An AU ending for Season 2 Episode 12 'Unnatural Habits', when we were all left screaming at our screens when Aunt P interrupted a very important moment…

The title comes from the music that played as Phryne closed the front door, and on into the credits: 'The World is Waiting for the Sunrise'.

I know that you're all biting your nails waiting on the next chapter of '1 Year' but this is something that I started writing a while ago, and I just had to put it up after watching last Saturday's repeat of that episode here in Aus. (And is anyone else as incensed as I am, that after repeating all of Season 2, even though now *is* July, they've decided not to repeat the Christmas in July episode? They're probably saving it to play at Christmastime so that they can run a 'Coming in 2015' ad after it for Season 3, but still… grrrr!)

Anyhow – enjoy :)

xoxox

He felt as if he had been torn from her, and as her aunt bustled away to attend to the mewling infant, he knew that he had to get back to those few seconds; when he had been in control, when all of his whirling thoughts of the last many hours had coalesced into a single focus that required immediate action – he had to kiss her.

It had not been his intention when he had come here; in fact he was unsure what his intention *had* been. All he had known was that he had been in turmoil ever since he had turned his head to where Phryne had been standing by the station door, only to find her gone. He had been immediately beset by a terrible sense of guilt; and although he had not been entirely sure why, in this case, doing the right thing had definitely *felt* like the wrong thing.

He had had to go to Rosie; there was really no question. They might have been divorced, but once the decision had been made, it had been reasonably amicable, and he would always remember that there had been a time when they had been in love. In all of the time that they had been married, though, he had not seen her as distraught as she had been earlier. In all the times that they had fought, and even when her mother had died after a long illness, she had always been a woman who sobbed quietly into a handkerchief, not unrestrainedly as she clung to him like a lifeline, as she had tonight.

She had come alone to the station, not knowing the extent of what had transpired, and without advising her sister that their father was in some sort of trouble (again). Once she had known, Jack could see that she was in no fit state, and it would be up to him to explain the situation to his former in-laws. Rosie had sobbed all the way to their house, and he really couldn't blame her. Her engagement had been a sham, perpetrated by a man who wanted only to use her as a bargaining chip, a man who had done terrible things, some of which might never be made right. Her father, who she had always held up as an example of something Jack should aspire to be, had enabled Sidney to carry on his illegal activities, and all for the sake of power.

Things would only get worse – Jack had yet to reveal to her that, in all likelihood, George's shooting of Maurice Bourke, back in January, had actually been murder – he hadn't really thought he had a weapon, he had just wanted to keep him from revealing to Jack any further information regarding 'the box'. Would he hang? Probably not, but at his age, whatever sentence he received would likely be for the term of his remaining life. Jack wondered, bitterly, what other secrets were lurking in George's life that would be revealed in the coming days and weeks. Had he been on the take all along? Even at his current rank, he lived beyond the means of a police officer; Jack had always been under the impression that he had inherited money, but now he wasn't so sure…

He had finally been able to tear himself away from the Sanderson sisters, leaving them to his miserable former brother-in-law. That man cared very much what other people thought, and Jack could well imagine him escaping the Melbourne gossip and removing his wife to the other side of the world at his earliest opportunity. Would they take Rosie with them? Time would tell…

Tomorrow would be a terrible day, but now he just wanted to clear all that from his mind, and return to the woman who usually occupied his thoughts. As he had sat in the car outside Phryne's house, watching the lights go out one by one, he had been unable to form any clear idea of what he wanted to say to her; but he had to see her. He had to show her that he was… what exactly? He didn't know; he just knew that things between them had been going in a direction that might be irrevocably altered if he didn't take some action tonight.

So he had made his way up her path, and stood at her door, feeling like a dog that had done something naughty, returning to its owner with its tail between its legs.

She had certainly given him mixed signals once he had been admitted to her house.

"Is it too late?"

"Never…"

He didn't think that either of them had been referring to the time.

But then when he had tried to explain about Rosie, Phryne had assured him that that was exactly where he should have been, and although her look was affectionate, it was also sad; she was resigned to his place with his (former) wife. *That* had been the catalyst to his decision to step forward.

Now, the silence stretched between them. His brain told him that he should be leaving, but his heart just wouldn't let him. Mrs Stanley's murmurings to the baby finally broke through the fog in his brain, and he looked to Phryne in desperation. She seemed surprised, unsure of exactly what was happening, but she also seemed as reluctant as he that the moment should be left to pass.

She glanced quickly towards the parlour, then reached out and clasped his fingers in her hand, and tugged him towards the bottom step. She inclined her head toward the darkened upper reaches of the staircase. "Come up, before she comes back..." It was a statement, but it was also a question, and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He nodded his assent, and followed her quickly up to the second storey.

She stopped suddenly in the dark hallway, and he stumbled against her. She turned in his fumbling arms, her hands reaching inside his coat, and around his ribcage, and he hauled her against him, his hat falling, forgotten, to the floor. He felt, more than saw, her face tilt toward his, and he hesitated only a second before finding her lips with his. The kiss was fierce, and over in a matter of seconds, when they both pulled back ever so slightly, her nose still touching his, her hot breath mixing with his. Some sort of understanding passed between them in the darkness, and the kisses that followed were full of pent-up desperation, and longing, and relief.

His hand found the nape of her neck, then moved up to thread into her cap of hair, and he broke away from her to bury his nose in the silky strands, and unashamedly inhaled her clean, soapy scent.

"Phryne…" he breathed her name as he pressed a kiss into the side of her head, and she answered with a small, muffled sound of yearning against his chest. "When I found your lock pick… I knew… I knew what George had done… and, God, I thought… He wouldn't tell me where you were, and I thought... that I had lost you... I thought I'd lost you… I'm so sorry…" Although he had not thought it possible, he managed to pull her even tighter to him.

"Jack… Don't you dare be sorry… You have nothing to be sorry for…"

He shook his head against her. "Then there was Rosie… It shouldn't have been her… It's not what I wanted… I just wanted to see you… I should have been here with you… Forgive me…"

Right now, with his arms encircling her, he ought to have felt euphoric, but instead he felt utterly wretched. Once again his thoughts had turned to the events at the station, and he wondered how it was that he had responded to Rosie, having barely given Phryne a second thought. For God's sake, he had shot a man in her defence, but not once in the time since had he stopped to ask her if she was alright.

If he had known, when he went down to the docks, that she was being held captive on that ship, his heart would have been in his throat wondering at what a crew used to smuggling women might do to a female intruder. As it was, it had been only a matter of minutes between his discovery of her lock pick, and her appearance, and he had not had much time to think of anything other than life or death during his frantic search.

Now he had realised that he did not even know how long she had been there, or whether the others had been with her the entire time. He had been so relieved to find her alive on the ship, and then so busy during the aftermath, that he had not taken the time to consider what she may have been through before he had arrived.

It made him feel ill that he had been so unconcerned. Sure, she always projected an image of self-confidence, even to the point of arrogance, but *he* had seen her vulnerability, and he was sure that he was one of few who had. She was human, like everyone else, but she had seen and felt more suffering than most, and he knew that she was more fragile than she seemed.

He knew, now, that he loved her, and although he didn't know if he and Phryne could find their way to a long-term, committed relationship, he *did* know that it was something that he could never find again with Rosie.

His divorce, and his ever-deepening relationship with Phryne, had given him a clarity about his relationship with his former wife that he had never felt whilst married, not even in the final days. At the time, he had known that he was miserable, but that was not why he had divorced her; he had done it because she had asked for it, and he still cared enough about her to wish her any happiness that she might find without him. He had wondered if she would even go through with it; but of course he had not known then that Sidney had already worked his way into her affections.

Tonight he had already felt her regret at her change in circumstances, at having forsaken her unhappy marriage, to a good man, for an unknown future with a man who had turned out to be a criminal, and who had used her for his own gain.

She might not know it yet, but it was only a matter of time before her emotions coalesced into a need to draw Jack back to her. He could almost read her future intent, felt it with such certainty that it might almost be a living thing; if it was, it was a snake, waiting quietly in the corner for its opportunity to slowly coil itself around him, and squeeze the breath from his body.

If he were to let Rosie back into his life it might work for a while, but things would inevitably take a turn for the worse, and he would certainly lose his opportunity to find something more with Phryne – she might be blasé about her rather frequent liaisons, but she would not risk *her heart* if she saw that there was any chance that he might fall back into a familiar, if troubled, life with his former spouse.

Suddenly it was as clear as crystal to him – *that* was why he had come here tonight. To show Phryne that, although Rosie would always have a place in his heart, it was no longer hers, to do with what she would. His heart was now firmly in Phryne's hands, and he could only hope that she would treat it with the same reverence he felt for hers.

xoxox

tbc

PS: Next chapter will be M-rated, so don't forget to change your Rating filter