Whiskey Flavored Foxtrot
After the clearing of the DuBois case, Jack feels honor bound to check on Miss Fisher one last time. He has already returned the painting (a vision which will never, ever leave him) so he has no handy excuse to show up at her front door like a lonely stray.
It doesn't matter, however, because as Mr. Butler leads him into the parlor he finds that Miss Fisher and Dr. MacMillan aren't in any mental shape to wonder at his sudden appearance. They are three sheets to the wind, singing drunkenly off-key at the piano as Mr Butler refills their whiskeys once more before disappearing.
"Mac came to chase my bad mood away!" Phryne is overloud, and Mac winces before pinching her friend's side sloppily.
Jack twists his hat in his hands, unsure of how to deal with two inebriated women who are both watching him with immense, blurry interest. The predatory gleam is back in Miss Fisher's eyes, and the good Doctor looks as though she would like to dissect him and find out what his insides are made of.
Finally Miss Fisher speaks, or hollers, at Mr Butler to bring Jack a glass.
"Celebrate with us." Miss Fisher says when he tries to demur, attempting to back away from the situation. But she will hear none of it, standing to take his coat and hat. He assumes she meant to throw them on the back of the sofa but her aim is hindered and they end up in a heap behind the settee instead. Mr. Butler pushes the heavy glass of amber liquid into Jack's hand with an expression that tells him it would be better just to go limp. Obviously, the two women have been at it a while.
"Detec...aspector...inspective Robinson, can you play?" Mac is still trying to tinkle out a tune at the piano but it bears no resemblance to music. Jack nods and she claps her hands with a giddy smile and motions towards the bench beside her.
The whiskey burns away the first wave of self-consciousness as he begins to play a half-remembered song; a lighthearted tune that he barely remembers the words to. Something about a sandwich and coffee. It doesn't matter, because he's captivated by the two giggling women who have broke into some kind of impromptu dance. A mixture of the Charleston and, perhaps, an epileptic fit. He wonders if they've eaten anything and almost asks, but then Phryne draws Mac to her and places a smacking kiss on her lips and Jack can feel his face burn up like wildfire.
Neither women pay any mind to the fact that he has bumbled the song and they continue to dance wildly, sometimes close and sometimes separate, and trade drunken insults with a great deal of affection.
Jack has no concept of the passage of time, he just knows that his glass has never once been empty, Mac is curled under the piano asleep, and Miss Fisher is tight up against his side watching his hands as he continues to play.
She bumps his shoulder when he pauses in the song and he misses a key.
"Do you dance?" She asks abruptly and when he turns to answer her, he finds her face much too close to his. The whiskey is sweet on her breath and suddenly he's looking into two pairs of blue eyes. With a shake of his head, his vision clears and he wonders vaguely just how much he's had to drink.
"I don't." He finally answers, when he realizes he's been staring at Miss Fisher's lips in silence. He hardly has the presence of mind to object when she pulls him after her and into her arms.
"I don't dance," He tries again, but it's feeble and he hears Mac mumbling for both of them to be quiet.
Miss Fisher doesn't appear to hear him as she's looking down at their feet and explaining something about 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 and left and right and Jack can feel her trying to guide his body but it's as though he's rooted to the spot.
"I don't dance," He's more emphatic this time, but she continues to ignore his objections. "You're not even trying!" She slurs. "Watch me."
He attempts to look down at their feet but drunken depth perception being what it is, his forehead cracks hers and Jack sees stars before he finds his ass firmly planted on the floor.
With the whiskey to dull his iron resolve not to think on it, he is reminded of the possibility that this is not the first time he will fall for Miss Fisher.
It will probably be the least painful, as well.
"No," Miss Fisher says amid her own lilting giggles and Mac's irritated grousing. Her expression is full of affection and she reaches a hand out to him. "You really don't dance, do you?"
Not yet, anyway.
