A/N: Welcome to my first Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries fanfiction ever! I've only read a couple of stories so far, so I hope that I do this wonderful show justice. Also, as a note, I'm American, not Australian, so I'm sure some of the Australian diction will get lost in translation somewhere. My apologies in advance for that!

Disclaimer: Nothing of this is mine, just the plot!

Chapter One: A Servant of the Law

Miss Phryne Fisher didn't often let things slip by her; in fact, she prided herself on her observational ability. So, when she traipsed into the City South Police Station and was bombarded with the hushed but still too loud voices of Jack Robinson and Rosie Sanderson, she was momentarily taken aback. Jack didn't just bring conflict into his workplace, which meant that Rosie had brought it with her.

Phryne had tried with sincere effort to like Rosie, as much as her own mind would allow. Unfortunately, she found Rosie to be a little too cloying for her taste. Couple that with the dissatisfying situations that often brought Rosie into Phryne's life, and there was the instinctual bitter taste in the back of her mouth that appeared whenever Rosie's brunette curls were involved.

"I can't just decide –"

"You did before, Jack, what's the difference now?" Rosie sounded like she was halfway between pleading and demanding, and the silhouette of Jack's overly straightened back did not bode well for the conversation Phryne was about to interrupt.

So she lingered outside the door a little while longer, trying to pretend that the ever-so-slight tilt of her head was accidental and not caused by the sound of the argument reaching its peak.

"Rosie, you wanted this," Jack was saying loudly, struggling to control the volume of his exasperation. "I did what you wanted!"

Rosie sounded suspiciously like she was stomping her foot, and Phryne felt the uncomfortable feeling of dislike creeping up her spine. "Well I don't want it anymore," she complained. "If you were just doing what I wanted before, what's to stop you from doing what I want now?"

"Miss Fisher?" Hugh Collins, who had been mercifully turned away from the desk at the front of the station to take a call when Phryne had managed to sneak by him, called out for her a little louder than she would have preferred. She held a finger over her lips in a 'shh' gesture, and he subsequently dropped his volume.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely, trying to defy her request while still remaining undetected by the arguing former married couple.

"Actually, I just came to give you and Jack invitations to my annual Christmas party," Phryne said quietly, "but I happened to stumble upon an argument that I fear would only escalate if I interrupted."

Hugh quirked his nose at the door. "They've been like that for days," he confided. "I dunno what Miss Sanderson wants, though."

Phryne smirked. "Sounds like she wants a reconciliation, Constable," she moved toward the Constable in a smooth step that looked more like a dance than a simple step forward. He looked momentarily alarmed before he composed himself. "At least, that's what my keen detective senses are telling me."

"Are your keen detective senses telling you that you will not be weaseling your way onto my case, Miss Fisher?" Jack Robinson's voice was a little more strained than she was used to, but there was still his underlying current of amusement, a little bit of exasperation, and just a spark of flirting. Phryne turned halfway back to the Inspector, a smile covering the brief panic she felt when she thought he'd heard what she was saying. But he wasn't glaring at her; in fact, he looked relieved to see her.

Rosie was lurking just behind him, her eyes much less friendly on Miss Fisher's form. She probably could have dressed a little more conservatively, but what was life without a little fun? Her black, form-fitting trousers were one of her favorites, and her silver, shimmery satin shirt was heavenly on the skin. She fixed her clear eyes on Rosie and gave her a cheeky smile with no malice, hoping that Rosie would take her hint and play nice.

The brunette hardly returned the smile, so Phryne turned her attention to Jack. "Hullo, Jack!" she said brightly, as was her usual greeting. His eyes twinkled at her without actually releasing a smile, and Phryne let herself get momentarily lost in his gaze.

"Miss Fisher," he answered, his voice low, intimate.

Behind him, Rosie swiveled her eyes to her ex-husband, looking irritated. Phryne reached into her tiny handbag and pulled out two invitations, each tied with an emerald green ribbon.

"I just came here to give you and Constable Collins an invitation to my annual Christmas party," she passed one to Hugh, who took it gratefully, and one to Jack, taking great care to let her fingers brush against his rough knuckles. His eyes rose up to hers, their hands still barely touching, and she felt a blush color her neck. Damn Jack Robinson and his silent communication, she thought ruefully. He would be her undoing.

"Mr. Butler will be making a wonderful spread of his best dishes, and Dot has actually invited Lola to spend the holidays with us," Phryne offered, trying to fill the silence with something other than suffocating sexual tension. It was one thing to revel in it when they were alone, but with his ex-wife hovering by his elbow, it just felt crass.

"Lola? From the Imperial Club?" he asked, jumping in on her game. His eyes flickered back to Rosie for a moment but quickly found hers again, relaxing when she smiled at him.

"Apparently her priest thinks it would be a good idea," Phryne replied, finally relinquishing the invitation and returning her hand to her bag. "Forgiveness during the holy season and all that."

"Well, I will certainly be attending, then," Jack answered.

"Excellent!" Phryne clapped her hands together happily, ignoring the way that Rosie's countenance darkened at Jack's ready acceptance of her invitation. "Now, what's this about a case that you don't need my help with?"

His investigator face was back as soon as it had gone. "Exactly that, Miss Fisher. I do not need your help."

"Some stagehand from one of the new operettas was found stabbed in the alley by the theatre," Hugh confided when the staring contest between Phryne and Jack had gone on a little too long. Jack turned to him, two parts betrayed and one part amused, and Phryne latched onto the constable.

"Interesting!" she breathed. "I'll just go talk to my contacts at the theatre and get back to you."

She traipsed out of the station much the same way she entered, listening to the sound of Rosie starting yet another row when she should have been following Miss Fisher outside to leave the inspector to do his job.

…

As expected, Jack found Miss Fisher at the theatre when he had finally managed to extricate himself from Rosie. She came to the station whenever she and Sidney had a fight, and while that used to thrill him, now it was only becoming more of a nuisance. She seemed to believe her engagement to the other man was over for good, and she wanted to figure out if she and Jack could take another go at it.

He had been hoping she'd say something like that for six years, but, in typical Rosie fashion, she had to wait until he had finally decided that he didn't want to be with her anymore to realize that she didn't want Jack to move on. The emotional ride he had been on with her was enough to give him whiplash.

Couple that with his long looks at Miss Fisher, her delicate hands under his, the sweet way she gasped when he kissed her (all part of the job, of course), and he had a right dilemma on his hand.

Rosie would be happy being his wife again, at least until she decided once more that Jack was not the man she wanted him to be, and there he would be again, broken and left behind, while she went back to Sidney. Miss Fisher, on the other hand, was not only not the marrying kind, but was more the 'just have fun for a couple of nights' kind.

Neither option comforted him much. But, when he walked into the stagehand entrance of the theatre, he was assaulted with the sight of a greasy haired actor tracing his fingers down Miss Fisher's bare arm, lingering on her hand, he felt an innate rage so strong he had to clench his hands tightly to keep from sighing.

"Miss Fisher, I thought I told you that we wouldn't be requiring your assistance on this case," he announced his presence tightly. She turned to him at the sound of his voice, and he was shocked to see tears shining in her eyes. Immediately, his anger evaporated.

"Jack," she breathed, moving for him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Sophie Reynard, one of Jane's friends from school, was found dead in the alley this morning," she didn't reach out to touch him, but he could feel that she was itching to touch him. He hesitated, but finally gave in and took her hand in his for a moment.

"We haven't been informed of Sophie's death," Jack said, turning back to Hugh, who looked just as shocked as Phryne. "We're investigating the death of Spenser Wallace, one of the stagehands of this operetta."

He could see, suddenly in clarity, why Sophie's death horrified Miss Fisher so much. She was the same age as her sister, Jane, when she had gone missing. She had only so recently gotten closure for her sister's death; having the wound torn open so soon could shake even the unflappable Miss Fisher.

She took in a rattling breath that was obviously supposed to bolster her, but it didn't look like it was working. He lowered his chin to catch her eye and put his hand on her cheek. She froze, the intimate gesture probably reminding her, as it did him, of the time he had pounced on the danger of the moment to plant a kiss on her pretty red mouth. He let his gaze linger in her eyes no matter how much they ached to glance down at her lips.

She had no such limitations; her eyes were locked directly on his mouth, then up to his eyes, then down to his neck. She couldn't seem to get her characteristic charm back when she had been shaken this badly. Finally, he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Let us do the preliminary investigation," he said quietly to her. "Go home, and I'll fill you in on what we find out tonight."

"Nightcap tonight?" she offered quietly? He smirked at her, trying to contain his genuine smile at the sight of her trying to right herself.

"As always," he answered, and let go of her cheek. She nodded, and leaned back in to his ear. This time, he had to steady himself at the feeling of her warm breath on his face.

"The ones that are going to talk the most are the ones that have the most to gain. The actors didn't even know Spenser's name. Go for the other stagehands."

Somehow, in her short three sentences, his hand had risen to rest on her waist. He realized where it was when she stepped back and he felt the absence of her hip in his hand. He gave her a nod; he didn't trust himself to speak while his throat was still thick with her close proximity.

He watched her leave.

…..

Rosie Sanderson was waiting for Miss Fisher when she pulled up to the house. She regretted immediately leaving Dot behind when she made her quick trip to the station that had turned into a two hour voyage that had shaken Phryne down to her core.

Knowing that she was going to have to tell Jane that her friend was dead, when she was so unequipped to hear it at her age, ate at her. She didn't think she could handle hearing about another young girl's death, despite the fact that Murdoch Foyle was dead. Any young girl reaching her untimely demise would always welcome nightmares, panic attacks, and moments of unparalleled sadness followed by nostalgia that choked Phryne more than she cared anyone to see.

"Miss Sanderson," she acknowledged as she slipped off her black hat and maroon coat and hung it by the door. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Rosie Sanderson was a pretty woman, Phryne had no trouble admitting that, but she became much less attractive when she was angry. Perhaps it was because her anger was predicated in insecurity, but Phryne found herself almost frowning at her guest. Quickly, she tried to rearrange her face into a more suitable expression.

"I wanted to talk to you about Jack," she said simply, offering no elaboration. Phryne felt her neck tense, as it always did when a woman wanted to talk about a man that Phryne currently had in her sights. However, to say she had Jack Robinson in her sights would be a disservice to what she felt for him. 'In her sights' belied a momentary, fleeting fancy. What she felt for Jack could only be described as a slow burn; something that was slowly consuming her despite her best efforts to control it. Either way, Phryne Fisher was acutely uncomfortable.

"Please, come into the parlour," Phryne offered. "Mr. Butler will bring us something to drink."

Rosie obliged, but she didn't look happy about it. Phryne was always amused by the notion that simple niceties could put people so ill at ease. It made it less likely that they would be outwardly rude to you if you offered them no immediate openings to latch on to.

"I know that you and Jack are…close," Rosie began, but the way her face pulled at the word 'close' implied that she thought Phryne and Jack were having some sort of dalliance.

"We are," Phryne agreed. "We're good friends."

"Nevertheless," Rosie powered through, "I would appreciate that you kept your distance from him from now on."

Phryne had rarely felt the need to laugh at an inopportune moment as acutely as she did now. She pursed her lips and swallowed it back. "I'm afraid that is not something that is in my control," she said simply. "Jack and I often come into contact because of our professions, not out of recreational social activities."

Rosie looked, in a word, confused. Relief fluttered across her face, and it was almost immediately replaced with anger. "You can chose not to become integrated into his cases, Miss Fisher," she insisted. "I'm aware of how you work."

"And how is it that you think I work, exactly?" Phryne asked as Mr. Butler sidled in with glasses of lemonade on a tray.

Rosie struggled to find the words to describe something she obviously saw as inappropriate. "You…you insinuate yourself into the cases and continue to investigate when he tells you not to!"

Phryne considered her words with narrowed eyes. "I can see how you would glean that from Jack's comments," she said amusedly. "But more often than not, I am hired by a third party that just so happens to also be part of the case that Jack is working. In that respect, I cannot control how often we work together."

She neglected to mention that she often just continued to help him because she wanted to be near him. She figured that particular tid-bit of information would not be welcomed.

"Why are you here, Rosie?" she finally abandoned her pretense, sipping her lemonade coolly. "Isn't this something you should be discussing with Jack?"

Rosie did not answer immediately. "Jack and I are going to get back together," she said finally.

Phyrne almost blurted out "Does Jack know that?" but swallowed the ill-timed question and instead said, "Then I'm not sure what I have to do with it."

Rosie groaned, exasperated. "Of course you know what you have to do with it!" she exclaimed. "You're always there, touching him, flirting with him, it's all very inappropriate, Miss Fisher."

Her patience was nearing its end. "Miss Sanderson, I do not endeavor to tell you how your behavior in polite society is inappropriate, so I would hope you would extend the same courtesy to me. In any case, this is still not something that pertains to me. I will continue to do my job as I see fit. If you want my working dynamic with Jack to change, then you'll have to speak directly to Jack."

Rosie opened her mouth to respond when a knock came at the door. Mr. Butler answered it promptly, and Phryne only had a moment to hope against hope that the inspector hadn't come directly back to her house to tell her of developments in the case before Mr. Butler was sticking his head in the room.

"The inspector to see you, madam."

Rosie exhaled sharply through her nose and stood as Phryne did. Jack rushed through the door and went directly to Phryne's side, reaching for her hand hurriedly. "Miss Fisher, I came as soon as I could. Are you alright?"

Phryne wrinkled her brow. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

He paused, letting go of her hand, and suddenly noticed Rosie's presence. "Rosie?" he asked. Then he quickly shook his head to clear it. "Never mind, I got a note at the station that you needed to see me, that something had happened to Jane. Where is she?"

Phryne paused, feeling panic start at the tips of her fingers. "Mr. Butler, has Jane come home from school already?" she asked without tearing her eyes away from the inspector. Mr. Butler's footsteps receded up the stairs and almost as quickly came back.

"Yes, madam, she is in her room."

Phryne immediately sagged in relief, landing almost gracefully in Jack's embrace. They weren't hugging but momentarily holding each other up. He was searching her face again and she saw it; the same look that had clouded his countenance before he kissed her the first time. He was frightened for her, about her. The thought strengthened her; she straightened up and stepped away from him.

"Do you have the note?" she asked.

He passed it to her, and she tilted her head toward Rosie, giving him permission to go to his ex-wife. He did, looking one part sheepish and one part annoyed.

"Rosie, what are you doing here?" he asked as Phryne opened the note.

Jack, come to the house as soon as you can. The man who killed Sofie took Jane. Please come quickly. –Phryne

"I just wanted to talk to her," Rosie was saying.

"Jack!" Phryne interrupted them, but after Rosie's attitude, she didn't feel the least bit sorry. "Whoever wrote this note spelled Sophie's name wrong."

He was by her side in a moment. "So I suppose we can rule out the people at the school," he said, staring at the note again.

"And he knows who Jane is," Phryne breathed. "We have to keep her safe."

"We have to keep you safe too, Miss Fisher," Jack corrected, his hand reaching for the note once more. "Did you notice this?" he pointed to a flourish on one of the letters. "You never do this with your y's."

"Good eye, Inspector," she said appreciatively. "Try to see if Hugh can figure out where this paper was torn from," she fingered the rough edge. "It looks like a newspaper."

He nodded, still studying it. "I'll see you later tonight, Miss Fisher," he promised, turning back to Rosie. "You coming?"

She nodded and followed him, looking chagrined. Miss Fisher walked them to the door, ignoring the way that Rosie kept reaching for Jack's hand and the way the inspector was studiously oblivious. Whatever was going on with the previously married couple, Phryne wanted nothing to do with it.

Unless, of course, Jack was considering reconciliation with Rosie, in which case she would have to get very involved.