events of the fateful morning were unfolding in his memory. He felt a stab of envy for Jeeves, who would never be able to recall that day like Bertie could.

Misdirection: that was the ticket. Not just for Jeeves but for Bertie's own sanity. 'Tell me, Jeeves,' he said, still washing his back thoroughly, 'when do you usually perform your ablutions? I don't believe I've ever heard you sloshing about in the guest bath.'

'I prefer the more efficient shower in the early morning, sir,' Jeeves answered. 'A quick hot dousing followed by a cold rinse. Most refreshing, I find.'

'And when you say early morning you mean...?'

'Five is when I usually rise to dress and perform the daily chores.'

'Good Lord!' Bertie ceased his scrubbing to marvel at Jeeves' shoulders for a moment. How the devil did they hold so much at such early hours? 'Jeeves, you must be going stir crazy, sitting in bed all day long if that's the sort of schedule to which you're accustomed.'

Jeeves gave a short nod. 'I admit to a certain dislike of the situation, beyond the obvious.'

Yes, the obvious. Bertie bit his lip, remembering with chilling clarity how Jeeves had been what a doctor might call foxed to the tonsils on morphine. That strange talk they had about Jeeves' imagined death still haunted Bertie's mind. Of course, a cove was apt to say all sorts of rubbish while under the influence of pain medicine; Bertie, for instance, recalled declaring himself King of Sheba during a run-in with laughing gas after having a tooth pulled at the dentist's.

But something that Jeeves had said still niggled. Bertie attempted to swab at his valet nonchalantly and said, 'Jeeves, why don't you think you'll go to Heaven when you leave this earth?'

Jeeves' spine stiffened under Bertie's hands. 'Sir?'

'You mentioned it. Before, I mean. When you were woozled and delirious.'

Jeeves gave Bertie a quick glance over his shoulder. 'Surely I made many nonsensical statements at that time, sir?'

'Yes, I suppose. But Jeeves, you sounded so dashed certain. Why would a man who has never done anything but bring sweetness and light into the lives of those around him say such a thing?'

Jeeves closed his eyes and sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. 'I cannot say, sir.'

Bertie chewed his lower lip and swiped at a Jeevesian forearm with his bathing implement. 'I'll never believe you won't find a home behind the pearly gates in the very, very distant future, of course. However, I'm finding as of late that perhaps I don't know my personal gentleman as I thought I did. It stings to think that I might have passed all this time with a stranger, is what I mean. If you have ever done something, Jeeves...something that you aren't proud of...'

'Sir, I really cannot say.'

'...I wouldn't care,' Bertie finished softly. 'Whatever it might be, I feel sure that all of your millions of other good deeds have erased it from your slate. You stand alone, Jeeves.'

'Yes, sir,' Jeeves returned just as quietly. 'As you say, sir.'

'If there is some...thing that you would like to get off your otherwise unblemished chest, Jeeves, you could confess all to me.'

'Thank you, sir.' Jeeves was uncomplaining as Bertie washed aforementioned chest. 'If there were such a thing, I would feel very gratified to have your willing ear.'

Bertie nodded to himself in a self-satisfied way. 'Yes, I knew you hadn't done anything worthy of the fiery depths. Quite right.'

There was a small, tangible silence, during which Bertie snaked his arm round Jeeves to wash his stomach.

'It is not what I've done,' Jeeves finally said, very low, so that Bertie had to lean close to catch his words.

'Eh? What's that, Jeeves?'

'It is not what I've done,' Jeeves repeated, 'but what I am.'

'What?' Bertie scrunched his nose, unable to follow the string of words. 'I don't understand. What are you, exactly, Jeeves?'

Jeeves shook his head in mute answer, his shoulders bowing forward, as if he were folding in on himself.

Bertie took a deep breath and pursed his lips. He ruminated for a long moment, weighing it all in his mind.

'No need to spell it out for me, old thing,' he said at last.

'No, sir?' Jeeves looked up at Bertie through the fringe of his mussed jet black hair.

'Not at all. I already know what you are.' Bertie set his sponge down in its dish and laid a damp hand on Jeeves' flinching shoulder. 'A paragon, a stalwart, a wonder, and a man I'm dashed proud to know in any capacity. Whatever else you think you are, well, it can't be anything compared to all those.'

'Sir.' Jeeves cleared his throat, as if something had caught in it. 'Your kindness, your limitless kindness, will always serve as a reminder to me that,' his hand drifted to the wound at his side, 'there is more than darkness in the hearts of men. I cannot thank you enough.'

Bertie smiled slowly, forcing the muscles in his face to stretch into a wide grin. It felt rusty, but it eventually fell into place on his map. 'Your being here is plenty thanks for me, Jeeves.'

They may have stayed there all morning, Bertie's gentle hand on his valet's bare shoulder, Jeeves breathing deep and even, a strange tableau that neither wished to break. Until, of course, Mrs Fennaweave rapped loudly at the bedroom door, causing Bertie to jump a mile in the air.

'What are you getting up to in there? Are you quite finished yet, Mr Wooster?'

'Yes, one moment!' Bertie called back, dropping to his knees on the floor and giving Jeeves' legs and feet a hasty rub-down. 'I say, Jeeves,' he muttered to the other man, 'that nurse will be the death of me.'

A glimmer of a smile teased the corner of Jeeves' weary lips. 'Indeed, sir. You might find yourself hiring another lady to nurse you from this nurse, as it were.'

'Well, nothing to do but plod onwards, what?' And Bertie dropped the sponge back in the basin with a triumphant flourish.


Continue to Chapter 9.