Good evening, everybody and thank you for your feedback. I'm happy you're continuing to enjoy this little tale. There is plenty more to come as I can promise now after finally finishing the last chapter. I'm currently on a business trip, so updates might be late, early or faulty, but I'll do my hardest to keep you entertained. ;)

Chapter 21: Meteor Shower

The man leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette. There was a dribble of rain and the back alley smelled rather unpleasant. After the third inspection of his wrist watch, finally the outline of a lanky man appeared between the dark houses.

"It's Sunday," he grumbled when his contact approached, instead of a greeting. The other man smiled.

"So it is."

"What's this about then?"

"Sanderson just telephoned me. There is a hearing tomorrow afternoon and he wants Robinson to appear."

"That's bloody inconvenient timing."

"It just means we might have to rush things a little bit."

There was another thin smile, before the men parted. While a cigarette was rubbed out on the cobbles, the rain picked up.

X

When the door finally closed behind their guests, Phryne sank onto a chair, pouring herself a glass of the brandy that Adelheid had brought over. She sniffed it carefully, then took a sip. It was strong, no doubt, but she could still feel the chill in her bones and a cold was about the last thing she needed right now. She glanced at Jack, who was staring onto the table top unseeingly, obviously pondering something. The unwilling bath likely hadn't improved his health either.

"What's on your mind, Jack?" she asked casually. He looked up, disapproval ghosting over his features when he spotted the glass in her hand. But he didn't say anything.

"Wenbrock heard me yell your name."

Silence answered his statement.

"I assume he drew the right conclusions?" Phryne asked, peeling herself from her chair to get a second glass.

"Yes. And he also pointed out that another one of our co-workers also witnessed the scene at the river."

Phryne set down the glass in front of Jack and poured him a generous amount.

"It could just be a nickname, Jack. Fanny or Phryne? Who can tell the difference?"

Hesitantly, Jack picked up the glass, taking a deep gulp. The heat burning down his throat reminded him of a bushfire, rather than the pleasant smouldering of Phryne's whisky.

"Your friend Wenbrock, for example," he stated dryly.

Phryne rolled her eyes.

"But then, Eddie knew who I was. Your other acquaintance-"

"Oliver Cromms."

"Mr. Cromms does not. And I told you that Eddie is able to keep a secret. Don't you worry, Jack, people will talk more about you heroically throwing yourself into the Yarra, than what name you called your wife."

She smiled, leaning against the tabletop beside him and taking another sip of the horrible brandy.

"If I recall correctly, Mrs. Turner, it was mostly you throwing yourself heroically, and may I add recklessly, into the river."

His hand settled onto her hipbone, while looking up at her with soft eyes. Phryne set down her drink and ran her fingers through his hair.

"I don't think there was an overwhelming number of choices, Jack."

He tilted his head, considering this, without tearing his eyes from her.

"It didn't occur to you that not jumping off a bridge into unknown waters might be the better option?"

"The girl could have drowned while we thought out a strategy on how to best approach saving her," Phryne quipped. She felt his hand tighten around her hip, revealing what he wouldn't say. Her hand slipped down to cup his cheek.

"I had no intentions of dying, Jack."

He nodded with little conviction, then grabbed for her, pulling her onto his lap. Phryne giggled, as she lost her balance.

"I'd prefer if you didn't, Miss Fisher," he whispered into her ear, before burying his face in the nook of her neck. "The world would be a nasty place without your company."

Phryne felt her heart leap, as his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her against his warm chest. This was probably the closest a sober Jack Robinson would come to a sentimental outburst. But really, there was no need for words. His roaming hands, not searching for anything but contact, his heart drumming against his ribcage, told her exactly what she needed to know. She wove her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his hair, inhaling his unique scent.

Albert, from his seat in the corner of the window, watched the two people silently entwined on a kitchen chair that creaked quietly in protest of the abuse. People really were strange. But at least he did get a show with those two. There was nothing quite as annoying as an empty house. He even preferred the nasty child of the last occupants, who had kept trying to poke him with its chubby fingers. As if he was a pet. The spider huffed quietly, swapping sides in a complicated turning manoeuvre of eight legs. Rain drummed against the window, while the fire happily crackled along.

The occupants of the small cottage seemed oblivious to all of this. While Jack pressed tiny kisses to her neck, Phryne could feel his body responding to her nearness, yet his arms appeared completely unwilling to let go of her, even to follow his urges. A quiet growl of her stomach pointed out that this wasn't the only hunger waiting to be sated either. It had been a long time since breakfast.

"Jack?" she whispered barely audible.

"Hmm?" was all the answer she received. It tickled.

"Jack, if we fall asleep like this, we will probably get hurt. Also, I might starve," Phryne pointed out with a smile. Reluctantly, his grip on her eased and he withdrew far enough to meet her eyes. His wife swallowed down her shock. He looked absolutely wretched, as if his body had waited for time to calm down, before showing the effects of their crazy chase through the cold. But he was also smiling.

"Do you have any plans for tea then?" he asked, his voice raspy, but so upbeat that she couldn't bring herself to point it out.

"None," Phryne admitted happily. "We might have to scrape together crumbs."

"Well, we had better have a look then."

Gently, the Inspector removed his wife from her comfortable place on his lap, shivering in the sudden cold. He was quite certain that he was running a fever now, but he wasn't in the slightest bit tempted to inform her. The long day was showing on Phryne's face and worrying her wasn't part of his intentions.

"There was some soup left over. That should take care of the worst," she stated into his thoughts in an overly upbeat voice, opening the back door to inspect the small coolgardie safe crouching against the wall. Luckily, the rain had trailed off to a lazy drizzle.

Jack followed a second later, finding his wife kneeling on the wet ground over a tipped over pot. She didn't say a word, while she started to clean up the mess. He crouched down beside her.

"I forgot it," she said tonelessly. "I wanted it to cool down first and I forgot."

"Probably a cat," Jack said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. A pot clanked onto the ground loudly. The Inspector watched his wife, a woman throwing herself into rivers and onto gangsters without a second thought, stare at the floor, as if a pot of spilled soup was doubtlessly the end of the world.

"I just forgot, Jack," she repeated. Her voice was close to hysterics and the Inspector just pulled her into his arms. He wasn't often allowed to comfort her, but this he felt, was one of those rare occasions.

"I just forgot. And we are going to starve now."

To his utter shock, she started to cry.

"Nonsense," he whispered into her hair, "It's just soup, Phryne."

But his words seemed to only make her sob louder. Helplessly, he wrapped her into his arms and held onto her, whispering soothing words to her that he was sure, went unheard. It seemed unreal. He had witnessed Phryne's tears a few times within their acquaintance, be it over the death of her sister or a firm belief that he was set on leaving her, but she had never, never before sobbed about anything so silly as a cat tipping over a soup pot. It was utterly disturbing that she was able to shed tears over something so trivial. And even though he felt powerless in the face of her deep pain and vulnerability, Jack also sensed, that a door had been opened to him that hadn't even been there before.

The Inspector had not the slightest idea what to do and so he just held her tightly and tenderly, like an exquisite treasure, till her sobbing stopped. He felt her resurface from the darkness she had been swimming in, even before she tried to struggle out of his grasp, brushing the tears from her face as if they were an embarrassing piece of evidence against her being invincible. She was pushing him away, and Jack suddenly knew that he wouldn't have any of it.

"Phryne," he said, holding her shoulders, despite her squirming. She succumbed but stared stubbornly past him.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound sober and attempting a watery smile. "I'm not sure what got into me, but pressed for an explanation, I will plead temporary insanity."

Jack didn't correct her. Instead he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

"I love you," he said, equally sober and with total sincerity. The shock displayed on her face lured a smile onto his features that he tried to hide quickly.

"Now, Mrs. Turner, I think it is time we prepared some tea."

By the hand he pulled her over to the construction of wood, wire and hessian that kept their groceries in an edible state. There was not much to be had, he realised after a moment. The oranges and apples that Phryne had bought, but neither of them had had time to eat as of yet, stared back at him, along with some stray eggs from her first shopping trip and a pint of milk that he had collected on his way home from the factory, in the hope of escaping camomile tea.

"I'm afraid we are stuck with stale bread, Jack," Phryne said, swallowing down another apology. She felt embarrassed as well as tired and irritated. Losing her head over spilled chicken soup was really not how she had imagined her evening with Jack to play out. But what confused her even more was his reaction. She didn't get any time to think about it, as he shoved the eggs at her with little ceremony and slammed the door shut, milk and apples in his hands.

"Stale bread will do," he grinned, walking past her and to the back door. "You coming?" he asked, stopping in the door frame and Phryne hurried after him, just as a drop of rain splashed onto her face.

"What are you doing?" she asked, after a long moment of watching him chop the hardening loaf of bread into crumbly slices.

"I'm cooking tea," he said, without turning, while he started to butcher the apple. "I'm sure your mother made bread-and-butter pudding at some stage. Mine did a lot."

"That's not tea, it's dessert," Phryne protested, smiling. "And we don't have any butter."

"Bread pudding then," Jack corrected, rummaging through the cabinet. "And when exactly did you begin to mind the idea of skipping tea and going straight to dessert, Phryne?"

He finally turned to wink at her in a way that probably had caused her to blush, had she been prone to such a silly waste of time. With an absent smile, she sat down, watching Jack work away. So, she hadn't sunk in his opinion, it occurred to her, not turned into a weak, little woman in his eyes, just because she had had a moment. Phryne felt strangely light headed.

Her experience with men had shown over the years that weakness was something many of them preyed on. Like Dubois. They either despised or adored a woman for being strong and the same was true for her being vulnerable. Phryne was quite certain that Jack admired her strengths, loved her lust for adventure and her sense of justice. It had always fascinated her that he also appeared to support her in her weak moments. But then, there had always been good reasons for those. Serious injuries, dead sisters and reappearing ex-wives generally had a right to get the better of you. Something that couldn't be said about chicken soup, as much as you twisted it. But he didn't make the impression of thinking her silly or hysteric at all. Almost as if he treasured her moment of pointless vulnerability.

Thoughtfully, Phryne stared at where he was drawing lines of honey over the bread for lack of sugar. It wasn't as if no man had ever cooked for her before, she had had a brief affair with a French chef many years ago, but something about watching Jack stir eggs into milk, was utterly intimate. It occurred to her with sudden clarity, that he didn't think her silly, because she hadn't been. It wasn't the spoiled tea that had overwhelmed her and Jack... knew. He had seen her. Phryne felt herself tremble, even though it was incredibly warm in the kitchen. So this was what happened, when she showed him everything. Nothing at all. She wanted to laugh and cry, all at the same time.

Jack didn't even flinch, when a pair of arms snaked around his chest and a pair of warm breasts were pressed against his back. He just smiled and kept beating the eggs – Which was not quite the reaction, Phryne was used to. And while a gentle bite into his shoulder did draw a soft groan from him, he didn't seem willing to stop what he was doing. She would have to resort to more drastic measures, it seemed. A hand rubbing over the front of his pants almost caused Jack to drop the milk.

"Miss Fisher," he growled hoarsely, once the stars behind his lashes had subsided, "this is not helping the progression of dinner."

"But Jack, you did say you wanted to skip straight to dessert."

It was more the smile he could hear in her voice than the cheeky words, that caused him to turn around, now wedged between her warm body and the kitchen counter. To his relief he found that she seemed to have completely recovered from her brief loss of composure. The smirk on her face actually belonged very much to the Honourable Phryne Fisher, someone this woman couldn't hide even under the most coarse of clothes and the cheapest of make-ups. Jack couldn't resist trailing a thumb along her jawline, fighting the temptation and losing rapidly. So he succumbed and allowed himself to lean in for a tender kiss, which was just fine, until he felt her hand slip into his trousers. He withdrew, grabbed for her wrist and with gentle force removed her from himself.

"While I am not at all opposed to your intentions, Phryne, I am also hungry. So please, you need to stop distracting me."

The way she batted her lashes at him could have melted ice in the Antarctic. He wouldn't have it. His stomach was growling and she must have been ravenous as well - and not only for his body. But she merely grinned at him, closing the gap and returned to former activities. He could feel her length pressed up against him, and the heat in his veins didn't only derive from his fever at this stage, the Inspector was quite aware. She knew exactly how to drive him to distraction.

"If you want me to stop," she whispered beside his ear, "you'll have to make me."

There was a challenging glitter in her eyes and Jack gulped. While he had more than once willingly surrendered into her desires – even though he had forbidden her to use his handcuffs for her games, ever since a minor incident with a lost key – he had always shied away from returning the favour. Despite cherishing to now and then get the upper hand in their dance, he dreaded the implication of forcing her into anything against her will.

As he stood silently, pondering what to do with her challenge, a sneaky hand started to play with the buttons of his trousers.

"So, Jack? No dinner then?" Mrs. Robinson smiled, innocence itself. Instead of answering, he almost forcefully closed her lips with his. Phryne lost her breath for a moment and found herself being spun and lifted onto the kitchen counter. Her body was responding rapidly to Jack's sudden boldness. She couldn't help but love the rare occasions, when he lost his head enough to forget being a gentleman. While she drifted in the touch of his hot lips and the sensation of his thighs rubbing against hers, she had almost missed it. Startled, she broke off the kiss to watch his hands, which were busy knotting a tea towel around her wrists. Phryne held her breath, feeling her heartbeat speed up. There was a hint of doubt in his eyes, when he looked up at her and she leaned in to catch his mouth with her own, set on wiping his fears away.

His lips had grown hungrier, his hands more determined and Phryne couldn't help the rush of the situation flooding her senses. Even though her bound hands couldn't reach much where they were trapped between them, she was slowly working her way back into his trousers, while he was busy exploring her neck. She sobered, when the Inspector took a sudden step backwards, leaving her bereft of his warmth. Maybe it had been a mistake to lure him into this game after all.

"Jack?"

Disappointment began to settle in her stomach, just when she realised that his flushed face didn't look worried at all. Instead, he seemed strangely content. In fact, he was holding another towel between his hands, slowly sliding it through his fingers, lost in thought. Before she had time to react, he had threaded it through the existing one and pulled her arms over her head, fastening her wrists to a hook that had probably once been used for drying herbs. Whoever had put it there would probably have blushed at the squirming Lady Detective currently attached to it. But despite the tempting view, Jack retreated, yet again.

"What are you doing?" she asked, realising that she sounded awfully out of breath.

"Finishing dinner," he smiled, taking the two steps over to where the half done pudding was still waiting. Phryne watched him in confusion, then realised that he was playing exactly the game, she had started.

"This is not quite how I expected this to work out," she pouted, lightly pulling on the tea towels holding her in place, just to realise that Jack hadn't lied about his ability to tie knots.

"Pleased to hear it, Miss Fisher. I should point out, however, that you did ask me to stop you," he grinned, glancing at her from where he was pouring the milk mixture over the slices of bread and apple. "And I am also still hungry."

Phryne nodded, realising that her stomach was complaining loudly. She had briefly forgotten about her own need for food. Now it was back with full force. So, maybe her husband had a point. The realisation didn't make her any happier.

"So am I, Jack," she smirked, but her attempt to tease him went unrecognised. She had no choice but to watch until Jack had put the form into the oven, stifling a coughing attack, before turning.

"Now, where did we stop?" he asked, reaching out to run a hand along her side.

"At dessert, Inspector."

Jack looked at her glittering eyes, her arched back, the smile playing around her red lips. There was definitely nothing submissive about her. Truly restraining Phryne was an impossible undertaking. She also probably could have wriggled out of his bounds, but chose not to do so. Jack felt excitement flood his veins, his heart pound in his chest. It took all his self-control to not give into her luring smile and just tear her skirt away. Instead, he returned his hand to her neck, slowly, gently, running his fingers down to her blouse, where he started undoing the flimsy fabric, button for button. Phryne was watching his every move with dark eyes, her chest heaving under his touch. It occurred to him, that she had fallen completely silent.

"You alright?" he whispered. She just nodded, biting her lip. Her body didn't leave any doubt to this, reaching out to him as far as her tied wrists would allow, her nipples pressing hard through the fabric of her undergarments. Jack stepped between her thighs, pulling her head into a gentle kiss, while his fingers went on a wander over her half exposed body. He was quite satisfied with the sounds he lured from her throat but when his hand slipped up her thigh, she actually threw her head back with a loud moan. He kissed her hurriedly.

"Shhs," he made. Phryne pressed her lips together, smiling. She couldn't have cared less about the neighbours at this stage, but this was Jack Robinson. And it was his game. So she let her head loll back against the cool kitchen wall and watched him, trying to stay silent. It was getting hard by the time his mouth reached her breasts and near impossible, when he had peeled off her underwear down to her navel. By the time he brushed up her skirt and started to kiss the inside of her thigh, she had forgotten about neighbours, games and the rest of the world completely.