The Honorable Phryne Fisher was finally heading upstairs after a long, upsetting day when she heard a soft knock at her door. Turning, she recognized the hand outlined against the stained glass as it repeated the knock, and her heart fell to her feet. Clasping her robe closed, for modesty or simply to give her suddenly sweaty hand something to do, Phryne opened the door. Jack stood before her, one hand leaning against the frame and looking up at her through lowered eyes. Neither smiled, although she opened the door just wide enough to admit his lanky frame. He squeezed past her, clenching his jaw, to the bottom of the staircase while she slowly turned and closed the door behind her, gathering her thoughts and trying desperately to decide why he was there. No word of greeting passed between them. The air felt charged and hesitant. A moment passed while she collected herself, afraid she knew what he had come to say.

"I thought you were with Rosie." Her tone, she noted gratefully, was neutral.

"I was," he responded gently, sucking in his lips and glancing into the dining room. "Is it too late?"

She kept her face blank, but her heart hammered. "Too late?" she thought. "Too late at night?...Too late for us?"

She blinked and paused, but her answer to both questions was the same. "Never." Soft, earnest. She sensed this was not the moment for their trademark flirtatious banter. Whatever he was here to say, she would take it on the chin. She owed him that.

She moved toward him, her limbs heavy, still nervous but curious too. When she had left him, Rosie was weeping in his arms, and she knew Jack's honor would compel him to comfort her. "A marriage is still a marriage," ghosted through her mind as she crossed the few steps that separated them. Tonight, thanks to Jack and her, Rosie had lost both her father and her fiancé in a crime so vile Phryne had not yet allowed herself to examine the pain it brought up in her. But, now, here he was. Decidedly NOT with Rosie.

"I've never seen her like that before." His gaze was everywhere—floor, stairs, before finally meeting her eyes. "She was in shock and she…." He seemed nervous, his usually graceful hands clutching tightly to his hat while he shifted a bit on his feet. "…just needed some company," his tone explanatory, perhaps a bit apologetic to Phryne's ears, and she felt her heart settle back into place, although she remained wary.

She stopped in her customary place, facing him a step or two too close for polite company. Familiar, comfortable, challenging. The spot they always found themselves. He swallowed hard but didn't break their eye contact.

She met his gaze head-on, but she found herself unable to meet his eyes with her usual playfulness or challenge. They had been through so much today, and she was unable to dissemble, to flirt. She was off her game. Dressed only in her robe and make-up free, Phryne was as open before him as she had ever been—no artifice, not armored against the world with her wit and dazzle. It worried her a bit, but why, then, did it feel so right for Jack to see her like this? She shook off the question and concentrated on him, his solid presence filling her foyer and easing the knot that had settled in her stomach the moment she had opened that secret hatch and seen the faces of those poor, frightened girls.

"She needed you. Jack Robinson." Her tone was steady, kind. If he had chosen Rosie, she would not malign that decision by guilting him. "The man who always does the right thing. The noble thing." Her voice was soft, but she could see something changing in his eyes, although he kept up the stoic expression he wore so well.

He paused, still not breaking their eye contact. She remained open to him, waiting. She watched desire kindle in his eyes. She had seen it before, had felt it flare within her as well, shocking in its intensity, but one or the other had always hastily broken their connection before it had a chance to play out. This time, he let her see it, as he growled out, "Not always Miss Fisher." He moved toward her, and she felt adrenaline hit her like a locomotive, spiking her pulse and leaving her weak-kneed as a damsel in a penny dreadful. Pure need slammed into her, but before either of them could reach for the other, Aunt Prudence's voice called out, "Is that the baby?" followed by the arrival of the old battleax into the foyer.

The moment collapsed in on itself. "It's very late, Inspector." She glared at him rather disapprovingly. He was smiling now, his grin rueful, and the tips of his ears bright red. Phryne knew her shrewd aunt wouldn't miss the tension in the room, but Jack tried to diffuse the situation nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes it is." He smiled at Prudence and Phryne. "But I'm glad we cleared up that detail." Phryne nodded too enthusiastically, not trusting her voice. "So am I, Jack. So am I." Her words sounded so incredibly false to her own ears, she wondered that Prudence didn't grab her ear just as she had when Phryne was a child. Jack's embarrassment poured off him in waves, and Phryne could cheerfully have throttled her aunt. At that moment, a coo from the parlour drew Prudence's attention. "It's all right, little man. I'm coming," she chirped and crossed the foyer, all her attention focused on the baby. Phryne couldn't believe her luck. Moments earlier, she had dismissed the wrinkly, cross-eyed baby as a red inconvenience, but at this moment, she could have kissed the child's wispy head.

Jack was moving quickly toward the door, and she knew her chance was fading fast to find out exactly what ignoble ideas were in Jack's head.

"Jack, why don't we continue this conversation upstairs?" The invitation burst from her, more breathlessly than she wished. He immediately stopped, his shoulders tensing in surprise. She hadn't meant it as a romantic overture exactly, although she certainly wouldn't say no, not when lust was still coursing through her just as she suspected it was in him. She just wanted to be near him, was curious to bursting to find out his intentions in coming to Wardlow so late. She hastened to explain herself.

"It's just…" she cast about rather inelegantly, "Mary and the baby are sleeping in the parlour, and as you see, Aunt Prudence is patrolling the rest of the downstairs…I just meant it would be the only place for uninterrupted conversation."

The tips of his ears were still pink, but he spun to face her once more, this time his customary one-sided smirk in place. "Lead the way, Miss Fisher." Shocked into silence by his assent, she turned and headed upstairs.

Phryne opened the door to her bedroom and surreptitiously looked around. Accustomed as she was to having men in here, they were never there for polite conversation. She tried now to see her room through Jack's eyes, hoping to ease whatever discomfort he might feel upon entering her boudoir. Jack, however, was wearing his unflappable inspector look—the same expression he had worn when she had shown him the nude painting of herself recovered after the death of Rene DuBois. Hoping to shock him, she had made sure the painting was facing him as she unwrapped it, but other than a slight widening of his eyes, his face had remained impassive. She had accused him then of blushing, but he hadn't—not really. She loved that memory—he had surprised her, and she had told him as much. Very little had truly surprised Phryne in years, but Jack Robinson had upended the cynicism borne of assuming she had everyone figured out. And she was utterly delighted by the endless challenge he presented. She could tell he was relying on that same poker face now as he smiled pleasantly in her direction, all traces of that shocking almost-kiss vanished, while she herself combatted the flutter in her stomach that had everything to do with that growled admission moments earlier.

"Jack, why don't you hang your coat and hat on the hook behind the door," she offered as she cast about for proper seating. The only chair was the small stool at her dressing table, so she pulled it out and gestured him toward it. "Have a seat there. Nightcap?" Clinging to their customary ritual as a means of calming herself, Phryne walked toward her bureau and the decanter of whiskey sitting on top. It wasn't the fine barrel-aged Scots whiskey she kept in the parlor. This was sterner stuff, meant only for nights when sleep wouldn't come and the war memories drove her to drink herself into oblivion. She pressed a glass into his hands and perched on the edge of her bed directly opposite him, almost knee to knee. Both stared into their glasses for a long moment.

"Are you angry with me, Jack?" The question burst from her before she had a chance to think it through.

"Angry?" His expression was puzzled, and she realized whatever he had been thinking, she had caught him by surprise.

"Because I, uh, disregarded your request to stay here at the house?" She had no intention of apologizing for her decision, and given that the police raid had never happened, the Pendarus would be well out to sea by now if she and her little family of choice had stayed home as instructed. She knew he knew this, but if he was there to call her to task, she would rather have it out right now. His determination to give her up after the Haynes' case still rankled. Although they seemed to have found their footing again, she knew he worried about her and knew too that she would not allow that worry to stop her from doing what she thought was necessary for justice to prevail. She wanted to know where they stood, and now seemed as good a time as any to press him.

He paused, slightly swirling the alcohol. Then he looked up at her with his lip quirked in that wry one-sided smile she had come to adore.

"Miss Fisher, I told you after the Gertie Haynes case that I would never ask you to change who you are. And I meant that, I did, even if it's sometimes difficult for me. Asking you to stay away from the Pendarus…well, perhaps I owe you an apology for making that request in the first place. I should have known it was an impossible and unreasonable ask."

Phryne caught her breath. This was unexpected. She was sure Jack would be upset with her for going against his wishes and putting herself in danger. She had made her choice and would do the same again, but the thought of risking another rift in their relationship had given her pause. She considered her next words carefully.

"Thank you, Jack. I know you believe some of my decisions to be reckless." Her next words were hesitant and stumbling. "I became so accustomed to throwing myself into danger for so many years, I don't always stop to consider the effect on the people I care about."

Phryne was not an introspective person. Given a choice between reflection and action, she chose throwing herself headfirst into turmoil every time and damn the consequences. In the last months, however, Phryne had been feeling twinges of remorse when she saw the concerned look on Dot's face as she cleaned out yet another wound or put a poultice on yet another boot-shaped bruise as she had done earlier tonight after Fletcher kicked her in the shoulder. The alienation from Jack had hurt her far more deeply than she wanted to admit, and after their somewhat uneasy reconciliation, she had found herself more attuned to the recrimination in his eyes even as he rescued her over and over again.

Without wanting to hold herself to a promise she couldn't keep, she tried to find something she could offer him. "I'll try to be more careful going into those situations. I tried tonight—Bert and Cec were with me, and we were all armed.." Not that it had helped them very much. All three had been captured, bound and gagged, and thrown into the ship's hold. In fact, she was still furious at how easily Fletcher had managed to get the drop on her.

"What happened?" he asked, giving them both an out to a conversation that was quickly approaching a level of intimacy for which neither felt ready.

"Bert, Cec, Dot, and I went to the docks. I didn't trust that George Sanderson would order that raid before the tide turned." He grimaced, recognizing in hindsight how her insight had staved off the certain loss of the stolen girls.

"Dot stayed in the car, but we three went aboard. There were no guards, no one that we could find. Then we heard Joan make a noise. She was hiding on deck. Bert and Cec took her back to the car, but I stayed aboard to try to find some evidence- who was in charge or what had happened. Anything." Her voice turned bleak, "And then I found that hidden panel. The girls were inside. I was so focused on them I never heard Fletcher. He tied me up at gunpoint. His goons got the other four of us. It wasn't until I was in that hold that everything made sense. Fletcher ran the operation through his shipping company. I knew Sanderson was involved somehow, but I couldn't find the missing link…"

"How did you manage to get free?"

"Er, you know I keep a knife in my garter?" Her voice rose in pitch, a tell he knew well, but he nodded and asked, "But your hands were tied behind your back. How did you get to it?"

She decided it best to gloss over Bert removing it from her garter with his teeth. Some things the inspector didn't need to know. "Oh, we all worked together as a team. Dot really is a wonder, you know, so brave and resourceful." She left it there, hoping he wouldn't press for details. "Anyway," she hastened on, "I heard you calling as we were all cutting ourselves free. I knew Fletcher would make a run for it. You know the rest." He nodded and she gave him a moment to process her side of the story.

"What happened on your end once you went back to the station? I thought Sanderson said he would sack you if you tried to interfere." She had heard enough of Sanderson's interrogation to understand the commissioner's involvement, but she and Jack had not had the opportunity to discuss the specifics.

"He did sack me…But I rather think it won't hold, considering."

She smiled and nodded.

"I waited at the station for hours. I kept expecting the call to go out over the wireless, but there was nothing. No officers, no preparation, it was quiet as a tomb. I kept going over and over it in my head—I didn't want to admit the possibility of George being involved. Collins discovered that Fletcher owned the ship. I sent constables to his home, but Fletcher wasn't there. I told Collins I was going to the docks, and he came with me. When we arrived," he paused, "George was standing there shoulder to shoulder with DeVere." He broke off, the betrayal too fresh. She watched his face crumple for a moment, but he mastered himself. "Though those that are betray'd do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe."

She recognized the quote from Cymbeline, and her heart went out to him. Dear Jack, turning to Shakespeare whenever his own words were inadequate to convey his depth of feeling. She thought of his face earlier in the evening when he faced down Sanderson and spat out, "I admired you, George, I trusted you." Father figure, mentor, boss, and friend—Sanderson's betrayal wounded Jack to the core, Phryne knew, and she placed a hand on his knee, trying to convey her sorrow and support, giving him time to decide how to continue.

He paused for a moment to collect himself and then met her gaze once more. She removed her hand, signaling for him to pick up his story once again. "I told him I was going to search the ship. He was ahead of me, and I saw him kick something under a pallet. It was a girl's shoe. That's when I knew for sure." He paused again, and his head dropped heavily. Phryne almost told him to stop, the weight of his sorrow too heavy to continue, but she sensed that telling the tale in full would relieve him of some of that awful burden he was carrying. They had spent so many evenings rehashing cases, piecing together the stories of how each came to their conclusions. Those nights were the cornerstone of their work together—each gaining trust in the other's process and realizing how their differences allowed them to come at cases from different angles and see things the other had missed. It was this collaboration and trust that led to Jack's remarkably high case close rate. She had marked Sanderson, and he had made Fletcher, but his decision to keep her out of it had kept them both from seeing the full picture. Until now.

"I saw your lockpick on the ground and realized you were aboard the ship. I told Collins to handcuff George and started calling out for you. I suspected Fletcher was somewhere aboard, but I had no idea about the other girls until you told me." His tale at an end, he looked at Phryne, waiting for her to pick up the next thread of their tale.

"I really thought Fletcher was going to shoot me. He would have, if you had hesitated." He acknowledged her with a grimace. Jack had not had to fire a weapon at a suspect in years, and something in Jack's nature turned away from the violence, justified as it was in saving Phryne's life.

Their stories told, both sat in silence, but a companionable silence this time, free of the weight of recrimination. Each had made mistakes tonight. She had overestimated her prowess and led her charges into a great deal of danger, while Jack had tried to take the full burden of the case alone and keep her away from it. Yet, here they were, both alive and safe, four girls saved from trafficking, and a horrible conspiracy cut off at the knees.

"Jack, do you think there were other girls?" She already knew the answer.

"The conspiracy was too well-organized to be new. I suspect Fletcher and DeVere have been running their operation for quite some time."

"Do you think there's any chance of finding any girls who have been sold off?"

He sighed heavily. He wanted to promise her he would find the girls and bring them home. He knew Phryne had tortured herself a thousand times over with every possible evil that could have been visited on Janey and that this case was bound to reopen those old wounds which had only recently begun to heal.

"I'll call in every resource and favor I have, Phryne, but once those ships left port, it will be almost impossible to trace those girls. You know the black market for human flesh…" he trailed off.

Phryne closed her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. The weight of their night's work settled on her suddenly, and she felt her eyes prick with tears. Her voice broke, "The horrors of this world, Jack…" Blindly, she reached for him just as she had by Janey's graveside. In an instant, he was there beside her, arms coming around her as she turned her face into his shoulder. She didn't cry, however. She blinked back the tears before they fell and simply let herself be. Wrapping her arms around his waist under his suit jacket, she breathed in Jack and felt his head come to rest against her neck. They sat like that for some moments, drawing comfort from each other. Finally, he lifted his head, and they drew apart, though their thighs remained pressed together side by side.

He cleared his throat softly. "It's late, Miss Fisher. Perhaps I should leave now."

She nodded. She felt better, lighter now. And she could see in his face and the set of his shoulders that the same peace had stolen over him as well. Her heart lifted, knowing how much they each had needed this time together. She didn't examine it too closely, afraid of truths she was not yet ready to acknowledge.

"Join me for dinner tomorrow night, Jack?" she asked and then laughed. "or rather, given the early hour now, tonight?"

He smiled at her. "I would like that, Miss Fisher."

He stood and walked to the door where he put on his coat but kept his hat in his hand. He opened the door when suddenly Phryne remembered.

"Jack, wait! Perhaps you should go out the window."

"The window?"

"It's only, Aunt Prudence is still downstairs, and it's rather late to be navigating that particular minefield. The window opens directly onto the back staircase. You won't have to scale any orchard walls…"

He looked from Phryne to the window and back to the bedroom door. She could tell he was undecided about this highly improper exit.

"Jack, no one will know, and I'm too tired to deal with Aunt Prudence. I'm sorry to put you in an awkward position."

He nodded and walked toward the window. She opened the casement and put her head out to give a quick glance around. Wardlow was dark and silent. He slid easily out the window onto the iron landing that led to the back staircase. Glancing back at Phryne, he spoke softly, "Goodnight, Miss Fisher."

Looking at him there outside her window, she couldn't resist. Leaning out the window, she smiled at him. "Goodnight, goodnight, Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight til it be morrow." His face lit up, but he turned and continued down the stairs.

As she closed the window, she heard his magnificent voice float up from below, "Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest."