Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Summary: What if the last time Jeeves had a spat with Bertie about a tie, Bertie married?


Candle

Bertie drew back from the widow, watching the flickering flame as it reflected in the glass against the blackness of the night.  He didn’t know why he still did this, but it was their night, their signal, his only connection to the man he still foolishly, hopelessly loved.  It had been months since Jeeves had shimmered out of his life after some silly quarrel over braces or soft-bosomed shirts and Bertie had wound up married a few weeks later.

It only lasted a few days.  She was in love with another bloke, after all. They all had been, he realized with a shock the morning she left, every last beazel Jeeves had shaken from him.  Not one beazel had ever loved Bertram.

And he had never loved a beazel.

Honoria had been more of a pal about it than anyone could have predicted.  Divorced him quietly, complaining about the incessant piano playing and his constantly sneaking cats into their bedroom.  Refused to take a cent of his money.  They still had lunch.  Best to keep things civilized.

He sat down with his mystery novel, but stared at himself in one of the mirrors. Life was getting on with him, and nothing to show for it.  The Bohemian revels had paled long before Jeeves, so there was no solace to be had there.  Perhaps Aunt Agatha had been right and he should have bred some children.

They would have been some company.

Bertie set down his novel and had a snifter of brandy.  Most nights, he only allowed himself the one, but tonight the time and solitude weighed heavily on him and he had another.  And another.  He felt pleasantly warm and swimmy.

It had been months since he felt this way in his room.  In this chair.  The last time, Jeeves had been there, been so gentle with him. Usually they had been more robust and strapping, but they had quarreled earlier that night.  He ought to have known something was wrong.

The smooth soft fingers that had never done a day’s work drifted over the cover of the novel.  Bertie wondered idly if he should have another brandy.  He’d left the glass in the other room.

In the window the candle flickered.

****

Down in the street below, Jeeves looked up at the flickering light of a single candle, as he had on each of his free nights for the past months. Willing Bertie to look out the window—the only window not blocked by draperies—and invite him back in.  He used a folded handkerchief to carefully blot his tears before he moved toward his destination.

****
Bertie had drifted aimlessly about his flat and found himself by the brandy again.  He dashed at the tears in his eyes, feeling a useless fool.  If only Jeeves were there.

“Take it like a man, Wooster,” he murmured, and turned to go to bed.  He would take care to spend the next week or so ‘out on the tiles’ as Motty Pershore had put it.

Then he heard a discreet knock at the door.  His first wild hope was that it was Jeeves.  But Jeeves had a key.  Probably Jarvis. With a telegram. Aunt Dahlia must want him to steal something again.

He smoothed his hair and rubbed his icy fingers against his eyes. Then he opened the door.

It wasn’t Jarvis. At first, Bertie did not know who it was.

“Jeeves?” Bertie’s mind went blank.

“Yes, sir.”  The man looked positively green. “I…” his voice cracked, and his eyes filled.

Bertie shook himself and stood aside to let him in.  A single suitcase stood in the hallway, and Bertie was reminded of how little Jeeves possessed, how many of his things had been scattered in their various adventures.  Bertie pulled the suitcase in and closed the door.

****
Jeeves had only made it as far as the entryway before he had bowed his head and choked back a sob.  He blotted his face again.  Around him, he felt Bertie moving quietly.  Extinguishing the candle that had done its work and drawing the drapes.

Then those sensitive fingertips were in his hair and the surprisingly strong arms were around him. “Oh thank god, Reggie.” Bertie kissed him again and again. “I was so worried about you.”

Jeeves struggled to compose himself. He had not enjoyed his return to genuine servitude. “I was not certain that it was for me.”

Bertie froze. “Dash it, Reg.  You mean to say you’ve been haunting the street?”

Jeeves nodded.  “Jarvis saw me this evening and opened the door.”

Bertie made a mental note to tip Jarvis extravagantly.  Unaware that he already did. “Then why do you have your case?”

“I took my quarter’s wages today. I was going to take a room at the club for a few days.”

“That bad?”  The tone of sympathy washed over Jeeves.  And suddenly it was not that bad at all.

“I love you,” said Jeeves, smiling through his tears.

“I know,” said Bertie, kissing him again. “Are you coming back?”

“Will you have me?”

“Only if you promise never to bally well leave me again.”

“Sir, I…”

“There is a tie that binds, you said.”

Jeeves laughed.  “I didn’t realize how much I loved you.  I was frightened.”

Bertie smiled and gave his lover a squeeze.  “I know, my sparkling one. That’s what had me worried.  That, and getting married.”

“Miss Glossop is a most reasonable young person, sir.”


****
Bertie’s mouth fell open.  “You don’t mean to say?”  Jeeves let his eyes twinkle as he nodded. “You are a marvel.”

“Thank-you, sir.”

“Enough of that…now, let’s talk about that last night. I rather liked how tender….”  They both flushed.  And Bertie took Jeeves by the hand and led him into a bedroom that was no longer cold and lonely.