Challenge: Bruise
Title: Jeevesianian Frolics
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie, various centaurs, a few unicorns, Macintosh, Anatole, Bingo Little, Zeus
Word Count: ~950
Rating: PG
Summary: Jeeves and Bertie, having been made into gods by Zeus, bury the last of their friends.  They bring daffodils to their unicorn in a Hello Kitty suitcase in an attempt to rekindle their romance. (Inspired by a quote from Big Bang Theory)


Jeeves and Wooster had become immorti-thingummy some decades before and had become rather depressed as the last of the Drones had shuffled off the mortal coils and gone through the glass darkly.  The heart was bruised purple and blue and green. About a week after Bingo went the way of all Drones, we lounged about our lair on Mount Olympus, eating some ambrosia that Anatole had made without too many of those bally marshmallows and tossing cards into one of Hermes’s flying shoes while Mackintosh snoozed by the Jeevesian feet.

“Dashed distressing, what?” I said feelingly as a six of diamonds bounced off one of the thunderbolts Marduk had left behind on his last visit. Jeeves was still trying to get the scorch marks out of the setee.

“Mr. Little’s passing was a most poignant event,” said Jeeves, wiping away a tear from the damask cheek. He didn’t mention the fact that we had snuck into the nursing villa to visit Bingo and he had known us immediately.  Hadn’t recognized his own children, but he knew me.  Wooster had wept brokenly against the Jeevesian chest after each night, but we hadn’t the heart to stay away in his last days.  It had been even worse than watching Aunt Dahlia go, the final days of the last of the dearest chums. We’d recounted all our tales of love and adventure, which was topping, but we knew it was only a matter of time before the wailing and gnashing would commence.

I tossed a few more mournful cards and Macintosh snorted and pedaled his feet.
“Remember the time you turned into a centaur?”

Jeeves’s breath caught and his eyes went very dark and soulful, like a lovestruck but ruggedly handsome cow. He began to glow pink about the edges, which was a funny little trick that Zeus had played on us when we first became immortal. We gave off a roseate hue whenever we were feeling, ah, affection and caring. “Yes,” he said, humming an eerie tune that set all the bodily hairs on end and set the body to attention.  Wooster glowed rosily.

“Remember the unicorns?” I said, struggling not to tear off the Jeevesian toga and then turn into a shower of gold and have my way with him right there.  We had been rather off our snuggling schedule what with Bingo’s decline, and I wanted the first reunion to be rather more spectacular, the type of union that made us glow the deepest, rosiest color, the one that showed that the most delightful snuggles were about to occur.

Jeeves bobbed the lemon. “They will not come to us now,” he said gently, his hue pinkening.

“But we never even tried, afterwards, to see them, to say goodbye.”

“They only come to virgins,” said Jeeves, still in that gentle voice, the one that made me want to kiss him all over.

“We’ll bring them some daffodils,” I said firmly, shifting to adjust the part of the toga that had begun to tent.  The e.s met the Jeevesian orbs, which twinkled like the sky full of stars behind that aurora bora-whatsit. “You know, like in that wandering cloud splendid grass doo-dad.”

Somehow, Wooster was folded up in the Jeevesian arms and kissed soundly on both cheeks. “If you wish it, certainly,” said Jeeves, nuzzling the ear most deliciously.  I adjusted the toga and explained about the spectacular, er, whatsit, and he beamed at me and agreed.

So, Jeeves and Wooster left Macintosh with Anatole for a few weeks and set off to find the unicorns with a suitcase full of daffodils. We sallied back to the old metrop for a visit, now certain that no one would recognize us. I found a truly fruity little rolling bag bedezined with a sort of youngish feline called Hello! Jeeves had chuckled at me and kissed me, right in the stall at Camden Market.  It was such a lark to be able to be open with him in that way, and I held the firm, capable hand like a lovestruck schoolboy.  I took him to the Ritz and all the nicest places, just as I had wanted when we were young.

Then we sallied forth to an old haunt, the place where we had first, well, whatnot. In those days, I had played with the unicorns while Jeeves was a centaur, learning the c. tricks and games.  We sat out in a field for a very long time, weaving garlands of flowers.  Eventually, the centaur Bane came and told us what Jeeves had already said.  We left the suitcase full of daffodils and as we left the clearing, we saw the unicorns come out and take up the garlands we had made.  They nodded to us and bowed, and we bowed back.

That evening, we sat around a fire with the centaurs and burned mallowsweet and herbs and looked into the flames.  Jeeves held Wooster against him and we sang soulful songs, the same s. s.s that the centaurs had taught us before the first time Wooster turned into a sparkling shower and made, er, thingummy, with Jeeves.  It reminded the young W. that there were still friends about the place. After a longish while, Jeeves levered up and took my hand and we found the selfsame glade, and nestled together, pashing, until dawn.

We woke at sunset the next day, and I looked deep into the Jeevesian e. “I love you, Reggie… I’d like to, erm, thingamajig, in our old flat.  What do you say?”

Jeeves beamed and tousled the golden hair. “I say that you are the most specific dream rabbit.”  And we glowed together, then, just the right shade of rosy red.