Fic: Jeeves and the Doctor
Jeeves and the Doctor
By kalimyre
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: In which there is a curious doctor, a mysterious patient, and Jeeves is both clever and careless.
Notes: First story in the fandom. Contains sick-Bertie, only not. More like recovering-Bertie. I may have taken some liberties with history.
~~~
It is not uncommon for me to have unknown patients, as my hospital caters to those who are often unable to seek medical help through the formal channels. The poor and indigent either come to our doors on their own, or (sadly more often) are brought in by the police when they are found in some terrible condition on the streets. However, this particular unknown patient was a bit unusual.
He’d been the victim of some sort of robbing, I imagine, given his injuries and lack of any personal effects. His clothing, though torn and dirtied by his attack, was of a fine variety as such befits a gentleman. A bit of broken watch chain suggested his timepiece had been snatched from him, and I assumed his pocketbook had been stolen as well, leaving us with no way to identify the young man.
The injuries were relatively trifling; a knock to the head, really, and a few scrapes. However, lying most of the night exposed to the cold had led him to develop pneumonia and he’d been delirious with fever for several days. Fortunately, Mr. Fleming’s new miracle drug seemed to be beating the sickness back a little at a time. My mystery patient was nearly to the recovery stage, and merely faced some days abed to recover his strength.
I fancied myself a bit of an amateur detective at times, and I had gathered that this man was rather better off than the majority of my patients. The clothing was certainly a clue, but moreover his very form was that of the wealthy. He was fine and slender, without an overabundance of muscle, and his hands were especially soft, devoid of the roughness brought about by manual labor. In his rare moments of wakefulness, his speech was nonsensical (he had not even yet been able to tell us his name, thus the mystery) but his voice nonetheless held an unmistakable touch of culture. Eton, I thought, although that may have been a bit of a wild guess.
The nurses had told me he was a little more lucid this morn, his fever finally broken in the night, and I was eager to see if my conclusions had been correct. However, as I made my way across the main foyer of our little hospital, I was accosted by a man I was quite certain had not been standing there a moment before.
“Excuse me please, sir,” he said quietly and I stopped, startled. He was quite tall, impeccably dressed and pressed, and possessed of rather striking eyes. I have always been of a curious nature (too curious, my wife says, but she says it indulgently) and I immediately wanted to know what this person was doing in such a cluttered and noisy place as a hospital for the poor.
“Yes?” I said. “Can I help you?”
He bowed his head ever so slightly. “I do hope so, sir. I am searching for a person of some importance to me who has gone missing this past week. Such a disappearance without further contact is contrary to his nature, and I am concerned he may have been injured.”
“Can you describe him?” I asked, although I already had an inkling as to who this fellow was looking for.
“Certainly, sir,” he replied. “He is a young man of not quite thirty summers, tall and slim, generally fair featured. Last seen, he was wearing a brown tweed suit with a navy tie.”
That was a perfect description of my mystery patient, and I felt a tinge of excitement at the confirmation of my theories. The patient must be someone of some importance to be sought after by this man, who was quite impressive in his bearing and speech. “Tell me,” I said, “does he have blue eyes?”
The man’s expression sharpened for a moment into something I did not quite recognize, but it compelled me to take a half step back. “Indeed he does, sir,” the man said, the picture of calm once again. “Am I to understand he is on the premises?”
“I believe so,” I told him. “Right this way.” He fell into step beside me as we strode down the hall. “Say, you wouldn’t be Jeeves, would you?” I asked.
If he was surprised by this question, he didn’t show it. “I am, sir,” he replied.
“This is definitely your fellow, then,” I told him. “He hasn’t said much that makes sense, but he does keep saying that name. Asking for you, I believe.”
“I see,” he said, and I detected a barely perceptible tightening around the jaw area although what that meant, I couldn’t say.
“Would you be so kind as to tell me his name?” I asked. “I’ve been rather curious.”
“Of course, sir,” he said. “The gentleman in question is Mr. Bertram Wooster.”
“Ah,” I replied, although the name was not immediately recognizable. “Are you a friend of his?”
“I am Mr. Wooster’s valet, sir,” he said. “May I inquire as to his condition?”
A valet, even! He must be a man of some means, which was always good news for me. Most of the patients are incapable of paying for their services, you see. I help them anyway, Hippocratic Oath and all that, but a man does like to receive a bit of recompense from time to time. “He’s on the mend,” I told Jeeves. “He was robbed, I’m afraid, but it was the pneumonia that affected him the most. I’m told that his fever has broken and he’s looking better, though.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves replied, looking all tight about the jaw again.
It was then that we drew even with Mr. Wooster’s room, and we could hear him from the hall, arguing rather plaintively with the nurse.
“I say, must I really remain in this bed? I’ve been here quite long enough, I should think,” he said as we entered the room. The nurse, a woman of considerable fortitude, held him in place with the weight of an authoritative stare. One of my best, Diane, and certainly more than a match for one patient still weak from his sickness.
The patient was just attempting to rise from his bed despite her warnings and I could see she would resort to force in a moment (gently, of course, but not in a way that could be trifled with) when the man beside me cleared his throat. “Sir,” he said, and the patient looked up quite sharply.
Gladness burst over his face in such a bright and genuine way that I found myself smiling in response. “Jeeves!” he cried and rose to his feet, managing two wobbling steps across the room before his legs folded beneath him. Although he’d been standing beside me only a moment before, Jeeves was suddenly by the patient’s side, supporting him about the waist and chest.
“Sir, may I suggest returning to your bed?” he said, and his voice was markedly warmer than when he had addressed me, despite the formality of his words.
“Oh yes, quite,” Mr. Wooster mumbled, rather pale of face and dazed of eye.
As I watched, Jeeves placed the man back in his bed deftly, arranging the sheets with a quick snap of the wrist so they lay flat and smooth upon the patient’s chest. Mr. Wooster noticed none of this, his gaze fixed on his valet’s face and a grin threatening to split his own. “Jeeves!” he said again. He reached out and tried to place a hand on his man’s shoulder, but his arm proved too weak and he wound up wrapping his fingers around the other’s wrist. “Jolly good to see you,” he said.
“I am relieved to find you well, sir,” Jeeves replied. He took a seat beside the bed and perused the patient, apparently checking the state of his person. Diane had long since bustled out, having other duties to attend now that the patient was properly abed but I remained-the product of that troublesome curiosity of mine, I suppose.
“Jeeves,” Mr. Wooster said again. He was fading, unable to remain awake for long in his weakened state. His eyes fell closed, then opened again, heavy and dull with fatigue. “Where were you? It’s been bally awful you know, all alone in this place... had no idea where I was, really.”
I had already gathered that Jeeves was not given to displays of emotion, but at this he looked almost stricken. “My apologies, sir,” he said, leaning a little closer to the bed. “I have searched nearly every hospital in the city for you; it was poor fortune that I arrived here later rather than sooner.”
“Ah, well,” the patient said, lightly patting the hand that his fingers still grasped about the wrist. “Can you spring me? I should very much like to return home.”
“I shall endeavor to do so, sir,” Jeeves replied. “I assure you, I will remain here at your service until that time.”
The patient was almost asleep now, clearly lulled by the soft voice of his valet. “You are a wonder, Jeeves,” he murmured, then sighed deeply, sinking into the bed.
Jeeves said nothing, and it was at this point that I divined he did not realize I was still loitering in the doorway, watching. I knew this because he reached out with his free hand and smoothed the patient’s hair back from his face, a delicate and familiar touch of fingertips that I was quite certain went rather beyond the normal relationship of a gentleman and his valet.
It occurred to me at that time that I was, perhaps, invading the privacy of my patient and I saw fit to retreat. I strived to put a purposeful lift in my step as I moved down the hall, thinking of the other patients who were my responsibility, but I found my mind wandering back to Mr. Wooster, who was somehow now even more mysterious than before.
~~~
I saw Mr. Wooster and Jeeves again when I made my rounds that afternoon. Jeeves was still at the man’s bedside, but the patient was awake and rattling on about something or other. Something to do with aunts and engagements that I didn’t quite follow. When he paused for breath, casting an anxious glance at Jeeves, the latter was quick to reassure him on the matter.
“Due to your disappearance, sir, Miss Harrisburg-Smythe has deemed you too unreliable a suitor,” he said. “Most unfortunate.”
“Oh, quite,” Mr. Wooster said, although his openly relieved expression said otherwise. “And the, er...”
“I was able to secure the envelope of documents before they reached the hands of Mr. Glossop,” Jeeves told him.
“I say, Jeeves, you are a marvel,” the patient said, attempting to rise-perhaps to make some physical gesture of admiration, although I’m not sure what.
“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves said, calmly pressing a hand to Mr. Wooster’s chest to keep him in place. The hand remained there longer than strictly necessary, but if Mr. Wooster did not see anything improper in the situation, then I did not intend to argue.
The patient yawned widely and quite suddenly, his brief burst of energy exhausted. “Think I’ll just pop off for a bit of rest,” he said, already sagging on the bed.
“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves replied softly. He arranged the blankets snugly around the form on the bed, and then sat by while Mr. Wooster drifted into sleep. When it appeared he was quite certain his employer was resting securely, he turned to me, seeming unsurprised to find me lingering the doorway.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, rising to his feet. “May I have a word?”
I nodded and joined him in the room, where he deftly drew us both to the corner furthest from the patient-so as to not disturb his rest, I surmised.
“I wish to extend my thanks for the remarkable care taken to ensure Mr. Wooster’s well-being,” he began. “He is fortunate to have fallen into your hands.”
“Well, you’re quite welcome,” I said, a bit flustered. “That is what we do here, after all.”
“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves replied. “I am given to understand that this hospital relies on the charitable funding of certain benefactors.”
I allowed as to how this was the case, given that the majority of our patients are unable to pay for their care on their own. “We do gain some support from the church,” I added, not wanting to give the impression that we were wholly reliant on the goodwill of others.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “As you may have discovered, Mr. Wooster is a gentleman of no small means. I assure you he is also a gentleman possessed of great generosity of spirit. I am certain he will be eager to make a sizable donation to the hospital in appreciation for the care he has received.”
This was exactly the news I had hoped for, but I had not expected it to be delivered so easily into my hands. “Well... we would be very grateful,” I said, feeling a bit off-center.
Jeeves nodded. “Please do let me know when Mr. Wooster will be well enough to return home,” he said.
“I am sure it will be soon,” I replied. He gave a slight bow and excused himself, returning to his employer’s bedside. Before my very eyes, his stern and expressionless visage transformed itself, becoming something almost fond. I decided it was best to leave the room before I could begin having uncomfortable suspicions again.
I returned to my office to sign Mr. Wooster’s release documents at once. He was well enough to return home, and I felt certain he was in capable hands in terms of his recovery. If perhaps those hands were a tad too intimate with his person, well... I had not seen anything truly inappropriate and there was the matter of the large donation. Loyalty and devotion such as those displayed by Jeeves were to be commended, after all. Sometimes, I decided, one must turn a blind eye for the greater good.
The duo left the hospital that very night, Jeeves bearing his employer out to their vehicle with the aid of a steadying arm. Mr. Wooster looked delighted, if still a bit pale, and he beamed equally at the open sky and at his companion by his side. True to Jeeves’ promise, a very generous donation arrived by post the following week. As for the rest... well, I find there are some matters that I simply do not wish to be curious about.
~~~
Fin
As I am new to the fandom and the canon, I welcome concrit. I've only just discovered Jeeves and Wooster, but became so besotted with them that I was unable to resist this little piece.
By kalimyre
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: In which there is a curious doctor, a mysterious patient, and Jeeves is both clever and careless.
Notes: First story in the fandom. Contains sick-Bertie, only not. More like recovering-Bertie. I may have taken some liberties with history.
~~~
It is not uncommon for me to have unknown patients, as my hospital caters to those who are often unable to seek medical help through the formal channels. The poor and indigent either come to our doors on their own, or (sadly more often) are brought in by the police when they are found in some terrible condition on the streets. However, this particular unknown patient was a bit unusual.
He’d been the victim of some sort of robbing, I imagine, given his injuries and lack of any personal effects. His clothing, though torn and dirtied by his attack, was of a fine variety as such befits a gentleman. A bit of broken watch chain suggested his timepiece had been snatched from him, and I assumed his pocketbook had been stolen as well, leaving us with no way to identify the young man.
The injuries were relatively trifling; a knock to the head, really, and a few scrapes. However, lying most of the night exposed to the cold had led him to develop pneumonia and he’d been delirious with fever for several days. Fortunately, Mr. Fleming’s new miracle drug seemed to be beating the sickness back a little at a time. My mystery patient was nearly to the recovery stage, and merely faced some days abed to recover his strength.
I fancied myself a bit of an amateur detective at times, and I had gathered that this man was rather better off than the majority of my patients. The clothing was certainly a clue, but moreover his very form was that of the wealthy. He was fine and slender, without an overabundance of muscle, and his hands were especially soft, devoid of the roughness brought about by manual labor. In his rare moments of wakefulness, his speech was nonsensical (he had not even yet been able to tell us his name, thus the mystery) but his voice nonetheless held an unmistakable touch of culture. Eton, I thought, although that may have been a bit of a wild guess.
The nurses had told me he was a little more lucid this morn, his fever finally broken in the night, and I was eager to see if my conclusions had been correct. However, as I made my way across the main foyer of our little hospital, I was accosted by a man I was quite certain had not been standing there a moment before.
“Excuse me please, sir,” he said quietly and I stopped, startled. He was quite tall, impeccably dressed and pressed, and possessed of rather striking eyes. I have always been of a curious nature (too curious, my wife says, but she says it indulgently) and I immediately wanted to know what this person was doing in such a cluttered and noisy place as a hospital for the poor.
“Yes?” I said. “Can I help you?”
He bowed his head ever so slightly. “I do hope so, sir. I am searching for a person of some importance to me who has gone missing this past week. Such a disappearance without further contact is contrary to his nature, and I am concerned he may have been injured.”
“Can you describe him?” I asked, although I already had an inkling as to who this fellow was looking for.
“Certainly, sir,” he replied. “He is a young man of not quite thirty summers, tall and slim, generally fair featured. Last seen, he was wearing a brown tweed suit with a navy tie.”
That was a perfect description of my mystery patient, and I felt a tinge of excitement at the confirmation of my theories. The patient must be someone of some importance to be sought after by this man, who was quite impressive in his bearing and speech. “Tell me,” I said, “does he have blue eyes?”
The man’s expression sharpened for a moment into something I did not quite recognize, but it compelled me to take a half step back. “Indeed he does, sir,” the man said, the picture of calm once again. “Am I to understand he is on the premises?”
“I believe so,” I told him. “Right this way.” He fell into step beside me as we strode down the hall. “Say, you wouldn’t be Jeeves, would you?” I asked.
If he was surprised by this question, he didn’t show it. “I am, sir,” he replied.
“This is definitely your fellow, then,” I told him. “He hasn’t said much that makes sense, but he does keep saying that name. Asking for you, I believe.”
“I see,” he said, and I detected a barely perceptible tightening around the jaw area although what that meant, I couldn’t say.
“Would you be so kind as to tell me his name?” I asked. “I’ve been rather curious.”
“Of course, sir,” he said. “The gentleman in question is Mr. Bertram Wooster.”
“Ah,” I replied, although the name was not immediately recognizable. “Are you a friend of his?”
“I am Mr. Wooster’s valet, sir,” he said. “May I inquire as to his condition?”
A valet, even! He must be a man of some means, which was always good news for me. Most of the patients are incapable of paying for their services, you see. I help them anyway, Hippocratic Oath and all that, but a man does like to receive a bit of recompense from time to time. “He’s on the mend,” I told Jeeves. “He was robbed, I’m afraid, but it was the pneumonia that affected him the most. I’m told that his fever has broken and he’s looking better, though.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves replied, looking all tight about the jaw again.
It was then that we drew even with Mr. Wooster’s room, and we could hear him from the hall, arguing rather plaintively with the nurse.
“I say, must I really remain in this bed? I’ve been here quite long enough, I should think,” he said as we entered the room. The nurse, a woman of considerable fortitude, held him in place with the weight of an authoritative stare. One of my best, Diane, and certainly more than a match for one patient still weak from his sickness.
The patient was just attempting to rise from his bed despite her warnings and I could see she would resort to force in a moment (gently, of course, but not in a way that could be trifled with) when the man beside me cleared his throat. “Sir,” he said, and the patient looked up quite sharply.
Gladness burst over his face in such a bright and genuine way that I found myself smiling in response. “Jeeves!” he cried and rose to his feet, managing two wobbling steps across the room before his legs folded beneath him. Although he’d been standing beside me only a moment before, Jeeves was suddenly by the patient’s side, supporting him about the waist and chest.
“Sir, may I suggest returning to your bed?” he said, and his voice was markedly warmer than when he had addressed me, despite the formality of his words.
“Oh yes, quite,” Mr. Wooster mumbled, rather pale of face and dazed of eye.
As I watched, Jeeves placed the man back in his bed deftly, arranging the sheets with a quick snap of the wrist so they lay flat and smooth upon the patient’s chest. Mr. Wooster noticed none of this, his gaze fixed on his valet’s face and a grin threatening to split his own. “Jeeves!” he said again. He reached out and tried to place a hand on his man’s shoulder, but his arm proved too weak and he wound up wrapping his fingers around the other’s wrist. “Jolly good to see you,” he said.
“I am relieved to find you well, sir,” Jeeves replied. He took a seat beside the bed and perused the patient, apparently checking the state of his person. Diane had long since bustled out, having other duties to attend now that the patient was properly abed but I remained-the product of that troublesome curiosity of mine, I suppose.
“Jeeves,” Mr. Wooster said again. He was fading, unable to remain awake for long in his weakened state. His eyes fell closed, then opened again, heavy and dull with fatigue. “Where were you? It’s been bally awful you know, all alone in this place... had no idea where I was, really.”
I had already gathered that Jeeves was not given to displays of emotion, but at this he looked almost stricken. “My apologies, sir,” he said, leaning a little closer to the bed. “I have searched nearly every hospital in the city for you; it was poor fortune that I arrived here later rather than sooner.”
“Ah, well,” the patient said, lightly patting the hand that his fingers still grasped about the wrist. “Can you spring me? I should very much like to return home.”
“I shall endeavor to do so, sir,” Jeeves replied. “I assure you, I will remain here at your service until that time.”
The patient was almost asleep now, clearly lulled by the soft voice of his valet. “You are a wonder, Jeeves,” he murmured, then sighed deeply, sinking into the bed.
Jeeves said nothing, and it was at this point that I divined he did not realize I was still loitering in the doorway, watching. I knew this because he reached out with his free hand and smoothed the patient’s hair back from his face, a delicate and familiar touch of fingertips that I was quite certain went rather beyond the normal relationship of a gentleman and his valet.
It occurred to me at that time that I was, perhaps, invading the privacy of my patient and I saw fit to retreat. I strived to put a purposeful lift in my step as I moved down the hall, thinking of the other patients who were my responsibility, but I found my mind wandering back to Mr. Wooster, who was somehow now even more mysterious than before.
~~~
I saw Mr. Wooster and Jeeves again when I made my rounds that afternoon. Jeeves was still at the man’s bedside, but the patient was awake and rattling on about something or other. Something to do with aunts and engagements that I didn’t quite follow. When he paused for breath, casting an anxious glance at Jeeves, the latter was quick to reassure him on the matter.
“Due to your disappearance, sir, Miss Harrisburg-Smythe has deemed you too unreliable a suitor,” he said. “Most unfortunate.”
“Oh, quite,” Mr. Wooster said, although his openly relieved expression said otherwise. “And the, er...”
“I was able to secure the envelope of documents before they reached the hands of Mr. Glossop,” Jeeves told him.
“I say, Jeeves, you are a marvel,” the patient said, attempting to rise-perhaps to make some physical gesture of admiration, although I’m not sure what.
“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves said, calmly pressing a hand to Mr. Wooster’s chest to keep him in place. The hand remained there longer than strictly necessary, but if Mr. Wooster did not see anything improper in the situation, then I did not intend to argue.
The patient yawned widely and quite suddenly, his brief burst of energy exhausted. “Think I’ll just pop off for a bit of rest,” he said, already sagging on the bed.
“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves replied softly. He arranged the blankets snugly around the form on the bed, and then sat by while Mr. Wooster drifted into sleep. When it appeared he was quite certain his employer was resting securely, he turned to me, seeming unsurprised to find me lingering the doorway.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, rising to his feet. “May I have a word?”
I nodded and joined him in the room, where he deftly drew us both to the corner furthest from the patient-so as to not disturb his rest, I surmised.
“I wish to extend my thanks for the remarkable care taken to ensure Mr. Wooster’s well-being,” he began. “He is fortunate to have fallen into your hands.”
“Well, you’re quite welcome,” I said, a bit flustered. “That is what we do here, after all.”
“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves replied. “I am given to understand that this hospital relies on the charitable funding of certain benefactors.”
I allowed as to how this was the case, given that the majority of our patients are unable to pay for their care on their own. “We do gain some support from the church,” I added, not wanting to give the impression that we were wholly reliant on the goodwill of others.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “As you may have discovered, Mr. Wooster is a gentleman of no small means. I assure you he is also a gentleman possessed of great generosity of spirit. I am certain he will be eager to make a sizable donation to the hospital in appreciation for the care he has received.”
This was exactly the news I had hoped for, but I had not expected it to be delivered so easily into my hands. “Well... we would be very grateful,” I said, feeling a bit off-center.
Jeeves nodded. “Please do let me know when Mr. Wooster will be well enough to return home,” he said.
“I am sure it will be soon,” I replied. He gave a slight bow and excused himself, returning to his employer’s bedside. Before my very eyes, his stern and expressionless visage transformed itself, becoming something almost fond. I decided it was best to leave the room before I could begin having uncomfortable suspicions again.
I returned to my office to sign Mr. Wooster’s release documents at once. He was well enough to return home, and I felt certain he was in capable hands in terms of his recovery. If perhaps those hands were a tad too intimate with his person, well... I had not seen anything truly inappropriate and there was the matter of the large donation. Loyalty and devotion such as those displayed by Jeeves were to be commended, after all. Sometimes, I decided, one must turn a blind eye for the greater good.
The duo left the hospital that very night, Jeeves bearing his employer out to their vehicle with the aid of a steadying arm. Mr. Wooster looked delighted, if still a bit pale, and he beamed equally at the open sky and at his companion by his side. True to Jeeves’ promise, a very generous donation arrived by post the following week. As for the rest... well, I find there are some matters that I simply do not wish to be curious about.
~~~
Fin
As I am new to the fandom and the canon, I welcome concrit. I've only just discovered Jeeves and Wooster, but became so besotted with them that I was unable to resist this little piece.