A/N: Okay, so I originally had plenty of angst all up in this fic, but you guys are so alarmed by only a couple of chapters, so I'm going to drastically shorten that angst. So, as one reviewer suggested, I brought in the big guns.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter Five: Ridiculous

"You're being ridiculous," Mac said simply, leaning back on the chaise and sipping her whiskey. "Truly, I've rarely seen you behave so completely ridiculously."

"I get it, I'm ridiculous," Phryne groaned, holding out her glass to be refilled. Mac obliged her, watching her best friend with an almost amused expression. "But my ridiculousness is based in selflessness." Mac snorted, swirling the glass while she considered Phryne's justification. The darker haired woman looked alarmed at her statement being received with laughter. "What?"

Mac leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees, placing her glass on the table. "I have never doubted your selflessness. Not in the…many years that we've known each other. But you have never felt the need to broadcast your motives, since the actions would reveal them. Yet now, you do. Is that because you aren't actually being selfless?"

"Mac," Phryne groaned, letting her short hair block part of her face as she poured herself more of her drink, swirling it around instead of drinking it.

"You're being a bloody coward," Mac barreled on, ignoring her protestations. "You've never been a coward with men before. Or women, I might add."

Phryne allowed one of her eyebrows to quirk upward before she resumed her troubled pose. "Jack is different."

Mac smirked, realizing they were finally making progress. "Different how?"

"Don't," Phryne warned, finally sitting up. Mac held up her hands in mock surrender. "You're a doctor, not a therapist."

Mac was unfazed. "Yet, you called me here. For what reason, other than to lament about men troubles? Which you normally don't have, by the way."

"I'm aware."

"I mean, the moment one of your…men gives you any trouble, you move on. I haven't seen you cry over a man since…well, since your father. And besides, I'm not exactly someone to call if you want commiseration. I'm a problem solver," Mac seemed proud of that final statement.

"I didn't cry," Phryne protested.

"You were crying when you called me, Phryne. I'm not an idiot. You, Miss Modern Woman, cried over a man. I know that must be a blow to your ego, but those are the facts. Jack is the only man I've ever seen you cry over, but you keep on going back. Why is that?"

"I called you here to drink," Phryne said grumpily, "not so you could dissect me."

"I'm a doctor," Mac shrugged. "It's my job."

The friends sat in uneasy silence for the next few minutes, neither of them willing to break it. Mac, while usually the one to easily snap Phyrne back into rational thinking, was encountering a lot more resistance than she was originally used to. She often represented, rather than a therapist, the mirror by which Phryne often viewed her issues and solved them with little help. This time, however, Phryne seemed unwilling to not only admit she had a problem, but to find a solution as well. To Mac, the answer was simple, but it involved Phryne doing something for her own self-interests rather than being a martyr. And, unfortunately, Phryne often found her own confidence from martyrdom.

Mac, even with her limited exposure to Phryne and Jack together, could tell that they both cared about each other. She would go so far as to say that they loved each other, no matter how much both of them avoided even mentioning that word. It was evident in the easy way they teased each other, the way they moved in sync, the careful way they sought out each other's skin. They were foils of each other, one light and one dark, one optimistic and the other pessimistic; no matter how many differences they had, they both hungered for justice, for happiness, and contentment. They suited each other; for some reason, those traits seemed evident to everyone but the two people in question.

She regarded Phryne closely. Her friend looked positively tortured, but it couldn't all be just in the reappearance of an old lover. She and Lin Chung had a perfectly good relationship up until his wedding day, and that didn't seem to bother her. Yes, Jack Robinson was different, indeed, but exactly how he differed from other men perplexed her.

She knew Phryne had loved Lin Chung, at least, as much as she allowed herself to. And yet, she let him marry someone else without any trouble.

"Why does Alina bother you so much?" she dropped her volume at the Russian girl's name, knowing she was only a story away. Phryne considered the question, like she didn't have an answer. Mac was not fooled.

"I don't want to underestimate the draw of a returned lover," she said finally.

Mac scoffed. "Like you've never had to fight for a man before."

"I do not fight for men," Phryne protested. "There's always another one available."

"Is there?" Mac asked, quirking her head to the side. Phryne seemed to realize what she said and deflated. "Is that the problem? Your morals protest fighting for a man, but you can't replace him?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Phryne replied, leaning forward to refill her glass.

"I would stop asking you these questions if you were just honest with me," Mac told her honestly. "I'm trying to help you, Phryne. I don't pry into your business for my health."

The dark haired woman nodded, a slight smile on her face. "I suppose that's true."

"The truth, Phryne," Mac prompted.

"He said he wouldn't be happy unless he was someone's husband," she admitted. "While I'm his only option, not being someone's husband could probably keep him happy enough, but with Rosie and Alina both available? I don't want him to feel obligated to me when his other options could give him what he truly wants."

"Phryne Fisher!" Mac admonished, momentarily disregarding her own promise to listen to her whole story silently. "You are not anyone's obligation."

Phryne shrugged. "He may think he wants me now, but once he realizes that he truly wants to be a husband more than some rich woman's kept man, he'll leave. I'm saving us both the trouble."

"So you really do think you're being selfless," Mac mused. Phryne glanced up at her, ready to dispute the semantics of Mac's declaration. "You're not being selfless, you're being selfish. You're protecting yourself because you're afraid that he won't love you." Phryne flinched. "Or, are you afraid that he will?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How is that ridiculous?" Mac asked, her hands up. "You cherish your freedom, it's natural that you'd fear being committed to one man that might want to take that away from you. That's not something to be ashamed of. But when you're deciding to make the both of you miserable in order to keep the freedom that probably tastes pretty sour in your mouth right now, it is foolhardy. It's stupid, and you're one of the smartest people I've ever known."

Phryne looked momentarily ashamed, and Mac decided to drive it home.

"You thought your relationship with Jack was comfortable because he was always going to be around; now that there are other women that want him, you're scared because you don't know who he'd choose, so you're making the decision for him. You think that by giving him the answer you think he wants, you're saving the both of you. But you aren't. Because he would choose you."

Phryne rose from her place on the couch and turned away from her friend, and Mac knew she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. Mac allowed her a short reprieve, knowing that if she pressed her too hard, they would get nowhere. After a few moments, and a sip of her drink, Mac took a deep breath, and delivered her death blow.

"I lost Daisy too early," Mac said finally, letting the anger in her voice drain away to nostalgia. "And I didn't get to love her as long as I would have liked to. Watching you push away someone who loves you because of some petty fear is selfish; you have the luxury of pushing him away. I don't. You need to cherish the time you have."

Phryne turned back to her friend, tears shining in her eyes. "Mac, I'm –"

"Save your apologies," Mac waved her off. "That's not what I want. I want you to have the opportunity that I squandered. He loves you, you love him. Society be damned. His ex-wife be damned!"

"Your friend is right," Alina was leaning against the parlor door, her hair, finally unpinned, long and dark against the pale pink of her nightclothes. "Johnny does love you."

Phryne and Mac exchanged significant looks, trying to determine how much of their conversation to deny, but the little Russian girl waved them off.

"Johnny and I loved each other once, sure," she said, ignoring the way Phryne's eyes jumped up to her. "But we were never in love with each other. And, after a couple of years of writing to each other, he started writing about another woman. He never named you, of course, but I'm pretty sure he was writing about you."

Alina took one of the open chairs, crossing her legs daintily at the ankle. "I came to Australia to get out of Russia," she confessed, "not for Johnny. He's a wonderful man, sure, but I didn't seek him out to marry him. I just wanted to see him again."

"Alina, I'm sorry –" Phryne began, but the girl shook her head.

"For what? For having emotions?" she shrugged. "You have nothing to apologize for." Phryne gave her a wry smile, and Alina smiled back. "You and Johnny deserve to be happy," she mused, pulling a piece of paper out of the pocket of her nightclothes. "So I think he'll forgive me for showing this to you." She passed Phryne a letter, worn at the edges, full of Jack's distinct handwriting.

"Read it," Alina insisted. "And I took the liberty of calling Johnny. He'll be here in about ten minutes."

Phryne turned back to Mac, who was smirking at the girl.

"I never thought I'd say this, but it's suddenly apparent to me that Jack Robinson has a type," she said, standing up and draining her class. "I think I'll take my leave then."

"Mac –"

"Don't be stupid," Mac warned her, and kissed her briefly on the lips before leaving, Alina following behind. The two women parted at the hallway, Mac out the front door and Alina up the stairs.

Phryne was left alone with the letter, debating on whether or not to open it. She retreated until her calves his the chaise that Mac had been sitting on, and she lowered herself to it, staring at the writing on the front.

"Little Alina," it read, "I fear I have miscalculated my feelings for the Dark Lady. I got a message this morning from Constable Collins about a motor car wreck and thought that she had been killed. Rarely have I broken so many laws to get to her than I did that day. But fate smiled upon me; she was still alive, and just as infuriating as ever. But I couldn't shake the panic I felt.

"I'm scared, Ali, scared that what I thought was attraction is really love. I can't love her. I will not let myself love a woman that can never love me in return. But even as I write those words, I know that it isn't worth trying to prevent it. The damage is irreparable. She is in my heart, in my soul. I can feel her under my skin.

"Those few moments, when I thought she had perished in the motor car were the most unbearable of my miserable life. Even more unbearable than falling out of love with Rosie, more than the war, more than the death I witness. Thinking that she was gone was the worst moment of my entire life. I don't know what to say anymore.

"Months ago, I kissed her, and that was, in retrospect, my undoing. She was looking a gunman in the eye, a former lover that abused her. But I lied to her. I didn't kiss her to protect her. I kissed her to protect me. I would have killed that man if it hadn't been for her. The idea that someone caused her pain, that someone took her for granted, drives me to rage. But in that one kiss, she took my soul. Give me my sin again!

"But she refuses to belong to any man, and I respect (love) her too much to not honor that. I must suffer in silence until I can put myself out of my misery.

"Your true friend,
Johnny."

"The inspector to see you, madam," Mr. Butler's voice was a jolt to her nerves, and Phryne flinched, her hand rising to her cheek to wipe away a tear that she didn't realize she had shed. Jack was hovering behind him, looking chagrined.

"Miss Fisher," he said, trying to be formal. She was momentarily lost in the lines of his face, the slight downturn of his mouth, the displeasure that was manifested in the clench of his hands around his hat. He was still angry, still upset. But his eyes…his eyes were soft. They had seen her wipe away a tear. She could see a shadow of guilt in them too. He thought he was the reason.

"Alina called you," she said simply.

"I was ordered to come here and speak to you, under threat of torture," he explained, turning his hat by the brim in between his strong hands.

Phryne held up the letter and watched as Jack registered that she was holding a letter that hadn't been written for her, and his face paled as he realized exactly which letter she had read.

"You weren't supposed to read that," he said quietly, the tense lines around his mouth loosening.

"But I have," she replied.

He looked frightened, like a criminal rapidly seeing his confession rise up in his throat. His eyes darted to the door and Phryne stepped toward him, taking his hands in hers. He dropped his hat to the floor; it settled between them.

"I'm sorry," she said, lowering her eyes to their joined hands. His grip on her hands tightened momentarily. "I thought I was being sensible."

"You thought you were saving us both the trouble," Jack agreed. He always understood her, even if he was often a couple of steps behind. "Miss Fisher, has it ever occurred to you that if I didn't want trouble, I would have had you arrested a long time ago?"

She let a laugh tumble out of her mouth, and his chest was rumbling with his own laughter, and she felt the nervousness leak out of them both. He pulled her to him and hugged her close, cradling the back of her head and kissing the top of her head.

"Nightcap?" she asked, pulling away from him slightly.

"I have to get back," Jack said regretfully. "I have an interview with Donald Kastan early tomorrow morning."

She felt disappointment spread through her limbs, but nodded anyway, still unable to shake the smile on her lips. He was staring at her too, the way he was wont to do recently, his eyes alight with something she could never place. But she could place it now. Love.

Quickly, and before the moment could get broken, he swooped in to press his lips to hers, his hands cupping both sides of her face. She allowed him the control, relishing in the feel of his confidence, her own vulnerability, and the culmination of years of dancing around it. Finally, after several breathless moments, he stepped away from her.

"I think I could do with a nightcap," he said, pulling her toward the chaise that Mac had been occupying.

He spent the rest of the evening getting drunk on her kisses instead of her liquor.