Okay, so… my brain has gone off on a tangent. Might need a good kicking, but hey, let's wait till the end, eh?

I don't own Doctor Blake Mysteries or anything related to it, and it's a damn good thing or we'd have some trouble.

Hope Against Hope
by ScintillatingTart

I:

Jean closed the front door smartly behind her and hurried toward the ringing phone in the darkness; in spite of the late hour, despite the years that had gone past with no sign of her husband, some part of her still stubbornly held onto a shred of undignified hope that Lucien's voice would one day come down the line to greet her as if he had never gone. "Blake residence," she clipped out quickly.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Madame Mayor," Matthew Lawson said down the line with a smile in his voice. "You're in late."

"I had some council business after the election," Jean sighed, toeing off her shoes and picking them up so they dangled off her fingertips. "I'm surprised you aren't here – "

"Amy left some cold chicken in the refrigerator for a sandwich, and there's a tomato and cucumber salad in there," Matthew said. "I managed to eat before I got called out; some damn kids decided to set off a bit of a bomb out by Lake Wendouree and one of the little finks got himself permanently neutered. The others are cooling it off in the cells, but…"

"Well, that doesn't sound at all like fun and games at the lake," Jean commented wryly.

"Not at all," he agreed. "Honestly, Jean, congratulations – no one deserves this more than you."

"I can think of many people that deserve this office more than I do," Jean said, "but they don't want it. And, honestly, neither do I – but it isn't as if I'm doing anything else at the moment, and if I can help… so be it."

"You should go eat," he advised. "Have some wine, take a bath and get some sleep. Everything will be totally different tomorrow morning, Madame Mayor, I assure you, so you'd best treat yourself while you still can."

Jean chuckled and murmured, "You know, I think I will – maybe I'll open that bottle that Lucien and I were saving for…" She paused and bit her lip, swallowing hard to quell the sudden hot tears that choked her. "Nevermind," she exhaled. "I've got a bottle of white that will go well with cold chicken. Thank you, Matthew. I'll see you in the morning." She hung up the receiver before he could question her, before the weight of the words became too much to bear.

She felt her way in the dark by touch until she found the lamp and turned it on, infusing the corridor with meager light. Then she strolled to the kitchen in her stockinged feet, hat still perched on her head as if she were the bloody Queen. If anyone had been around to care, what on earth would they make of her standing in the doorway of the refrigerator holding a glass bowl of chicken in such a disheveled state of disarray?

Lucien, love him, would have kissed her senseless and dragged her to bed, shagging her every which way to senseless. He had a thing for stockings… and, strangely, he had always been on the prowl when she'd been up for a snack.

Suddenly, she felt sick. Jean thrust the bowl of chicken back into the refrigerator and slammed it shut again, fleeing the kitchen.

The door opened and closed again. "Jean, is that you?" Alice Lawson called out.

"Yes, Alice – Matthew will be home late," Jean said. "Some teenagers in the cells."

"Yes, I know, I just came from the station," Alice said, coming into the hallway with a small smile on her lips. "Congratulations are in order, I hear –"

"I wish everyone would stop congratulating me," Jean said, rolling her eyes. "It's just more work is all."

Alice nodded, but her smile grew. "But to be the first female mayor of Ballarat, Jean… that is an accomplishment in and of itself," she said, reaching out to gently grip Jean's arm. "You know Lucien would be very proud of you, don't you?"

"I don't want him to be proud of me," Jean snapped, the tense string that had been holding her together finally snapping. "I just want him to be here, and he isn't. He hasn't been – not for five years, Alice."

"I know," Alice said softly.

"No, you don't," Jean countered. "You see what I let you see; you don't know, Alice."

"You sleepwalk," Alice said, her smile becoming sad and tired, "and you talk in your sleep. I know more than you think, Jean. It's all right – if you weren't affected by Lucien's death… well, I…"

"He isn't dead," Jean said reflexively, by rote, the words coming as naturally as breathing, even though she hardly believed them anymore. "If I ever stop… if I ever stop saying that… believing…"

"Jean, shh, it's all right," Alice whispered, pulling her into an embrace. "What's important is that he loved you; he loved you so much."

It was like someone flipped a switch in the back of her head; Jean's tears ceased and she stared at Alice. "If he loved me so much," she said, "why on God's green earth did he leave me?" Without giving the other woman a chance to answer, or to even think long enough to formulate an answer, Jean pushed away from her and fled to the quiet stillness of her bedroom.

At least there, she could be alone with her grief.

TBC...