biggles_slash_archive

Thankee Chaps for being so welcoming of the new Wodehouse addition to our playhouse. On account of that I bring you all Chapter Two (which I'm sure you were all hanging out for!)

TItle: What Ho, Biggles!
Pairing: Jeeves/ Wooster, Algy/ Biggles,
Characters: Jeeves, Wooster, Raymond, Ginger, Bertie Lissie, Biggles, Algy, sundry unsavoury characters
Rating: PG
Summary: Algy does Things, Jeeves does Things, Biggles does Things, and Wooster, B.W., feels some thingness.

Ginger rushed to keep up with the quick strides of Biggles, almost running as the other swept around corners, collared the first nurse they came across and then stalked into the real Bertie’s room as if doomsday itself was upon them. In fact, he thought wryly, Biggles was probably less concerned with doomsday. That was only death after all.

“I say, what’s the hurry chaps?” Bertie – Lissie that is – was sitting up in bed with a mirror in his hand, inspecting his wispy moustache for damage.
“Those fellows who put you here, did you get a good description? There’s been nobody on the ‘phone for the last hour!” Biggles was quickly puffing himself up and Ginger went to intervene when Bertie did it for him.
“No need for anybody to ring, old chap.” He was still slightly more concerned about his facial hair but glanced at his friends from over the mirror, “those police chappies were right behind me when it happened. All I had to do was call out and point and off the good old Bobbies raced, heads down and heels flying. Couldn’t have had a better set of greyhounds.”
Biggles nodded, thankful that at least one part of their plan was going well even if it was the secondary part of it. “Well there’s that I suppose,” he murmured, “so when will you be out of here then?”

***

The more I shifted and tried not to think about it, the more the bandages itched at my sensitive skin. One of the many wonderful things about Jeeves is that although he has a full head of hair, he isn’t so hirsute as to make his chest uncomfortable and rash inducing. In fact it was quite the opposite and frequently this particular Wooster could be found resting atop the Jeevesian corpus, and feeling bally good about it too.

“Are you uncomfortable sir?” I hadn’t even noticed him stop jawing with the new comer.
“What Jeeves? No I’m fine, really.” I gave him a small smile, “your friend will be…”
“I really should be going. Bertie Lissie will be concerned if I don’t join them.”
Jeeves nodded quickly, shaking hands quickly, “it was a pleasure to see you again Mr Lacey. I hope your work goes well.”
“Oh I’m sure it will. We always muddle through in the end.” His cheery laugh was eerily familiar, “if you’d ever like a job….”
“Thank you but no. I’m far too settled as a valet.”
He laughed again, “you always were more of a Mycroft than a Sherlock, Jeeves. Well, cheerio!” with a flap of the old paw in the general direction of the bed he disappeared into the corridor.

“Old friend, Jeeves?”
“Hardly friend sir. We met in France. It was enjoyable to reacquaint myself with his progress however.” As he spoke he was adjusting the young master to a more comfortable position, arranging everything so I was suddenly no longer itching but lying in comfort and feeling rather more oojah-cum-spiff.

“I say Jeeves, that’s bally well perfect.”
“I endeavour to give satisfaction sir.” He murmured, leaning down ostensibly to arrange the sheets but more to provide us both with some comfort. It was at that moment that a man came flying through the open window and rolled under a bed. “Pay no notice to him sir.” Jeeves murmured, keeping me still with his hands, “all will be well.”

***

“I’ve done it” was Algy’s opening salvo, “so not another word.”
“Done what old thing?” Bertie had thankfully put down the mirror and stopped fingering his moustache. Biggles merely raised a doubting eyebrow but did at least deign to explain, “Algy found an old friend who can help us. Apparently he’s by way of being a bit of a brainiac.” Was it Algy’s imagination or did Biggles’ lips curl a little at that thought? The older he got the more cynical and twisted he became. Both of them became.
Ginger gave him a look and asked quickly, “so what’s the plan, chief?”

Briefly, yet omitting nothing, Algy detailed the plan which he had given Jeeves. “We know they’re likely to try and finish the job with Bertie” Bertie tried to look unbothered at this pronouncement and vaguely succeeded. “So we thought to play off the fact that there are currently two Berties of similar lineage and age in the building at the same time. With some careful talking out of the window and some leaked information it should be obvious to the meanest intelligence where the target is. Between the policemen chasing him and the policeman waiting in the room, he should be well and truly surrounded.”
Bertie – the Lissie in front of them – looked rather impressed. “Well done. That’s pretty well thought out.”

Biggles shared a look with Algy, nodding a tiny amount. “How about you go and find some drinks for us Ginger?” he asked, pulling two chairs over to flank the window. Algy sat slightly warily, wishing that he hadn’t put himself in this situation, with work and private life interfering with each other. Biggles at least stretched out his legs a little where nobody could see. If Bertie could see he would have noted James playing a rather languid and apologetic version of footsie.

***

Well it’s deuced hard to pay no notice to a strange man cavorting underneath the bed next to you, but if anybody can calm the alarm bells it’s that paragon of virtue Reginald Jeeves. I dearly wanted to do a few delicious things with him but sadly we were no longer alone so those dreams would have to remain unfulfilled for now. There’s something about being in a bed which steers one’s mind in that direction, sort of like how I can’t eat cheese without the phantasm of Stilton Cheesewright leering at me and making the old ticker feel a touch squeamish. It took a while for me to realise that Jeeves was talking, and not in the sort of voice that one would like a beloved to use when next to your hospital bed. By the time I had worked out all of this, he was well into explaining whatever wheeze it was that he was explaining, and I was left all ahoo, scrambling to catch up as it were.

“Of course sir we will remain with you until you see fit to leave the country.” With that suggestive line, he sat down, pulled out a little notebook from his jacket, and proceeded to read. “Why-?” I spluttered, and again he was explaining. It didn’t take a genius for me to realise that he was play acting, and I gave up trying to understand, nodded sagely, adjusted the sheets, and attempted to doze off. Morpheus was unlikely to require me to puzzle it out quite so much.

I suppose it was about half an hour later when I awoke with a violent start. There were hands at my throat! As soon as I realised that, my noodle like arms and legs were noodle like no more. Threatened with a force attempting to expel my life essence I channelled the ancient Wooster who had fought at Agincourt, and flailed about with the best of them. My arms were like iron bands as I pushed against this great weight. The room got dimmer as I struggled and there may have been a manful grunt of exertion that left my throat while I did so.

The next thing I saw was Reggie’s dear face hovering over me, feeling his hand on my throat and face. “Bertie?” he murmured, eyes more than a little wide, “are you alright?” as my eyes rolled around the room he hastily sought to reassure me, “The assailant is in the next bed, unconscious.” Even though he was clearly worried about me and how I was faring his lips couldn’t quite hide a disgusted upturning that suggested the assailant had some bally nerve.
The laugh I gave at this changed his look of disgust into a fond smile that helped ease my sore throat. “In a few minutes I will have to leave and ask the gentlemen from earlier back to our room, Bertie.”
“In a few minutes, Reggie” and perhaps the voice was showing the strain placed on the old vocal chords, because for the next ten minutes I was cuddled against my favourite chest in the world, and that’s including the chest where my soothing tea blends are kept.

***

Ginger returned with tea, passing out the cups with a remark for each that he clearly found amusing. Biggles regarded him coldly when Ginger tried to convince him that the tea was cheap indian stuff with milk in it, only stopping when Algy stood and paced. “It shouldn’t take this long,” he averred, “not if you were right, Biggles.”
“Perhaps he’s outside the window right now?” Ginger questioned, “maybe he didn’t get the message that Bertie’s in hospital and needs more attacking.”
“Or maybe things are just taking a little longer than we initially anticipated.” Bertie hastily interposed, “and that servant fellow will be in to tell us about it after dinner. Then perhaps I can stop watching you all hide from the nurses.”
Biggles sat up a little straighter, “I do not hide from them!” he spluttered, still spluttering when a formidable looking nurse wheeled a bandaged patient into their little conclave.

“I say fellows!” the patient – Biggles now recognised him as the other Bertie – called out, “rummy sitch don’t you know. Jeeves reckons a couple of your coppers should bowl along there at once and bail him out before the blighter comes round again. Seems a bit determined to get his paws on yours truly, or maybe on you, old thing!” he chortled, grinning across at Bertie Lissie.
“So you’re the other Bertie are you?” the pilot grinned, sticking out his hand and thus enticing the nurse to settle the chair next to the bed.
“That’s right! Bertie Wooster, tangled up in here because I thought they were calling my name. I got hit by a bus…” he rattled on and Lissie seemed more than happy, the pair of them chattering away like a pair of old English lords, which they probably were. Biggles shook his head at Algy and went back out down the halls to find out what had happened. Algy just grinned and winked at Ginger.

The hospital room Biggles walked into was exactly the same as the one he had just left, apart from the trussed man on the bed. The valet nodded serenely at him as he entered. “I believe this is the man you wanted sir?” Biggles agreed, regarding how neatly the man was now lying, firmly squared away, the room immaculate. “I’ll just go and telephone the Yard and arrange for him to be taken away. I presume you sent Mr Wooster to let us know so you could ensure the coward was properly managed?”
Jeeves nodded, rather pleased that it appeared to have worked. “Yes sir. The authorities, sir?”
Biggles grunted, leaving to go and ring Raymond. When he returned from placing his telephone call and sat next to Algy, the latter thought he seemed a little nervous. He was fishing for his cigarette case again and the aristocratic chatter coming from the beds seemed to frustrate him even more.