A/N- This is my second time in the Miss Fisher playground, and it's been a long time. Hopefully, I've been able to retain some understanding of them and this isn't just completely out of character. Inspired by the events in the last episode of season 3. With mild spoilers all around. And thanks to ScopesMonkey for being a great cheerleader, beta, and even better friend. Oh, and obviously, I own nothing.
"What we find in a soul mate is not something wild to tame, but something wild to run with." -Robert Brault
Jack crossed his arms and leaned on the railing. What everyone assumed was England in their sights was actually the Isle of Wight. He knew that, remembered it from his first boat trip to this part of the world. His companions on that voyage had been a mix of soldiers and doctors from all over Australia instead of couples and families – and the one rather persistent older French woman he'd managed to avoid for a good portion of the trip.
Not that he was displeased to see the Isle of Wight in the distance, beckoning this ship and all of her passengers to England's mighty shores. They were so close he could almost taste it. Like the salt water in the cool breeze or the smell of lunch being prepared somewhere on the ship. He could almost taste her. The memory of their kiss, the smell of her hair, the grass in the field. He'd thought of almost nothing else since that day. His heart had fluttered in his chest when he'd received the telegram of her safe arrival in England.
He'd sent one back with just a date. The date of his arrival. The date his ship, this ship, would dock at South Hampton. He hadn't explained anything more, knowing she would like the puzzle. He could picture the smile on her face when she'd realized what it was. That knowing smirk as she'd composed her reply. It had reached him on his second day on ship, a porter delivering it to him on a silver tray as he sat by the small pool. Her message was short and to the point.
South Hampton. I will meet you.
Jack hadn't considered that, really. Phryne waiting on the docks for him when he arrived. He imagined meeting her at the house in Richmond. Or in the flat in London Mrs. Stanley had given him the address for. Never Phryne waiting to greet him, waving wildly as he walked down the plank and towards the crowd.
He was excited to see her. So excited he could feel it buzzing under his skin. Little tendrils reaching out across his body making him want to cringe or shake or dance. He didn't know what. He fisted his hand, digging his nails sharply into his palms and took a deep breath calming his wave of emotions. Soon enough. Just a few more hours now.
Phryne scanned the hundreds of faces lining the railing on the ship, a wave of panic swelling in her throat when she didn't immediately recognize Jack among them. But then that was ridiculous she told herself, and started again, focusing on the lowest deck, looking for anything familiar. The body type. The stance. The hat she'd bought him after the winery mishap. Assuming, of course, he'd bothered to come out to watch the ship dock. He might be sitting comfortably inside his cabin still, collecting his items, his shirts, the books he'd brought…
Her heart started to slam against her ribs as she spotted the fedora and the way he leaned casually against the railing. A ship full of people waving manically at the crowd and he was just standing there, taking it all in. Phryne resisted the urge to jump up and down and scream his name. She wouldn't be heard over the ship and the crowd.
She'd wait, here, by the car, let him to seek her out among the masses. Him following her, the true culmination of his romantic overture.
She felt a giggle swelling in the back of her throat and swallowed it down as inappropriate. The swooning-like giddiness she was almost sure she'd never felt in her whole life. She was an adult woman. He was hardly her first gentleman caller, even if he was the first one who travelled all the way to England simply for her.
She hadn't expected him to. Not really. While Jack lived quite comfortably with almost no frivolous purchases, taking a month off of work for just the journey would certainly be financially debilitating. And while she hadn't been really surprised that he could afford the ticket, she was concerned about what his plans were when he returned. When they returned. She'd support him, happily, but he wasn't the type of man to simply allow that.
Phryne hoped like hell they'd figure it out. Or that he had a plan, because she certainly didn't, at least nothing long term, as she was too consumed with the idea of his arrival. Of seeing him and talking to him, and a whole world of other interesting ideas that she hoped would keep them busy for a long time.
People started to pour off the ship, making their way down the long walkway and mingling with the onlookers and waiting family and friends. Phryne focused on a little girl running into her newly arrived father's arms and smiled. She looked up again and felt Jack's eyes on her, in a way that she'd always felt Jack. When he was close. When he was going to rescue her. He was still standing exactly where he had been, looking in her direction. He lifted his hand and gave a quick wave. Phryne's face spilt into a smile and she waved back before he stepped away from the railing and headed out of sight.
Jack pushed through the crowd, twisting sideways and offering quick apologies as his bag inadvertently hit bystanders. The scene was so unlike their last meeting, the vastness of Victoria replaced by the trapped confines of South Hampton Harbor, but he could still see glimpses of her, of that beautiful dark-hair appearing between the masses and he was encouraged to push on, force his way through regardless of stray toes or other's reunions. Phryne was the only thing that mattered – she was the only thing that had mattered for longer than he'd willingly admit to himself. And she was so close now…
Suddenly there she was, leaning against a shiny black Cadillac, smirking at him. Jack stopped and took a long, shaky breath before dodging another porter and closing the distance with long, hard strides. The air smelled like exhaust and was unreasonably cold for late spring. That would be hard for him, he thought in passing as he slowed his steps and stood in front of her. The weather was going to be miserable. But somehow when the smile crossed her face, it didn't matter.
"A Cadillac," he said, tossing his bag in the rear seat as Phryne pulled gently on his lapels. "Hardly up to par with the Hispanola."
She shrugged, stepping fully into his space, dropping her hands to his hips, fingers tight as if to keep him from moving. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her to him. Her French perfume filling his nostrils and making him smile. It was the same one she'd worn on the docks in the doubloon case. He remembered the feel of her as she'd stood behind him then. It didn't even compare with how she felt pressed against him now.
"It's all I could recruit on such short notice. It's Mother's technically, but I'm certain she won't miss it."
He lifted an eyebrow and stared over her shoulder at the car.
"Have you come to collect me in a stolen vehicle, Miss Fisher?"
"I might just do more than 'collect' you, Inspector. 'Murder' you is moving up the list if you don't kiss me."
Jack grinned before leaning down, finding her even better than he remembered.
Phryne sat back and watched him. She'd insisted he drive, claiming tiredness, but she mostly wanted to watch him. It had only been six weeks, a little longer than really, but she'd genuinely missed him. Not in the way that she missed Dot or Mr. Butler or even Aunt P. She longed for Jack, but not physically although she was particularly excited for that, but just him. Talking to him. Playing draughts. Having drinks. Somewhere between meeting in that powder room over that dead body and this moment, he had become her closest friend. And that was one of the reasons she'd been so hesitant to accept that they might become more.
What had she told Lyle, too much ballast to go anywhere? Too much invested. Too many secrets already shared. Jack had been there at her darkest and rescued her from Foyle. Tossed aside his mentor and former father-in-law because she'd convinced him to. She suspected, because it hadn't been discussed between them at all, that whatever had been budding between he and Conchetta had been destroyed by Phryne's mere presence.
She was very sorry that she couldn't feel sorry about that. It had hardly been the first time she'd felt jealous. It had ached through her heart to see him comforting Rosie, but she'd understood that. Phryne understood Jack's loyalty better than anyone.
And she knew just how much she could hurt him, had seen it both when he thought she'd died in a motorcar and when her father's nerve tonic had loosened his tongue. And he could hurt her, had hurt her, and the mere thought of anything happening to him constricted her throat.
He was firmly next to Jane as Phryne's biggest weakness, and it terrified her.
She brought her hand up from where she'd rested it on his shoulder and brushed the back of her index finger along his cheek. Jack glanced over at her just as the light rain started to bounce off the windscreen.
"Penny for your thoughts," he inquired and she smiled, dancing her finger just above his collar and watching as he swallowed hard at the contact.
"Just admiring the view," she replied, a note of joviality in her voice that she was pretty sure she'd fabricated. Her insides were a mess. Nerves. Fear. All-encompassing excitement.
"Is everything as you remember?" he asked and she smirked, moving her hand to dance along his thigh. He swallowed again, thigh muscles shivering under her touch.
"No," she lied, trailing her finger up across his hip and side. "I'm not sure you're fully ingrained in my memory yet." He glanced over at her again and she noticed a flash of something powerful in his eyes. Desire. It made her heart flutter.
"Well," Jack stuttered, swallowing before getting his bearings. "We should probably correct that."
"Indeed," she scooted closer as the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. "Thankfully the walls at the Savoy are of the highest quality."
The rumble of distant thunder penetrated her dreams and Phryne rolled over, wanting to burrow against the warm body next to her only to find he wasn't there. She opened her eyes, taking a deep breath and smelling him on the pillow. She stretched and started to look around, spotting him through the cracked bedroom door staring out a window. The moonlight reflected off his face and chest emphasizing his well chiseled muscles. The sight made her glad she'd pilfered his pyjama top to sleep in herself.
She threw the blankets back and padded into the living room, not bothering with a dressing gown. He'd seen absolutely everything she had to offer on multiple occasions in the last fifteen hours. All modestly was rightfully and gladly gone.
She walked past small table were the remnants of their late lunch and late even later dinner were tossed about the table, along with Jack's waistcoat and various other items of clothing across random pieces of furniture. She grabbed a half empty glass of red wine and swallowed the remaining bit down before moving behind him. Phryne stood on her toes to peer over Jack's shoulder and across the Thames to the darkened South Bank.
"It appears it's my turn to inquire about your thoughts, Inspector," she hummed, dropping back onto flat feet and wrapping her arms around his waist. She placed her cheek between his shoulder blades and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.
Jack covered her hands with his and she felt him take a deep breath.
"I can't believe I did this. That this is real. That you are. That London's looking back at me through the window," he trailed off, not looking away, and she chuckled, placing a kiss at the base of his neck.
"Oh, I'm decidedly real, Jack. Sore. Thoroughly satiated. And so wonderfully glad that you made the trip."
"As I recall, you commanded it," he whispered in the darkness.
"You never listen to me," she shot back, grinning.
"No," he said, turning in her arms and pulling her close. "It's you who never listen to me. And usually end up being held in a cargo hold as a result."
"Just the once," she smirked, standing on her toes to kiss him. He relaxed against her and brought his hand up to cup her cheek as the kiss deepened. He tasted like wine and sleep and smelled like her, having done little more than wipe off after an hour spent between her legs. The memory shivered up her spine and she couldn't wait to repeat it. But not now – now he needed sleep.
She pulled away and grabbed his hands. "Come to bed," she said, walking backwards and dragging him along. "I hate waking up alone after such a fulfilling evening, and your shoulder was so comfortable to sleep on."
He huffed out a laugh but sped up, pulling her against his side as they made their way back to bed.
Her hair was soft as her ran it though his fingers. Soft and smelling of her perfume, even now after a thoroughly active day and evening. She was still Phryne. Still perfectly put together even wearing his worn pyjama top and pressed against his side.
Phryne also wasn't sleeping. But then neither was he, the weight of what was happening having settled in his bones, ready to shatter his whole world, body and soul, when it was over. And the realization that it was all worth it, that he would live the with consequence, that he would die for this, for her, for them, if needed, didn't bring the comfort he expected.
"Jack?" she asked quietly into the darkness as if she had been following his strangled train of thought.
"Where does this end?" He asked quietly, turning his head to place a kiss into the soft hair. "What's next?"
She was quiet, but didn't pull away like he half expected. Instead she pushed closer to him. Her thigh pressing between his as she moved her head from his shoulder to his chest.
"I don't know," she answered.
"I don't want to change you," he whispered. "I've never wanted that. Never will."
"I know," she inserted as he kept talking.
"But I can't— I don't think I— I can't share you, Phryne. That isn't fair, I know. And I don't have any expectations, really. But I'm not as liberal–"
"You are perfectly liberal," she interrupted, running her hand absently up his rib cage. He tried not to shiver at the contact, but knew she was well aware of what her touch did to him. "And I know your interest isn't to cage me or beat me into the mold of some ideal woman. I have no desire to marry or have children or any of that. That isn't going to change." He nodded, but didn't interrupt her. It seemed important not to.
She propped up on her elbow, resting her palm in the center of his chest. Jack focused on her eyes in the darkness, seeing the bright sparkle and feeling her all but invisible stare pierce his whole body. His soul.
"But," she hesitated, and he wondered if she was trying to convince herself before she continued, "I don't think you have to share me either," she said. "This isn't a Thursday night at some dance club. You're Jack. My Jack. You've come half way round the world simply because I asked you to. You're my closest friend and my strongest ally. My unsung hero. You are fiercely loyal. Noble. And this heart," she moved her hand over a fraction and his heart beat against her palm. "This incredibly guarded and passionate heart is amazing. And you've just thrown it haphazardly into the air because of me. The least I can do is catch it and care for it." She paused again, moving her hand and leaning down to place a kiss against his chest. "My fidelity is yours, Jack Robinson, for as long as you want it."
He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat and nodded his head. He couldn't imagine not wanting it, not wanting her. She leaned up and kissed him, soft and sweet before her huge smile lit up even their blackened room.
"As for everything else, we'll handle it as it comes. Deal?"
He brought his hand up and cupped her cheek, she kissed his palm and he nodded again.
"Sounds like a perfectly thought out plan, Miss Fisher."
"I do like to be thorough," she murmured, lifting her leg all the way across his hips and settling on his stomach. "And if you are my denouement, Inspector, I'd like to make sure I enjoy every possible moment." She leaned forward and Jack wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
"We don't have to do this," Phryne said as the lift doors opened, depositing them in the lobby. "I know you aren't a fan of opera."
Jack smirked in the way he'd been smirking since her mother had called that morning. Phryne would be infuriated by it if it wasn't also doing alarming things to the lower half of her body.
"I'm not," he said, leading her towards the doors and the waiting car. Mother had insisted on sending one, Phryne knew, to make sure they arrived on time. "But you are. And you're a fan of this one. I've heard you say so."
"But–" she tried to interrupt, even though nothing he'd said was wrong.
"But," he continued, holding up his hand and cutting her off. "You want to go. Your mother seemed pretty insistent on the phone with you earlier, and I have no intention of my first interaction with her being a negative one. The last thing I need is for her to think I'm some bad influence. Especially as I finally seem to be tolerated by Mrs. Stanley."
Phryne laughed at that, pulling herself close to him as they pushed through the doors.
"Come now, Jack, Aunt P. adores you."
And as for her mother. Those eyes. That charm. The undeniable good looks. The Baroness of Richmond was going to be Jack Robinson's biggest fan. Phryne had no doubt of that, especially if he stayed around a while. Her mother would be shocked.
"Mother will adore you. I'm just not sure I'm ready to share you yet," she said. "Mother and London society can be very encompassing. You might decide you'd rather attend all the parties than spend any of your evenings with me."
It was his turn to laugh, a quiet chuckle as the driver, Old Bernie as she'd called him since she was a teenager, opened the door for them. Jack closed it behind her before quickly moving to the other side and grabbing his own door before the driver had a chance. Jack tipped his hat and the sheer shock on Old Bernie's face was definitely worth leaving the hotel room for.
As they started off, Jack leaned closer to her. Phryne took the opportunity to weave their fingers together, his strong fingers tugging perfectly at her silk gloves. He smelled absolutely delicious, and she hoped like hell that the seats in their box were close enough together for her to…
She lost her train of thought as soon as his breath brushed down her neck, his words whispered right next to her ear.
"I can think of nothing I'd rather do that spend our entire time buried between those sheets, but people will talk, Phryne, and ask questions. I'd like to be able to share one part of my trip here with other people when they inquire. 'Saw Carmen at the Royal Opera House and hated it' is a much better story than 'Saw a glimpse of Big Ben out of the hotel window while Phryne was busy with her mouth around my….'"
"Jack!" she exclaimed, laughing in surprise at her uptight, reserved Inspector. He pulled back, smirk still firmly in place and she slapped his arm jokingly.
"So let's enjoy the opera," he finished turning his attention to the window and the passing city.
Phryne turned her attention to him. People were going to talk. That was the nature of people. The two of them had already appeared in the Melbourne paper's gossip columns, the London ones would be no different. Well, maybe a little crueler, but she knew it wouldn't scare Jack off. A society of snide remarks about his class as a policeman and continuous questions about his parents and 'who' they were wouldn't faze Jack.
He might be bothered by Phryne's flirting, because she was a flirter. Always. But she'd go home with Jack tonight and he knew that.
Even if he didn't completely trust it, yet.
He would.
She'd make sure of it.
Because she could see past tonight with him. Past tomorrow. Past next week. Next month. Their voyage home. And the prospect was much more exciting than terrifying.
She had no great delusion that it would be easy. He would frustrate her because he was stubborn. She would annoy him because she doesn't listen. They would get angry and fight. But it was different. Jack was different, and he made her different.
He made her better.
Phryne knew that.
Even if she didn't completely trust it, yet.
She would.
He'd make sure of it.