Hi everyone, this is my Christmas ficathon story that some of you may have already read on AO3. Thank you Andveryginger for the lovely prompt.
Now all my resistance
I feel it slip away
Now all of the distance
Ever less with every day by day
Bonnie Raitt, Close to you
Jack sat on the edge of his lounge, elbows on his knees, and stared at the last mouthful of whiskey that he absentmindedly swirled in his glass. He squinted up at the clock. He could barely make out the time in the dimness of the room. Almost midnight? Was it really that late? Where had the last few hours gone? He looked back at his glass and was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. He should drag himself off to bed, to sleep off the heartache and hope there was enough going on at work tomorrow to distract him.
He drank the last mouthful but he didn't get up. He was still reeling from the shock of her news and stayed where he was so he could ruminate further to make sense of her decision. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, not while he still clung to the ghost of her. He could still smell her perfume on his collar from when she leant into him; he could feel the gentle press of her lips and the puff of her breath on his ear when she whispered those words to him. If he went to bed now she would fade by the morning and he would lose her all over again. Just a few hours more, he told himself, then he would let her go and try and move on with his life.
When she told him, he took an involuntary step back from her, as if the shock wave of what she had said had physically pushed him away. He was struck with a cruel bout of vertigo and he swayed as his world spun out of control. He managed to his gather his wits and became mindful of the gaggle of people who were milling around her. He steeled himself to hide the pain and confusion that he felt at hearing those words and he managed to choke out a why? She looked at him sadly before taking a step closer to touch his elbow and steer him away from the small crowd, not caring one jot that they may be watched.
"Because I need to do this," she said quietly, moving closer and pressing her hand to his chest, "to spend time righting the wrongs of the past. There is so much that I need to move on from, and this is a start."
"But why so soon? Why tomorrow?" This time, he had forgotten to mask his emotions and he whined like a frustrated child, determined to get what was wanted. He stopped himself short before he said what he really wanted to say: But what about us? After all that has happened … just as we were about to … there's so much I need to say to you.
"How long will you be gone?" he managed at last.
"I ... I'm not sure," she said quietly, looking down at her hand that was gently caressing the lapel of his suit. "Months."
"Months? What, two months? Six? How many months?" He was starting to sound desperate. "You will come back, won't you?"
Phryne looked up at his sad face as he stared at her in disbelief. How could she give him the answer he wanted when she honestly didn't know. So much could happen in a few months away.
"Oh Jack."
She stepped forward suddenly and cupped his jaw with one hand as she kissed him on the cheek. She didn't pull back but leant in further, wrapping her other hand around his upper arm to hold him in place so he couldn't step back from her. She pressed her body to his and her lips to his ear and whispered, "I'll miss you terribly."
She pulled back slightly and closed her eyes as she lay her cheek against his for a breath or two before releasing his arm and stepping away to gaze at him. His expression said, Please don't leave me, I haven't told you that I love you yet. Hers said, I know.
"What about tonight? Can I see you tonight before you go?" he whispered desperately, refusing to believe she was walking out of his life.
Phryne hesitated, she would like nothing more than to spend the evening with Jack, and not just in her parlour sipping whiskey either. Their relationship had moved quickly these last few weeks and although she had encouraged it, she was struggling to come to terms with her feelings. They needed to talk and if they met later tonight they would, but how could she possibly tell him that she couldn't promise him that she would return, and if she did, that she may not return to him? How could she say to him that part of the reason she was running away was because she had fallen for him? She would have to admit to him and herself that she was a coward.
Phryne opened her mouth to tell him that she had much to do before her early departure but the words never came. With every second she hesitated, Jack withdrew further. He couldn't believe it. How could he have let himself fall for someone so utterly unattainable? He had fought so hard these last years to resist her, and now, just when he let himself love her completely, she had jettisoned him from her life, to drift with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam that she left in her wake. He stepped back slowly, feeling her hand slide down his chest until the contact was broken. They stood quietly, looking at the hurt and regret in each other's eyes.
"D'ya need a lift home, Inspector?"
Bert's nasal drawl cut through the intensity of their gaze and they turned to him. He had returned with the cab to transport the rest of them so Phryne could get home quickly and pack. Jack was suddenly aware of the others and saw them all staring at him with what felt like pity. He squared his shoulders and took a step away from her; he might pity himself but he wouldn't have others do it.
"Ah, no thank you, Albert. It's a clear night," he said, looking up at the stars again and doing his best to steady his voice, "I will walk home."
He nodded farewell to the rest of the group and turned back to Phryne. He hesitated, looking at the rim of his hat, which he fingered with both hands as he tried to ignore their eyes on him. He thought about what he could possibly say to her to convince her to come back, but when he lifted his eyes to hers, all the fight had gone out of him.
"Good bye, Phryne," he said stiffly. "I hope everything works out for you. Have a safe journey."
He gave her a curt nod and donned his hat as he quickly turned from her, denying her a chance to reply. He walked briskly; he feared if he lingered he would break down and it took all his will not to run from her.
Phryne turned to watch him go, thankful that the rest of them couldn't see her face as she struggled to hold back tears. She wanted to run after him, as she had done when he discovered her naked under another man's coat, but what would she say to him? I want to tell you how I feel about you but I can't because I am not good at this? I want to tell you to wait for me but I don't know that I will come back to you? Damn it! She couldn't do it, nor could she watch him walk away from her. She let out her breath and walked back to her car.
Another squint at the clock revealed it to be almost one in the morning. Although he was due at work in six hours, he poured himself one last drink to put off waking and knowing she was gone. He allowed himself to indulge in a little self-pity, he was losing the love of his life after all, but he was damned if he would become maudlin. Nor would he blame her for the state of his heart; it wasn't her fault, he knew she was trouble from the very beginning. He should have kept his distance, not let her help solve his cases, said no to her whiskey. He shouldn't have enjoyed her company so much, not let his body react to the burn of her touch, steadfastly refused to fall in love with her. But he did fall in love with her. And what was he left with? He let out a snort. Apart from some mugshots and a magazine clipping, he had nothing but memories and her lingering scent.
He shook his head slowly. He had known he would have to fight hard to resist her from the moment he met her. He had pegged her as dangerous that day in the bathroom; she had radiated seductress, a breaker of men. Despite his misgivings, he couldn't help but be intrigued by this beguiling woman, but he was still reeling from his failed marriage and was easily broken so he tried not to like her. This was easy at first: he was annoyed by her haughty intrusions into his cases and he was standoffish and curt. He huffed out a wry laugh. Who was he kidding? He was smitten from almost the very beginning.
He tried to maintain his emotional distance, but it didn't take long to feel the first slip of resistance. He could hear the hope in her voice as she offered him a drink when he dropped around to let her know Welfare had allowed her to foster Jane. He had glanced at his watch to buy himself more time to consider her invitation and to deceive her into thinking he had a home to return to. In the end he said yes, which had been his undoing. He could still feel his heart stutter as she beamed at him after he told her to dispense with formalities and he couldn't help but smile back. He left her house that evening feeling just a little bit lighter, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead for them.
Their first year together saw him do things he didn't know he was capable of. He flouted the law for her, turned a blind eye to her misdemeanours, and petulantly questioned her taste in men. He dined with her, performed on stage for her and passionately kissed her in a room full of people. He had fought hard to resist her overt sexuality so was mortified when his body responded so readily to her oil-painted curves. He eventually conceded he was losing the battle: every shared crime scene, every whiskey in her parlour, every touch and charged look had slowly eroded his hard-fought resistance, until fresh from suffering the ignominy of divorce, he had almost succumbed to one gaudy night with her.
Their relationship moved quickly from friendly acquaintances to something that felt like more than good friends. Her exposed vulnerability had affected him deeply and he readily went to her as she knelt by the grave and embraced her small frame that was shaking with grief. He looked at her longingly when she reached for his hand and asked him to celebrate with her, and he openly admired her as she danced at her party. He rarely said no to a drink in her parlour, and was perfectly comfortable when they moved from murder to poetry, literature, and of course, human nature. He was the first to admit that she had enriched his life, but this also troubled him; he was enjoying their time together just a little too much.
To a knowing outsider, their deepening friendship teetered on the edge of attraction, but he refused to acknowledge that she felt the same way. What could she possibly see in him? He was an ordinary man who was mired in tradition and a lowly policeman without a shred of ambition. She was a modern woman who eschewed convention and championed those on the edge of society. She was impulsive and irrepressible and forever in motion, and she fought hard for change, especially for women. Yet she sought out his company, either by dropping into the station or inviting him in for a drink, where she would make him feel awkward when she gazed at him longingly. Although he was chuffed that she may find him attractive, he knew what she was doing: trying to seduce him like she did with the others. He would stand quickly and bid her good night, not letting himself believe that she looked disappointed.
Despite his dark mood, Jack smiled as he recalled the time he finally acknowledged that they had something special, and despite her active social life, that she may also be lonely. He had entered her parlour to discuss a case they were working on and noticed a draughts board set up on the small table next to her chair. After an in-depth analysis of the motivations for murder, he finished his whiskey and stood as he reluctantly bid her good night.
"You can't leave yet, Jack," she said quickly. "I was just about to ask you to play draughts with me."
He wanted to stay; he could think of nothing better than to share her company and fine whiskey to shake off his loneliness. Her parlour had started to feel more like home to him than the small house he lived in, but he was still troubled by his growing feelings for her.
"I really should be going," he said, making a show of glancing at his watch, "it's getting on."
"But Jack, it's really quite early. You surely can't expect me to play draughts on my own. And besides," she said cheekily, reading his mind, "there's no room for loneliness when you have me for company."
She looked up at him hopefully and waved her hand over the board as a further invitation for him to join her. She leant forward and started to arrange the pieces to make it harder for him to say no.
He gave in and sat down, despite his earlier protests; it was becoming more and more difficult to extricate himself from her and their banter.
"Ah," he said with a glint in his eye, "loneliness doesn't come from being alone, Miss Fisher, but from being unable to communicate the things one believes are important."
Phryne stopped positioning the pieces in readiness for play and looked up at him. She sat back in her chair with a small smile.
"I agree wholeheartedly, Inspector. And I believe that proves my point: I have always thought we discussed matters in life that are important to us, and I have found they are often the same things. Wouldn't you agree?"
He smiled at her; he would never be able to tell her how much he enjoyed and needed her company. He was reticent by nature, and lousy at small talk, but he always talked freely with Phryne.
"I do agree, Miss Fisher. There's no-one else with whom I can discuss poetry or the darker side of humanity with."
Phryne smiled at him warmly. "Well, I am glad to hear it, Jack. Also, I hope I won't offend you by assuming your opinion on loneliness is a quotation."
He raised his eyebrows. She was constantly surprising him with her ability to read him.
"Not at all. And yes, it is a quotation; one that expresses my thoughts so succinctly." He paused and looked at her with a small smile; he was feeling frivolous tonight. "Would you like to hazard a guess as to whom I am quoting?" he asked cockily, confident she couldn't possibly win this round of their ongoing battle of wits.
"Now there's a challenge! I do like how you challenge me, Jack," she said with a grin and a hint of flirtation. She stuck out her chin and held his smug gaze as she leant back and crossed her legs. She bounced her stockinged foot in the air as she bit on her bottom lip and pretended to think.
"Let me see … a philosopher perhaps, or someone for whom the psyche is of interest. Hmm, maybe someone whose writings you sought solace in after the war ... Oh I know!" she said brightly, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward. "Could it be Jung?"
His mouth dropped open in surprise and he gaped at her. "How on earth did you know that?"
Phryne grinned at him, clearly enjoying the game they were playing. After a while, she decided she shouldn't have too much fun at his expense.
"Oh, all right Jack, I confess. I attended Jung's seminar on the emerging field of analytical psychology in England a few years ago. It was most illuminating. He also talked of his childhood experiences, loneliness in particular and your quotation struck a chord with me too. I also wrote down another of his that I particularly liked." Phryne paused and locked eyes with him and became more serious. "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemicals: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."
He held her gaze for a while until it felt too intense. He looked down at the draughts board and cleared his throat self-consciously.
"Just one game, Miss Fisher," he said tightly, feeling more than a little transformed, "I have an early start in the morning."
A companionable ease grew between them as they spent more and more time together. Although he was still convinced that she saw their developing relationship as nothing but friendship, he was falling in deep. His head had been stubbornly denying it for months, but his heart, which for years had sat like rock in his chest, had started to swell, and once it was capable of loving again, it beat strongly and determinedly for her.
She filled his mind so completely that he couldn't imagine what he thought about before he met her. When he should have been worried about his ex-father-in-law being in a compromised position, all he could think of was her near-naked, feather-clad body. He probably should have cared more about his ex-wife shacking up with an unctuous creep, but he was too distracted by the memory of her lingering heat when she sat on his lap and pressed her breast to his mouth.
He tried to rein in his feelings and focus on work but the next few months would play out like a game of emotional snakes and ladders. A touch here, a meaningful gaze there, and he would happily embrace their deepening relationship only to slide painfully backwards when he learnt of her lovers. She would ignore his bouts of jealousy and continue as usual, flirting and dazzling him with her charm and intelligence until buoyed once again, he declared his attraction by wrapping his cologne-scented scarf that was warm from his body possessively around her neck. The look on her face when he drew her in closer finally shattered all doubts about her feelings towards him and for the first time since he met her, he finally acknowledged she may feel the same way.
So high was he perched on that ladder of love, that when he thought it was her lying dead in the car he fell down to earth with a self-pitying thud. He was shocked at how readily he had fallen apart and he withdrew from her and wallowed in whiskey and misery. He worked up the courage to break from her and when he did see her, he pushed her away by reverting to scorn and indifference. As painful as it was, it didn't last long; she had moved into his heart a long time ago and try as he might he just couldn't evict her. Nor could he keep her from his cases; one drink in her parlour and a shared loaded look and the awkward events of the previous few weeks were conveniently forgotten.
After a short while they resumed their slow dance: a do-si-do of mutual attraction, always circling at arm's length, waiting for the other to reach out and pull them together. An intimate moment would bring them two small steps closer, only to be interrupted and they would be forced to step back. He thought of the time she stood between his legs, brushing his chest with her knuckles as she fumbled with his tie. He often wondered if they would have kissed if Sanderson hadn't barged in. God knows he wanted to. The emotionally jarring results of the case brought him to her house late at night and when he finally made his move at the foot of her stairs, they were frustratingly interrupted again. Although he didn't kiss her like he had desperately wanted, he had declared his intention and Phryne didn't wait long to invite him around for a candlelit dinner.
The next couple of weeks would be filled with frustration and heartbreak, confusion and jealousy and an inarticulate and booze-addled lecture on her legion of lovers that was mercifully cut short by a blow to his head. Feeling contrite and acutely embarrassed, he took a step back from her, only to be given a case she was already working on that was complicated by the involvement of an old air force flame. Their familiarity irked him and he vented his frustration by accusing her of siding against him. She vented hers by intimately reacquainting herself with her previous lover and he was painfully reminded of her sexual proclivity.
He was crushed by what he saw as betrayal and decided enough was enough. He chided himself for ever believing that she could love him and him only and decided he would try and move on with his life. He turned his attentions to another woman who had made him an offer of love, only to have her discern that he loved someone else. Go to her, she had said sadly after she confirmed her suspicions with a passionless kiss, she deserves to know that you love her. She thrust a bottle of Chianti in his hand and regrettably sent him away, knowing she had lost a very good man.
Being pushed out the door had given him much needed momentum and he practically ran to her, his confidence growing with every step. Despite arriving at what would be considered an unacceptable hour, he knocked on her door without hesitation and was ushered into her parlour. He saw her before she saw him. She sat tucked up in her chair with a faraway look and her chin in her hand. She looked pensive, resigned, with a hint of dejection, but when she saw him she brightened immediately. He held her gaze as he strutted into her parlour with that bottle of wine and the taste of Concetta still on his tongue. He felt cocky, quietly upbeat, like a man who had just made a life-changing decision.
Phryne couldn't hide her delight at seeing him. She had moped all evening as she listened to opera about unobtainable women as penance for possibly losing him. Although sung in a beautiful language, the words stung her:
... always miserable is he who trusts her …
After greeting him, she stood quickly to change the music to something more suitable. She was searching for the right record when she heard him play a few slow and beautiful notes on her piano.
She turned to look at him. "Satie?" she asked in surprise. He stopped playing and smiled as he moved to sit down and pour her a wine.
"Interesting choice, Jack."
"Oh? Why's that?" he asked, pleased that she recognised the music. "Did you think it would be too avant-garde for my taste?"
Phryne beamed at him. "Well, yes, I suppose I did, but I am very pleased that you know it. It's not a well known piece, but it's one I am particularly fond of."
She sat down opposite him and held her glass aloft for a toast. Her expression softened and she gazed at him. "Here's to a shared love: beautiful, modern, and achingly slow."
Jack smirked at her and leant forward to clink glasses. "I'll drink to that."
The innuendo was not lost on him. He gazed back at her for a short while, wondering if they would ever talk freely about how they felt about each other.
They shared the wine, which was quickly consumed and then hit the whiskey. They talked for hours about anything and everything, allowing themselves to flirt and delight each other's company after the pain of thinking they had lost one other.
Phryne had already had a few drinks before he arrived and was feeling decidedly tipsy. She kicked off her shoes and nestled back into her cushions with a contented sigh, stretching her legs out on her chaise and angling her body towards him on the chair opposite.
"You know, Jack," she murmured with a languorous look, "I like you."
Jack looked surprised and snorted out a laugh. "I should hope so," he said boldly, "otherwise I would think you were spending all this time with me just to gain information."
Phryne smiled at him warmly. "We have, haven't we Jack? Spent a lot of time together." She became a little more serious. "I have always enjoyed your company. Even in the beginning, when you thought me a nuisance. I think we are quite alike, you know."
Jack frowned and cocked his head as he pondered her statement. "I'm not so sure about that," he said softly, looking at her with a shy smile, "you are movement to my stillness, D H Lawrence to my Zane Grey, and sunshine to my cloudiness ... I am a reticent and sombre introvert who craves solitude. You are ... well, you are quite the opposite, Phryne."
Phryne's heart melted at his poetic words. She loved that he was sensitive and introspective; he was a rarity amongst men.
"Well, you know what they say about opposites, Jack," she said, gazing at him fondly. "Anyway, you are not sombre and reticent with me. Well, maybe you have been once or twice," she conceded with a comforting smile, "but you had reason to be. And besides," she continued, suddenly serious and swinging her legs off the chaise so she could sit up and face him, "we are alike in ways that matter. We have a gift for investigation and discovering the truth, we are on the same side of politics, we have secular beliefs. We both fight for fairness, equality and justice. I would also suggest we have a similar sense of humour, and although we may have different tastes in literature, we both like to read. In some ways, Jack, you are my ideal companion. We share the same values."
Jack raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. Her ideal companion? What did she mean by that? That she wanted to be with him or that she valued his friendship? Or both? He should have asked her but was so taken aback that he didn't know what to say. All he could do was hold her gaze and grin at her words. Never had he felt such affinity with anyone.
They sat there for a little while, smiling shyly at each other. He looked at her blinking slowly and swaying a little on the seat opposite. He would like nothing more than to go to her, wrap his arms around her and pull her into a kiss, but it still felt too soon. He had some serious thinking to do before he allowed himself to do that. As usual, these complicated thoughts were a signal for him to go; it was too late to start that discussion.
Knowing that Phryne was quite tipsy and would want to see him out, he stood slowly and held out his hand to help her up. She looked at him in surprise.
"Asking me to dance?" she said hopefully, before he had a chance to speak.
Jack smiled. There was no way he could resist her if he were pressed up against her. "Just offering you a hand to stand, Phryne. It's very late and your ideal companion must be getting home."
Phryne didn't hide her disappointment and stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "Well, you're no fun, Jack. Maybe I was too hasty in that declaration," she teased. "Some other time?" She took his hand and allowed him to pull her up, using the momentum to step close to him. She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him seductively. "Perhaps a samba on Saturday or a tango next Tuesday?"
Jack chuckled softly. "I'm afraid my tango would be more like a tangle."
Phryne grinned at his playfulness and moved even closer to him so their bodies were touching. She angled her face up to him and leant in so their lips were only a short distance apart and said softly, "Well, Jack, we could tangle if you ..."
"Some other time, Phryne," he said quickly, before the conversation moved into more dangerous territory, "I promise." He put his hand over hers on his chest and caressed her fingers. "Although I think anything but a waltz may be beyond me."
He surprised himself by bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers. His heart thumped in his chest and he noticed her breathing had quickened so he took a step back from her and reluctantly let go of her hand.
"Thank you for the whiskey and company. I really must be going."
He walked to the hall stand to get his coat and hat with Phryne close behind him. He opened the door and turned to her. He was about to say goodnight when she stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek.
"Goodnight Jack," she said, trying to hide her disappointment, "I had a lovely evening. I'm so pleased you dropped around." She reached out to gently run her fingers down his arm. "You know you are always welcome, don't you? Any time."
Before he could stop himself doing it, he ran his thumb gently over her cheekbone and down to her jaw. He watched her close her eyes briefly at his touch.
"I do now, Phryne," he said with a knowing smile. "And I had a lovely evening too."
They looked at each other with an intensity that quickened their breaths. The urge to kiss her was strong. And what if he did? What if he gave her a quick kiss on her lips to show his intention? No, he was already dangerously close to losing control and any kiss now would lead to a passionate embrace and they would probably end up in her bed. And then what? A relationship? Occasional sex? Would he be one of many? Just the thought of her with another man tore at his heart. No, he needed to think properly about what he was getting himself into.
"Goodnight Phryne."
He took a step back from her and reluctantly walked out the door.
Jack heard the door close softly behind him as he reached the gate. He practically skipped home, feeling lighter than he had in years, having freed himself from that last drop of resistance, which had gradually slipped away over the course of the evening. He felt closer to her than ever before and although they never expressed it in words, he was sure that she felt the same way. Their mutual attraction was too hard to ignore any more, but what now? In the forty minutes or so that it took to walk home, he had gone through all possible scenarios and made up his mind. She was worth the risk; he was going to pursue her.
That night, as he lay in bed with booze and excitement flowing through his veins, he imagined what a relationship with her would be like. He assumed it would be like their friendship but with physical intimacy, which he missed terribly. He longed to do the things most loving couples probably took for granted: kissing her hello and goodbye on the lips, touching her whenever he wanted, snuggling together in front of the fire, and of course, making love to her. God, did he want to make love to her. The memory of her pressed up against him had left him very aroused. He gave up on trying to sleep; his once carefully contained imagination ran wild and he pinned her to a wall and made her squirm with desire as he slid his hands all over her body. He pressed his lips to her mouth and murmured all the things he wanted to do to her, in between kissing her deeply. He teased her, kissed her, caressed her and licked her until driven wild by desire, she begged him to take her.
His dormant sexuality had sprung into life and it took over his body and mind. When he wasn't thinking about work, he imagined different ways of pleasuring her. He struggled to keep his hands to himself and when he did touch her, every part of him felt it. He could still remember the heat from her skin pulse through his body and pool in his belly as his fingers trailed down her neck that day in her parlour. He had struggled to take a deep breath when he pinned the brooch to her blouse and felt the soft rise of her breast under his knuckles, and his whole body tingled when he realised what she meant when she spoke of devices made to stimulate the most sensitive parts of the female body. He was so fixated on the sensitive parts of her body, that he uncharacteristically suggested an analysis session involving her and a couch in an intimate setting.
His longing for her was getting out of control so he tried hard to curb his libido. The problems with her father were a timely distraction and he did well for a week or two, until he made good on his promise to dance with her. It took all his strength to not press himself tightly against her when he finally waltzed with her, but ever the gentleman, he clenched his jaw and held her at the appropriate distance. At the end of the dance, he thanked her with a bow and a kiss to the hand, before scurrying home to be alone with his thoughts.
He had decided to wait until her father went home before he would move to seduce her, but the next case they worked on would threaten to break him. When she startled him with a full body embrace after he mocked her fear of spiders he instinctively put his hand on her hip and pulled her against him. They flirted, they touched, he manipulated the system to keep her involved in the case, and he stood a little too close when he pinned his toy badge to her robe. He knew she was aware of the effect she was having on him and she teased him by leaning back on his desk to adopt a pose that screamed take me! He tried to distract himself with the evidence, but her closeness, her scent, and the magnificent view of her legs all the way up to her thighs were threatening to overcome him. He got her to move eventually; he wasn't going to let her win that game, no matter how much he wanted her.
Jack stood up and stretched. He was shocked when saw the time. Four o'clock? He had always been prone to deep introspection and would spend hours as a child mulling over events to make sense of them, and tonight was no different. He had wanted to sit in the dark with his cheap drink and his memories to remind himself of the times she had hurt him as punishment for falling in love with her, despite knowing in his heart it would always end badly. But he didn't, he just couldn't.
He smiled. Focus on the good, his mother always told him when he grumbled about the mean kids at school. He ignored her advice and moved into homicide, where his talent for understanding deviant behaviour could be put to good use, but her words had stayed with him. How could thinking of their time together ever be punishment? Yes, he had spent the whole night thinking of how she had affected him, but he didn't dwell on the times he was riddled with self-doubt or crippled with jealously. He instead spent the time reliving their banter, their touches, the slow dance of their deepening relationship and the beautiful times he had felt them grow closer.
Yes, he had allowed her to wear down his resistance, but somehow he had managed to wear hers down too. His feeble attempt at declaring his love for her under the stars had earnt him a gentle rebuke, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard her words after he asked if he should improve on it.
More than anything.
Phryne Fisher loved him. That's what he should be thinking about. Despite not having the money, the style or the charm, or the belief that she could ever love someone like him, she had let him know in her own subtle way that she did. Without even realising it, he had wooed her with kindness, acceptance and quiet determination.
He looked at the clock again. Four-thirty.
She would be gone in just over an hour. He couldn't bear to think of that so he picked up his glass and made his way to the kitchen to gulp down some water. There was no point in going to bed; he was just going to have to get through the day without sleep.
He placed his glass on the sink and stood staring out the window at the first hint of dawn. He closed his eyes so he could relive the warmth and curve of her body as he reached under her coat to pull her gently towards him. She came willingly and they paused, both of them wanting to prolong the anticipation of their first real kiss.
Damn!
He regretted his actions when she was saying goodbye. He wanted to kick himself for acting the way he did; he should have had the courage to move her further away and tell her how much he loved her and would miss her, and that he would wait for her if she would come back to him.
He felt the first tingle of tears and blinked them back furiously. He wasn't going to let himself cry. Nor would he stand there and feel sorry for himself. He needed to see her, needed to kiss her and tell her how he felt about her. He knew he couldn't stop her leaving him, but he could give her a reason to come back. And if she didn't, then at least he would always know that he tried. He looked at the clock; he had just enough time.
He drove at breakneck speed. He worried the whole way about not getting there in time but still managed a small smile at the thought of what she would say knowing he was breaking the law for her. His smile quickly faded as he turned into the airfield and heard the splutter of an engine that had just kicked into life. He accelerated further and turned the corner to see a small plane idling on the airstrip.
He remembered to breathe. He had just made it.
His heart thumped in his chest as he watched her run to him with a smile on her face. When they met, he wasted precious time by expressing his shock at the size of her plane. He was still thinking about all that could go wrong with her journey when she uttered those words that would stay with him forever.
Come after me.
He heard them, but he wanted to hear them again.
Come after me, Jack Robinson ...
He pulled her fidgety body into his stillness and he kissed her. The hum of the plane and the bark from her father told him he didn't have long so he held her tightly against him and poured everything into that kiss. The sensuous press of their lips was everything they had been to each other. The slow swirl of their tongues when they deepened the kiss was everything they could be together.
When he reluctantly broke the kiss to let her get on with her journey, the look on her face almost made him beg her to stay. Instead, he teased her about losing her to her father and she teased him by letting him know it was her wanderlust he should be jealous of.
He watched her jog back to that ridiculously small plane that would fly her away from him and thought of the irony of her last words. Little by little, day by day they had worn down each other's resistance to their developing closeness, despite him feeling that the world was conspiring to keep them apart. And now, after finally declaring their love for each other, the world had indeed come between them.
He held his breath as he watched her plane bounce on the airstrip before taking to the air and had a moment of panic at the thought of losing her. That didn't last long, despite the uncertainty of their future together, he felt strangely upbeat. As he stood there and watched the woman he loved most in the world become nothing but a speck in the pale morning sky, he wondered why he was feeling so buoyant. It wasn't her romantic overture. It wasn't even the kiss. Nor was it the look of love on her face when he slowly withdrew his lips from hers. When she turned to look at him again on her way to the plane, he saw the small swallow brooch that he searched high and low for pinned to her scarf. It was then that he knew, he just knew, she would return to him.
A/N: Carl Jung did travel to England in 1925 to deliver a lecture on analytical psychology, but may not have said either of his two quotes at that lecture.
The Italian opera is La donna e mobile, and the Satie piece that Jack played a few notes of is Gymnopédie.