K+ just in case

Can be slash or not, however you interpret.

I swear I'm not copying the other sick Jeeves fics—this was my first Jeeves fic and I didn't realize. *begs for mercy*

Randomness

"Jeeves…"

The voice isn't far off. I start to walk in its direction.

I am wandering in a black void, searching for a doorway or an exit. The voice, at the moment, is the only lead I have.

"Jeeves…" the voice repeats.

In the darkness, I frown. The voice is that of Mr. Wooster, my employer.

"Sir?" I call, hesitantly.

"Jeeves." The voice is insistent now.

A moth alights on my shoulder. I attempt to shoo it away, but to no avail. It continues to land again and again.

"Oh, do please wake up, Jeeves."

My eyes snap open and the figure of Mr. Wooster swims into view, clad in his pajamas and dressing gown, wearing a quizzical and slightly irked expression on his face.

My eyes flash to the window, which is bright…meaning that I've overslept…

Flustered, I sweep back the sheets and get out of bed.

"Good heavens, I'm terribly sorry, Sir, it won't happen again," I croak, starting to make the bed, "I must have forgotten to set the alarm."

"Jeeves, are you quite all right?" asks Mr. Wooster, scrutinizing me.

"I shall be momentarily, Sir, I—" I am cut off in the middle of my sentence by a violent bout of coughing. It is only now that I am aware of the dull pain in my head and throat.

Mr. Wooster places a hand on my forehead. "Why, Jeeves," he exclaims, "one could fry eggs on your skin!"

Weakness of the limbs, as well. Of the entire body, I now realize.

I sit back down on the bed. "Pardon me, Sir," I say, faintly, "I shall regain my energy in but a moment."

"Tcha!" says Mr. Wooster. "Jeeves, you have a fever and a violent cough—it is highly unlikely that you will regain your energy 'in but a moment'. No, the best thing for you now is sleep, and I wish you to have it."

Curiously, I look up at him. "Sir?" I ask.

"I am giving you the day off to recuperate and recover, Jeeves—and the next if you need it—and perhaps the next," he tells me, beaming.

Mixed feelings of gratitude and dread wash through me. "I…thank you, Sir," I begin, but he interrupts.

"Have you need of any light reading material?" he asks, "Tea? Or perhaps orange juice? I hear that stuff helps."

"Sir, I hardly think it appropriate for you to be taking care of me—" I attempt to tell him.

"Oh, nonsense, Jeeves!" he replies, cheerfully, "What is a friend if not someone to take care of another when he is sick?"

To this, I have no answer.

"Right, then!" Mr. Wooster claps his hands together and starts of to the kitchen. "Breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Sir, are you quite sure you know…" I trail off, deciding that "how to cook" might not be the best choice of wording, "…where everything is?"

"Oh, I'll figure it out," he answers, jovially, "Tea, then? Go on, into bed with you!'

I let out a deep breath. With my head pounding and my throat sore, I can think of nothing I'd like better to do than to sleep, but leaving Mr. Wooster to fend for himself in the kitchen is in most ways similar to leaving an enthusiastic, somewhat naïve child alone in the middle of the alligator enclosure at the zoo…but in my current condition, what else can I do?

I climb back into bed, pulling the sheets up to my neck, and shut my eyes, feeling the warm embrace of sleep approaching.

"Ah, Jeeves…?"

I open my eyes to find Mr. Wooster standing in the doorway, an apologetic look on his face.

"Where is the kettle?" he asks.

"On the shelf to the left of the stove, Sir," I reply, "You shall find that the tea is there as well."

"Ah. Right-o. Thank you, Jeeves."

"Glad to be of assistance, Sir."

He heads back toward the kitchen again.

Well, I think, if the apartment catches fire, at least I shall be able to smell the smoke.

With that slightly comforting thought in mind, I shut my eyes and drift off to sleep.