AN: I had a little bit of a difficult time keeping this one out of full smut territory. So much so that I am seriously considering doing M-rated versions of some of these. Only after I finish all three seasons of these, but still. Anyone else interested? Basically just these pushed into smut. Like Jack's dream in Chapter 1 going much further. Or the make out in Chapter 4 not being interrupted. That kind of thing.
AN2: Episode 1.12 - Murder in the Dark
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Eternity Was in Our Lips and Eyes
His steps were heavy as he exited the courthouse, trudging down the front walkway, shoulders hunched and head bowed to watch his feet as he moved towards his car. It was official, he was divorced. He sighed as he reached his car and got in. He could feel the final court decree in his jacket pocket as he slumped down in the driver's seat.
Jack thought he should feel sad or angry or guilty. Or really anything. But he was past all of that he realized as he turned the ignition and started the vehicle; past the self-reproachment and denial he had felt for so long when considering his wife and their estrangement. Now there was just acceptance and a certain feeling of relief, which he hated himself a little bit for, but couldn't find a more suitable feeling to replace it with.
That hatred was ridiculous, he knew. He and Rosie had been separated for nearly a year and unhappy cohabitants for long before that. He could barely remember a time after the war when they were truly a happy couple and the times before the war were so very far away. As he drove steadily down the thoroughfare, he reminded himself that things were so much better now, though he hated that they had failed… That he had failed her so miserably and completely. The reminder served him well and as the self-loathing faded away, he allowed himself to settle into the apathy and mild loneliness that came in it's wake.
That was probably the worst part about the separation and divorce: he didn't miss Rosie. Oh, he missed having someone waiting and worrying for him to come home in the evening. He missed the warm presence of another person in his bed as he slept. Missed not being alone. But he didn't miss Rosie. Not specifically.
He had been lost in his thoughts as he sped along, not really planning or caring where he was headed. Perhaps he should have been surprised when he finally pulled the car to a stop in the long driveway of Prudence Stanley's house, but he wasn't. How could he be anywhere else? She had asked that he come, her inner turmoil clear on her face as she'd told him she needed him to keep her from being afraid of shadows.
He had never been able to turn down one of her requests, not since he first met her. And this one was particularly impossible to dismiss. She was trusting him to help her navigate the extremely dark waters of her past and he would do just that, even if it meant having to also navigate through the height of Melbourne society at the party of the year.
With a sigh, he stepped out of the car. For a moment he stood, just staring up at the house, thinking of all of the things that had led him here. With a start he realized that he might not have planned on driving here after his day in court, but this is always where he'd been headed. Not specifically to this house, but to her. He'd been heading here ever since she opened a bathroom door in a dead man's house and refused to back down. He smiled as he thought back on all the moments that had brought him to this point, even his rocky marriage and subsequent divorce. Maybe especially his divorce. Because now he had no excuses.
For so long he'd been coming up with reasons in his mind why he should be keeping his distance from the amazing, intriguing Lady Detective. There were plenty to choose from: their working relationship, her long history of dalliances and casual relationships, the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to be another in that long string, and plenty of others. But the kicker, when long talks over brandy and eye contact that lasted a little too long drove the other excuses from his mind, had always been his marriage. No matter how bad things with Rosie were or how long she had been out of the house or how much he wanted Phryne Fisher, he was still a married man and he would never betray that reality. Now though…
He stood thinking for a long time, just barely able to make out the sounds of laughter and music from the party inside. And then he was in motion, his feet carrying him swiftly up the front walk and steps, two thoughts out of the thousands from the previous few moments driving him on: he was no longer married, no longer spoken for, and Phryne was inside.
He had barely knocked when the door was opened by Miss Stanley's valet. Without a word, Jack handed over the invitation that Phryne had given him the previous evening. He barely registered the man welcoming him before he was moving again, not even pausing to hand over his hat and coat, off down the hall in search of the woman in question.
And then suddenly she was there and all coherent thoughts flew from his mind as he took in what she was wearing. In the hustle and confusion of the day it had entirely slipped his mind that the engagement party was a costumed affair, but the outfit Phryne was wearing brought the fact slamming back into his mind. She was actively trying to kill him, he thought when the initial shock of seeing her in the white skirted ensemble began to wear off.
His steps slowed as he took in the details of her costume: the gentle sway of the white skirt with each step she took, the golden sandals and headdress, her makeup accentuating her eyes, and the flesh-toned sheer that hugged her midriff which somehow managed to preserve modesty in a socially acceptable way while simultaneously leaving nothing to the imagination. This was a version of her that was going to be branded into his memory for many, many years to come he knew. This sultry, confident Queen of the Nile.
She smiled broadly at him when they were just a few paces away and spoke as she stopped in front of him.
"Jack, you made it." The affection in her tone was obvious and it brought a grin to his face to know that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.
He allowed himself a blatant glance up and down her body before locking eyes with her again. Her smile widened at the gesture, her surprise evident - he wasn't usually so obvious - and widened further at his next words.
"Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile." He was glad that his voice was normal as he spoke, no sign of what the outfit was doing to him apparent in his tone.
"Very good." She took a step closer to him and the thought that she was trying to kill him once again crossed his mind. Her next words helped him refocus a bit, drawing his mind a bit away from the woman in front of him and back to the reason, technically, why he was there: the case. "I assume Hugh told you about our interview with Mrs. Truebody."
"He did."
"Good. I can fill you in on the rest." She paused, swaying a bit closer to him, and the sudden gleam in her eye put him on guard at the same time that it sent a jolt of arousal through him. Crazy ideas that he could never manage to sufficiently justify in his official reports tended to follow that gleam, he knew, but he liked the way it lit up her entire face. A second wave of arousal went through him as she spoke again, her hand reaching out to smooth down his lapel as she did.
"But first…"
'Yep,' he thought to himself, 'this is not going to be something I'm going to like.'
Her mischievous smile before she finished her thought guaranteed that. "You need a costume."
And there it was. Why, oh why, did he let himself get drawn into these things? But he knew exactly why. Because it was Phryne. That had been all it had taken since very early on in their interactions. He thinks it started on the Ballarat Train, when she had run off with Jane and their victim's daughter. That's certainly the first moment when he realized that she was a woman who was going to do what she was going to do and there would be no stopping her.
But this was much worse than breaking into book shops or confronting murders. She was asking him to replace his suit, the armor he had become so used to wearing to face the world, with some crazy getup - because knowing her, she certainly would have nothing simple in mind - while surrounded by people he didn't know. Even trying to imagine what she might have in mind, given some of the individuals he could see in the ballroom, gave him a headache.
Before he could begin to argue, she was walking away down the hall towards a set of stairs. When he didn't immediately follow, she glanced back over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a long moment as a short battle raged in his mind between his dignity and his desire to see her happy, even at cost to himself.
It didn't take long before he was opening his eyes and trailing in her wake. She was halfway up the stairs before he started up them, his eyes trained on her backside as she sashayed up them. She had to know that he was watching her, but she didn't glance back as his footsteps sounded on the risers. Only when she was at the top did she look back to him with a smile and pause to let him catch up. He took the opportunity to try, at least minimally, to get himself out of whatever she had in mind.
"I don't believe that a costume is necessary, Miss Fisher."
She didn't respond as she continued down the hallway to one of the doors. He sighed, trailing along just a step behind her as she pushed open the door and gestured him in. He paused for a brief moment, wary of the lack of wisdom of going into what appeared to be her bedroom with her dressed that way. The reflexes he'd built up over a year in her company, ones designed to limit temptation as much as humanly possible, screamed as he gave in.
He stepped into the space, Phryne close on his heels. As he tossed his coat and hat on the bed and watched her go over to the wardrobe, he tried again.
"I'm here on business, Miss Fisher. I hardly think a costume is necessary to solve a murder case."
Leaning against the footboard of the bed, he tried not to stare as she bent slightly into the wardrobe. He concentrated instead on her words as she replied.
"How can protest when you have no idea what I have in mind?" Her tone was laughing as she straightened, garment bag in hand.
"Because nine times out of ten, what you have in mind gives me grief." His own voice was serious as he tried to cover the humor he was feeling.
He was glad of the flirty bantering, the normalcy of it helping him regain some of the footing he had lost upon first seeing her walk towards him as Cleopatra. And which had not been helped by the couple of small touches or her close proximity. Besides, pushing back against her suggestions, no matter how futilely, always made him feel better about the fact that they both knew he would eventually give in.
Her back was still to him, but he knew she was smiling. As she fiddled with the garment bag and it's contents - currently hidden from his view by her body - he continued.
"There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed. I'm perfectly disguised as a police detective."
Her tone was equal parts teasing and serious as she responded, finally turning to look at him. "You won't detect much in a crowd this fast in a blue wool suit and tie."
With a flourish she finally pulled the garment bag away from the costume within, a red Roman tunic with leather armor. He pushed himself away from the bed to stand straight as the realization of what she intended started to sink in.
"I kept this aside for you." Crouching down briefly she grabbed a plumed helmet from a trunk on the floor, "A passable Mark Antony, if we pilfer that sword on display in the billiard room."
His heart sank as she spoke and he couldn't hide the dismay that crossed his features. This was so much worse than he had imagined. The outfit itself wasn't really the issue. He assumed that their were appropriate boots somewhere in the mess of costumes scattered around the room that would complete the look admirably. And there were certainly worse historical and literary characters to be dressed up as.
The real problem was that the outfit that she had chosen for him was such an obvious pair to her own. Once again, the self-preservation instincts he had built up over so many months around her kicked in, all of them telling him that spending the evening dressed as Mark Antony to her Cleopatra would be nothing more than a harsh reminder of the relationship he didn't have with her. And the implications that the rest of the party guests would no doubt read into it would not help.
They weren't lovers, no matter how much he wished that were not the case. To spend the night surrounded by a host of drunk individuals assuming the opposite - and less than discreet about mentioning that assumption, if his read of her cousin was anything to go on - might be more than his heart could take.
She was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern and he realized that he had been staring silently at her and the clothes for several moments.
"So, I'm to be the triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpet's fool?" As he spoke, Phryne strode past him to lay the tunic and helmet on the bed. He stayed where he was, not even turning to look at her until she responded.
"You've been at least a single pillar for far too long." He wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that and chose to ignore it as she continued speaking. "No one will know who you are."
She'd barely finished speaking before she was standing in front of him and reaching up to his tie. All he could do was gape at her in stunned disbelief as she began to loosen the silk. His brain had begun to short circuit as he felt her fingers brush briefly against his neck, but he managed to find his voice to respond.
"Except you." His tone was rough as he tried to maintain his composure. It was difficult. She was standing much closer to him than normal and he could smell the heady sandalwood and floral notes of her perfume. It was taking every ounce of the self control that he'd built up during his association with her to keep from either pushing her hands away from him and retreating from the house or hauling her against him and kissing her senseless.
He nearly lost it when she looked up through her lashes and spoke again, her voice thick and low. He was glad that he wasn't the only one being affected by their proximity.
"Come on, Jack. Just one gaudy night."
Having loosened the knot, her hands began to pull at the tie slowly and gently, but she kept her eyes locked on his, the invitation in them and implication in her words very clear.
As he looked down at her, his breathing heavy and heart racing, a single thought pushed through the desire. A thought he'd had so many times around her. With it came the compulsion to pull away from her.
'You Are Married, this isn't right.'
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he remembered that it was no longer true. He wasn't married anymore. As of thirty minutes earlier, he was a bachelor again. And every measure to keep himself from the temptation that was Phryne Fisher over the last year, every behavior meant to keep distance between them because of his marriage, was no longer necessary.
Yes, there were still other issues - her history and tendencies with men, the work they did together, her social reputation - but at that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care about anything but the feel of her hands at his collar and the knowledge that he was free to pursue whomever he chose.
As the epiphany took hold, his previously gaping mouth closed, replaced by a small smile as he continued to gaze down into her eyes. His heart rate slowed marginally as the panic that had been gripping him since she reached towards his collar, maybe even since she showed him the Marc Antony costume, slipped away.
Her face showed confusion at his smile and he suddenly wondered if her behavior had been about making him uncomfortable; if she did these things because it amused her to see him squirm rather than any kind of real feelings on her part. He let the idea slide away as she continued to work on his tie, the confusion on her features slipping away to be replaced by a soft smile he hadn't seen before.
When the knot was finally undone, she pulled gently on one end, allowing the silk to slide slowly out of his collar. She didn't take her eyes from his as she tossed it onto the bed behind him and then made quick work of the two buttons on his vest. When she then reached her hands up to the top button of his shirt, she paused there, not undoing it.
He could read the unspoken question in her features and his smile widened as he thought about how, just a day ago, he would have stopped her. Would have told her he could take it from there. Would have implied that she should leave the room before he continue to change for the party. Not today, though. It wasn't until that moment that he truly appreciated the full extent of the freedom that came with his divorce.
Her eyes burned into his as he answered her silent question with a tiny nod. Her surprise was obvious, but she didn't question further, her nimble fingers unbuttoning the top button without looking at it, before slowly sliding her hands down to the next.
As she started to undo the second button, he raised his left hand from where it had been dangling at his side and laid it on her hip, his fingers flexing against her at the feel of her warm skin just a thin layer from his own. The surprise on her face intensified for a long moment and then faded entirely as his thumb began stroking against her side. It was replaced by an expression of pure desire and her hands were a little less coordinated as she undid the third and fourth buttons. He felt a swell of pride at that, at being able to unhinge her the same way she did him. By the time she reached the fifth, his heart was once again pounding uncontrollably and his hand was clenching reflexively against her side.
This wasn't how he had ever imagined this would happen, he thought as she worked on the sixth button. And he had thought about it quite a bit. He had always figured that their initial coming together would be largely accidental. Something would happen on a case: he would pull her against him to get her out of the line of fire, or she would press a finger against his lips to silence him, or something of that nature and the damn would just break open. The self-control he'd been holding onto would snap and everything would change. Up until Rosie had sent him the divorce papers, he had also assumed that he would regret it afterwards, no matter how it happened or how much he had longed for it. This slow, sensual start to whatever they were going to be 10 minutes or an hour or two weeks from now, that surprised him.
He was drawn from his thoughts as he felt her hands still as the fabric at the sixth button came open. He noticed the question was back in her expression and a quick glance down told him why. Tightening his grip on her side, he raised his right hand from his side to tug gently at his shirt where it tucked into his trousers. With a delighted smile, she moved to help him, pulling at the left side until the shirt came loose to hang, with one last button fastened, around his waist.
As she reached for the last button, he released the fabric he'd been holding. As she paused with her hands on the button, he reached up and, with gentle fingers, tilted her chin up until her eyes locked once again on his own. When she smiled up at him, he continued to raise his hand, caressing her cheek before gripping the headdress and lifting it away. Dropping it next to them, he smoothed out her hair as her fingers went back to work on his last button.
As the small disc slipped free of the fabric, he was startled and gratified by the expression of desire that darkened her eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as they continued to stare at one another and he was sure his expression of want matched her own. After a long moment, she raised her hands and laid them, almost reverently, on his chest, the tips of her little fingers nearly brushing his skin at the edges of his singlet.
The feel of her hands so near his skin pushed Jack over the edge. The hand that had been smoothing her hair dropped to the back of her neck and pulled her into him, his lips unerringly finding hers. He took full advantage of the small gasp of surprise she let out at the move, running his tongue over her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth to tangle with her own.
Her surprise was short lived and she responded to his kiss with equal ardor, one of her hands running up his chest and shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. Her other hand dropped slightly, gliding over his rib cage and around to his back, pulling herself closer into the embrace.
His own hands mirrored hers, holding her tightly against him as he mapped her mouth with his tongue. When she pulled back slightly to nip at his bottom lip, he groaned low, his eyes opening to look into her own. What he found there was everything he'd ever imagined and some things he hadn't dared to hope for: her eyes nearly black with lust, lips swollen and panting, her smile - not teasing or triumphant, but gentle and affectionate - and her chest heaving like his own.
For a long moment he just stared at her in silent wonder. Then when the sight of her in such a state became too much for him to bear, he tugged her towards him again, glad that the bed's footboard against his backside was giving him some of the stability that his legs were now lacking.
She resisted his pull, even stepping back a fraction, and a wave of pain ran through him. She was going to stop this, tell him that it was fun, but really she had just wanted to see if she could crumble his defenses. He was sure of it, images and feelings passing through him for the short moment before her lips turned up in a sexy grin. Then she was in motion, one hand sweeping back across his ribs, the other dropping from his neck, both pausing to caress his chest before moving up to his shoulders, under his shirt and vest and jacket.
There she paused, her expression silently asking him if it was okay. He had barely given one tiny nod, really only the slightest downward jerk of his head - relief shooting through him as he realized what she intended - before she was pushing the three layers down his arms. As she did so, she rose on her toes to meet his lips once again. The fabric had only just cleared his hands - landing on the floor with a soft whump noise - before they were back on her, pulling her as tight against his body as he could.
It wasn't enough, he decided just moments later, and in just a couple of steps he had pushed away from the footboard - Phryne still wrapped tight in his arms - pivoted them around the end of the bed and pushed her back onto it, following closely, their lips separating only long enough for her to release a small moan that told him everything he needed to know about how she felt about the aggressive move. Then he was over her, his hands on her waist as hers clutched his shoulders, their pelvises pressed tight against one another, as he kissed her with every ounce of emotion he had in him.
'Kissing her is heaven.' The thought had only just entered his mind when he felt her hands sweep down his chest, pushing between them until she reached the bottom of his singlet. Then her fingers were under the thin shirt, lightly caressing his stomach and sides, and all coherent thought left his mind. With a groan, he pulled away just far enough to watch her face as he moved one of the hands from her waist down over her hip. Her eyes darkened further than he would have previously thought possible and he watched her intently - immensely turned on by her reactions - as he slid the hand further down her leg, searching for the slit in the skirt he had seen earlier. When he touched skin, she let out a small mewling noise that sent a huge jolt of arousal through him.
With a heated grin, he began to move the hand back up the way it had come, gliding slowly across skin instead of fabric as he inched his way up her leg. She gave him a frustrated little glare at his teasing pace, her hands clenching against his side before gripping tightly and pulling him back down to her, his chest molding against hers as their lips connected, the kiss now slow and heady.
An eruption of noise caused them to jerk apart, his hand moving from her leg to the bed to separate them while hers dropped to her stomach as he pushed away.
It took Jack a moment to identify the loud roar as coming from the party still in full swing in the ballroom below them. He was about to make a comment about how he was sure they were having a better time than anyone at the engagement bash when he saw her expression morph. Where just seconds before she had been the picture of lust and sexuality, he now read horror and regret on her features. Just as he had earlier, he could feel his heart break at the look in her eyes as she pushed him further away from her.
"Phryne…" He trailed off as she shook her head at him, barely able to look him in the eye as she tried to stand while simultaneously straightening her hair and outfit. Her tone was shaky as she responded to his unfinished plea.
"No. We can't." She gained her feet as she spoke and he stepped back to give her space, not comprehending what was happening. "You're married."
She shuffled past him, scooping her Cleopatra headdress off the floor as she went. It took him several moments to process what she had said; to push back the pain and sadness that threatened to completely overwhelm him long enough to understand what she was saying.
He hadn't told her. He'd meant to. Had planned, as he stood outside staring up at the house, to find some way of letting her know about the divorce. But he hadn't. He'd gotten understandably distracted. And now she was leaving and he knew her well enough to know why. She didn't regret what had happened, he hadn't misread her desire, but she did regret what she thought she had drawn him into. She thought that she had caused him to break his vows; vows that she knew were incredibly important to him. Vows that she had to know had stopped him in the past.
It took him mere seconds to comprehend her motives and as soon as he did he was in motion. She was almost to the door, her hand reaching for the doorknob, when his hand on her wrist stopped her. She didn't turn to look at him, her eyes fixed instead on his gentle fingers against her skin. He didn't care as long as she wasn't actively leaving anymore. As long as she was listening.
"No, I'm not." His voice was strong, his enunciation clear, leaving no room for her to misunderstand him.
She drew in a sharp breath as her eyes finally rose to his face. She stared at him for several long moments, her eyes flickering across his face. When she spoke, her words were more hesitant than he'd ever heard them before.
"You're not what?" Her distress was palpable, but he could also see the slight hope in her eyes as she watched him. In this moment she needed him to be clearer than he'd ever previously been, he could tell, and he gave her a small apologetic smile as he answered.
"I'm not married. Not anymore." He glanced down at his watch, his expression sheepish as he looked back up at her. "Not since about an hour ago."
He didn't know what else to say, or if there even was anything to say, so he just watched as understanding flashed across her features. He thought he could guess what she was thinking, could almost see her connecting the dots of the last few days: the barrister, his toughest case, missing an interview for court. Emotions came and went across her face almost faster than he could read them. Hope, happiness, a trace of annoyance before sadness and worry took center stage to all others. He was about to question them when she spoke.
"Oh, Jack." She turned fully towards him, reaching up a gentle hand to caress his cheek, worry still etched across her face and her voice tinged with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."
'How well she knows me,' he thought as he leaned into the touch. She had never been married, never even been inclined towards such an attachment as far as he knew, and yet she understood how he would feel about the final end of his sixteen year marriage. So many nights spent talking in her parlor. So many shared memories and mistakes. Of course, she would understand his pain and guilt at the failure his marriage had proved to be. But there was so much she didn't understand as well.
"I'm not." His reply startled her, surprise clear on her face as she looked up into his eyes. He raised a hand to cover the one of hers still resting against his cheek. After a moment, he brought it down, intertwining their fingers as he lowered them, speaking as he did. "I was at first, I felt like such a failure." She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued before she could, "But this has been such a long time coming. The marriage has been dead for quite a while, the divorce was just the last nail in the coffin. It was the right thing to do."
He glanced down briefly at their joined hands before meeting her eyes again. He tried to find the words to explain. To define how much he regrets how his marriage ended, but at the same time doesn't regret a thing, but nothing came to him. Finally he decided it didn't matter, he'd said the important things. He gave her a small smile and tugged gently on her hand, bringing her closer as he spoke.
"I'm not sorry."
And then he's kissing her again. It's different from earlier, their mouths meeting slowly and surely, repeated short touches of lips, soft caresses of tongues, gently tasting each other in the wake of such a set of emotional ups and downs.
Jack wanted to delve deeper into her. To dive in and never come up for breath. But he remembered where they were and why they were there and he moved away before he was too far gone to care. By the look in her eyes and the heavy way her chest heaved up and down, he's pretty sure she's right there with him.
He gave her hand, fingers still laced tightly with his, a small squeeze and then stepped back, but didn't release her.
"We should get back to the party." His voice was a little breathless and lower than his normal register. She looked at him like she couldn't care less about the party or anything else beyond the room they were in and his ego inflated at the want painted across her face. He knew his own echoed that same desire, but he had also realized that the conversation about his divorce wasn't the only one they needed to have before things went further. A quick romp in this bedroom, while wonderful, wasn't what he wanted. At least, wasn't all he wanted. And that was a conversation that needed to be had, but not there, not then. He tried a different tack, his smile calm and content, eyes never leaving her own. "Your aunt will probably be looking for you."
She sighed as his words penetrated the fog of lust, knowing he was right. He could see in her expression the moment she remembered that she was supposed to be sharing hostess duties with Mrs. Stanley. She gave him a smile, nodding her head as she started to release his hand. He held on and pulled her back to him for a brief closed mouthed kiss before releasing her and stepping back.
They stared at each other for a long moment. A war raged inside Jack's head as he watched her watch him. On one hand, it would be so easy to turn and lock the door and then close the distance between them. On the other, he had put a stop to it for a reason and that reason was still valid. Finally, good sense won out over the lust.
"Go. I'll get changed." His voice was rueful, leaving no doubt that he was still not pleased at being 'forced' into a costume at her whim. Her smile as she realized he was acquiescing was worth whatever humiliation might come from the evening. He gave her a large answering smile, then gestured to the door, "You go pilfer a sword."
She started to move, her hand on the doorknob before she turned back to him.
"You're divorced." Her smile was large and he loved the way it lit up his face. It gave him hope that she maybe was in this the same way he was, maybe he was more than just another good time.
He responded with a simple nod and then watched as she opened the door and, hips swaying enticingly, walked out, pausing only long enough to grab a small envelope off the nightstand as she went. The door closed quietly after him.
He tried to pull himself together, staring at the door for a long moment after it shut before turning away. He moved back to the bed, pausing to pick his shirt, jacket and vest off the ground and hang them neatly over the bed post. Sitting down, he let a grin take over his features. Just an hour earlier he had been intensely depressed, his failed marriage weighing his heart down, but now…
He let out a contented sigh as he stood, ready to face whatever the night had to offer. He had just begun to pull the Roman tunic off it's hanger when the door opened and Phryne stepped in.
For a brief crazy moment, he hoped that she had changed her mind, had decided not to go back to the party and instead finish what they had started earlier. The thought was wiped from his mind as he caught sight of her face, her eyes wide in horror and mouth turned down in distress. Every part of her posture and expression screamed that something was very wrong. He was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapped gently around her elbow.
"What is it?"
"This was left for me." She held out the blue ribbon for him to see as she stepped closer, "It was Janey's. She was wearing ribbons in her hair the day she disappeared."
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AN: And we all know what happens from there. Not good. BUT: Three cheers for Jack's divorce. Hip-Hip-Huzzah!
AN2: I know in the episode there are other people around when Jack and Phryne first greet each other during the party. He just sort of comes around a corner and sees her. I decided to shift that a bit so I could really give Jack time to evaluate her outfit before they speak. Minor change.
AN3: "Eternity Was in Our Lips and Eyes" is from Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra (Act I, Scene III):
Line 32-38 - Cleopatra: Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going,
Bud bid farewell and go. When you sued staying,
Then was the time for words. No going then!
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven. They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turned the greatest liar.
Meaning: Antony and Cleopatra are having an argument because she believes that Antony is heading home at the request of his wife. In reality his wife, Fulvia, has died and he must return to Rome to see to her funeral. But Cleopatra will not let him speak, ranting about his faithlessness. When she finishes her chastisement, Antony reveals to her that he no longer has any duties standing between him and her. That he can finally be with her completely.
