The Certainty of Things Yet Unseen

Author: Firebird9

Rating: K+

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He had farewelled her until their next murder investigation, but Phryne wasn't overly surprised when Jack turned up on her doorstep a mere two days later without even the rumour of a murder as an excuse. His shadowed eyes and subtle air of exhaustion were enough to tell her, if his presence was not, that Rosie was not the only person in a state of emotional turmoil. He could, of course, have drowned his sorrows in the privacy of his office, but the almost two years of their association had ingrained another habit within him. Besides, her whiskey was better.

Mr. Butler announced him and showed him in, and she passed him a drink without a word. He knocked it back with an apologetic grimace and she held out her hand for the tumbler and refilled it before gesturing towards the seats by the fire.

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" she asked, and was answered with a shrug.

"Things have been rather hectic of late."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head before walking to the door and calling down the hallway "Mr. B? A late supper for myself and the Inspector, please."

A distance-muffled "very good, Miss," came from the direction of the kitchen, and she gave a satisfied nod before taking her seat opposite him.

"How's Rosie?"

He shrugged again. "Her father and ex-fiancé are both in gaol. Fletcher is likely to be there a while, if he doesn't hang, and George is disgraced. She's distraught over that, as well as the knowledge of what they were doing. She blames herself for giving Fletcher such easy access to her father."

Phryne made a dismissive gesture. "Fletcher was Sanderson's godson. Being engaged to Rosie might have made things easier for him, but he would have managed regardless. Having the Commissioner of Police in your pocket..." Yes, she could see the advantages in that.

"And all you have is a Detective Inspector."

"Are you still in my pocket, Jack? I imagine Rosie might feel a little crowded in there."

He made a face, and she knew in that instant that Rosie – and she herself – were what he had come there to talk about.

"Four times, Miss Fisher. Four times she's left me in the last eight years. Three of those times she's come back, and the fourth..." He made a gesture, indicating that she could see for herself what had happened the fourth time.

"She asked you for a divorce."

"She says now it was Fletcher's idea. Which I don't doubt."

"She was useful to him."

"But it was her decision to go along with it. Three times I took her back, and I would have taken her back the fourth as well. Because that's what you do. That's what marriage is. A promise for better or worse, no matter how bad the 'worse' may be, and I would have taken her back, if that was what she wanted."

"And is that what she wants, now?"

He gave a brief, humourless snort. "Now, yes. That's what she wants now." Phryne couldn't recall ever hearing such bitterness in his tone before. Even when she had pushed him into real anger, Jack had always been willing to forgive her, and, it seemed, Rosie as well. But this wasn't just anger, this was hurt as well, and she knew from experience that hurt was the one thing that would make Jack Robinson withdraw.

"'Now'?" she repeated, matching his scornful intonation.

"Well, right now she's in the middle of a crisis. She's lost her father and her fiancé, and while she's hardly indigent she has no skills or trade by which to support herself, and she lacks the strength of character to persevere regardless."

"And so she's come running back to you?"

"As she's done before: when she needed money; when she'd fallen out with her sister; when her father was under suspicion of murder; when that footballer her fiancé was associated with was killed. She's come running back to me to sort it out."

"And will you?"

"I always have before. Whenever she's needed me, I've been there for her, for as long as she has needed me. And it's never made a blind bit of difference. So what's the point, Miss Fisher? What's the point of accepting back a woman who will never stay with me, and who, to be honest, I don't really want back anyway?" His voice softened, so that she had to strain her ears to hear it. "When that would mean sacrificing my chances with a woman who I can't seem to get rid of no matter how hard I try. A woman who," and now, even staining her ears she could barely hear him, "I'd rather die than be rid of anyway."

This was new. Always before it had been a matter of his wife leaving him. Now, finally, almost a year after his divorce, he was talking about leaving his wife. About severing the emotional ties that bound him to her as surely as his marriage vows ever had. But still...

"Jack. Things between us..." She searched for words. "You mean more to me than any man ever has. But regardless of anything we may have said, we've never done anything that can't be taken back. And I'd never want to be the reason that a husband left his wife."

He looked up then from his contemplation of the tumbler in his hands and set it aside. Hesitantly he reached out his hands for hers, and just as hesitantly she allowed herself to take them. "She left me, Phryne. Not the other way around. And the reason I didn't contest the divorce, well, it was because of you, but it wasn't because I want to be with you." He gave a wry smile. "Although you have to have realised by now that that's something I do want, even though I accept that you may never feel the same way about me."

She opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again. Right now was not the time, not when he clearly needed so desperately to talk.

"Ever since the War, I've been surviving. Not living, just surviving. Just doing the duty that lay in front of me, day after day after day. I stopped thinking about the future. About joy, and happiness, and hope. And then I met you, and God, you made me angry! Because everything was a game to you. Men were a game, my job was a game, I was a game, and all the pain and misery in the world, it just didn't seem to mean anything to you." He glanced down, ashamed. "Until I realised that you'd suffered too. Even more than I had." He looked back up at her, and his expression softened for the first time that evening. "And you could still laugh. Still smile, still dance. And you made me smile as well. And you reminded me, for the first time in years, that life was something more than just a duty to be discharged. So when Rosie told me she wanted a divorce I realised there was no logical reason to deny her. Why make both of us miserable, when we'd already been miserable for so long? That was why I divorced her, Phryne. Not for your sake; for mine."

She nodded, letting him see her acceptance of what he said. The idea that she was responsible for the end of his marriage was not something she would have wanted to exist between them, so to hear him affirm so clearly that she had really had nothing to do with it was a relief. "Does Rosie know all this?"

"She knows that I won't be taking her back. I told her so tonight."

"And how did she take it?"

He closed his eyes, and she could see he was fighting back tears. Of course, Jack was a good man before all else, and a compassionate one. Regardless of the reason, he must find it agonising to turn his back on someone in trouble, especially when that someone was a woman he had once loved. "Not well. Not well at all."

"And I suppose she blames me?"

"Almost entirely." Earnest eyes sought hers. "But this is not your fault. I want us both to be very clear on that. This is between her and me; you have nothing to do with it."

She nodded her acceptance once again. "But I'm here for you, Jack. For as long as you need me, in whatever way you need me." She saw his eyes darken and heard his breath catch in sudden awareness. Well, yes, she had meant that as well, but it wasn't her only meaning, and she wanted him to understand that. She squeezed his fingers. "I don't just mean that, although..." she let her lips curve briefly into a smile of invitation, and he smiled in return. "But if you need company, someone to listen," she heard Mr. Butler's soft tread in the hall, waiting for an appropriate moment to interrupt, "a hot meal, perhaps?"

He chuckled a little at that. Her attempts to feed him, often disguised with various levels of sincerity and effectiveness as attempts to bribe him for information or assistance, had become something of a private joke between them. "Supper does sound good."

Mr. Butler knew his cue when he heard it, and stepped quietly into the room. "Miss, Inspector, supper is served."

...

They ate mainly in companionable silence. Mr. Butler had prepared a gratin, and Phryne couldn't help but wonder whether the man had realised that the very first meal she had ever fed Jack had been a gratin, offered to him in his office after he arrested her for breaking and entering, in return for a look at some rather incriminating photographs. Probably. Her butler really did seem to be almost psychic at times.

The lack of conversation gave Jack a chance to compose himself and Phryne a chance to reflect on how best to proceed. Granted, Jack wanted her, and God knew she wanted him too, but in his current state of mind a sudden escalation in their relationship might be something he'd later come to regret. Better to take things slowly for now, she thought. After all, they had waited this long, so a few more days – or weeks – surely wouldn't do any harm. And she needed time to think things through for herself. Jack would be no casual affair. Once they took that step he would consider himself bound to her, even if they never went as far as formalising that bond, and he would consider her to be bound to him as well. In the last few months she had found herself withdrawing more and more from intimacy with other men, but to commit herself to total fidelity for the foreseeable future was something that would require consideration. While Jack had promised her once that he would never ask her to change, a romantic relationship between them would require changes on both sides if it was to have any chance of success. So she needed to be very clear on where exactly she was willing to compromise, and what he was just going to have to accept as part and parcel of being with her.

...

It was very late when she saw him out.

"Where's Rosie staying at the moment?" she asked, although she suspected she already knew.

"With me," he confirmed. "I'm sleeping in the spare room." A wry smile. "God knows, it's hardly the first time."

"I hope you won't misunderstand me, but," she waved her hand towards the stairs, "I have a number of very well-appointed spare rooms, should you ever find yourself in need of an alternative."

He gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, but I imagine Rosie will be moving on very soon."

Phryne nodded "I imagine so." She leaned up and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Jack."

He turned towards her, his eyes dark and serious, and she froze, scared to move in case she frightened him away, lips slightly parted, breath catching in anticipation. He laid one hand on her cheek and leaned in to brush a gentle kiss across her lips. It was over in a moment, that first real, tender kiss, but its ghost lingered as he smiled at her. "Goodnight, Phryne."

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