SJM, I actually have a large number of Miss Fisher stories on Archive of our Own under the username Fire_Sign. I'm unlikely to bring most of them over, but there are a few one-shots set in the same continuity as this fic which I might add here. Otherwise, feel free to pop over there and see what takes your fancy! There's casefics and angst and fluffy bits.


Once the wheels began to turn, it all went surprisingly quickly. Phryne submitted the medical examinations and character references and the home visits were conducted. The latter went particularly well, in a truly horrific sort of way; the well-meaning interviewer clearly did not have the background information or two brain cells to rub together, and asked Squirrel if he wanted a new mum. It was a word they chose not to use around him because it left him distressed, and even after nearly three months he turned to the door with hope in his eyes.

"Mum?"

"Afraid not, Ant," Jack said quietly.

"Where mum? Where?"

"She's had to go away. But she's asked us to take care of you."

Jack's voice was calm and reassuring, but the glare he directed at the interviewer was anything but.

"Where mum?"

"Tell you what, lad. Why don't you and I go find Cleopatra?" Jack said. "Let mims talk with this nice gentleman."

"No!" Anthony shouted, suddenly furious as he clung onto Phryne's arm. "No! No go!"

Jack sighed, standing up. "Shall I go get Cleopatra then?"

Anthony lunged forward, one hand still on Phryne's arm. It yanked with surprising force.

"No go! Mims, Dack, me!" he growled.

Phryne and Jack exchanged a glance. This was new, though not entirely unexpected.

"Tell you what, Squirrel," Phryne said, feeling rather like she was attempting to talk down a murderer. "Why don't we leave this nice man here with a biscuit and go get Cleopatra together. Mims, Jack and you, yes?"

"Mims, Dack, Kerl," he repeated, relaxing his grip slightly.

Jack picked him up, hugging him tight, and Phryne stood.

"In the future, you might be better served reading the case notes before interviews," Phryne said curtly. "If you need anything while we are gone, Mr. Butler will look after you."

She swept from the room, Jack following behind, and heading towards the nursery. Anthony had come to rely less on his beloved dog, at least within the house, which was a fortunate development as it allowed Mr. Butler to wash the thing before it began to stink. Phryne sincerely hoped that it was on the bed, otherwise they would need to mount a full-scale search the damned thing.

It was, small mercies, perched on his pillow, and Phryne quickly picked it up and handed it over.

"There we are, squirrelly boy. One Cleopatra, one Mims, one Dack. All present and accounted for."

She reached up, smiling reassuringly as she brushed his hair from his face. The fear seemed to have disappeared as quickly as it had arisen, though his chubby fist holding fast onto Jack's lapel told her he had not quite regained his equilibrium.

He stayed close to both Phryne and Jack for the rest of the day, going so far as requiring both of them at his bedtime routine. Phryne found that she did not have the heart to deny him that small comfort, though she mouthed over his head to tell Jack that bringing him into their bedroom was absolutely off the table.

Jack just smiled at her and began to sing a lullaby; watching it unfold and caressing Anthony's hair, it hit Phryne quite suddenly: she was genuinely happy.

Phryne and Jack looked across the desk at Mr. Martins—the elder, thankfully—fingers laced together just out of his line of sight. He was explaining that their signature was needed on the adoption application, then it would be filed and an official court date provided. Given the situation it would be straightforward—there was sufficient proof that there was no suitable next of kin—so as long as Welfare approved the situation, the date might be as early as the following week.

Phryne nodded, then took the proffered sheaf of paper. She glanced over it, more out of habit than any doubt of her solicitor's aptitude. It was all there: names, dates, and Anthony's name as it would appear on the amended birth certificate.

Anthony John Fisher-Robinson.

She quickly extracted a fountain pen from her handbag, signing in all the relevant places and attempting to ignore the trembling in her hand. When it was done, she passed both to Jack, stood and excused herself.

She tried very hard not to run from the office.

Jack found her five minutes later in the corridor, leaning against the wall.

"Phryne?" he asked quietly. "Whatever is the matter? You fled like the hounds of hell were after you."

"That obvious?"

His smile was slightly lopsided. "Perhaps only to me."

Phryne exhaled loudly, the inexplicable tightness in her chest twisting further.

"I didn't realise his middle name is John."

"It's probably the most common name in the English speaking world," Jack pointed out, obviously puzzled by her point.

"It's also your name."

"Ahh," he nodded, extending his arms to draw her in.

She went silently, resting her forehead against his chest, and breathing in his familiar scent. For several minutes they stood in the corridor, not moving, and her entire world was the feel of his wool suit against her skin and the smell of pomade and musk. Eventually, she pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes.

"What are we going to do if they say no, Jack?" she asked quietly. It was too perfect.

"Why would they say no? You're rich—"

"We're rich," she corrected automatically, no real bite in it.

"We're rich. We're respectable. Your previous ward is currently at university," His lips quirked. "There's no official record of your life as a serial break-and-enterer."

She laughed despite herself.

"But I'm not exactly mother material."

"Phryne, love, that is ridiculous."

"Is it?" she challenged.

"When the blithering idiot from Welfare came and stuck his foot in it, what did you do?"

What had she done? She'd tried to forget the meeting as quickly as possible; they'd gotten an unofficial and therefore unreliable report from Ed Prentice that they had passed, but it had been a disaster.

"Phryne, you perfectly demonstrated your kindness and your aptitude. He needed you and you were there. That's enough."

"No, it's not. It's worse, even," she said, his words causing a frantic flutter in her chest instead of the intended calmness.

"How is that worse?" he asked.

"Because they could take him away!" she blurted, pulling back with a flail of limbs.

It wasn't until the words were out that she realised that was her concern. Her chest hurt. Jack seemed utterly perplexed, his brow furrowing.

"Why?"

"Because!"

Jack never took long to catch up, she had to give him credit for that. He smiled wryly—thank heavens, because if he'd looked at her with pity she might have lost it entirely—and tilted his head, one hand reaching out to run up her arm.

"No kid from Collingwood is ever going to trust Welfare."

She sighed.

"No. At least not this kid. I'm sure they could find some objection to the petition if they were inclined—my suitability as a mother when I like drinking and dancing, or because they don't believe the marriage paperwork situation, or—"

"And we'd appeal," he broke in, calm and confident and steadying. Damn the man. "As many times as you wanted, or until you were fed up and bought their cooperation. But they won't."

"You can't know that."

"I know you. The mountains themselves would kneel in defeat before you would."

And damn him again, because his unshakable faith in her brought tears to her eyes. She blinked furiously to clear them, balling her hands into tight fists to release some of the tension. A steadying breath, then another.

"I can't lose… I don't want to lose him," she admitted, casting her eyes downward.

Cannot lose or do not want to, she was uncertain which was worse. She loved many people, but none who depended on her so thoroughly; it was not an entirely pleasant thought. And yet… and yet she would not go back to that first night and send him away. The knot in her chest thudded painfully, threatening to burst through her breastbone.

She saw Jack's feet shift closer, then felt his strong arms envelop her in another hug. She waited for his teasing chastisement or reassurance—either would be justified—but all he did was hold her.

"Let's get your hat and coat," he said after a minute. "We should have enough time to take him to the foreshore for an ice cream before dinner if we leave now."

She stepped away again and nodded, feeling much more herself. They barely spoke as they drove home to Wardlow; Jack was behind the wheel, Phryne's attentions turned inward, neither needing to say anything more. When he had parked, Jack reached over and grasped her hand.

"Name one person who has ever stopped Phryne Fisher from having what she set her mind on."

Murdoch Foyle. Rene DuBois. Henry Fisher. Dead, dead, half a world away and no longer holding power over her. It helped.

"You," she said lightly.

"Me?"

"Oh yes," she smiled, extracting her hand from his so she could rest it suggestively high on his thigh. "I wanted you in my bed for such a long time."

He swallowed hard, and she chuckled; watching him react to her flirtations never grew dull.

"I think you can safely say that you've had me in your bed. And our bed, our parlour, your car, my car, the kitchen, the library, the pool showers at your aunt's house—"

She kissed him fiercely, tangling her fingers into the hair and pulling herself across the seats to sit on his lap. His own hands spanned her back, holding her close. After a moment, they pulled away.

"In that case, Jack," she said, chest heaving, "I guess I always get what I want."

"Should we go inside, then?"

"Mm, I think so. You promised me ice cream."

She toyed with his tie as she said it, looking up through her lashes to give the delivery maximum carnality. He shifted.

"In which case, Phryne, perhaps you should go indoors and retrieve our companion while I wait here for—" he blushed, and she nearly cackled as she glanced towards his lap.

"Yes, perhaps you should wait here."

She climbed out the driver's side door, heading up the path. She heard laughter from around the back of the house and headed towards it. Anthony was in the garden with Aggie, Theo and Dot, the three children playing some sort of game that appeared to involved chasing each other around while Dot worked on some embroidery.

"Whatever are you doing, Squirrel?" Phryne called out.

Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to look at her.

"Mims!"

He tore towards her, barely stopping to extend his arms for her to pick him up. She caught him and held tightly, the ache in her chest suddenly breaking completely.

"Hello, darling," she said quietly.

She still had no idea what she was doing, or why, but she was certain of one thing.

"You're home with us," she whispered as he gave her a large, sloppy kiss on the cheek. Which was rather revolting and would have ruined the mood entirely, if she wasn't so focused on her own words. She met his eyes, dark and sparkling, and gave him a wink. "How do you feel about ice cream?"

It took three days for Phryne's solicitor to contact them with a court date, set for a week hence. They would need to state their case, but it was more a formality than any real concern, and Jack watched his wife orchestrate a series of changes with her usual single-mindedness; it was decided that the downstairs nursery was not practical long term, so it would remain for the Collins children and as a playroom, but one of the upstairs guest rooms would be converted to Anthony's bedroom.

"There's no point in beginning the changes before it's all done and dusted," Phryne said, "but it it is arranged now we can have it finished within a day or so. At the very least the room needs fresh paint, so that can be done ahead of time."

The smallest guest room was repainted, the cushion on the window seat replaced, and furniture—a bed, chest of drawers, and bookshelves—selected and arranged to be paid for and delivered the day after the case was heard. Then she purchased an almost obscene number of clothes—Ant's wardrobe was easily three times the size of Jack's, and that was just the things Jack knew she'd purchased—and what Jack was pretty certain amounted to half a bookstore.

She met his eyes as she carried several of the parcels into the house.

"Jack, darling, I could either look over the petition details for the twenty-eighth time, or I could go shopping," she said breezily. "I didn't even manage to stumble across a suspicious death while I was out, which is rather disappointing."

"Yes, how dreadful for you," Jack said dryly.

"Oh, don't look like that," she scolded, placing her purchases on the floor and coming to sit across his lap. "You haven't a clue what to do with yourself without a case either. All I've had lately are stolen dogs, and since my police source is living the life of Riley—don't give me that look, you know I'm teasing—I am at loose ends."

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a line of kisses against her neck. It was good, really, that she was making plans for the future; better than her uncertainty days before.

"Just until tomorrow," he said. "Then it will be over."

She sighed. "I know. Our last night of freedom."

Jack tensed slightly at her words, and she turned soft and pliant in his arms.

"I'm teasing, Jack. I want this. I want it so much that it scares me, and I haven't the foggiest if I'll ever be good at it. I certainly don't think that I'll enjoy every minute of it. But he belongs here; I want him here."

"Me too," he agreed quietly.

"That might be the first time you've admitted it," Phryne observed, her tone mild but the look in her eyes saying something else.

He couldn't bring himself to think of what it might be, so he kissed her. Thoroughly. Repeatedly. Until her eyes had fluttered shut and he could feel the hard peak of her nipple against his palm as he caressed.

"If this is our last night of freedom," he said breathlessly, "perhaps we should take advantage of it."

She opened her eyes, blue-green and lust-filled, and grinned.

"That, Jack Robinson, sounds like an excellent plan."