Notes:

My first multi chapter fic ... here goes!

This is set after 3X08 and explores why Jack didn't come after Phryne.

Later chapters will include graphic descriptions of violence, but I will flag and change ratings as and when.

Feedback and critique much appreciated, and thanks to those who have taken the time to review my previous fics :)

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Chapter 1

Melbourne, June 1929

The others stood back as he gave the door a final great kick. It collapsed with a crash and they surged through it.

The first man stopped short and Collins almost crashed into him. He almost muttered a hasty apology before his attention was drawn by the man hanging in the air. A dirty rope twisted slowly from a roof beam. The man's feet circled a slow pirouette above a fallen chair.

Collins swore under breath, and put a fist to his mouth to quell the sudden swelling of rage in his throat. They were too late.

A thump from beside him drew his gaze to the floor. The image before him was as harrowing as the hanging figure.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had dropped to his knees.

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Melbourne, September 1929

As the blurry shapes on the dock crystallised into familiar figures, Phryne Fisher's heart sank. She chided herself for thinking he would be there. She knew he wouldn't be. Over the last six months, not one telegram had elicited a response. Not one letter had been answered. At first, she had thought that something had happened to him. But queries to her more communicative friends had yielded nothing useful, nothing that could help her understand why he would maintain such a stony silence after their promising farewell at the airfield.

"How's Jack? I never hear from him" and "Please, tell me how the Inspector does?" had elicited vague responses from Mac and Dot respectively, each hinting at a larger than usual workload. Whilst this might explain his failure to come after her (and to be honest, she never really expected him to do that anyway), it didn't explain his sudden and hurtful silence. Her letters to him had been cheerful and affectionate, and, at least to begin with, full of hope for a new kind of future between them when she returned to Melbourne. But as time wore on, and she could no longer blame the distance between them for his lack of communication, she wrote less and less. Her letters became colder; polite queries after his health and her household, whose wellbeing she had entrusted to him in her absence. He had enough respect for her to fulfil that favour, surely. But there was never any answer. She could only conclude that he had once again decided she was too much trouble. Perhaps spurred on by her admittedly foolhardy flight across the globe, he had decided half a year worrying about her was too much to cope with. He had retreated, again, back to his protective shell. The one that they had spent almost two years unpeeling together.

Furious, she devoted herself to the season in London, throwing herself into the endless parties and dances with gay abandon. Her friends commented on her liveliness, her zest for life which seemed only to have been heightened by a return to England. They started to wonder if she would settle there for good. So did Phryne. After all, Melbourne would be bleak indeed if Jack planned to keep this up. But then she remembered that Phryne Fisher didn't change her plans for anyone. She had a household, friends and family to return to. Jane would be coming back soon. She would return. And she would ignore Jack Robinson as much as he had ignored her.

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"Phryne!" Mac was the first to embrace her, and Phryne had a strong sense of déjà vu, the scene so similar to the last time she returned to Melbourne. Before she had ever met Jack. The thought brought a surge of rebellious anger into her chest. But then her eyes went to Hugh and Dot, the happiest of newlyweds, and she found she couldn't regret anything about that first case together. It had brought Dot to her, and in turn, Dot to her sweetheart.

"Darlings!" She embraced both of them simultaneously. "How I've missed you all."

"We've missed you too, Miss," Dot whispered into her hair.

Phryne held them both at arm's length. "How is married life? Are you deliriously happy?"

They smiled, but even as she grinned back, Phryne noticed that they both looked tired. Hugh, especially, had dark circles under his eyes. She might have put it down to newfound marital pleasures, but she suspected his boss was working him harder than usual. Another reason to be angry with him.

She put her arms around them as the group made their way to the car, asking questions about their new cottage. Dot spoke with genuine enthusiasm, chatting happily about the little things she had done to make it into a proper home, blushing prettily when she spoke of the decoration in the bedroom. Phryne listened attentively, determined to give Dot her full attention. It was wasted on those who weren't here.

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By five o' clock that evening, Phryne had been enthusiastically welcomed home. Mac and Hugh had departed shortly after arriving, citing work. Bert and Cec were in the process of hauling her luggage upstairs. Dot and Mr. Butler were washing up champagne glasses whilst Phryne sat at the kitchen table and regaled them with tales of her voyage.

"And what have I missed in Melbourne?" she asked eventually. "I'm afraid I didn't see any Australian news at all." Because I couldn't, she thought, without thinking about him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Miss," Dot answered. But her back was facing Phryne and her voice was slightly higher than normal.

"Dot," Mr. Butler chided gently. "Miss Fisher will find out eventually."

Phryne straightened in her seat, a chill crossing her heart. "What?" She had known something wasn't right, especially with Dot and Hugh.

Dot was looking at Mr. Butler with something approaching anger. "It's over now," she said firmly.

Mr. Butler looked at Phryne uncertainly, and then turned back to the dishes.

"Dot, what is it?" Phryne asked again, the panic rising in her chest. "Is this something to do with Jack?"

Dot nodded. Phryne stood, her hands trembling as she grabbed hold of the table edge. "What's happened? Has he been hurt? For God's sake, tell me!"

"No, Miss, he's alright." Dot rushed to reassure her.

Phryne breathed a sigh of relief but then a low voice rumbled from the doorway. "He's no better than he should be."

Bert stood in the doorway, his hat clutched tightly in an iron grip. His eyes were fixed on Dot. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding Miss Fisher's eyes. A new sort of fear gripped Phryne. What was going on?

"Bert!" Dot's voice was sharp, but Bert stared her out stubbornly.

"What does that mean, Bert?" Phryne was dumbfounded.

Cec stood behind his friend, a calming hand on his shoulder. "Come on, mate. He did his best."

"They both did," Dot interjected angrily.

"Tell that to her mother," Bert grumbled, his eyes still on Dot.

"Whose mother?" cried Phryne. "For God's sake, will someone please tell me what is going on?"

Bert dragged his eyes to her face. She could read in them anger, a wronged sense of justice, and something else. Pity?

He rammed his hat down onto his head and stalked out of the back door, followed by his friend. At the last moment, he turned back to face her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Fisher. I know you always got on well with the Inspector. But if I ever see him again it'll be too soon, and I'm not the only one who sees it that way."

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Phryne looked after them, stunned. She knew that Jack had never been very popular with the ex-wharfies. But even at the beginning of their association, where relations were at their most strained, the animosity was political, not personal. She had never seen Bert so vocal in his censure of him. And what did he mean about other people seeing it that way?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a strangled sob from Dot. She had evidently been trying to control herself and had finally lost the battle. Gasping an embarrassed apology and pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, she ran from the room.

"Dot!" cried Phryne, making to follow her.

"I think it might be best to leave her be," Mr. Butler said calmly. Phryne jumped. She had almost forgotten he was there, utilising as he had been his uncanny habit of blending into the background.

"Mr. Butler," she said, her voice as measured as it could be. "Would you be able to fill me in on exactly what has been happening whilst I have been away?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I don't think it is my place, Miss."

Phryne's expression went a long way to melting Mr. Butler's heart. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. She had to know. She'd never rest until she found out every sordid detail, and more than that, maybe her presence could finally begin to soothe the tempers and passions that had been so roused in Melbourne these past few months. And maybe, just maybe, she could reach the Inspector where all of them had tried and failed. If she can't, he thought morosely, I don't know who can.

But it would be difficult. And maybe a job best done gradually, acclimatising her to the awful truth little by little.

"Please," she pleaded.

He sat down at the table. She sat across from him, her small face steely and determined. "I can tell you some of it," he began. "But most of the experiences in the story are not mine, and you would be best to hear it from those concerned. And please don't think that anyone was trying to keep anything from you, Miss. They were solely concerned for your peace of mind."

"Just give me the gist, please, Mr. Butler. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what I'm imagining."

Mr. Butler nodded sadly. If only that were the case.