Written for the 2015 Phryne Ficathon! Most have probably already seen this at Ao3, but if not, here you go! The prompt for this fic was Shakespeare's Sonnet 18, which is reproduced in full after the end.
Phryne padded out from behind the bath screen, tightening the sash of her dressing gown as she did so. She cast a fond look at Jack, dozing in the large bed, admiring as always the lovely long line of his back. Dear Jack. More than five years had elapsed since they had finally become lovers, and she was as enamored and endeared by him as ever. With a smile, she sat down at her dressing table and began to smooth night cream onto her cheeks, taking care to apply it liberally to the lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes. Logically, she knew that they couldn't have appeared overnight, but ever since her 40th birthday the week before she seemed to notice them much more. She didn't regret them, or the ever more prominent ones on her forehead, nor the slightly more rounded contours of her body…they were simply proof of a life fully lived. Still… She sighed.
"Penny for them?"
She turned in surprise. Jack was propped up on one elbow, his mussed hair flopping over his forehead, watching her with warmth in his gaze. "Jack! You're awake! Why didn't you say?"
He smiled softly. "I was enjoying watching you." Jack did like to watch her at her dressing table, making herself up or preparing for sleep, it didn't seem to matter. Although he seemed to like it best when she went without cosmetics. That had never puzzled her much, considering that she much preferred Jack tousled and relaxed herself, but it was gratifying. "Anyway," he went on, "you normally catch me at it in the mirror. You must have been deep in thought."
"I suppose," she said, getting up and joining him on the bed. "Just some rather silly musings, really."
"That sigh sounded more wistful than silly," he persisted, reaching up to smooth away a lingering smudge of lotion.
"I was just thinking about time passing, that's all."
"Is this about your birthday again? Must I quote Sonnet 18 for you? 'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May—'
"Jack!" she protested laughingly, shoving at him playfully.
"—' But thy eternal summer shall not fade,'" he finished with a smirk of satisfaction.
"Thank you for that, darling," she said dryly. "No, it's nothing like that," she continued more seriously. "I don't regret growing older; goodness knows I've done enough living for three lifetimes, and aging, well, it's something of a testament to that, isn't it?"
He nodded, his eyes fond, and gently rubbed her shoulder where her dressing gown had slipped down. "And there's not much I regret, really, to want to go back to. Janey, of course, and René. The War."
"Not much you could've done about that last one, love."
"No," she agreed, "not unless I'd thrown myself bodily in front of the archduke, I suppose."
"Which is not too terribly outside the realms of possibility for you," he said with a quirk of his lips.
She rolled her eyes at him. "And I wouldn't want to be young again," she continued, ignoring his teasing. "I spent so much of my youth being afraid, for one reason or another. Even of myself, before I found the strength to let myself be who I really wanted to be. But all of that, it brought me here, to Melbourne, and Jane, and everything lovely and exciting that's happened. You," she finished, stroking his cheek. "So I can never regret that."
"What is it, then?"
"I suppose I just worry I'll miss making an impression." At his incredulous look, she exclaimed, "I told you it was silly!"
"Phryne, you're the last person who needs to worry about not making an impression, at any age."
"Well, a certain kind of impression, then. A captivating one. Oh, don't smirk at me, Jack, you know what I mean. And you needn't accuse me of vanity, I'm already accusing myself," she huffed irritably. "It's just, I suppose I've come to count on it somewhat over the past couple of decades, and I don't know how I'll feel if, well when, really, that changes. Just because I won't regret it as such doesn't mean it won't be disconcerting." She glanced at him. "Terribly indulgent of me, I know."
"No, terribly human," he corrected gently, his amused smile transforming into one that was much more tender. "Change is always frightening, especially when it alters how we relate to the world. But I, for one, still say you'll have nothing to worry about…I expect I'll still be worrying about some charming young devil stealing you away from me when you're eighty!"
"Oh really, Jack…"
"Well, you're not the only one getting older, you know… I'm getting grayer every day!"
"It's not quite that drastic, darling, and besides, you know I think it's terribly dashing," she said, stroking his temple. At his scoff, she continued, "Well, you certainly should know, given that I've said so every time you brought it up in that self-deprecating manner," she said with a hint of exasperation. "If I didn't know you better, Jack Robinson, I'd swear you were fishing!"
"But there will come a time when I can't even entice you with cases anymore." His tone was teasing, but there was a tiny flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I won't always be your dashing Detective inspector, you know," he added more softly.
"Of course you will, Jack. That's the beauty of it. No matter how old we get, you'll always be my stalwart Detective Inspector, and I'll always be… what? Your maddening, infuriating—"
"My entrancing Phryne. My Phryne. Always," he rasped.
"Exactly, love. I don't love you for your cases any more than you love me for how I look in truly exquisite lingerie. I love you for your steadfast heart, your decency, for the fact that you value and accept me, all of me, just as I am. And that won't change, will it?" she asked, meeting his blue gaze searchingly.
"Not unless you want it to, and probably not even then," he affirmed. "I do believe you're it for me, Phryne Fisher."
"And I can't imagine wanting anyone else to see as much of me, the true me, as you have, so I suppose you're it for me, too, Jack Robinson," she replied.
They smiled at each other, satisfied, and she curled herself against him. "Why don't you recite that sonnet for me, Jack?"
"What?" he asked, slightly surprised.
"Sonnet 18. It's quite true, you know… except, I don't think beauty lives on only through words … I think we keep it in our hearts as well, don't you?"
He kissed her head, and then, his tone husky, he began.
END
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
You'll notice that I made Phryne a bit older than she is in the books; I wanted her to be closer to the age portrayed by Essie, so I took the liberty of a bit of artistic license.