Okay, so first things first, a note on the overall title: I know it's ridiculous, but it rhymes, and once it got stuck in my head it wouldn't leave. :p It's basically a joke on me, since my muse was unwilling/incapable of writing a nice linear narrative from the end of "Telling Jack" to the surprise wedding, through the pregnancy, and the birth of the newest Robinson. Instead, it wanted to hop, skip, and jump around, so I thought I would have Jack's POV hop, skip, and jump around, too. Eventually, though, we will get to point B!
I'm trying something different stylistically, here, so the repetition of certain words and brevity of certain scenes is intentional, in case you were wondering! :) Hopefully it works, for the most part…many thanks to DrinkwaterDrinkwine for the beta and the reassurances that this wasn't nearly as awful as my Prednisone-addled brain convinced me it was. Also thanks to Katinka31and JustMeMusing for so kindly answering a complete stranger's questions all those weeks ago!
Lastly, as usual, characters are the property of Kerry Greenwood and Every Cloud Productions...I'm just having some fun with them No infringement intended!
And now, be surprised along with our beloved DI Jack...please enjoy!
If there is one thing Jack Robinson knows after two years of loving and learning the Honorable Phryne Fisher, it's not to be surprised when she surprises him. And yet, somehow she still manages to surprise him anyway.
After her utterly unexpected proposal of marriage, following so closely on the heels of the stupefying news of his impending fatherhood (a pair of shocks Jack suspects it will take him years to recover from), he thinks he should be pretty well inured to surprises for the foreseeable future. Indeed, he's not at all surprised how quickly the wedding comes together following her announcement; once decided, Phryne is always full-steam ahead, bending wills and circumstances in her elegantly attired wake. The marriage would have taken place within the week, with only a champagne toast and perhaps a weekend away to mark it, had not Mrs. Stanley insisted that even a wedding as quiet as the one they insisted on required some sort of celebration. He's not surprised when Phryne hits on the idea of inviting some of the more memorable (albeit non-criminal, of course) individuals they've encountered on their cases to the luncheon, for why not honor the road that got them here, for richer or poorer, for better or worse?
He's not surprised when Phryne insists he stay the night before the ceremony in defiance of the age-old custom, or that they spend the evening nestled together on the sofa, her head tucked on his chest, and listen to Gershwin in companionable silence.
He's not surprised when Mr. Butler knocks on the door while he's dressing (in the new charcoal grey pinstripe he'd requested be rather more well-tailored than usual) and proffers a long, thin box with nothing more than a smile. Nor is he surprised when the tie inside turns out to be an exact match for the dark cherry shade of the blouse she wears under the draping jacket of her cream suit (a note of sartorial insouciance in the face of the morning's solemn ceremony), or, as he awaits her at the foot of the stairs, when her appraising glance over his form is followed by a grin and a gleam in her eye. (In fact he was rather counting on, hoping for that one.)
He's not surprised that his own voice is hoarse as he says, "I will," or that Phryne's is steady and clear as she utters the same, or that Mrs. Stanley sniffs loudly after she does.
Jack thinks he's still doing pretty well on the surprise front as the celebratory luncheon commences; given how Phryne manages to endear herself to a majority of the people she meets, the small but enthusiastic crowd isn't much of a shock. He's not surprised that Hugh and Dot are still whispering and smiling like newlyweds themselves, even after all these months; or that while Bert's glass of beer stays filled, the man somehow manages to remain sober enough to keep a protective eye on Mrs. Stanley; or that after a few glasses, Cec and Mac join forces at the piano (well, all right, that last one was rather unanticipated, but only because he hadn't actually known the doctor could play.)
He's certainly not surprised to see young Paddy filching nearly half as many pastries as he brings in from the kitchen to serve (the lad had rather astonished him a few weeks earlier, though; while he'd expected the boy's crestfallen face at the news of the wedding, he hadn't expected how quickly he'd shaken it off: " S'awright, Inspector; I reckon Miss Fisher would've had to wait too long for me, anyhow. 'Sides, you ain't bad, for a copper, and you done right by Ned. And I 'spose Miss Fisher can use a copper round the place and all." With that, he'd winked, and gone off to try and cozen scones from Mr. Butler.)
He does a bit of a double-take when he sees Beatrice Mason arrive, affable young Charlie Street in tow, until he remembers the young woman's views on the politeness of accepting invitations. He is a bit surprised when he sees her actually looking pleased for a large portion of the afternoon; even given Beatrice's fondness for Phryne, he's rarely seen her genuinely smile over something that didn't involve her medical studies or beloved books. He supposes that perhaps it has something to do with the three varieties of jam sandwiches Mr. Butler has on hand.
Concetta Strano arriving at the door, however, does floor him. He'd gone to offer her an invitation and explanation in person, just as Phryne had done with Lin Chung (whose series of half-wondering, half-accusatory looks throughout the afternoon does not surprise Jack at all, as it happens), and at the time, she'd graciously declined. Seeing her framed in the doorway with a small but genuine smile on her face, her arms full of flowers and Italian pastries, however, is nothing compared to finding her tucked away in a corner of the kitchen with a slightly wilted-looking Phryne in the late afternoon. That they both look so intent rather worries him, frankly, until both women smile brightly upon seeing him, and then Concetta slips out with nothing more than a small smile and a reassuring pat to his shoulder, leaving him to Phryne.
Thankfully, that's not the last surprise of the day, though. That honor involves the boudoir, Phryne, and a rather fetching confection of lace and sea-green silk, a combination that only serves to remind Jack that really, he truly does enjoy surprises…
Given he's braved the topsy-turvy shocks of impending fatherhood and then marriage, the impudence of young constables calling him "Inspector Fisher, and Concetta and Phryne's mysterious collusion, Jack figures surely now he's ready for anything, even pregnancy with Phryne. He's nearly 40, for goodness' sake; surely he's picked up enough knowledge by now to get him through, even though this is his first time as a responsible party, so to speak?
Well, he learns…
He learns that he has quite a lot left to learn; it's fortunate he's always been a quick study. For instance, he learns to do exactly as he's told (he's known that since he entered the bedroom one morning after suggesting he and Phryne breakfast together and was greeted by the sound of retching, followed by a rather querulous, "Oh, do go down, Jack," from Phryne. At this point Mrs. Collins had hustled him out of the room with a "Not to worry, Inspector," and shut the door firmly in his startled face. Of course he had worried, that first morning, at least; he knew about morning sickness, of course, but not that it could be so violent, or go on for so long, or leave even his indefatigable Phryne looking quite that pale. But his knocking and hovering were subsequently objected to as being singularly unhelpful, so after that he knows it's much better to retreat until called upon.)
Although his first exposure to morning sickness had impressed upon him that there would be plenty of occasions over the next few months where he would be rather superfluous to proceedings, quite likely, he soon learns other ways in which he can be useful. He learns that his long fingers are excellent for massaging her tired, swollen feet, and then that the massaging is appreciated in other areas, once they adjourn to the boudoir. He learns that he can make cheese and pickle sandwiches in complete darkness, after her fifth midnight craving, and that softly quoting Shakespeare at Phryne's swelling belly seems to calm the baby after it's delivered one too many jabs to the kidneys for Phryne's patience.
He learns that discretion is indeed the better part of valor, and that it's far better to change the subject than respond when she laments some new change in her body or yet another favored item of clothing that doesn't fit; that it's best not to show how amused he is when she starts falling asleep everywhere (in the parlor before dinner, waiting for him in the Hispano, once even on his desk at the station while he steps out to sort out a cup of tea for her); and that his opinions on the necessity of various infant accoutrements should really be kept to himself (his innocent inquiry as to whether they really had to decide on the perfect pram with months to go yet had earned him a distraught, "Of course it is, Jack!" from Phryne before she stormed out of the room, a sympathetic pat on the hand from Mrs. Stanley before she bustled out after her niece, and the quick appearance of Mr. Butler bearing a fresh cocktail.)
He learns not to tell her that he finds her more alluring every day, because she just rolls her eyes at him. It really is a shame, because to him, coming upon her curled up on the bed in nothing more than her dressing gown, one hand splayed over her ever more rounded belly, the other tucked under a flushed cheek, fast becomes the most beautiful sight in the world. So he settles for showing her as best he can, and isn't at all surprised to find that he's not settling for anything at all.
Yes, even after all this, Phryne Fisher still surprises him, but Jack Robinson doesn't mind…he really wouldn't have it any other way.
Still, when young Constable Weatherly meets him at the doorway of the station one afternoon, white-faced, and stutters out, "They've taken Miss Fisher straight to the hospital, sir, Mrs. Collins says to come straight away," a full month before he should be receiving any sort of panicked summons, Jack reflects that there are still some surprises he'd much rather do without.
! We didn't need that final surprise, did we?
Well, while I sort that out, in case you're wondering just who dared to have the audacity to call Jack "Inspector Fisher," or what on earth Phryne and Concetta were whispering about, there should be some short snippets heading your way soon!
This was something of an experiment for me stylistically, and it was quite the personal and creative saga getting it finished over the past few weeks, so feedback would be so appreciated! Hugs and stars!