Challenge: Bruise
Title: Jeeves and the Spot of Bother
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie, Oofy Prosser, Bingo Little, Barmy Fungy-Phipps, Montague Todd, Tuppy Glossop
Word Count: ~1100
Rating: PG
Summary: The Drones bring home a rather battered and bedraggled Bertie. Will it be too much for Jeeves to handle?


“Sir!”  Jeeves very nearly dropped the tray holding a brandy and soda with nearly no soda. His young master, Bertie Wooster, hung between two of his friends from the Drones Club, bleeding gently from a split lip.  One eye had given up the struggle and swollen shut.  Most of the handsome face had purpled over with bruises.

The amber liquid sloshed nearly over the top of the heavy, high-quality glass as Jeeves tossed the tray on a side table and secured his master’s elbow in a large, firm hand.  Bertie muffled a cry of pain as Jeeves slid an arm around the slender waist.

“Mind the ribs,” said Bingo Little, bringing up the rear.  A series of welts shaped like small crests was forming on his left temple and chin.  “He had a right kicking.  It was all I could do to get him out of there alive.  Can’t thank you crumpets enough for aiding and abetting our escape.”

Bertie slumped out of Oofy Prosser’s grasp and against his valet. “Quite all right, really, so sorry to be a bother and all that, what?”

Barmy Fungy-Phipps supported Bertie’s far side.  “Have you got him, then, Jeeves?” Bingo asked, leaning against Oofy’s free side.

“Of course, sir,” said Jeeves smoothly.  “Would you care for some refreshments?” he asked pointedly as Bingo drained the glass of brandy.

“Yes, yes, my house, welcome. Make yourself at home and whatsit,” said Bertie, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

The Drones backed carefully away, Oofy rather dragging Bingo Little.  “Oh, no, no, no. Frightfully kind of you, old bean.”

“Cab’s waiting to bring us home.”

“We shan’t intrude, if Jeeves has this well in hand.”  Jeeves inclined his head politely.

“Doctor’s been called to my place and all that.”

Jeeves felt his eyebrow pop up nearly to his hairline as the three young men stampeded down the hallway like a small herd of well-bred cattle in bedraggled but correct evening wear.

Jeeves gently steered his master toward the bedchamber. “But the brandy, Jeeves,” said Bertie almost plaintively.  Jeeves gave a tentative sniff.  No, Bertie wasn’t drunk.  Whatever had happened?

An hour later, Bertie was propped up in bed, resplendent in a set of plum-colored pajamas with cerise piping.  A neatly folded bandage covered his swollen eye. He bent forward to smooth the sheets and winced.  Jeeves materialized with a tray and Bertie drained a brandy.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Jeeves asked, smoothing the sheets, then Bertie’s hair.  They had, tentatively, become lovers a few weeks previously.  Nothing much was said about it, but Jeeves felt suddenly how much this young man had come to mean to him.

The blue eyes closed briefly under the touch, then grew panicked. “Er, ah, well, there was a spot of bother and whatnot.  Then Bingo bravely pulled self into the cab Oofy and Barmy had brought round to the service entrance. All sorted now.  You needn’t worry.”

Jeeves took his master’s hand. “A spot of bother?”

“Some fellows wanted to bet at darts and, er, ah.  It all became rather confused, like when the walls of Jericho tumbled down but rather more like the time Tuppy was stampeded playing ruggers.”

“Bet?  What fellows?” Bertie gave a sort of moan and his eyes fluttered as the combined effects of the brandy and his pain medication made his eyes roll up.  Jeeves settled Bertie carefully under the sheets and then moved to the phone.  Oofy and Barmy were most forthcoming (and rather unclear on the circumstances behind the bother, having been at the bar). Bingo had to be threatened with a visit to Mrs. Little.

“Ah, they were not the most pleasant fellows, Jeeves.  One of them said you used to carry a tray for him. Er, a Todd. Montague Todd.” Jeeves allowed himself to collapse into the nearest chair. “Ah, they were rather set on getting Bertie to bet you on a game of darts.  He tried to refuse politely, but…well, it’s all my own fault, really, for insisting on visiting the place.  Rosie had wanted to see it for some research and I rather liked the fried oysters.”  Jeeves watched the knuckles of his hand go white as he gripped the desk to stop himself trembling.

“You can solve this, Jeeves,” said Bingo confidently. “Ah, I didn’t like to say anything in front of the others, but I have faith in you.”

Jeeves rung off politely. Sadly, he was not at all confident that he could solve this.  After all, Montague Todd had vowed that he would get revenge on Jeeves if ever he was released from prison.  Jeeves walked back to the bedroom.  He sat by the bed and held Bertie’s hand.  Thoughts raced through his head.  From time to time, he smoothed the blonde hair. After an hour, he squared his shoulders and moved to rise.

Bertie squeezed his hand.  “Bingo told you about that blighter, then?”

“Yes, he did. I am terribly sorry.” He took a deep breath. "I have a plan."

The willowy young man groaned and tried to sit up.  Jeeves hurried to help. “Dash it.  We sorted it and I don’t want you worried about all this rot.”

Jeeves sighed and stroked the golden head. “I must worry about it.  I’ve brought this upon you, and…”

“Enough.”

A smile, warm and loving, spread across the valet's usually serious features. “You must realize…”

Bertie folded his arms mutinously. “No, I mustn’t realize. You must. I’ve sorted it. They were pinched.”  Jeeves moved to go, but Bertie caught his hand.  Their eyes met. “Stay with me tonight?”

Jeeves blushed. “But, sir, your ribs…” Bertie shook his head.

“Not that. Just, please, stay here. We’ve been, ah, well, canoodling for weeks. I’ve had a rather trying evening and I want you here.”  He did not add that he did not want the valet shimmering off and leaving a note.

Against his better judgment, Jeeves agreed. Who could resist that blue eye? That night, he held Bertie against him until dawn, murmuring loving endearments at intervals. His heart had never felt so full.  How could he leave such a darling man? He willed back the tears as he made his resolve to protect his young master from within their shared home.

In the morning, there was a phone call from Mr. Spenser, a friend from his club and London butler to Bertie’s aunt.  “Reggie?  Please tell young Mr. Wooster that Todd has gone off to Cannes to see a man about something soapy.  I haven’t the foggiest what it means, but some rather battered looking young gentlemen asked me to run round to the precinct house and bail out a trio of rather hardened characters then see them off at the station. You can pick up the receipts at the club.  I, er, gave your name. It seemed wiser, somehow.”

Jeeves thanked Mr. Spenser and set down the receiver.  The phone rang again almost instantly. It was Montague Todd. "I was wrong about you all along, it seems. Thought you'd framed me. Very decent of you to bail us out and set us back on the trail of that louse, Sid.  I'll not forget this favor in a hurry."

Jeeves felt his knees collapse underneath him.  He settled on the ottoman and managed to say the proper things, then hung up the phone and put his head between his knees.  After a minute or so, he staggered into the bedroom.

Bertie opened his eyes.  “I told you it was sorted.  They were arrested and have fled the country after that Soapy Sid fellow. The one who stole those pearls. Now, I’d like more of those snuggles.  They were quite refreshing.”

“Very good,” said Jeeves.  He laid aside his clothes and gathered Bertie against him. “Thank-you so very much.  I could not possibly do without you.”

“Enough of that, Jeeves. It was high time I've done something for you. Where are my snuggles?”