AN: Exactly what it says on the tin. This will be a series of stand alone stories, one from each episode of the series, that inserts a kiss between Jack and Phryne into the episode. Some will be set during moments that we see during the episode, some will be codas, and a few may be set between moments that we see on screen. I am going to try to keep them consistent with the characters and where they are in their interactions based on the show, so they won't all be happily ever afters. Many will, but not all.

I'll be going in order through the episodes, so you'll have to be patient if you want one of the later ones, but I will be doing every episode. And while I already have a planned notion for most of the episodes, I don't have all of them and I'm willing to take polite suggestions if you have a specific scene in an episode that you would like added to in this fashion. This doesn't mean I'm going to go with your suggestion, but I'll certainly take it into consideration.

I will be naming chapters (in the dropdown menu) with my own titles rather than the episode title, but I will include an episode title in an Author's Note at the start of each. All chapter titles come from the works of Shakespeare and will be "explained" at the end of each chapter.

And, yes, I am still working on "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" for those reading and will continue updating that regularly. This one may get more frequent updates just because stand alone fluff is easier to write than long, complex dramatic mystery, but I will still be updating "OS,OM" roughly once a week. Should have a new chapter tomorrow in fact.

AN2: Episode 1.1 - Cocaine Blues

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Nothing Will Come of Nothing

As his police car pulled to a stop outside the Turkish Bath Palace of Madame Breda, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson could not believe the situation that he had been pulled into. Not only had he been made to look a slight fool in front of Bert the Red Ragger, but now he had been dragged out to the dankest part of Melbourne in a chase after THAT woman. He had known when she first opened the door of that bathroom - his crime scene - that she was going to be trouble, but this was far more than he'd expected to have to deal with.

But even as his frustration mounted at the trouble that she'd gotten herself into - which he now had to get her out of - he couldn't help the small smile that kept trying to surface. She may be a handful, but he couldn't deny the extent to which she also appealed to him. She was smart, beautiful, and had a fire in her that reminded him off the one he used to possess. Before the war, before his marriage had crumbled around his disinterest.

He shook himself out of his musings as he opened the car door and got out. Quick orders to his men found them entering the establishment, moving slow and cautious in the low light, mindful of Cokey and the Bull, the two henchmen Bert had mentioned. Jack had never been in a Turkish Bath before; it wasn't what he had expected. He had anticipated something more like the brothels and bordellos he'd raided through his career: lush hangings and garish colors. Even in the minimal lighting, he could see that wasn't the case at all.

With practiced gestures he signalled his men to cover the room and the various doors that led off the main bath area and it only took a few moments before one was signalling back. They'd found their suspects. Jack peered around the corner at them: two men fitting the description Bert had given and a woman, too short to be Madame Breda. At first, he couldn't make her out clearly in the faint light, swathed as she was in furs and turned away from him, but the moment she shifted and he caught her profile he knew: Lydia Andrews, wife if their murder victim.

Surprised as he was by that revelation, he didn't let it slow him down, waving his men in, they quickly overwhelmed the three individuals, cuffing them and escorting them out. They could take statements in the more controlled environment at City South.

As the numerous sergeants, constables and suspects exited the room, the noise level dropped and in the silence that took its place, Jack could hear, just barely, muffled voices and scraping sounds from one of the still closed doors. As they still had not located Miss Fisher or the "Russian dago" anywhere, Jack moved to the door and cautiously unbolted and opened the door.

Suddenly he had an armful of the Honorable Phryne Fisher. She had obviously been trying to force the door open from her side and when he'd opened it she'd fallen forward, her hands landing on his upper arms and her face pressed against his neck. He had grabbed her shoulders to stop what could have been a very nasty fall and it took him a moment to realize that what he was touching was not the cloth of the very fine clothes he had admired on her earlier, but rather bare skin. Pulling back very slightly, he glanced down and felt his heart rate accelerate dangerously. She was only wearing a towel. A very small towel which only barely wrapped all the way around to tuck at her chest and which dropped only as far as mid thigh while leaving a significant slit. He raised his eyes back to her face quickly, not entirely sure that he could control himself should he see any more of that delectable flesh.

She had recovered from the initial surprise of the door suddenly giving way in front of her and was giving him the small, knowing smile he'd seen each time they had spoken throughout the duration of the case. It was a smile that he was finding harder and harder to resist wiping off her face, especially as that seemed to be exactly what she wanted him to do.

"Inspector, glad you could join me." Her voice was soft and slightly hoarse. The words were accompanied by a glance up and down his body, a duplicate of the look he'd just swept over her except where he had looked away quickly in embarrassment and guilt, she lingered in her appraisal of every inch of him and when her eyes returned to his face, they didn't leave his lips as she spoke again, "But you seem to be a tad over-dressed for the locale."

Her expression clearly said that she'd be happy to remedy that situation for him and it pushed him over the breaking point. His hands, still on her shoulders, moved decisively. One sliding down onto her back to pull her towards him, while the other slid into her hair, tilting her head as his lips slammed down on to hers.

There was no finesse or gentleness in this kiss, just hunger and need driving him. And she answered back in kind, her lips immediately parting to invite him in and her hands running over his back and neck as she met his exploration with equal ardor. When one of her hands slid down his chest and stomach to wrap around his waist inside his suit jacket, he pulled away slightly with a groan. Opening his eyes, he was pleased to see that she was having as much difficulty as himself drawing breath. Her hair was mussed by his hands and the towel was barely staying on.

Taking advantage of the small gap he'd put between them, she pushed his suit jacket down off his shoulders and began pulling at his tie as she raised on tip toes to lick a path along his jaw. His hands clenched around her waist and he pushed her up against the wall, his lips back on hers and his tongue once against exploring her mouth. As he felt the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt being opened, he slowly brought his hands up her sides, hooked his fingers in the edge of the towel and tugged.

"Inspector."

That wasn't her voice. He pulled back to look at her flushed face. She just stared at him, eyes dark with passion.

"Inspector."

Jack woke with a start, his feet slipping off the desk to land on the floor with a jarring thud. It took him only a moment to realize he'd fallen asleep in his office, an all too common occurrence following Rosie leaving him, and only a moment longer to notice the state his dream had left his body in. He was glad of the desk that was between him and Constable Collins, who stood in the open doorway, as he was able to roll the chair he was in closer to hide his clear state of arousal.

"What is it Collins?" His voice was gravelly and he hoped that the young Constable would assume that it was just hoarse from sleep.

"I'm sorry, sir, I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading home. Constable Davis has arrived to take over the desk."

"Thank you, Collins, have a good night." He waved the young man out of the office, glad when Collins shut the door behind him.

The second that the latch caught he lowered his head to rest on the cool surface of his desk. Where the hell had that dream come from? Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He knew he was attracted to the newly minted "Lady Detective". While he hadn't let himself previously linger over the less than honorable thoughts he'd been having about Miss Fisher, they had certainly been there. Desire and heat surging through him when she'd given him that look of challenge after Mac had announced her "newest enterprise".

He knew he was attracted to her. And that in itself surprised him. He had thought he'd left all passion and desire behind him in the fields of France. Or even before that as Rosie chided him in her prudish way for what she called his "ungentlemanly desires". If it wasn't in a bed with the lights off, she deemed it "inappropriate" and so his passion and interest had slowly begun to fade and the war had cut it off entirely.

But Miss Fisher? There was a woman who wore her sexuality like a badge of honor, who communicated desire even as she spoke of more socially acceptable topics. She had set off his passions again, bringing what had been hidden for so long to the surface in grand fashion. So the dream shouldn't really come as any surprise to him. If anything he should probably prepare himself for more of the kind as he suspected that their paths would cross frequently in the coming weeks and months.

Even as those thoughts went through his mind, he felt a cold truth settle over his mind, effectively putting an abrupt end to his dream induced arousal: mutual attraction they may have, but it would never be more than that. Never be acted upon. He had seen it in her look and manner, not just with him but with all of the men around her: sex was just sex for her. Something fun to do, to be enjoyed heartily by all parties, and then to be moved past without attachment or emotion.

He couldn't do that to himself. Despite the passion that she had reawakened within him - one he hadn't known he still possessed - he was still himself. He was liberal enough to be open to the idea of premarital sexual relations, but he was incapable of having that sort of relationship without a strong monogamous attachment. Sex wasn't something he did for the sake of release, but something that came hand in hand with a certain level of commitment. He could see just how easy it would be to fall not just into lust with her, but well beyond that, and he would not put his heart through the torment of falling in love with her and knowing her intimately only to be tossed aside when she found a new play thing. When she discovered just how boring and uninteresting he really was.

The attraction was nothing. He'd certainly handled unanswered lust and attraction numerous times during the years before his marriage and the war. He could do it again. Would do it again.

He allowed himself one last remembrance of his dream and then shook himself out of it. Standing, he gathered his things and headed home. A long hard bike ride would cure much of what currently ailed him. And the rest… Well, he'd figure the rest out as it came along.

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AN: The chapter titles are pulled for the stand alone words. I'll always give you the place that the words came from here at the end of each chapter, but the chapter situation may not have anything to do with the situation in the play I pull from.

The title of this chapter "Nothing Will Come of Nothing" is from Shakespeare's King Lear (Act I, Scene I):

Line 89 - Cordelia: Nothing

Line 90 - Lear: How? Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.

Line 91, 92 - Cordelia: Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

Basically Lear is asking his daughter to tell him how she feels about him; what she can say that will compare to what her sisters have said already. She can't come up with anything and he tells her that she'll get nothing (inheritance wise) if she doesn't do better than "nothing". She tells him that she has no ability to put her feelings into words for him.