Work Text:
~~ Phryne ~~
Phryne lay across her bed, feet in the air, whiskey in one hand and a book laid flat before her. She’d cuddled Jack’s pillow to her chest to prop herself up, and she’d occasionally lower her head to give it an absent-minded sniff. She loved his scent, and the fact that it had embedded itself in this pillow—a testament to the fact that he slept in her bed every night—gave her an obscure thrill.
He was working tonight, but she hoped he’d be home soon. She glanced at the clock on her mantel—past midnight. She tried not to worry. He was very good at his job, and she had every faith that he’d keep himself safe. He’d better, or he’d have her to answer to.
Resting her head on the pillow to breathe in his scent yet again, she pondered a moment on Jack. What was it about Jack Robinson? Five years ago, when she’d returned to Melbourne, Phryne would have scoffed if anyone had tried to tell her that she’d someday be happily cohabiting with anyone, much less a man of the law.
She surprised even herself with how content she was with their life together. He’d moved into Wardlow over a year before, quietly and without fanfare. So far, his move had not caught the attention of anyone in the police administration, and they’d decided that they’d handle that complication if and when the issue came up. Until then, they were just living their lives.
Closing her eyes and picturing Jack, she smiled. In her mind’s eye, she saw him, his fedora securely atop his head, his three-piece suit firmly in place—even with one of the racier ties she’d purchased for him over their time together—and his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he tilted his head at her and tried not to smile. His handsomeness had been the first thing about Jack that attracted her. His strong jaw, his wide mouth with its sharply defined lips, his broad shoulders and large hands—that first day in Lydia Andrews’ bathroom, she would have happily taken him home for a romp on his looks alone.
And then she’d gotten to know him. She’d learned of his gentleness and his honorable adherence to justice, not only to the law. She’d admired his quick wit and his inquiring mind—he was so very well-read, he put her expensive education to shame. She’d seen his heart break over those he loved and his fury spill over onto people who’d done wrong. When they’d made love for the first time, she’d learned that he was a generous lover and an observant one—and that he always seemed surprised when she made giving him pleasure her goal. It had taken some time before she’d managed to get him to accept that watching him come apart was a gift to her.
But even apart from the sex, the bottom line was that Jack Robinson was the best man she’d ever known. He influenced the lives of every person he came into contact with, usually for the better. Raising her head again, Phryne absently took a sip of her whisky. Come to think of it, many of the people she could consider Jack as having influenced were women; why, she could think of close to a dozen without hardly trying. She could remember so many times when she’d been in conversation with one of Jack’s women—she snorted softly to herself at that characterization—and Jack, even when he wasn’t there, had nevertheless been a palpable presence.
~~ Jane ~~
“Phryne!” Jane’s voice was excited as she rocketed into the parlor where Phryne sat curled in an armchair.
“My goodness, what is it, Jane?” Her ward’s face was flushed with pleasure, and her smile was brilliant.
Phryne had picked Jane up from her Sydney boarding school on the way home from England. She’d found that she wanted all of her chosen family nearby, and Jane was finishing out the year at a local school; she’d be heading to university in the fall. Her ward set her book bag down and pulled out a paper, passing it to Phryne triumphantly.
“Full marks!” She crowed. “Full marks on my Richard IV essay! Just wait till I tell Jack—I mean, Inspector Robinson! I couldn’t have done it without his help.”
“Jack helped you with your Shakespeare?” Phryne raised her eyebrows. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Since she’d returned, Jack had been at Wardlow almost every evening, and most of the nights that he’d stayed to dinner, they’d dined en famille.
Jane leaned over to steal a biscuit off of the tea tray that sat on the small table in front of Phryne.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, mouth full of shortbread. “It was that night you went out with Dr MacMillan and Miss Danvers, remember? You left right after dinner, and Ja—Inspector Robinson stayed to help me.”
“If he’s given you permission to call him Jack, it’s all right with me,” Phryne’s voice was laced with laughter. Jane was so sweet, doing her best to remain proper. Phryne would have to help her work on that. Proper was often boring.
“Do you think it’d be all right if I called him at the station?” Jane asked, her eyes shining.
“I’ll do you one better, Jane,” Phryne said, putting her book aside. “Let’s just go down and surprise him, shall we? Maybe we can take him some of these biscuits, too.” Her eyes twinkled as she took a bite of biscuit. It was really lovely that Jane was looking up to Jack this way. The girl adored him, it was clear. Phryne had to admire her taste.
~~ Dot ~~
Phryne lay in bed, warm from sleep, her body sated from the ardent attentions of her lover the night before. When Dot knocked on the door, then entered carrying her breakfast tray, Phryne smiled.
“Good morning, Dot,” she said, pushing herself up to sit against the headboard and make room for the lap tray. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m well, miss, thank you,” Dot said. She was glowing this morning, Phryne thought. Married life seemed to be treating her well. “I saw the inspector as he was leaving,” Dot went on, “he didn’t stay for breakfast, though. Is he not feeling well, miss? He’s very thin these days. Perhaps I should deliver lunch to the station today?”
Phryne’s lips curved in a smile as she scraped butter onto her toast. “I’m sure that he’d enjoy that, Dot. If he’s thinner, I hadn’t noticed. I think he’s quite fit.” Her smile was wicked as she bit into the bread and chewed, watching Dot.
“Well, yes miss, quite fit,” Dot blushed a little. “But he could stand to gain a few pounds, I think. Just to be sure he stays healthy. I’ll take him lunch today. And Hugh, of course.”
“Of course,” Phryne’s tone was dry. Dot was such a little mother hen, caring for their unorthodox little family as only she could. It was lovely to see that Dot had accepted Jack into the fold so willingly, though Phryne supposed that he had been part of the family for far longer than he’d been in her bed. Still, it was nice that Dot cared for him too.
~~ Sylvia ~~
“You’re good for him, you know.”
Phryne turned at her desk to see Jack’s mother standing in the door to her library, a tray with a plate and tea set in her hands.
“Sylvia! I didn’t realize you were here,” Phryne said, her pleasure evident. She adored Jack’s mother. The two of them had had a few first meetings in which they circled warily around each other, neither certain that they thought Phryne was the best thing for Jack, but they’d come to understand each other over the months since Jack had moved into Wardlow.
Sylvia moved into the room, setting the tea tray down on the small table in front of the bookshelves before seating herself in one of the wing chairs and patting the other to indicate that Phryne should join her.
“I mean it, Phryne girl,” she said, leaning forward to pour the tea as Phryne circled around to sit beside her.
“Mean what?”
“That you’re good for my Jack.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, and she set a piece of shortbread on the edge of the saucer before handing the cup to Phryne.
Phryne’s smile was confused, and she shook her head slightly at Sylvia.
“When Jack was a boy, he was full of fun, joking and laughing his way through the most serious times. Even after his father died, and he decided that he needed to be the man of the house, he always had a smile or a chuckle for everyone.” She sat back in her chair, taking a sip from her own teacup. “And then he went to war.”
“The war was hard on all of us.”
“It was, sure enough,” Sylvia nodded. “But the Jack who came back from France was not the Jack who left here. He was so serious, hardly smiling anymore, much less laughing himself silly as he used to. And when his marriage went sour, it only got worse.”
She looked up at Phryne. “But then he met you, and the light has come back into him.”
“I didn’t—” Phryne began.
“Maybe not on purpose,” Sylvia’s smile was serene, “but you made him want to take the steps back into the land of the living. Jack will never be the man he was before the war, but he’s so much closer to that now, and my heart is glad of it.”
Phryne didn’t know what to say, so she took a sip of tea. She noticed that her hand was trembling, just a little.
Sylvia leaned forward again, this time to place a hand over Phryne’s wrist.
“Thank you, Phryne girl, for giving me back my son.” She shrugged. “For yourself, as well, and your welcome of Nico and this family that you’ve assembled, but really for my Jack.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Phryne switched her saucer to the other hand so that she could clasp Sylvia’s hand in hers, a slightly wobbly smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
~~ Angela ~~
It was a surprise to Phryne, running into Angela Lombard at Madame Fleuri’s salon. The American redhead was turning this way and that in front of a mirror, admiring the way a gown of forest green satin wrapped around her curves.
“Miss Lombard,” she said with a genuine smile. “I had no idea you were in town! It’s lovely to see you.”
“Miss Fisher! Imagine meeting you here! I had no idea you were a client of this wonderful salon.” She pronounced the word sall-on, her drawling accent rough on Phryne’s ears. “Aren’t the clothes these two ladies make just spectacular? I can’t get enough. I’ve already picked two dresses and some absolutely stunning undies.”
“The Fleuri sisters are known for their lingerie. You made the right choice there. Are you here in a tournament?”
“Mmm, yes. The Ladies’ Invitational. It starts tomorrow. Say, are you still seeing that lovely policeman? He was certainly a handsome devil.”
“I am, yes,” Phryne’s smile showed more teeth than usual.
“Well, that’s too bad. I wouldn’t mind taking a turn with him. That serious mouth, and those cheekbones,” she gave an exaggerated shudder. “I bet he kisses like a dream.”
“He does, rather.”
“And he was so… buttoned up. It must be lovely to see him cut loose.” Angela winked at Phryne, her smile salacious.
Phryne just smiled in return, not rising to the bait.
“Well, I’m not a poacher, so your detective is safe with me.” Angela turned back to the mirror, smoothing her hands down her hips. “Though if you decide to cut him loose for a night or two, send him my way, won’t you?”
“To be crass, I think that if Jack had wanted you, Miss Lombard, he’d have had you the first time you two met. He’s not an object for me to pass along when I’m finished with him.” Phryne’s voice was drier than the Sahara.
“Oooh, touchy,” Angela said, her eyebrows rising. “No need to get nasty, Miss Fisher. You’re a lucky woman, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, we are in complete agreement on that point, Miss Lombard. That color is lovely on you, by the way.” And with that, Phryne nodded and let herself be led away into a private room.
~~ Elsie ~~
When Phryne arrived at the station, she was greeted by the sight of Elsie Tizzard sleeping off her drunk in the corner of the waiting bench. There was no one at the front desk, and Jack’s door was closed, with voices coming from inside. Not knowing which case Jack was working on at this moment, Phryne decided to wait in the lobby until he was finished. She took a seat on the bench and prepared herself to wait as patiently as her nature would allow.
“Pretty thing, ain’t ya?” Phryne turned to face Elsie, who studied her through slitted eyes.
“Hello, Mrs Tizzard,” Phryne said. “I don’t know if you remember me—”
“Oh sure, you’re that fancy bird that Jackie’s got himself all worked up over,” Elsie said. “He’s a good man, Jack Robinson. A good p’liceman.” Elsie’s voice was slurred, but her meaning was clear. Jack would often let Elsie sleep it off at the station, Phryne knew. He had a soft spot for the woman. “He helped my boy when he needed it. My boy’s not bad. He’s got kind eyes.” Her voice dropped off into a mumble, and Phryne thought she’d fallen asleep again. But then Elsie sat up, pointing a finger at Phryne, whose eyebrows shot up in mild affront.
“You be good to that boy, Miss Fisher,” Elsie said. “Bes’ p’liceman on the force. He deserves someone who’s good to ‘im. Bes’ p’liceman on the force. A good man.”
“I completely agree, Mrs Tizzard,” Phryne said quietly, touched by the old woman’s regard for Jack. “I’ll do my very best.” Elsie gave a wobbly but decisive nod, then crossed her arms and leaned her head back into the corner. Her soft snores sounded out only a moment later.
~~ Mac & Leigh ~~
“He’s good for you.” Mac put her elbows on the table at the restaurant where she and Leigh, her girlfriend of almost a year, were having dinner with Phryne.
“What do you mean?” Phryne said, surprised. She tilted her head at Mac, lifting her eyebrows.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Mac said, pointing her finger at Phryne. “When you first came back to Melbourne, you’d have taken my head off for saying something like that. Now, you’re calmer, more reasoned. He’s rubbing off on you.” She grinned at Phryne’s pursed lips and huff of breath.
“He’s a good man, Phryne,” Leigh said, her voice soft. “He’s been very kind to Mac and me.”
Phryne’s eyes softened as she looked at Leigh. She was pleased that she could call Leigh a friend these days. The woman was good for Mac, and—oh.
“I hope that I’m rubbing off on him, as well,” Phryne said, her eyes twinkling. “I broke into an office for him because he couldn’t get a warrant, and he didn’t even scold me.” Mac groaned.
“That’s because he knew it’d do no good, Phryne!” Mac shook her head, half dismayed and half ridiculously proud of her friend.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Mac, it was perfectly safe. Jack just needed a few papers to convict a man of murder, and you know I like to help him in any way I can!”
Mac and Leigh exchanged a glance and a smile. “Of course you do,” Mac said. “Anyway, I’m rather glad the two of you have come to an understanding.” One of her hands disappeared below the table, as did one of Leigh’s, and Phryne knew the two women were holding hands. “He’s good for all of us, I think. I wouldn’t have gotten the coroner job without his backing, and I’ll admit, I’m enjoying it more than a little.”
“He’s met us for lunch a time or two,” Leigh put in, “and he’s always eager to tell me about the latest books he’s read.”
“Really? I had no idea you three were such friends,” Phryne said, her smile contented. It pleased her very much that Mac—her oldest friend—had pursued a friendship with Jack. And to hear that Jack was so very accepting of Mac and Leigh’s relationship gave Phryne a warm feeling in her chest.
“Oh definitely,” Mac said drily, “we all have to come together to figure out how to cope with you.”
Phryne’s laugh was joyous, and she tossed a piece of her dinner roll at Mac for her cheek.
~~ Rosie ~~
“Thank you, Cec,” Phryne said, taking the basket from him. “If you’d go ‘round to the back, there’s firewood that needs to be chopped.”
“Of course, miss,” his shy smile always called a return one from Phryne. She watched him roll up his sleeves as he headed around the side of the bungalow, then turned to knock on the front door. When Rosie answered, Phryne held up the basket with a brilliant smile.
“I’ve brought you some dinner, darling,” she said, “and a few things for breakfast in the morning.”
“Phryne, you didn’t have to do that!” But Rosie stepped aside to allow Phryne to come in.
“Well, it’s your first day home alone with the baby, so how could I not?” Phryne was not much for babies, herself, but she knew that they were hard work, even for those who wanted them. “And,” she went on, “I brought Cec to cut you some firewood. And help with anything else that needs doing around the house, as well.”
Rosie’s eyes were tired, but her smile was soft. “Jack’s been by as well, just checking in. It doesn’t feel like I’ve been alone at all!”
Phryne laughed quietly. “He was very worried about you—he thinks you should have stayed at Sylvia’s.”
Rosie rolled her eyes as she led Phryne into the kitchen. “He was the same when I was ill while we were married. So protective. The least sniffle and he’d be calling in his mother to make me soup or something.”
“I bet Sylvia came running, too. She adores you.” Phryne set the basket on the table and opened it, passing dishes to Rosie to put away: a couple of wrapped roast beef sandwiches followed by a full loaf of fresh bread, a jar of marmalade, a jar of coffee beans, and large dish of roasted chicken and vegetables. Last, she pulled out a square tin. “Jack’s Anzac biscuits. He said you loved them.”
“Goodness! I won’t need to go shopping for a week, at least! Mr Butler does know that it’s just me and Victoria, doesn’t he? And she’s not yet eating solid foods.” Rosie took the tin from Phryne and opened it, offering a biscuit to Phryne.
“Oh no,” Phryne took one and turned to meet Rosie’s gaze, her eyes twinkling. “Jack packed this. Mr B helped, of course, but Jack was very firm as to what it should include.”
Rosie shook her head. “Caring for those he loves was never something Jack had trouble with.”
“Do you ever wish…” Phryne’s voice was hesitant. She and Rosie had become friends, but there were some things they’d never discussed. The end of Jack and Rosie’s marriage was one of them.
“That Jack and I were still together?” Rosie sighed. “No, not really. He and I no longer fit together after he returned from the war, no matter how hard we tried. We’re happier as friends, and knowing that he has you?” She shook her head. “The two of you fit like puzzle pieces, locked together. It’s good to see him so happy.”
Impulsively, Phryne hugged Rosie. “I’m so glad you’re part of our family, Rosie.”
“So am I, Phryne,” Rosie said in return. “So am I.”
~~ Phryne ~~
With a sigh, Phryne collected her thoughts and tried again to focus on her book. A glance at the clock showed that it was now almost one o’clock in the morning. She’d just decided that calling the station wouldn’t mean that she was worried, exactly—she could let him know that she was lonely—when the door to the bedroom opened quietly and Jack slipped in.
“Hello, darling. Late night.” She turned to face him, propping herself up on one elbow. He looked tired. He’d left his overcoat and hat downstairs, and he carried his suit jacket over one arm as he loosened his tie.
“Far too late. I’m sorry,” he said, sending her a tired smile as he crossed to hang his things in the closet. So neat, her Jack.
Phryne rolled up, closing her book—she didn’t bother to turn down the page, since she hadn’t made any progress—and setting it on the night stand. She crossed to him and offered the half-inch of whiskey in her glass. With a grateful look, he took it, knocking it back in one swallow. Phryne began unbuttoning his waistcoat, smoothing her hands inside to hug him.
“I was getting lonely,” she purred, laying her head on his chest.
Jack set the empty glass down on top of her jewelery cabinet and wrapped his arms around her, lowering his head to press a kiss to the top of her head. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, speeding up a little now with her nearness, and breathed him in.
“Difficult night?”
“Mm-hm. Fourteen gang members in three gangs. We had to ship some of them off to City North for the night, because we only have the two cells, and we couldn’t put any of them in together.”
She looked up at him. “Poor darling, you must be exhausted!” Reaching up, she pushed his waistcoat off his shoulders and slid his tie from beneath his collar, then stepped away to hang them the way she knew he preferred. He lifted his hands to shove his braces off and begin unbuttoning his shirt.
“I am. If it weren’t so late, I’d run a bath. That’ll have to wait till morning, I’m afraid.” Shrugging out of his shirt, he handed it and his cufflinks to her; she laid the cufflinks in their small dish atop her jewelery cabinet and set the shirt aside for laundering, her eyes on Jack, who had raised his arms above his head, trying to stretch out the tight muscles in his shoulders.
“How early do you need to be in?”
“Ideally by seven. There will be a lot of paperwork to take care of, and those young men will need to be moved out of our holding cells somehow.”
“Let’s get you into bed then.” Phryne turned to the dresser and extracted a pair of pajama bottoms. “I can help you loosen those shoulders.”
She watched as he shucked off the rest of his clothes and donned the pajamas, admiring him. His skin was tanned down to the waistband of his trousers, and his chest, shoulders, and abdomen were trim and muscular. His strong thighs, so often bared by his swimming costume, were also tan, and the muscles in his calves were sharply delineated. His buttocks, a paler gold than the rest of him, were perfectly formed, and they flexed with the movements of his legs as he changed.
Blinking to clear her head, she moved past him, running a hand down his bare back, and crossed to her vanity. Crouching down, she pulled out a stoppered bottle of bright blue glass. She lifted the top to smell the contents and nodded decisively, then twitched the covers of the bed back and tossed Jack’s pillow into its accustomed place.
Turning back to Jack, who’d crossed one arm over his chest and was kneading the muscles of his opposite shoulder, she waved him toward the bed.
“Lie down, love, and let me work on those shoulders for you.”
He did, groaning slightly as he stretched out with his head on his pillow. Phryne gently took each of his arms and brought it down to his side, then, bottle in hand, climbed up to sit straddling his thighs. She poured a little of the oil into her hand, and the sharp scent of eucalyptus filled the room. Stretching to set the bottle on the bedside table beside Jack’s head, Phryne dropped a kiss to the rounded cap of one shoulder before sitting back up to rub the oil over her hands.
When she used both hands to squeeze the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Jack moaned. He grunted with pain as she worked her way down one shoulder, then the other, loosening the muscles that had knotted up during his night’s work. Phryne poured a little more oil into her hands and worked his arms a while, kneading his biceps and forearms, then each finger. Then she began on his back, finding the sore places where Jack’s stress pooled and smoothing them out.
She watched him as she worked, using her own strong shoulders and the weight of her body to help him unwind. His eyes were closed, his long lashes resting against his cheeks, and he’d occasionally grimace with pain or sigh in relief, his mouth opening slightly; the flash of his tongue and teeth causing an almost unbearable feeling of tenderness to rise in her chest.
A little more oil, and Phryne scooted farther down, working his lower back now. Jack’s moans of pain turned to hums of pleasure, and his breathing steadied and deepened until Phryne could tell that he was asleep.
Swinging off to his side, she pulled the blankets up and over him, then turned off the light and snuggled close. With a sigh, she laid a hand softly over his arm and closed her own eyes, the scent of eucalyptus and whiskey and Jack filling her lungs with every breath.
What was it about Jack? He was a wonderful father, a loving son, a dedicated policeman. He had been a faithful husband, and he was a desirable man. He loved deeply, and, like herself, tended to gather people to him, whether he intended to or not. More than anything, he was her man, and she loved him. Content in that knowledge, she followed him into sleep.