AN: My sincerest thanks to Seldarious for convincing me to publish this and braving the wilds of english grammar to beta it for me.

Disclaimer: Between the ABC and Kerry Greenwood they've got Phyrne's copyright all tied up but they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery ;)

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An Honourable Accord

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Jack had come to peace with loving someone who was as wild and unsuited to captivity as a lioness. A woman who hunted down criminals with a reckless disregard for the laws he'd devoted his life to upholding. A woman with an endless array of willing distractions and the wealth to procure any entertainment that took her fancy; yet who always came back, like the lioness delivering her pray, to him to share the spoils, and her very fine whiskey. But unlike the lion, who waited slothfully for the hard work to be done by his lioness, Jack and Phryne had become accustomed to hunting together. She relied on him for: not just his badge of office, which prevented her from doing everything herself in the quest for justice; but also as her ballast, keeping her afloat despite the storms she sailed straight into; and more often than Jack cared to think about, as her cavalry when the enemy she took on proved too strong for one woman to face alone.

And so he had come, hat in hand, with a offer which, to make to any other woman would have been dishonourable. But Miss Fisher did have a unique ability to turn all of society's expectations on their head. For black, she would always read white. She had even managed to manipulate her Aunt Prudence into taking in and employing a 'fallen woman' and her illegitimate child, something which Jack would have previously said to be impossible, given Mrs Stanley's obsession with the opinions of her High Society friends. Phryne had also been instrumental freeing Jack from the shackles of his failed marriage, allowing him to accept both his divorce and Rosie's selection of another man to take his place. Lifting the guilt that tied him to a promise of loving someone forever, which had come to nothing.

The fact that Mrs Stanley, and her new charges, had since left Phryne's household and that Jack knew Collins was, at this very minute, taking Dot out to the theatre, well, there was something to be said for having good timing when making plans of a delicate nature.

Which is how Jack had come to be sitting on the loveseat in Phryne's parlour, in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, cradling her face between his two hands and watching her pupils dilate as he lowered his mouth to meet hers.

Jack felt like he was drowning in ecstasy.

Their first kiss, (if you could even call it that, given it had been mostly been a distraction to stop Phryne from exposing the snare they'd set for her ex-lover, a wanted murderer), which had haunted Jack's dreams for months, paled in comparison to having Phryne's undivided attention and active participation.

Jack had known pleasure could be heightened by anticipation and there had certainly been many months for the pressure to build. That it could be enhanced by the games two people could play with a look here, a fleeting touch there, without even considering the provocation of finding himself witness to Phryne's fan dance, but this - Jack wondered if Shakespeare himself could have captured the passion which flared between them at the meeting of their lips with this new intent. And yet, for all Phryne's questing hands' begged speed, Jack Robinson was determined to take his time. When lack of breath made further exploration of her mouth impractical Jack shifted his hold, slipping one hand into her hair, which was every bit as soft and sleek as he'd imagined, to cradle her head while the other twined with a particularly adventurous one of Phryne's pinning it gently to its place just above the waistband on his trousers. He rewarded her pout, at her (very temporarily) foiled attempt to untuck his shirt, by tracing the line of her jaw with kisses and continuing languidly down the corded muscles of her neck to capture the pulse at the base of her throat as her head arched back to grant him greater access.

The feel of Phryne's delicate hand slipping between his waistcoat and his shirt, her touch leaving a trail of fiery desire in its wake as it mapped the contours of his back, was the reminder Jack needed to rein in his ardour. Pulling back just enough to look into Phryne's eyes, the slate grey he loved now the slimmest ring around a wide dark pupil, Jack nearly lost his resolve. She was mesmerising in her dishevelled state, more so because he knew it was his fingers and lips which had wrought the destruction of her usually immaculate appearance.

"This is rather a - public - location for such liberties," Jack murmured, bewitched by the way she swayed towards him, her hands tightening to reclose the distance he'd eased between them.

Phryne's smile was wicked as she lent back, using his hold on her to make him follow as she rose languidly to stand.

"We'd best go somewhere more private then." Phryne whispered, stretching up to recapture his mouth and managing to melt into him, her softer curves an exquisite contrast to his firmer, muscular build until he struggled to know where she ended and he began.

Phryne's distraction technique almost worked, Jack barely noticed she was gently walking him backwards towards the hall, he was so swept up in the intoxicating feel of her lips against his and the knowledge she was his to cherish. A floorboard creaked and suddenly he was aware that they're in the hall and as much as he wants this - it frightens him how he wants this - there should be dinners and walks and ample opportunity to show her he loves her mind, her carefree yet deeply caring nature, her passion for justice and her charity in the way she protects anyone in need despite their lack of connection to her and any hope for return on investment. With determination he tears his mouth away, he needs her to understand he loves her and he can wait - he should wait.

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"Wait. Miss - Phryne. You have to know that I don't expect -"

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Phryne placed a stifling finger to his lips. "Shh. It's okay, Jack. I know."

She didn't wish to hear what honourable intents he had come with nor what eons his sense of decorum would have them wait between deciding and acting, she could guess well enough. Just as she could guess what toll his code of honour must have on him at moments such as this.

When still he tried to speak Phryne felt a shiver of desire at the contrast of the gentle sandpaper of his five-o'clock-shadow brushing against the sensitive pads of her fingers. Had she known before now what hidden talent the Inspector's delectable lips possessed she doubted if she'd have been able to exercise the restraint she's always shown in allowing him to be the one who came to her with such good humour. But she knows it wouldn't have changed the fundamentals, some things are worth waiting for and she realised long ago no single fling could be worth losing him from her life.

Phryne spoke softly, as though gentling a wild brumby, knowing it could take flight at any moment and she'd never catch it again. "You're an honourable man, Jack. A rare breed, for which there are no comparisons. It's new territory for both of us, an honourable accord if you like. But Us, knowing and respecting one another, that's not new."

As she removed her fingers, trailing them across his cheek to cup the side of his face, he smiled that quiet, boyish smile she'd grown to love.

"You make it sound like a peace treaty." Jack said it dryly but his fingers, currently occupied in rubbing mesmerising circles into the base of her skull, belied any genuine severity.

"I suppose it is really. You surrender your attachment to a legal document and I'll clip my wings and surrender my taste for diversity."

As soon as she spoke the word diversity, his hand stilled and while he tried his hardest to cover the momentary retreat Phryne felt it as keenly as a bucket of iced water. She cursed her flippancy; some things would take time before they could be mentioned with mutual ease.

"It's just you and I, Jack. Let there be no ghosts that walk alongside for either of us." Phryne said gently, searching his eyes for the trust she held so dear and to her relief, finding it.

"No Ghosts. Just you and I." Jack agreed but still there was that quick flash of anxiety in his eyes as they paused at the bottom of the stairs.

Phryne frowned. She knew the problem was not what they were planning to do, that thankfully Jack had finally seen reason on, which left only the location. Although not known for her sensibilities on the subject, she had to admit that she wouldn't have been caught dead in the same bed he'd shared with Rosie during his marriage either. Which left an unusual conundrum. With anyone else it would have been simple; all manner of surfaces could after all be considered suitable and she wouldn't be the first to think of a rug before a fire as increasing the aesthetic. But this was different. Jack was different and damn it all if his reluctance hadn't created a reluctance of her own to taking Jack where so many others had gone before. But this was an enormous house, there had to be somewhere untainted by memories or association that fit a more traditional set of requirements. And there was, Phryne remembered with a flash.

"How about I level the playing field? A place that can be just ours. It won't be warm and I've got no idea what kind of awful ornaments might have been relocated there until their givers threaten to visit - mainly it's in case Aunt Prudence ever goes looking for them - but no one has ever actually stayed there. As it's the house's fourth spare bedroom we've never had enough guests to need it, even when we had that séance we just used it for excess luggage. But from memory it's quite nice." Phryne held out her hand, to lead the way.

"You sure you won't miss your creature comforts? Your satin sheets?" Jack asked playfully, trying not to let how much the idea appealed to him show, but taking her hand all the same.

'Trust Jack to count brass tacks at a time like this,' Phryne thought darkly. It was certainly the longest discussion she'd ever had before taking someone to bed but banter was their private language so she didn't have any trouble responding in kind.

"They're silk actually, that nun took great delight in ruining the satin ones. But every bed in the place has sheets with a thread count over 500, well except Dot's which are 300 and that's only because she insists on starching hers if I try and sneak anything higher on." Phryne said over her shoulder as she led Jack past the back parlour and down a section of the hall that he'd never seen before.

Jack, who hadn't the foggiest idea what a thread count of any number meant, merely raised an eyebrow. Which luxuries Dot accepted or refused as part of her employment didn't really interest him at the moment.

"Softer than kid gloves. It's like sleeping on a cloud, Jack." Phryne said in mock ecstasy as she came to a halt outside the last door, her hand on the knob.

"And Dot won't launch a search party in the morning finding you gone, your bed unslept in?" Jack asked, trying not to smile at Phryne's almost sinful expression.

"Dot, bless her. She - well, she approves of you and nothing escapes Mr B, he's practically psychic -" Phryne opened the door as she spoke and stopped so suddenly Jack ran into her.

Looking over Phryne's shoulder Jack found what had pulled her up so sharply. The room was lit by the warm glow of a fire burning low in the grate, a tray with two glasses and a decanter was set up on the table beside the sofa and the bedcovers had been turned down. A room ready for visitors.

Phryne turned, her gentle teasing gone, her expression closer to dismay as she tried to find words for the scene that greeted them. Having sold the room as 'untouched' she no doubt was worried as to the conclusions he might draw, the presumption…

"It's okay, Phryne. I know." Jack said with a mischievous grin, heading off any possible discussion about Mr Butler's now undeniable psychic abilities by parroting her earlier words.

But where Phryne had silenced him with her finger, Jack took a more direct approach. He used his mouth to cover hers; they'd done quite enough discussing for one night.

He could save his declarations of love and honour till morning.