Chapter 23: Big Bang

"Drink, Jack. We will die together."

"Phryne, don't do this!"

Laughter.

"She's not here, Jack."

The woman turned. It wasn't Phryne. It was Elaine. He looked from the golden cup in his hands back at the woman with the dark hair. Behind her, Murdoch Foyle smiled. At his feet lay a body, a shotgun wound in it's flawless white back...

Jack started awake, a cough shaking him. After he had found his breath again and his heartrate had managed to slow down, he sorted through his aching limbs, trying to forget the nonsense he had dreamed. His nose was blocked rather than running, reminding him that he really needed to wash some handkerchiefs. The ones he had soaked yesterday morning still waited in the washhouse for his attention. His throat was raw, hurting on every swallow, his hammering head seemed to glow. All in all, he had a suspicion that Phryne might put in a veto about his plan to go to work. Just when he started to wonder where exactly his wife was, she entered, a tray in her hands.

"I'm afraid, it is porridge today, Jack. It's a little too early for a bakery to open."

Her husband inspected his watch in the semi-darkness of dawn.

"It's barely half past six," he yawned, glancing at her attire. "And yet you seem to be fully dressed."

She set down the tray and picked up the thermometer to shake it down.

"Well spotted, Inspector."

Obediently Jack opened his mouth, feeling like a child. He had nurtured the hope that he could fib his way through this and hide the worst from her, but something in his heart told him that hiding was over. Of course, he could put his foot down and insist that he was capable and willing to do his part in the investigation. In fact, he felt guilty at the realisation that all he really wanted to do was cuddle back into bed and pull her down with him. While he was still pondering this, she retrieved the thermometer from him and squinted at the result that would decide his day.

"May I say, Inspector, that you look absolutely disgusting," she quipped, without satisfying his curiosity.

"Why, thank you," Jack answered dryly, before bursting into yet another cough. "Without the capability of seeing myself I'd agree though with your charming conclusion," he added on afterthought, once he could breath again.

He looked at her with stinging eyes, realising that she was worried. Hiding indeed was over, for both of them.

"There is in fact nothing I would like to do less than go follow my factory job today, Miss Fisher. Yet, I feel I should."

He grasped for her hand and Jack found himself release a breath he had been holding, when she didn't retreat. Instead she curled her fingers around his and stroked his hot face with her free palm. Something about the motion reminded him of another scene, a long time ago. Her cool hands on his hot face. Jack swallowed hard, trying to shake off the memories. Phryne had been his salvation then and she would be now.

"I am well aware that you will argue it, Jack, but your overbearing sense of duty is misguided in this case," she said, her face serious. Her husband nodded, feeling guilty for his lack of defiance.

"I believe you might be overestimating said sense of duty," he admitted, dropping his gaze to the cooling porridge, without letting go of her hand. His stomach was turning at the mere sight of the brown glob.

"Glad to hear it," she quipped, perking up.

"But I am also not comfortable with you going investigating on your own, Phryne," he ground out, before another cough shut him up. His wife watched him with a frown.

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Jack," she pointed out, slightly insulted. He didn't answer, as he was currently too busy wheezing.

"In fact, I believe dragging you along yesterday might have been a rather silly idea of myself, considering we ended up in the Yarra."

The Inspector finally found his breath again, realising that he was squeezing her hand so hard that he was likely to hurt her. Gently, he retreated. Phryne stared at their entwined fingers as he slipped away. She knew he would deflect her notion, but she couldn't help but battle with a sense of guilt.

"Taking into account that Miss Nowak might be currently in police custody or possibly dead, without our interference, I believe an extension of my cold might be a small price to pay," the Inspector pointed out.

Mrs. Robinson smiled vaguely, swallowing the urge to curse at his dismissive logic.

"Talking about Natalija," she said casually, slipping to her feet, "have you noticed the rather obvious spell she holds over Eddie?"

Jack grinned. Of course Phryne wouldn't miss a thing like that.

"Indeed I have, Miss Fisher. And I have been urging him to follow his heart."

Surprised, Phryne turned, where she had been riffling through her belongings.

"To what effect?"

Jack sighed.

"None, as far as I can tell. He insists that he cannot provide for her and another child, which is hard to argue with."

A thoughtful crease was stretching over the Inspector's forehead, and Phryne smiled a content smile. So he had been pondering along the same lines. She leaned against the cabinet.

"I believe, we ought to help them, Jack."

Her husband, who had been wondering how to best phrase his wish to use money and connections that still didn't quite feel like his, to solve the dilemma of their friends, smiled.

"I was rather hoping you would think so."

"Naturally, Jack. So, I've decided to talk to Mac. There must be a safer way to do this than a half-trained nurse butchering young women in her bathroom."

Jack started.

"You are trying to arrange an abortion?" he asked, his voice hoarse, half with his cold, half with surprise. Truth be told, he had assumed that Phryne just like him, had interpreted Natalija's running as a clear sign that she was ultimately unhappy with this decision. Their conversation while sitting on a freezing ground, echoed in his ears. She had no choice, but what if there could be an alternative? He looked up to realise that his wife was staring at him with a confused smile.

"Of course. What other options are there? The father is unlikely to provide for the child and she can't feed it."

"But there's Eddie," the Inspector pointed out weakly.

"It's not his offspring, Jack. It would be rather unfair to expect him to bring up a child that was conceived by another man."

Jack dropped his gaze. Maybe he was being absurd, but briefly he had given himself to the delusion of a happy ending for Natalija and her baby. Something occurred to him.

"That's a rather strange statement, considering our foster daughter," he blurted out, before he could stop himself. Phryne's jaw set.

"But then, I can provide for Jane," she said coldly. "And I didn't force you to marry me, Jack."

The Inspector looked at her as if she had slapped him, but Phryne couldn't see him for the red haze of anger blurring her eyes.

"Jane is a living teenage girl, Jack. Hardly a comparison to a yet faceless fetus conceived in a misguided night with some imbecile."

"So, it doesn't matter, because it hasn't got a name yet?" Jack asked, quivering in fury. "Or because his father is a fool?"

"No, it doesn't matter because it's not a human being yet. There is people starving here, Jack! Real, breathing children. There is a reason, Natalija would consider an abortion and you are being ignorant of those circumstances!"

Phryne's chest heaved, as a wave of anger buried her underneath it. Her husband wasn't far behind.

"So you just dismiss her beliefs and wishes?!"

"And what would you know about the wishes of these people, Jack?!"

Phryne gasped for air, while the Inspector was shaken by a coughing attack that rendered him unable to answer her question. She had gone too far, she could sense it. They both had.

"I have to leave," she ground out. "I am running late."

Jack didn't say a word. Phryne stood in the room, feeling lost, as the rage dripped away.

Finally, the Inspector shrugged.

"Go, I will see you tonight," his rough voice said into the emptiness. It was completely unreadable, but he was staring at the blanket, as if it held all the answers. In awkward silence, Phryne donned her coat and hat. She didn't kiss him, it felt wrong at the current time, but she did press his hand briefly. His fingers squeezed back, which relieved her more than anything should have. So maybe they were beyond being breakable even by a nasty fight.

"Get some sleep," she said, turning in the door.

"I will," he nodded, watching her open her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then close it again and leave. The silence settling in was deafening. Jack shoved the cold porridge onto his nightstand, before lying down and pulling the blanket to his ears. Even though he felt tired down to his bones, sleep wouldn't come.

X

The sound of cups clattering in their saucers was giving her a headache. Dot stared grumpily into her teacup, while Jane and Mr. Butler chattered on and on about this girl's dog, as if they had found the holy grail, rather than a flee eaten bitch. Dorothy realised with a start, how unfair that thought was and carefully patted her belly in an effort to remind her baby that she wasn't that bad a person really. She just had slept terribly and found that Hugh had left for work in the break of dawn, to figure out as much as possible in his case before the appointment in the afternoon. She knew that there wasn't much more to do. One of the women they had arrested, had confessed that Helen Kerby had died in their house, so there was really very little more to be accomplished. But he still needed to talk to the poor women who would be charged for aborting their children. Dorothy knew what Father Grogan would say. That these women had gone wrong in denying the Lord's gift to them and received their punishment. Yet, she couldn't help but feel sorry for them, all too vivid was her own brief experience with "Butcher George" burned into her memory. Dot also knew that Alice had had an abortion and never looked back. She was happily married by now and trying to conceive a child with Cec. Surely, the Lord couldn't have wanted her to be unhappy? Dot sighed, stirring thoughtfully in her cold tea.

"We should have a celebration for them," Jane exclaimed happily into their thoughts. Dorothy started, the dark feeling returning to her stomach that had haunted her all last night, since Sanderson had left their house.

"We aren't sure yet, if they will return straight after this hearing, Miss Jane. It might be advisable to wait for the verdict."

Jane frowned. She didn't want her enthusiasm to be diminished by reason.

"But they might. They are only hiding until Mrs. Browning is executed after all, aren't they?"

Looking for help, she glanced at Dot, who was holding her stomach, fighting down a wave of nausea.

"Your parents are not hiding, Miss Jane, they are merely stay out of sight," Mr. Butler corrected her smoothly. "And they also do have a case to solve, so they might not be in a state yet to return home."

But Jane wasn't listening. She was scrutinising the ashen Dot.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Do you need to lie down?"

The maid shook her head, trying a faint smile.

"I will be right in just a minute," she lied. "Just the usual."

There was silence, as Mr. Butler got up, starting to clear the dishes, while watching Mrs. Collins battle with herself.

"Why don't you go get some rest, Dorothy? I can take care of the household today. It really is not much, since the Mistress and Master aren't around and Miss Jane is needing to get ready for school in a hurry now," he added, his eyebrows raised at his temporary ward. Jane seemed to snap back into her good mood in a flash and mock saluted.

"Aye, Governess Butler," she grinned, scurrying away with a last look at Dot.

After a long moment of silence, Tobias sat back down, grasping Dorothy's hand.

"Now, would you like to tell me, what really is bothering you?"

She looked up into the pair of warm, understanding eyes and smiled vaguley.

"I can't help it, Mr. B. I have a terrible feeling."

Tobias frowned and retreated. He was too honest a man to brush this off, but then, Dot was in the family way and maybe a little over sensitive.

"Miss Fisher and her Inspector have always been quite good at taking care of themselves," he stated with more conviction than he felt. There was a knot in his own chest, that he couldn't quite explain.

"But something is wrong, I can sense it," Dot argued. Mr. Butler nodded.

"I understand that feeling perfectly well, Dorothy. But it would be ill advised to get involved. We could endanger their mission and draw their anger on ourselves."

Mrs. Collins hung her head. She had considered heading out to Collingwood, pressuring Bert and Cec to bring her to the house they had dropped off her Mistress and see if she was in need of any help. But Mr. Butler was right. It would not be appreciated, if her appearance should cause suspicion in the neighbours. And it was silly to worry. She had seen them only yesterday and they didn't appear to be in any trouble, other than fleeing a crime scene. Which, considering, seemed to be rather normal behaviour for Miss Fisher.

She looked up at the man opposite her, still watching her with faint lines across his forehead and nodded.

"You are right, Mr. Butler. We shouldn't do anything rash. Surely, they can look after themselves."

"As they have proven in the past, Dorothy," the servant smiled, continuing to clear the table, while gesturing her to remain where she was. Dot obediently sat and watched him in silence. He didn't believe it any more than she did, she was certain.

X

"You're late," Nicholson grumbled, when Jack stepped on his work bench. Several pairs of eyes glanced up at him, before losing interest again.

"Yes, I am," the Inspector said calmly.

"Slept in after your adventure, have you?" Cromms grinned from his left.

"Had to convince my wife that I'm coming in at all," Jack lied. He truly hadn't convinced anyone, least of all himself, that this was a good idea. But sleep had turned out impossible with the massive lump of lead in his stomach and he had decided that he might as well get up and do something of sense.

"That would explain why she dropped by, asking me to excuse you," Mike quipped from the other side. "Makes me look like a right imbecile now."

"My apologies," the Inspector gave back, "she is of a rather stubborn nature."

"As all good women are," Miller grinned toothlessly from the other side. A smile ghosted over Jim Ferren's face. So, the kid had probably found himself a stubborn sweetheart. That came as a bit of a surprise, Jack caught himself thinking, before he realised that that really wasn't any of his concern.

"Could we stop with the chattering now and return to work? Considerin' we're already runnin' behind, thanks to Mr. Undecided here," a grumpy old voice sounded from the right.

"Now, hold your horses," Cromms said. "Our man here is a bit of a hero and no wonder, he's feelin' under the weather today. If you'd taken a bath in the Yarra, you'd think twice about coming to work too."

Jack kept his head down. This was not a conversation he was particularly keen on joining into. He had rather hoped the whole episode would have been forgotten by now. But of course it wasn't. Gossip was appreciated in this place.

"Hero, ey? What, did he drag out a drowning kitt'n?" Nicholson mumbled, his hands spinning over a piece of leather.

"Drowning girl, more like it," Ferren said. "Little Nat Nowak fell into the river, I heard."

Eddie, who had been completely silent during the whole exchange, met Jack's eyes. The men forged a silent pact. A secret for a secret.

"She did," Cromms prompted. "And both Turner and Wenbrock threw themselves in right after her. Dragged the girl out coughing and spluttering."

"Actually," Jack said, after stifling a cough. "It was mostly my wife who threw herself in after her. Jumped off the bridge, the crazy woman."

With a start he realised that his insides were filling up with the familiar feeling of overbearing pride at being married to said crazy woman. Jack fought back the urge to drop everything and go out to find her.

"Is that true?" he heard Mike ask and turned, startled. Jack had forgotten what the conversation had been about.

"Did your wife save Miss Nowak?"

"She did," the Inspector said, grabbing for the next shoe. "Didn't think a moment."

"Some woman," Eddie Wenbrock mumbled to himself with a faint smile.

"So ya two were shown up by a woman then?" Wesley grinned, getting an elbow into his rib.

"You married, Miller?" Jack asked.

"Not that I know off," the giant answered, without seeming willing to go into the subject any further.

"Didn't think so, or you would know that that is just the way it goes," the Inspector quipped. There was laughter around the table. Most of the men were obviously married or had been at some stage.

"I think we should celebrate," Carter said, when the laughter died down, making room for the sound of hard work. "How often do we get to cheer on two heroes at once? Pub after knock-off?"

Appreciative murmuring answered his proposal. Jack didn't point out that the heroine wouldn't jon them. The wheels in his head were turning.

While he hated the senseless drinking of the working classes piling into watering holes across the city, for the one hour between the end of their working day and the closing of the pubs, he also knew well enough that alcohol loosened tongues. And the subject would almost present itself, while they'd be sitting over their beer. This was the best chance to find out everything his co-workers knew about a Grog-Baron in Collingwood, granted he wasn't a fairytale.

And so, despite his throbbing head as well as his aching heart, reminding him that he really shouldn't, he agreed enthusiastically to go out after work. He missed the disapproving look on Eddie Wenbrock's face, while plotting how to best get his new friends drunk enough to spill the beans. While his feet slowly turned into blocks of ice, Inspector Robinson dreamed of a soft bed and a content Phryne sleeping on his chest. They would be home very, very soon.