The iron gate shut softly behind him. Jack chose to keep walking, looking back was currently not an option. It was late but a mild evening wind ruffled through his hair and swept over the smell and noise of the city. Of course most people slept at this time of night, only the immoral part of the citizens would still be awake; the burglars, thieves and prostitutes on this side and the immorally rich on the other. Jack was very familiar with this side, it was his job to shake hands with its population or at least put cuffs around them. Of the other he knew little. In fact, besides the occasional burglary victim he really only knew her. Phryne wasn't exactly your typical high society lady even though she might spend his month salary on a single dress and he couldn't remember ever having seen her wear any of them more than once. What you couldn't buy was attitude and style. She had an abundance of both but underneath that, underneath that... He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence in his head. What he did know was the look in her eyes when she stumbled over someone being mistreated or lost. Strays seemed to be drawn to her like Iron to a magnet. Sometimes he wondered if that was the reason he couldn't stay away from her.
Truth be told, it was mostly her that showed up wherever he set his foot. Their professions made sure of that. At the start that had been annoying, insulting even, especially since she was so damn smart that she always seemed a heel-clad step ahead of him. Then he had begun to look for her, await her appearance that surely always came. Wherever a murder was committed she'd sweep through the door in some stunning outfit or other, walk up to his corpse as if she owned the place by birth right and made damn sure he knew it. And she always, always got herself into trouble. Half the time she managed to also get out herself, the other half he had to go on a wild goose chase to find her before the killer did. And when his heart had stopped once again, when he had heard himself yell her name that he never used, never unless he feared to find her dead body turning the next corner, that's when Jack had known it. He had lost the plot.
There had been more subtle hints of course. Looking for her at every murder scene for a start, listening to her sometimes wild theories, letting her in where he ought to have locked her out. He could talk all of that away with common sense. Miss Fisher would hound him till he gave in anyway. And she was clever, damn she was clever. Working together they put a lot of bad guys away, there was no denying it, so it was the smart thing to do, wasn't it? Jack kicked against a stone that vanished silently into the night. Yes, of course it was. Less smart had been the sudden grudge he'd felt about any handsome man showing up on the scene. Sometimes it seemed like she was teasing him on purpose, taunting him. When Lin Chung had wandered up to them in that alley and lured her away he'd had to restrain himself to not punch him right into that charming smile of his. Watching her float into the distance Jack had suddenly felt lost. Like a stray. He couldn't blame the men, she was doubtlessly an attractive woman. It would be easy to say that that was it. She was attractive, so he was attracted. Logical. It wasn't that though. Alright, so she was tempting. Not just her expensive clothes, but the way they swayed around her when she moved. Not only her lips, but the way they curled into a smile, her expressive eyes, her... Jack swallowed hard. He needed to stop thinking about this. Right now!
She had snuck into his dreams. That was about the time he had finally realised something was awry. It wasn't always that kind of dreams. Sometimes it was nightmares where he didn't reach her in time. Sometimes they would just talk. Sometimes she looked at him with that smile. She always had liked to flirt; somehow it had become a habit just like them meeting up after every solved case and chewing over their murderer, their victims and everything else that happened to be on their minds. It was one of his favourite parts about finding a murderer, sitting on her sofa or at her dinner table with a drink in his hand and battling her with words. It was a dangerous hobby, but Jack had become good at deflecting her charmes, brushing off her knowing smiles and flirty comments, slamming up his shields whenever she threatened to crawl under his skin. He had been alright. Till Dubois happened. That damned kiss that had left his lips tingling hadn't been the half of it. Neither had the picture of a sleeping and stark naked woman that was undeniably the one in front of him even though it had been the cause of a dry throat and the sudden urge to flee the building. What had really gotten to him was to see her fall apart in front of his eyes. Phryne, cocky, arrogant Phryne had lost it in front of a room full of people when she found herself confronted with the one man that had managed to break her heart. That had almost cost her her life with Jack standing there like a stupid rag doll, waving his pistol through the air. It had been hard to breath, not just because he was scared out of his wits that he would watch her be shot by her crazed former lover or worse, have to arrest her for manslaugther. But also, because he could see all of her for the very first time. This part of her, the one that she hid and hid well, was the one that he loved and feared most. Because it was fragile and he was scared that if he touched it, it might crumble under his fingertips.
It was a silly thought. Miss Fisher was strong, possibly the strongest human being he had ever encountered. It was unlikely she would even consider again to be this vulnerable to a man and if she chose someone it would most likely not be a ragged police man. Or so Jack told himself. Though sometimes he imagined a certain spark in her eyes... The Inspector nearly stumbled over a stray cat and stopped, swearing under his breath. He had long since gone off his way home and would've loved to pretend he was lost, but that wasn't the case. He knew his city quite well. He might have been lost in oh so many ways, but he knew exactly where this street led and that was into a rather dangerous little corner filled with thugs and burglars, following their respective businesses. Jack patted for the assuring metal on his belt before he proceeded his footsteps on the cobbles. He shouldn't actually have it on him anymore but right now he was thankful for it. Sometimes when she looked at him, he couldn't help but wonder if that's how she'd looked at Mr. Chung that night over supper? At Hamilton the other week before she had lured him to her boudoir to reveal all his dirty little secrets? No, he couldn't blame them, even though he'd wanted to clap Wawrick into iron just for smugly revealing the night they'd spent together. Whatever those men thought, she was the cat in this game, they were the mice. Jack refused to play his part and maybe that was just what kept her interested. But it got harder and harder to pull away. Like tonight as she had stood on those stairs, offering him a night cap, aware that she was wearing the most breathtaking dress in all of Melbourne – his lower instinct had wanted to sweep her up and tear this immorally expensive piece of fabric to shreds. Jack shuddered at the mere thought of it while walking quickly past a group of drunkards, singing an inappropriate song on a street corner in what they probably thought of as a lovely harmony. It would have been so incredibly easy to let himself be seduced by her bedroom eyes, let her soft, white arms encircle him and finally kiss those red lips that haunted him into his dreams. Especially the kind that he wouldn't have told his priest about even if he would have gone to the church more than twice a year. Jack drew a shaky breath through clenched teeths. Not the way to calm down, he told himself firmly. Get a grip, man.
Yes, it would be so easy to give in – but then what? Jack had been aware now for some time that he walked a dangerous line in Miss Fisher's presence. And that, if he ever crossed it, she would wipe the floor with his heart. It was as simple as that. The next morning they'd wake up in tangled sheets and he would've fallen. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. And sure, she would be nice and flirty and lovely. And then she would pull away or worse, pretend nothing had happened. She hadn't bat an eyelid when Warwick Hamilton had fled the country as soon as the murderous spell of his employer had become public. Neither had it seemed to faze her much when Mr. Chung gave his hand to his lovely Chinese bride. The honourable Phryne Fisher didn't fall for men. She spent some time with them, enjoyed their company like you might enjoy a drop of good champagne and then she went back to business. Maybe that was Dubois' fault or the wars or maybe it was just her way of breathing the freedom of the new world. But however he twisted it, there was no room for DI Jack Robinson in this picture. She might like and respect him, she sure as hell trusted him a great deal, but she wouldn't, couldn't reciprocate his feelings. And he had resolved to be her confidante rather than a drop of spilled champagne on her silk sheets. But by god, was it hard in nights like this one.
As Jack thought this he'd stepped out between the dark walls and found himself at the river. The moon hung heavy in the balmy night air glittering over the water. In a flash he was back to that night twelve years ago. Back in france, in the trenches, a heavy moon, greasy air that smelled of gas and too many shot fire arms. The young kid that lay beside him in the mud, the one he called Will in his head because he reminded him of an old schoolfriend even though they didn't even look alike. He had spluttered blood every time he'd coughed into his grubby handkerchief while he'd told Jack all about the lovely girl that was waiting for him back in England. They had both known that she would never see him again. Lance-Constable John Robinson had buried him in the very same mud the next afternoon and hadn't shed a single tear. But now and again when the moon shone bright into his bedroom, he thought of him and his girl, wondered what happened to her, if she ever found love again.
When he had gotten home from france, feeling dirty to his bones and much older than the 28 years written in his papers, things had been different. The war was over, they had won, but he wasn't sure if he would ever sleep again without the feel of mud beneath his skin, hearing the screams and smelling the mixture of spent firearms and blood. It had been a bitter victory for him and he couldn't share this with Rosie as much as he'd wanted to. When he had left for Europe they had been deeply in love, desperate to be seperated, hopeful for their future – a future that never came. Because while he had come back, the man that Rosie had loved had died in a french Cabbagefield.
It wasn't that he didn't love her anymore, he just couldn't bring himself to talk to her about what happened. Of course she had followed every step of the war, informed herself about every move on the battlefield, every small victory and every bitter loss, but in the end she knew nothing. And in a way he'd felt that that was a good thing. Nobody should see what he had seen, feel what he had felt. Putting it onto her seemed unfair. So he'd kept his mouth shut and went on with his life. Only that it hadn't been that easy. Their marriage had decayed, bit by bit. With every night he awoke screaming, with every breakfast spent in silence, with every social function he had pulled out of with the pretense of work to do because he couldn't bring himself to sip champagne and act like he was enjoying himself. She had drifted away and as much at it pained him he didn't really care as much as he should have. It still hurt. Not so much the losing her but the failure, the cracked dreams. Funnily he'd felt like a weight had dropped off his shoulders when he had left the court after the papers were signed. It had been too long, pretending that they could work it out, that as long as they weren't divorced they hadn't completely given up because „a marriage is still a marriage". In a way that was Phryne's fault, too. It wasn't so much about wanting to be free for her, Jack had long since resolved that nothing was ever going to happen that would make that necessary. But it helped tame the guilt. And as he'd watched her carelessness about anything others might be thinking, doing what she felt was right without giving a second thought to the neighbours, the rumours or even her stiff aunt, he'd suddenly felt ashamed for pretending that he was still a married man. She'd cut him loose from Rosie in more ways than one and he was grateful for it. Even if he saved her life a hundred times over it wouldn't repay that debt. Not that she'd ever shown excessive gratitude for it anyway. It felt like she expected it from Jack, like she always knew he was going to come for her. And he hadn't disappointed her yet. He dreaded the day he would.
A small noise somewhere in the blackness to his left tore him from his musing. Automatically his hand seeked the pistol, as his feet stopped their careless wander along the river side. Jack could feel his muscles tense while he listened into the dark bushes. The moon still glittered soundlessly over the water. There it was again, the cracking of a breaking branch, a shuffle. The policeman's hand closed over the familiar metal. Then suddenly he heard it... a quiet hickup.
„Shoeless Jim? Jimmy? You in there?"
Another hickup and drunken muttering answered him. Jack let the breath escape he had been holding. His arms relaxed as the old beggar emerged from the shallow woods.
"Whatisit?" He grumbled.
"Nothin', Jimmy, you just gave me a scare. Shouldn't hide down here." DI Robinson replied, keeping his voice even while trying not to suffocate in the stench of unwashed clothes and alcohol fumes.
"Aintgotnowhereelsetohide." The old man mumbled while shuffling his bare and according to the smell, for decades unwashed feet, back into the bushes.
Jack nodded.
"Fair enough." He said it under his breath, more to himself than Jimmy who already had returned to his alcohol induced slumber only occasionally interrupted by a quiet "hick".
Jacks feet had started to walk again of their own accord. Nowhere to hide. Now that was a feeling he had become very familiar with of late. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the idea that Miss Fisher was looking right through him, directly into his soul. It had been a little unsettling at first but with time he had grown accustomed to it, it felt... intimate. Like they shared a connection that no one else could see or break. It was only theirs to have. And it'd snapped him back like a rubber band whenever he'd considered to try and get some space between them. God knows he had tried. And he would try so again.
Jack buried his hands deeper in the pockets of his coat that he wore even now, in the middle of summer. It wasn't just fashion or uniform, it was his protection from the world. A barrier. Only it didn't seem to work with Phryne. She got to him. More than she should and definately more than he should allow her to. It was dangerous, letting her close. To finally leave his broken marriage behind was the one matter, dreaming of any sort of lasting romance with Miss Fisher a completely different one. It would be like attempting to tie down a hurricane.
At least her free spirit saved him from having to watch her fall for anyone else either. He wasn't sure how well he would deal with her having a man in her life – other than Mr. Butler, that was. Mr. Chung had been probably the closest thing to love, Phryne had encountered in Melbourne. But the fling hadn't lasted and neither had any of the others, he could only assume she'd had. Jack was never sure if to feel relieved or pained, when the smell of another aftershave faded from her lounge. He was glad it had passed, but it was also a reminder of what was in store for him, if he ever, ever fooled himself. No, it was way too dangerous letting her this close. The problem lay in the fact that he also enjoyed it way too much to back off.
Jack sighed into the darkness. He had peeled off the path he'd been following and left the inky black waters of the Yarra behind just as the wind picked up. It whispered along the leaves in the trees, framing the dark Alley. DI Robinsons logical mind was dimly aware that it was damned silly to wander aimlessly through the night, trying to... well what? Get a grip on his emotions? Figure out just what those emotions were? At least he knew who they were about. It never ceased to surprise him how intense her attraction was, even though he couldn't quite figure out what it was about her that touched him so deeply. It might have been her kindness, her humor or her intelligence. But neither option seemed quite right. Probably it was just her. It also frightened him. Sometimes Miss Fisher was so close, their connection so strong that he found it hard to tell where her thoughts started and his ended. At other times she seemed to be from the furthest star. Jacks thoughtful eyes wandered up to the glittering night sky. Her habit of doing always - and only - what she wanted had first annoyed, then fascinated and annoyed him. Now it scared the living hell out of him. Because what she wanted wasn't what he dreamed about. On the other hand he could not imagine it with anyone but her anymore. No matter how charming and beautiful a lady might be, she'd have to stand up to Phryne and would inevitably come short in comparison. Jack bit hard on his lip. He had trapped himself in an impossible situation. She would not change for him. He didn't want her to change. She was the way she was, which meant untouchable. And nevertheless or maybe because of that, he wanted her so bad that it hurt, knowning with all his heart that he could not survive this encounter unharmed. The brief period of devistation he encounted at those thoughts, was interrupted by a wooden board in direct contact with the policeman's skull. Jack collapsed to the floor with a quiet moan. He came to just as the robber stumbled over his weapon, trying to find the way into his coat pocket.
"Oh." The young woman stopped midmove and backed off, for the first time seeing the Inspectors face in the bright moonlight as he crawled onto his knees and rubbed his throbbing head. In shock, her hand moved to cover her mouth.
"Jack. I mean, Inspector Robinson... I didn't mean to, I mean I had no idea it was you."
The policeman stood upon wobbly knees and brushed off the dust before contemplating an answer. "Trudy, how nice to meet you again." The sarcasm dripping of his voice wasn't lost on his attacker, but she didn't say a word. "So you obviously thought I was someone else, preferably much richer, whith a softer skull."
The young woman dropped her head.
"I am so sorry."
Jack inspected the hole the cobbles had left in his trousers, with a groan. His arm was aching, he seemed to have fallen on it.
"You should be, those were brand new."
A rebellious sparkle returned to Trudys eye. It made her look almost pretty in this light.
"What are you doing here anyways at this time of morning, Jack?" She questioned triumphically. "Your not on your way to work, are you? So, a lady friend?"
Jack knew the game of shifting the blame. But he was damned if he played along. He fished his hat from the ground and straightened up.
"That is none of your business, Miss Plywood, and now go home to your children before I consider if there is room in my cell for you, after all."
„Alright, alright. No reason to get nasty." The lady scrambled to her feet and tried to pick up the offending weapon2 but Jack was faster.
"And I believe I better hold on to this, lest you cross some other poor saps path on your way home."
Grumbling, Trudy Plywood vanished into the night. Jack couldn't help the tiny grin spreading around his mouth as he watched her hurry off until he remembered his aching body. Only after he had thrown the plank into a dark back alley and returned to his quiet walk along the street did the meaning of her words occur to him. Jack inspected the night sky critically. She had been right, there was a suspicion of white morning light just above the horizon. Could it be true that he had been walking all through the night? It didn't surprise him as much as was to be expected. He had so many things to contemplate, so many emotions to sort through. For heavens sake, he had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even heared Trudy Plywood's footsteps behind him and the young mother and opportunity criminal wasn't known for being overly subtle in her approach of wealth or at least a hot dinner. Not too subtle was also the throbbing headache she had left him with.
"Serves you right for beeing such a fool", Jack scolded himself, trying to shake off the dim pain that still stiffened his shoulder. He should be getting home and some sleep before his shift began. Looking up, he noticed a familiar building lying in the morning fog. Jack had almost laughed. All this time and he had ended up exactly where he'd started. While he looked up quietly at Miss Fisher's house, light flared up in a window in the upper floor. It could have been her bedroom but he wasn't quite sure anymore. Infront of his inner eye, Phryne crawled out of bed with blurry eyes, her immaculate hair tossled from sleep, her red lipstick missing for once, doubtlessly slipping into one of her many fashionable morning gowns and contemplating the new day. She might even look out and see Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson facing up to her window with a small, tender smile. Jack cleared his throat. Then again, it could've been Miss Williams room or maybe Mr. Butlers. In fact, it seemed quite far fetched that Miss Fisher would be getting up at 5 am just to watch for lovestruck policemen outside her house. Time to go, Jack told himself firmly and didn't move an inch. Someday he would have to face the music. Eventually he would have to figure out what to do with his growing attachement to the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. But, not tonight. Tonight all he needed to do was to get home and crawl into his bed. Still smiling, Jack buried his hands in his pockets and turned on his heels to walk away. He completely missed the pair of thoughtful blue eyes following him from a window in the upper floor till he had vanished around the street corner, into the new morning.