Chapter 7: Light Years

Jane had not only a slight chance of winning, she actually was. She had decided on Backgammon for the evening, trying to convince herself that it was because Mr. Butler was way too good at chess for real fun and not at all owing to the fact that she felt like she was betraying Jack by replacing him with a new gaming partner. Such ideas would have been rather silly of her.

Tobias Butler turned out to be a dark horse on the playing front and was shortly behind her, but Jane knew it – she should win this round. Just when she lifted the dice for the hopefully last time, there was a knock at the door.

Mr. Butler looked at the young girl in front of him, who shrugged her shoulders, before excusing himself. He half assumed it to be Riya Santi, who in general seemed to have little regard for the time of day when it was decent to visit a widowed man in the house he did service in. Which was actually one of the many things that he found so very alluring about her. Mr. Butler smiled to himself, while reaching for the door handle but found he was confronted with a young woman instead, who looked like she had been crying.

"Can I speak to Miss Fisher please?" she all but sobbed, a lock from her brunette hair loosening and falling into her face. Mr. Butler found he wasn't sure what to do.

"I'm afraid she is not home," he said.

"When will she be back then?" the woman sniffled.

"I'm truly sorry, Miss, but I do not know," the servant said, wondering if he could just leave the upset young girl to her own company, when a voice beside him spoke up.

"Please do come in," Jane said, looking alarmed. The lady appeared confused for a moment, then stepped through the door into the hall. Mr. Butler took her coat, making a firm note to have a word with Jane later about asking strangers into the house. But then, she hadn't expected any less really. She was Miss Fisher's daughter after all.

"Can I offer you anything?" he asked politely, after the girl, she might have been around 17 or 18 had settled into the cushions of an armchair near the flickering fire. She shook her head and Mr. Butler decided to stand in the background, just in the case she should turn out to be a maniac of some sort. Miss Jane obviously wasn't worried about her, she had sat down opposite of her.

"You aren't Miss Fisher, are you?" the woman asked.

"No, I'm not," Jane stated with a faint grin. "But I do know her well and she would ask you right now, who you are and why you are here."

The girl nodded, obviously considering this.

"My names Marion. Marion DeWitt. And I wanted to ask Miss Fisher to help me find my Lucy. She has disappeared and my parents think she has run away, but I'm sure she hasn't. She's just lost."

The girl sobbed and Jane gently patted her hand, trading a look with Mr. Butler. There wasn't much they could do, considering that neither of them was sure, where Phryne even was. Jane was going to tell her that, when the girl babbled on.

"I don't have much money, but I thought, maybe Miss Fisher would still help me. I could work for her, do some cleaning maybe or washing..." She trailed off, when she looked at Mr. Butler. "Then again, I am sure she has people for that."

"Indeed, I doubt that will be necessary," Mr. Butler said, from where he was standing in the door. "But I am afraid, the Lady of the house is currently unavailable. And her time of return is uncertain."

A new wave of sobs shook the girls thin shoulders. She fished a grimy handkerchief from her pocket, drying her tears.

"I'm sorry, I just miss her. And the thought, that she's running around there in the cold..."

Jane couldn't watch on, she had to do something.

"Tell me about her," she urged, while handing the girl her own handkerchief, a lacy piece of stainless white fabric. It wouldn't stay that way for long.

"She's two years old, very cute and so lovely."

The young woman smiled a watery smile. Jane and Mr. Butler traded a confused look. A two year old running away?

"Just to clarify," Jane asked after a beat, "are we talking about a dog or a cat?"

X

Dorothy Collins was being silly. She had retired early, deciding that she and her little one really needed was some extra sleep. Instead, she was staring into the unmoving darkness, listening to any creaking in the woodwork, wondering when Hugh would be home. She knew that his shift should have ended an hour ago, but then he had been very late and the Station was an officer short. And of course he hardly ever was home on time anyway. There were always things to do and criminals weren't in the habit of paying attention to the time the police officers on their heels, wanted to knock off. So, really it wasn't all that strange that the house lay in utter silence. And yet it was disturbing.

"You think he's still mad?" she asked the part of her stomach, where she suspected their baby was hiding. It didn't answer. In the same moment she heard a key turn in the lock downstairs. Holding her breath she closed her eyes and waited. Any moment now, he would come looking for her, notice that she was asleep and press a kiss to her lips, before returning downstairs for some dinner and reading. It was his ritual when he worked late. The bedroom door swung open with a soft creak and she could hear him breathing beside her bed, anticipating his lips that would tell her that everything was fine. Seconds later his steps retreated, walked around the bed. Dot lay still, listening to the ruffling of fabric as he took his uniform off and slipped into bed. He was lying too far for her to feel him and she was tempted to snuggle up, but there was a suffocating emptiness in her chest. The distance between their bodies seemed as impossible to bear as it was unbridgeable. It was the first time he had not kissed her when coming home. The first time he would just go to bed, too angry to even eat dinner or sit down. Dot wanted to cry, but knew that that would have given her away. So she just lay still in the darkness, until his breathing evened out and she knew she was alone again.

X

Giggling filled the little kitchen. The candles had burned far down, leaving splatters of wax on the freshly polished table, and the bottle was almost empty. Jack knew, he should have gone to bed hours ago, remembering dimly that he was expected to be back at work at 8 o'clock sharp. But there was an enchantment to sitting at the wooden table with Phryne Fisher, no Honourable in sight and listening to her cracking dirty jokes, while her eyes slowly went out of focus. She had had too much, he was quite certain of that, but he hadn't stopped her. Maybe she needed it to deal with this place and as long as she wouldn't make heavy drinking a habit, Jack would be damned if he would defy her any comfort he could offer. Currently she was trying to be sneaky about her cards, but he knew what she was holding. Mostly, because she had put down her hand in an effort to refill her glass. Face up no less. He smiled, when she attempted a flirtatious smile to distract him. They had ended up playing poker. Of course they had. There was no way on earth he could ever win against Phryne in a battle of wills. Or maybe there was, she had married him after all. Right now he could've wiped the floor with her in the game, but hesitated. It didn't seem right to take advantage. He was distracted from deciding whether to let her win or not, when her giggling distracted him from his thoughts. She was currently attempting to empty the remaining whisky into her glass, missing it however slightly and getting highly flammable liquid near the open flames of the candles.

"Phryne!" he said, grabbing her wrist and gently retrieving the bottle from her hands. She looked at him, then burst into a new fit of giggles.

"You're no fun, Jack," she pouted.

"I'm just attached to my life," he insisted, getting up without releasing her. "And I think it's time for you to go sleep, Mrs. Turner."

"Already?" she moaned, but getting up on shaky legs nevertheless, she grabbed his arm to glance at his watch. "It is only 2 am."

Jack gritted his teeth when he thought what time he would have to get up so he would not lose his job on the second day.

"I hate to spoil your fun, Miss Fisher, but I believe I need some sleep and so do you."

He wrapped his arm around her back, attempting to steady her towards the bedroom. They made it all of three steps, before his wife stopped.

"Jack," she said, looking up at him in sudden seriousness. He couldn't help but smile. He preferred her sober and sharp, yet there was something alluring to her losing her head like this.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out to slip a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. She seemed to battle with herself.

"I love you," she finally said, "you have no idea, how much."

Jack felt suddenly sober and the urge to burst into tears. Traitorous wetness pressed into his eyes.

"I love you too, Phryne," he managed to croak out. It didn't seem to do justice to what he felt at all. They were just words. Meaningless, stupid words, that couldn't say what he wanted to tell her.

"With you here, this job is bearable," she mumbled, tearing him from his attempt to fit his emotions into a sentence. Jack grinned.

"I'm not certain, if you're hangover will be, though," he teased, trying to lead her further towards the bedroom door.

"I don't do hangovers," she prompted, lifting her head and trying to detangle herself from his firm grip in an act of defiance. It was a mistake. With a loud giggle, Phryne stumbled over her own feet and took the Inspector down with her, coming to lie on top of him.

"Ouch," he breathed, trying to sit up, which was impossible, thanks to his wife, who seemed to find the situation highly amusing.

"Sorry, Jack," she giggled, but didn't move.

"I am currently quite glad that you scrubbed the floor today, but it is still rather hard," he pointed out. "Would you mind?"

She obviously did, because Phryne's body stayed firmly pressed to his. Her scent was invading his nose and Jack had to tell himself sternly, that he really needed some sleep. At this stage he was tired enough to do it right here, if his wife couldn't be convinced to move soon. He would probably make a comfortable enough mattress for her at least. But the thought of the floorboards against his back was not overly appealing. He had missed the curious look she gave him.

"Are you all right, Jack?"

"I'm fine, Miss Fisher, I would, however, prefer to go to bed."

His wife ignored his protest and ran a fingertip along his eye.

"You are crying," she said.

Jack tried to make sense of this in his slightly whisky-fogged brain. He wasn't upset and he wasn't sure if he wanted to share, what really had been on his mind, when she had interrupted him by dragging him to the floor.

Phryne had leaned up now, burying a rather painful elbow into his chest in the process and looked at him with worry clouding her eyes. He reached up to stroke her face.

"I was just thinking that I would go anywhere with you, Phryne. Anywhere at all."

The Inspector bit his lip. It was more than he had meant to say and he blamed the whisky for it. His wife appeared stunned. She wasn't used to sentimental outbursts in him. They wore their hearts on their sleeves, yet they hardly ever talked about it. A soft expression spread over her face like the first morning light at sunrise.

"I think I like that," she whispered, shifting her weight.

"And I would like it, if-" Jack tried, but found his mouth being sealed by a pair of rather urgent lips pressed to his. He battled for a moment with himself, then succumbed to being devoured by Phryne, who wrestled his tongue with more eagerness than elegance. Her hand tore his shirt out of his pants, before he had a chance to regain his senses, too breathless to protest her motion. Her hips were grinding against him in a way that did nothing to calm his growing arousal.

"Phryne-" he tried again, a groan ending his second attempt at sanity, as her fingers twisted around his nipple while her lips found his neck.

"Yes, Jack?" she teased, her words vibrating against his skin.

The Inspector closed his eyes in surrender, bucking up his hips in a half-concious attempt to participate in her efforts. He was content with the moan escaping his wife's lips in response to him rubbing against her through several layers of clothing.

But he wanted so much more. Jack wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her into a burning kiss, attempting to sate his hunger for her that he could never seem to quite satisfy. His other arm wrapped around her back, clasping her body to himself. By now he longed so much to feel her that it hurt. Somewhere in his foggy brain he was aware of her hand slipping between them, starting to unbutton his pants and tried his hardest not to squirm under her touch. When her fingertips brushed over his warm skin, he thought he'd lose his mind. But she didn't give him time to ride the wave of heat flooding his body. Jack found his nails attempting to dig themselves into the floorboards, when she slipped on top of him. A hiss escaped his lungs.

The stars behind his lashes only slowly subsided. When he finally managed to look up at her, her cheeks were flushed and her hair tousled. She was so beautiful that it was hard to believe, she was real. The Inspector noticed ashamed, that he was being quite passive, despite his hands gripping her hips as if he were trying to prevent her escape. She didn't look like she was about to run. In fact, she appeared smug and still rather drunk.

Jack couldn't help but grin to himself, which provoked Phryne to twist her hips in an unexpected move. He had to bite his lip so hard that he tasted blood, in an effort to stay silent. The neighbouring families were only a thin wall away after all and might not appreciate witnessing their nightly activities. His hands had started to wander, finding a breast through the smooth wool of her dress. Running his thumb over her hard nipple, he revelled in the lust clouding her eyes. She was breathtaking in those moments and he felt every single nerve in his body prickle with desire. By now he was certain that he was losing his mind.

As if she had read his thoughts, she leaned down to gently press her lips to his, her hair tickling his cheek. There were questions in her eyes when she retreated, and he caught her head, pulling her into another kiss. No, he wasn't scared. She drove him insane, but there was no fear mixed into the flood of feelings overwhelming him.

His hand had slipped under her dress, hoping to prove to her just how much he wanted to be here. With her. He watched her eyes fill with growing ecstasy, felt the fireworks her moans sparked in his own body as their lust bounced and echoed of each other. By now, he was stubbornly attempting to hang in there long enough to see her tumble. But Miss Fisher was not an easy woman to overpower and he was holding on by the skin of his teeth, when she sped up their rhythm, with little regard to his breathless begging. But he could also feel her getting close and with the last of his strength he managed to nudge her over the edge. Phryne threw hear head back with a yell that would have made him hope to God that their neighbours suffered from incredibly deep sleep – if he'd had that much brain capacity left. It was too much to bear and the wave of passion rushing through him, finally crushed his last resolve. With a muffled scream of his own, Jack came, pulling Phryne down on top of him.

His wife giggled into the breathless silence, before he had time to resurface. With wobbly legs she climbed off him and snuggled into his chest.

"We should probably go to bed, Jack," she pointed out sleepily, when he just lay still, trying to catch his breath. The only answer she got was a soft murmur and his arm wrapping around her tightly. Exhaustion took over Jack's limbs and mind. He felt unable to move. Phryne shrugged, curling into his side, revelling in his warmth and his slowing heartbeat. After a while, the candles on the table burned out. The shadows sneaking into the kitchen found a couple lying tightly wrapped together on the floorboards, fast asleep.