I have great respect for the hard working and talented script writers who have worked on this project, and I do not intend to make any profit from their work. I would, however, like to say that their art is greatly appreciated, and that imitation is, as always, the greatest form of flattery.

It was raining lightly when Jack stepped out of the divorce court, it was finally over. He stepped out for the last time and didn't look back, he looked down. He didn't know what to feel. Divorce was a long, difficult process, few people bothered with it, unless they wanted to get married again. Did he want to get married again? Of course he did, desperately, but the divorce brought him precious little closer to that. She would never marry, and she would certainly never marry him. She was everything he wasn't and they could barely hold a civil conversation most of the time.

He had to leave. He had decided to move to another station, one where she couldn't walk into his office whenever she felt like it, because no matter what he said, did, thought or wanted, she always walked out again. She didn't know he was here, she didn't know what he'd done, he made sure of that. But she was good.

He had walked to the court, the weather had been fine and it hadn't been far, but in classic Melbourne style, the wind had picked up and a thin drizzle had begun to fall, it wasn't much, but by the time he made it home, it would be dark, and he would be wet, cold and just a little more disenchanted. He looked up for the first time as his shoe hit the shallow puddle at the bottom of the stairs, and he almost, almost looked surprised. Miss Phryne Fisher's car was directly in front of him, illegally parked, right in front of the courthouse. For once she didn't pretend to be surprised to see him, she simply leant over and pushed open the door for him. She sat back into her own seat, avoiding a very good opportunity to get far too close. She must have been doing it on purpose. Their usual combination of argument, flirtation and banter seemed to have been put away for the occasion, but he still tried.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you need a stiff drink and a ride home" she said firmly.

And that seemed to be the end of it.

Of course, "home" had not been defined, and her home had a far greater and more diverse supply of stiff drinks, so he was not surprised in the slightest when they pulled up there. The fire was lit, the younger members of the household were very much elsewhere, and drinks were already on the coffee table. For once he felt that he was her intended guest, rather than the welcomed intruder.

She sat in the chair closest to the fire, specifically avoiding her usual place on the couch. She was clearly trying to make a point, or rather trying, for once, not to. He took the couch, as the closest place to her, and wondered if she noticed. If she did, she didn't say. She smiled gently, handed him a drink and just gave him time. Soon they chatted about cases, stories, Dot and Hugh, and all manner of other small distractions.

Eventually Phryne got up to make tea. She had a house full of people who's entire job seemed to be making her tea, but she had chosen to make it herself. Perhaps she just wanted to be out of the room for a while. Seeing him strong and commanding, out chasing criminals, always lead to some temptation, but seeing him tired and vulnerable lead to a strong desire to do many things, several of them were quite appropriate, but they all lead down a path to something irresistible. When she came back a few minutes later, Jack was leaning on the mantelpiece by the fire, looking a little more contented. He may have ended something important, it was hard and cold, but it was over, and that was a relief. That aspect of it was slowly sinking in.

She placed the tray on the table and joined him by the fire. He finally looked comfortable, for the first time in weeks. Tired, drained and worn, but contented. For the first time he considered that he should be angry with Hugh and probably Dot. Or perhaps he should thank them. As much as he tried to keep her away, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

She stood close, perhaps because the fireplace was small, or perhaps because she thought that just this once, he wouldn't mind. He didn't.

"Jack"

He turned to her.

"Why?" She asked softly.

He knew exactly what she meant, and he already had a few answers in mind, with varying degrees of truth. He wasn't quite sure which to use, but he was sorely tempted by honesty.

"Are we calling a spade a spade?"

She nodded slightly.

He closed the little gap between them, lifting a hand to her cheek. As well as he hid it, he was terrified. He was about to break his own heart, so willingly. He dipped his head to brush her lips, ever so gently. She didn't let him get away with it. She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed back the way she'd always wanted to. She'd let him kiss her and run once, never again.

To be continued.