Jack walked in the house, closed the door, and for the first time all day allowed himself to actually feel something, even though that something was monumental pain. His head was splitting from holding in a thousand questions and he was a fool for thinking he'd had any chance at all. She was who she was, as she'd told him before, but he never saw this coming. Was it her punishment to him for not being able to go after her? Or had circumstances simply put her in the right place at the right time?

He'd tried to explain in numerous letters. He'd wanted to leave but Russell Street simply wouldn't give him the time off and he didn't want to lose his job. But maybe that would have been a small price to pay for avoiding this scenario and once again, due to his inaction, he was alone.

Collins had tried to hide the newspaper from him that morning, but the young man had a face that could be read from a mile away. When Jack held out his hand, Hugh gave over the paper with unspoken apologies. There was a photo of a happy couple and a story from London about the Honourable Phryne Fisher having married the Earl of Westmoreland several weeks previously. Jack's heart stopped but his face was frozen. He wasn't about to let anyone around him know how he felt. There was a reputation to uphold, after all. He said nothing for what felt like an eternity but then spoke up, his voice low.

"It takes a remarkable person to win the heart of Phryne Fisher. I wish them both every happiness." Sitting the paper on the counter, he turned his back on the men carefully watching him, entered his office, and spent the next eight hours suppressing anything remotely related to an emotion. Hugh tried several times to work up the courage to talk about Miss Fisher, but one look at the Inspector's face and all courage died.

So when Jack managed to get home the only thing he had the energy to do was take off his hat and coat, sit his briefcase on the small table by the coat tree, and collapse to the floor. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that he would never allow himself to do something so foolish as to fall in love again. Phryne Fisher simply couldn't be replaced. He should've known the kiss at the airfield was a goodbye. Now he had the rest of his life to try to forget it. And her.

She was just dancing her way in from a party at an unholy hour, longing for sleep, when Phryne was met in the foyer by the butler. This in itself was an unusual occurrence as normally Wilson retired to bed not long after her parents had settled in for the night and left Phryne to her own affairs.

"Miss Phryne," his tone so pompous she briefly wondered if he starched and ironed his toilet paper as well as his underthings, "I would have left these on your bedside table, but there have been a great deal of them arrive since you've been gone, and a new one arrives every half hour." He referred to the small mountain of telegrams that were threatening to fall off the silver salver. "They are all originating from Melbourne so I assume your acquaintances are urgently trying to contact you. I leave you to your correspondence." And with that he shoved the tray into her hands and marched out of the foyer to go to bed.

Phryne, on the other hand, was now wide awake and worried about what this many messages sent in such a short period of time might mean. Her worry only became confusion after she started reading.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE QUERY YOU COULDNT HAVE TOLD ME FIRST QUERY EXPLAIN HOW THIS HAPPENED STOP MAC

EVERYONE HERE CONFUSED STOP DOES THIS MEAN YOURE STAYING IN LONDON QUERY MAC

YOU CANT BE SERIOUS STOP THIS HAS TO BE ELABORATE PRANK STOP IF SO NOT FUNNY STOP MAC

DONT KNOW WHERE YOU ARE BUT IF YOU DONT RESPOND SOON SO HELP ME ILL COME TO LONDON AND TRUST ME NO ONE WANTS THAT STOP MAC

QUIT DAWDLING PHRYNE AND TELL ME WHY PAPERS ARE SAYING YOU GOT MARRIED STOP MAC

Married?! She nearly dropped the telegram in shock. Why on earth would the newspapers there say she got married? True, most of the society pages were getting her engaged to one eligible bachelor or another on a regular basis, but that was the dance with the press everyone in society had to learn, and once the press got bored with you they moved on to someone else. None of the papers or magazines would go so far as to make up an actual wedding. Would they?

Sparing a glance at the ornate Grandfather clock in the library she raced to the telephone to try to get a telegram sent out and suddenly froze, her hand reaching out for the receiver. Jack. He wouldn't believe such a thing. Surely not. And yet, there were no messages from him, only Mac.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A muffled groan came from the couch along with a barely intelligible request for the person beating on his door to go do something anatomically impossible.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Jack let one eye crack open, noting the morning was farther along than he'd estimated if the sunlight coming through the curtains was any guess. After he'd regained consciousness in his entryway last night, he'd managed to somehow crawl to his couch and pass out again. His head was still killing him.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

"I know you're in there, Inspector! Open the door already!"

Unable to immediately identify the person yelling from outside, he summoned what little strength he had to get to a standing position and shuffle to the door.

"Thank goodness! I thought yo– what the hell?" Mac immediately snapped to attention to note the rather large bruise on Jack's forehead and the pallor of his skin. "What happened here?"

Jack gingerly touched his head and backed up a little to get out of the bright sunlight. "It's nothing. I just tripped. I'll be fine. Good day, Dr. Macmillan." He moved to close the door and she pushed her way inside.

"I think I'll be the judge of that. Get over here and let me take a better look at your head." Gently but firmly taking hold of his arm, she steered him back into his living room and onto the couch. She combed his hair out of the way, peering at the bump on his head and pressed it lightly, flinching a little as he hissed in pain. "Yes, I'll bet that does hurt. How did you get this lump?"

"I told you, I tripped."

"Over your own two feet?"

"They're the only two feet I have."

She gave him a look so reminiscent of Phryne that he almost laughed. Until he remembered.

Mac watched him deflate and knew she'd done the right thing by hurrying over. "So I take it you read yesterday's newspaper, too?" He simply nodded. "I admit, that information threw me for a bit of a loop as well. So I started firing off telegrams to London all day long until she finally responded. I'm sending her a bill for reimbursement." Walking into his little kitchen, she picked up a dish towel and dampened it in the sink, bringing it back to place on his sore head.

"I'm sure she was busy celebrating." Jack closed his eyes and lay back down.

Mac sat down on the couch near his feet and patted his foot softly. "She's not married."

He cautiously opened his eyes again. "Beg pardon?"

"You heard me. The story was wrong. Phryne Fisher is not, and I repeat, NOT married. Not engaged, or betrothed, or even enjoying an illicit fling. The picture was from some Christmas ball she attended with her parents. The Earl of Westmoreland is about as interesting as gray flannel and whomever decided to report they were married is about to be on the receiving end of Phryne Fisher's temper, heaven help them." Mac patted her pockets to find a cigarette but frowned as she realized she'd left them in her motorcar.

Jack feared his head wound had finally gotten the best of him because he had to shut his eyes again. The room wouldn't stop spinning.

She wanted to laugh at him because she could tell Jack had always cared about Phryne far more than he was willing to admit but Mac had seen the effect he'd had on her best friend, too. And if they could find their way to each other and she could help make it happen, well….

"Read these." Mac pulled a stack of telegrams tied with string out of her doctor's bag and sat them on his chest. "She's frantic that you're being silent because you think she wants nothing to do with you because you couldn't follow her to England which is why she begged me to come here and make sure you knew the story was a lie. So now it's on you to let her know otherwise."

Jack ran his fingers across the stiff paper and sighed. "I know I shouldn't have taken the story at face value, but it all seemed so…definitive. There were names and dates and pictures and nothing about it seemed false."

"Oh believe me, you weren't the only one fooled, which explains the number of missives back and forth. I'm sure the cables are smoking from overuse." Mac stood and retrieved her bag. "I'll be off now. Keep that towel on that bump and rest for the remainder of the day. If you need anything, give me a call."

Turning for the exit, she heard Jack softly respond, "Thank you." Mac smiled, nodded at him, and closed the door behind her.

December 31, 1930

The party was in full swing when Phryne stepped outside, wanting some fresh air. The garden blossoms were giving off perfume so thick she could almost float on it. The warmth of the day was still clinging to the night and she was glad of the slight breeze that moved the leaves in the trees.

It was hard to believe that one year ago she was in a different hemisphere, bundled up from the bitter cold, toasting the new year with a glass of champagne, and dreaming of a dark-haired, blue-eyed Inspector who had captured her heart without her realizing he'd done it until it was too late.
She had spent that night surrounded by revellers who were trying to be so overly merry that the events of the past few months were forgotten. But she didn't want to forget. On the contrary, she so desperately wanted to remember so it would fuel her to get home faster.

She thought she'd lost everything when that newspaper article came out. It seemed the Earl himself was trying to force Phryne's hand by leaking a story that they would be married and it had all gone sideways from that point. If it hadn't been for Mac...she shuddered to think about what might have happened. Instead, the Earl was nearly flayed alive by Phryne's fury and was sent packing, tail between his legs. After a few telegrams back and forth from Jack and one very tender letter, she booked passage back home. Her parents' finances were safe for the time being and she felt she could leave without the bottom falling out on them.

Two months later she was home, and she was in Jack's arms. She never wanted to leave them again.

This year, the party was smaller and the geography vastly different, and she experienced a completely different flood of emotions than last year as the clock wound down. She would ring in the new year with his kiss on her lips and then watch him smile at her in the enigmatic way that made her weak in the knees. Midnight couldn't come fast enough.

As she looked up at the stars, she heard the door behind her open and close and then felt as he wrapped himself against her back, gently kissing her neck.

"Come back inside. I miss you. And I don't have your talent at playing host. My job is to quietly observe. You're the spark." She grinned as she turned and pressed herself against him, arms around his neck and fingers combing the back of his head.

"You're in training, Jack. Sparks take time to develop. And besides, you know at some point Aunt Prudence is going to demand that you start playing the piano when my records give her a headache, even though the volume is barely loud enough for anyone to hear." As if on cue, there was a sudden blare of horns from the jazz record playing on the phonograph that the entire neighborhood would be able to hear and Phryne smirked, giving him a swift peck on the cheek.

Jack suddenly glanced upward as if begging for strength and shook his head. "If they're deaf they won't hear it. Besides, I don't believe I know enough music that would be appropriate for one of your parties. Not unless everyone here has suddenly developed a liking for Chopin or Mozart."

"Mac might have to break a few fingers to keep you from inflicting that on Bert and Cec." she teased. "I suppose I could tell Aunt P that a few piano wires broke and I've not been able to get them fixed yet."

"Rescued by subterfuge once again." said Jack.

Listening to the merriment in the house, they both gazed at each other, lost in the past and the present. Imagining the future. Together.

"Happy New Year, Phryne." he whispered.

"Happy New Year, Jack." she whispered back. "Now kiss me until it's midnight and then kiss me again."

He was all too happy to comply.