Jack Robinson had felt unsettled all day. The death of a police constable, the threat on Henry Fisher's life, the potentially related murder, and the disappearance of the aforementioned Baron of Richmond. But, if he was going to be honest, none of that was what was really making him feel so strange.

No, it was Phryne Fisher's finger on his lips. He'd gotten used to the fact that she would often linked her arm through his when they were walking, that they would stand much closer to each other than was necessary or even perhaps appropriate, that she would send a seemingly constant stream of innuendos and invitations his way. These things hadn't stopped affecting him, but they were so familiar that he was able to fight the temptation to give in to what they meant.

But if she was going to start making it a common occurrence to stand inches away from him with her finger on his lips and her eyes locked on his, his resolve was going to crumble faster than a loaf of bread under a boulder.

Only moments later, she had put her hand on his chest, seemingly without even thinking about it. An instinctive touch, a complete comfort with it, as if they had been together for years instead of, well, technically never.

But then, almost immediately after, she had been giving Osman Efendi that sexually appraising look, and receiving it right back. He suspected he might soon get whiplash from the extremes of her attentions. It seemed like the more intimacy and interest she expressed in him, the more she would then send another's way. He was most likely projecting, he tried to reason with himself. The more flirtatious their conversations got, the more certain and soon their eventual romance seemed to became, and so the more it hurt to see her give that look to another man.

After months of dancing around each other, slowly moving closer and closer, he had reached the point where he didn't just hate watching it happen over and over again. He was outright done watching it. He would like to pretend that he wasn't a jealous man, and that his current uneasiness had nothing to do with a certain scientist, but in the end, it had been the revelation that Efendi was royalty that had finally tipped him over the edge. He remembered her words before their dance a few weeks ago. "I have waltzed with the best. French presidents, English princes, American film stars." Princes belonged in her past tense. It was his turn to waltz.

"Good work, Collins. We'll have a look around here." Of course, it would have been more efficient if he and Phryne split up to search the grounds of the observatory for the plutonium, but he felt like he was about to... well, he wasn't sure what, but something was happening. He could feel the change in the winds.

"Turn off your torch, Jack. If it's still glowing, we'll see it." She gently touched his arm for a moment, another one of those unnecessary, instinctive touches. He turned off his torch and let her walk ahead, still searching his mind for what to do.

"Ah, Jack, what if it's my fault?" He glanced over at her briefly, confused. Since when did the unapologetic Phryne Fisher use words like fault? "What if I drove my father away? I railed against him. What if... what if something happens and I never see him again?"

He hated that lost, powerless tone in her voice. Lost and powerless were two things Phryne never allowed herself to be. And the fact that it came out for, of all people, her father... Aside from the one reference she had made to him locking her in a closet, she had never completely specified what she meant when she said he was a horrible father. He didn't know how abusive the Baron had been to his daughter, but even the thought of the possibility made him feel sick. There was a large part of him that wanted to tell her to say a strong good riddance to any man who had hurt her. But no one had the right to tell another person that she couldn't feel upset or worry about her father's safety. Better not to address it at all.

"Whatever happens to your father, it's not your fault." She closed her eyes, undoubtedly imagining every possible thing that could happen to the Baron. "And nothing is going to happen."

"Ohhhh." She yanked off her hat and brushed out her hair. There was something about that, about how comfortable she was with showing him her fear and vulnerability and frustration and (barely) messy hair, that made him feel privileged. To most of the world, particularly the male half of it, she presented herself as perfectly coifed and in control. With him, she didn't bother hiding the real Phryne underneath. He wondered how many people outside of her family and household staff had ever had that honor.

She stared up at the sky. "Perhaps he has just headed back to England after all."

Though of course neither of them believed that. Her father was too much of a headache to slip away quietly. But he would soon find himself forced back across the world, if Phryne had anything to say about it (and she always did). And yet, Jack knew that Phryne didn't really believe she'd ever be rid of her father, or safe from all the harm and heartache he caused.

Jack turned his gaze up to stars. "Well, if it's all expanding, England will move further away." Eventually, he will be gone. I promise.

"But it all looks very still to me." The resignation in her tone made his heart sink.

"That's because you're not a telescope." The most polite way he could think of to remind her that she wasn't in the best position to be objective on the subject.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" She half-glanced over at him.

Oh. Perhaps she had been having a different conversation than him. That was, he supposed, the trouble with how much subtext they used to converse, avoiding at all costs openly committing to saying something they couldn't take back or pretend meant something else.

He thought of princes and waltzes and fingers on lips and comfortable touches and the ridiculous number of pins he had used lately as a pretense to stand kissing-distance from her.

To hell with subtext.

"More like a romantic overture." He looked straight at her.

Part of him wanted to ask himself what the hell that was even supposed to mean in the context of the conversation, but the majority of him only cared about her response.

It felt like an eternity, as she pulled her gaze from the sky and finally turned it to him. He couldn't tell if she thought it was out of the blue or about damn time. Either way, she seemed to be staring him down, evaluating whether or not he was serious. Whether or not he was actually, finally, ready to do this, or it was just more words, something he would quickly take back when it got too close for comfort.

"Is that the best that you can do?" Maybe she was teasing him. Maybe she was giving him the chance to back out as usual. Maybe she had higher expectations of him, had actually given thought to what it would be like when he finally gave in to her. Maybe—

Oh, shut up, Jack.

"Would you like me to improve on it?" He couldn't help but imagine the many varied ways he could do so, and the many varied ways she might imagine he could do so, and—

He would never be capable of turning off his brain.

"More than anything." He'd never heard her voice that soft before. Or heard those words from her. Or even known it was possible for her to even say that. This was Phryne Fisher: if she wanted something, she took it, without waiting around for everyone else to catch up. She didn't long for things, but that was what her voice said right now. She longed for him to make his long overdue romantic overture.

He stepped forward slowly, wanting to savor every moment of that look on her face and commit every second of their first real kiss to memory. He slipped his hand under her coat and pulled her toward him, their lips only inches away. He felt her hand reach up and gently grasp his right elbow, holding herself to him in return.

And then he paused. He had spent all this time wanting her to show him that she could commit, and that he was special to her. He doubted Phryne Fisher had ever said "I love you" to a man, but the part of him that was "not as liberal-minded as I would like me to be" was still waiting for it. That confirmation that he wasn't alone with his feelings, that this was something more to her than an entertaining fling, that she didn't intend to throw his heart in the trash as soon as she was done with it.

After all, he had offered the overture. The least she could do was be the one to cross that final gap.

But this was Phryne and she did not accept the half-assed. He watched her gaze shift from his eyes to the lawn past his shoulder. Her cheek brushed his nose as she turned her head, a tantalizing taste of what had almost happened.

"Jack."

This wasn't romantic Phryne. This was investigative Phryne.

"Behind you." And she quickly walked around him, the almost kiss already forgotten.

He stayed still for a moment, shell-shocked. Had they really gotten that close, only to be interrupted by something that could have waited? Did she not share his feelings, if he was less interesting to her than the case?

He turned around, trying to switch his focus to the task at hand, but a bitter lump had fallen from his heart into his stomach. He tried not to let himself realize that it was heartbreak.