Miss Fisher swanned in at nearly midnight and handed her wrap to the indomitable Mr Butler. He politely informed her that her favourite someone had arrived a while ago. Delighted, she hastened into her living room and saw him quietly ensconced in his customary chair accompanied by a purring Ember and a bottle of whiskey, half empty. The Inspector had waited a long time it seemed and had fallen asleep.
She gazed at him for a while; tie half undone and collar open, serene in repose with one hand resting on the black cat curled up on his lap, purrs aligned with his breathing. She quietly called for some bedding and her faithful aide brought a pillow and blanket. Between them, they tucked the man in comfortably (her, resisting the urge to run her fingers down the tantalising peek of chest). She knelt by the chair; chin resting on the arm and watched him for a little bit. With a beam on his face, Mr Butler discreetly observed her from the door before he left the lovers.
She leaned forward and lightly kissed his temple, a touch so light and gossamer thin it could have been the dust of a fairy. Jack barely stirred but she could have sworn she heard a wistful sigh in return. An errant curl fell over his brow and she brushed it aside so very gently he had no idea she was there. Phryne smiled and retreated from the room, turning off the lights and wishing her Inspector a good night.
He was going to have one hell of a hangover when he woke up.