Non-smutty (I know, I know! Will get back to my smutty ways soon!) ; tag to Death Defying Feats

-j&p-

Jack eyed her a bit warily, trying to read her mood without letting her father know he was doing it. In a flash, he remembered standing at the station and feeling a surge of something when she told him she he had her on his team. He hoped his presence and non-verbal actions told her the same. She was on his side, all the way. In just a short time, he'd learned that her father was certainly…a character. Phryne had told him a few things over the course of their partnership, and she'd managed to laugh most of them off. What he had never anticipated was the way Phryne's father seemed to throw her off-kilter a bit. As uneventful as his childhood had been, he had to admit that his parents, though staid and quiet, would never ever cause him stress like the baron was doing to his daughter.

He saw it in the tense lines of her neck, the way her smile didn't reach her eyes, the way her knuckles were white around the stem of her wineglass. But he also knew that she'd never want him to make note of it, at least not here, not like this. In that moment, he also realized that their make-up plan to the make-up plan of their shared evening with candlelit dinner was not going to come to fruition. He met her eyes and he could see she'd come to the same conclusion. A small plea for something was there too, and he wasn't sure what. He again only hoped that whatever she saw in his eyes gave her some hope, some solace, some sense of camaraderie.

Jack finished his wine and then cleared his throat. "Well, I can see you're busy, Miss Fisher. I can come by another time, and…"

"Jack," she began, and the baron stepped between them.

"What exactly are your intentions toward my daughter, inspector?" he asked.

Jack's eyes went wide, and Phryne gasped in outrage. "Father, how dare you!"

"How dare I?" he turned to her. "You are my daughter, it's my responsibility to-"

"Responsibility," she practically spit the words. "It's my home, which you've conveniently imposed yourself into. And I'm an adult; I don't need nor want your approval on anything."

Her eyes were steely, and Jack considered his next move. "Perhaps you'd walk me to my car, Miss Fisher," he offered, surprising even himself. Her gaze flew to his, and he saw high color in her cheeks. For a moment he thought she might refuse him. But then she nodded, a short, curt movement.

"I will," she replied, coolly ignoring her father and motioning toward the doorway.

Jack didn't say anything as he put on his hat and coat. He held the front door open for her and walked beside her to his car, parked in his usual spot out front. It struck him that in all the time they'd worked together, they'd never done this. He'd always said his goodbyes to her from inside her home, from her parlor, kitchen, or from the entrance to the front door. A smile crossed his lips, and then it widened as he remembered the scene he'd just witnessed.

"What's so funny," she asked, and he had to chuckle. Of course she wouldn't miss a thing. They'd reached his car, and he stood near the door, watching as she leaned against the backdoor.

"Well," he began. "I just realized that by meeting your father, I've now met the only man in the world you've given more grief to than me."

Her mouth opened in shock, but she quickly recovered, her eyes narrowing with displeasure. "Jack! Take that back."

He smiled and shrugged a shoulder. Phryne shook her head, and he could see the way she was fighting back a wry smile. "If you cared about me at all, you'd take it back."

He only laughed, and when she went to turn and walk away, he surprised them both by clutching her arm and pulling her back until she was flush against the car. He planted his palms flat against the cool metal on either side of her head. No parts of their bodies touched, but it felt intimate, new. "I'm not taking it back, but…" he continued. "I will concede that I owe you an apology, for overreacting earlier. I should have let you explain instead of getting all up in a huff, and-"

His words trailed off as she gently traced his tie with one finger. "I accept your apology," she said, and she smiled. This time, her smile reached her eyes, and he felt himself relax with relief. "And I think we should try again."

"I agree," he replied. "But with your father here…" he paused.

Her fingers tightened imperceptibly against the lapel of his coat. "It is inconvenient. But I'll take care of it."

They stood there for a few seconds, the still darkness of the evening like an enveloping curtain of privacy. She stared up at him, her eyes inviting, and her lips parted. Nothing they'd planned had gone the way they'd expected it to, and in that moment he wondered why he'd ever expected it to. But even the messiness she'd brought into his life had been perfect. He softly leaned down and kissed her lips. "Until then, Miss Fisher."

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second and then she opened them, traced her fingers over the curve of his jaw and moved away. He watched her walk up her sidewalk and until she reached her front door, and he smiled when she turned and gave him a soft wave goodnight.

-j&p-

A Goodnight Kiss:

125ml Champagne or sparkling wine

1 drop Angostura bitters

Dash Campari

1 Sugar cube

Place the sugar cube into a champagne flute and add a drop of bitters. Pour in ice-cold champagne or sparkling wine. Add the touch of Campari and serve.