"Why?" you ask, voice breaking the heavy silence of the room.
You brought him back to the manor, luckily alerting no one that the pair of you were still awake. You had gotten him into thicker, warmer pyjamas and lit a fire in the grate; he is still shivering slightly but his lips are no longer so scarily blue and his fingers are able to wrap themselves round the cup of tea without it shaking precariously. Both of you are still shaken by the close call, so much so that you even leave off your customary 'sir'.
He shrugs, thin shoulders moving the thick material only slightly. "At school," he starts slowly, "well, you know how it is, Jeeves. Young boys… experimenting in the dorms, I never really got involved- didn't really get involved in anything social, really, after my parent's deaths. One boy- a bit older than the rest of us- he said he liked the look of me, said he wanted to experiment with me. I said no, kept saying no for ages, until one night it was just the two of us there; the rest of them had gone to see the circus but I was recovering from a bout of flu and he was being punished. He pulled off my bedclothes- felt bally cold when he did that- and didn't care that I was saying 'no' over and over."
You have no words to say, no words to comfort him and to soothe the pain he is experiencing, to calm the torment he feels and you stand deathly still, refusing to move should it break the spell.
He takes a sip from his cup, scrubs a weary hand over his face, "After that first time, a lot of the other boys in the next year up must have heard and pretty soon I was being approached from all directions and I just… didn't fight it. I just felt numb, like nothing mattered." He looks up at you, eyes wide and empty, face wan and you find yourself hoping he hasn't gotten sick from his night-time jaunt. His eyes meet yours and he blinks back into the present, seeming surprised to find you still standing there.
You gesture towards his cup, "Would you like some more tea, sir?"
He shakes his head, "No, don't worry about it, old thing- I feel rather tired anyway."
"Of course sir," you reply, taking his cup and placing it on the tray before turning down the covers.
He sighs, slipping under the covers and wincing as sore muscles pull and you feel a pang of guilt. Before you can leave, he wraps a hand round your wrist, "Do you think I'm a fool, Jeeves?" he asks softly, afraid to meet your eyes.
Your breath catches in your throat and you know this is about the bicycle ride. "Bertie," you start, hoping that you will be able to say the right words to make this better, he raises his head- you only call him that in the most intimate of moments, "Bertie, you are the best man I have ever known- and what's more, you have never been and nor will you ever be a fool."
He turns pained eyes further towards you, "For the first time Jeeves, I find myself doubting you."
"Sir, you are kind and gentle and you treat everyone with dignity and respect. You never fail in trying your utmost best to help your friends and relatives with no regards to yourself- those are the qualities of a truly smart man- not his intellect or intelligence. And I shall repeat this as many times as is needed until you believe it as well."
He gives you a small smile before leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on your lips, chaste but emotional, "Goodnight, Jeeves."
You pull the covers over him and brush your lips over his forehead, "Goodnight, sir."
A/N: this story is set after the bicycle ride.