So, we have reached it once again: The end. And of course, there is still one question open - Quite literally. Before I let you discover the answer of answers however, there remains some thanks to be said: To the beautiful Changedstripes, who with endless patience irons out my grammar mistakes day in and day out and also had quite a big part in developing this fic. To the wonderful Duskbutterfly, who returns from flapping through her reallife on occasion, pointing out my plotholes and encouraging me to keep going. And of course to you out there, the loud ones and the silent ones. Thank you for sharing another adventure with me. I'll admit to have started writing the sequel yesterday, but it might be a few days till I begin posting it - Simply because I need a headstart to be able to send you bedtime stories like clockwork. ;) But enough talk. To ask or not to ask remains the question in the final chapter:

Chapter 24: Raspberries

Of course, Inspector Jack Robinson couldn't stay with Miss Fisher while there was two killers sitting in his cells and a pile of paperwork waiting on him that would make any clerk blush in excitement. And so it was after midnight, when he returned home, finding to his utter astonishment that the house lay in complete silence, with just a small lamp burning in the parlour. Miss Fisher was sitting quietly at the piano, pushing a few tentative keys.

"I always wondered, if you actually played." He said, leaning in the door with a tiny grin on his face.

"As you can tell, I don't." She looked up, sharing his smile.

He stepped up to the instrument, Phryne slipping aside on the stool to make room for him. Jack's hands glided over the white surfaces, as he let his memory take over. It had been a long time since he had touched a piano, but his fingers never forgot things. Not the feel of her skin and certainly not Chopin's nocturnes either. After a minute or two, she snuggled her head against his shoulder, making it hard to hit the right notes.

"Now you're just showing off." She complained with no sincerity.

He let the music trail away.

"I was kind of expecting a wild party again tonight." Jack stated, instead of an answer.

"Oh, there was, you only missed the last guests by an hour." She lifted her head from him, turning her face to the stairs. "In fact, I don't recall Riya leaving."

Jack pressed a kiss to Phryne's forehead.

"I'm glad Mr. Butler is enjoying himself, too."

Miss Fisher smiled at this.

"She left us a present though, for our hospitality."

Jack turned to stare at himself, hanging up on the wall. He gulped.

"It is finished and she wanted me to have it." Phryne explained proudly.

"I'm not sure, if I'm comfortable with being watched by myself every day." Jack pointed out.

"Oh, what rot. You watch yourself all the time. That's what makes you such a good policeman."

Silence invaded the room. After a moment Jack lifted his fingers and kept playing, chased the night away with music.

"She confessed to everything." He said quietly, without stopping. "Seven murders, two attempts."

"She'll hang." Miss Fisher gave voice to what was occupying all the space in both their brains. Jack nodded, his almost forgotten fingers dancing over the keys.

"You know what she said? 'Inspector, I watched my sister get raped and murdered. You think, I am scared of prison? Or death?'"

"Poor girl." Phryne sighed.

"She could have gone to the police." Jack gave back, his jaw clenched.

"That would have brought Howards to justice. Maybe. But what about Morell? Fletcher?"

"You think, they all deserved to die?" The Inspector asked, stopping.

"Probably not." Miss Fisher answered, taking his hand and pressing it gently. "Maybe some more than others."

Jack didn't answer, but took up the music again.

"I keep wondering though, how she could have been so precise? So deadly?" Phryne said into the notes.

"Their father." Jack stated quietly. "He used to take the girls to the woods and teach them to shoot. In case they ever needed to defend themselves. It didn't help them as much as he was hoping, in the end. Miss Bryant was watching all her victims, planning every murder precisely. And Morell financed her killing spree. I guess he did not quite expect that."

More silence, filled with a melody. Phryne wondered briefly, if Chopin had ever anticipated being the backdrop of such a morbid conversation.

"What about Howards?"

"He is still the same smug bastard. But it won't save him. There is too much evidence against him."

Phryne couldn't help but feel happy about that. If Betram Howards had walked, that would have made Susan's arrest just that much more bitter to her.

"What will become of Caroline Awning?" She asked on afterthought.

"Since she is our main witness against Howards and Susan, she might get around being charged as an accessory." He smiled grimly. "I doubt she will be able to keep the bribery money though."

"Speaking of accessories: Amber Walters was here tonight and greatly admired your picture." Phryne changed the subject. "She also danced all night with Ryan Binley."

Jack couldn't help but smirk, picking up the music again.

"Still jealous, Miss Fisher?"

"When have I ever been jealous, Jack?" She smirked. "But admittedly, I am glad, Rosie has left with your cousin. Mrs. Walker was quite civil to me too."

"Was she now?"

"I think she might not be all that horrible. If a little stiff."

Jack Robinson bit back a comment, explaining that stiff was not really the right word to describe Iris. Instead he gave in to the sensation of relief. While Iris and Phryne probably would never be great friends, the idea of them hating each other had not been sitting well with him.

"Emily went with them, by the way. Much to the disappointment of Mr. Isaak, I fear. I believe, he was kind of hoping for an immoral arrangement. But I think he will have to marry her before she agrees to live with him. His parents won't like it either way."

Jack nodded, his fingers still drawing Chopin from the slightly out-of-tune piano.

"So, the house is actually empty?" He asked after a long moment of melodic silence, a bold idea filling his chest with excitement.

"Save Mr. Butler and Riya." Phryne breathed, realising where this was going. Jack nodded, letting the last notes run out into the night. It was time.

"Before I ask the question I have wanted to ask you for weeks, Miss Fisher," he said casually, turning to her, "I believe I need to explain something." He gently took her hands in his. "You are allowed to say 'No', Phryne. And if your answer should, against my hopes, be a refusal, then I sincerely want nothing to change between us."

Miss Fisher looked at him with big eyes, against her nature being utterly silent.

"In fact, I hope, if your answer should be 'Yes', nothing changes between us either."

Now her red lips parted, but he put a finger over her mouth.

"I know it makes little sense to you, Miss Fisher, but I am an old-fashioned man. I have to ask! And I might keep asking, because I'm also a stubborn man, as you might have noticed."

She smiled at this while he looked at her with so much sincerity, that her heart threatened to do a flip in her chest.

"What we have is wonderful and I wouldn't give it up for the world, Phryne, but I want more. I want to be your husband."

His eyes were big and dark and she felt the urge to reach out and stroke his hair and tell him that everything would be all right. That if there was a question, he should just ask it and he might be surprised on how easy the answer would be. But this was his moment, she was not going to spoil it with impatience.

"Phryne...", He began, the familiar little box appearing in his hand as if by magic. Miss Fisher found, she was holding her breath.

"Is everything alright? I thought, I heard a noise." A sleepy voice from the door asked. Jack closed his eyes in defeat. It took a moment for Miss Fisher to realise, what had just happened. She turned to look at a blurry-eyed Dorothy in her morning gown.

"Everything is perfectly fine, Dot. Go back to bed."

She couldn't help the overwhelming emotion of disappointment when she turned and realised that Jack was no longer holding the ring, pressing his lips together in a gesture that she knew, meant that he felt it too. The moment had gone. He tried a smile.

"There are too many people in your house, Miss Fisher." He whispered, once her companion had stumbled back down the corridor to her connecting door.

"Then let us retire to a place, where there are none." Phryne grinned, pulling him from the stool and up the stairs, realising with some amusement that they were both still limping. A mild breeze greeted them on pushing open the door to the rooftop. But that was not what was astounding. The roof was lit by candlelight; the white stubs, safely packed in sand-filled glasses, had been burning for some hours, by the look of it. A bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket of half-molten ice, besides a bowl filled with fresh raspberries from the market, glowing in a ripe red. Phryne sucked their smell into her lungs, before falling onto their nest of pillows and blankets that still remained from the other night, but had been freshly shaken up.

"I know you dislike servants in the house, Jack, but you must admit that having Mr. Butler around does have it's upsides." She smiled.

"Undoubtedly." Jack agreed, unbuttoning his jacket and vest, discarding them onto the floor, before slipping beside her. He ran his hand through her hair, locking their eyes and then leaning in for a gentle kiss.

"Thank you." He whispered, when they pulled apart. "Thank you for saving Rosie."

Miss Fisher considered a smart remark, but settled for closing his lips with hers.

"You didn't think I would just let her get shot?" She asked quietly, stroking his tired face. A slight shake of his head was the only answer she received. Phryne watched his eyes close, as she framed his cheek with her hand.

"Good, because I meant every word I said, Jack."

Tired, soft lashes fluttered open at that. Phryne laid all her feelings into her eyes. But it wasn't good enough, she could sense it. Time to stop being a coward.

"I love you." She whispered, almost inaudibly, but the tears glittering in his eyes betrayed that he had heard it all the same. She cleared her throat loudly and stood.

"Now that we've got that all cleared up, Inspector, I think we should open this bottle."

He accepted the champagne from her hands, ice water dripping onto his shirtsleeves. Phryne had suddenly vivid pictures invading her brain. She held back however, biting her lower lip, while he fumbled with the cork which, with a satisfying 'pop', finally vanished into the night.

"Raspberries seem an odd choice to accompany champagne." He stated, pouring the bubbly liquid into the glasses she was holding out for him. "Isn't it strawberries traditionally?"

"I fear, Mr. Butler is quite aware that romance is not always traditional, Jack."

As she spoke, Phryne picked up a juicy red berry and shoved it between his lips. The sweet and sour explosion on his tongue rendered the Inspector speechless for the moment. Miss Fisher smirked, watching his face intently and offered his champagne flute to him. He took it, not quite accidentally brushing his fingertips over the back of her hand. There was a slightly extended intake of breath and he grinned when locking his eyes with her's, clinking their glasses together.

"To traditions and the art of breaking with them."

Miss Fisher smiled and drank, leaving a red mark on the edge of her flute, while wondering dimly how to get her lover out of the shirt that was currently keeping her from touching him. She didn't have to worry, as it turned out. Jack set his glass on the small table and moved in for another kiss, running his thumb down her throat in the gentlest of gestures. His fingers never forgot. Not Chopin and certainly not the feel of her soft skin under his. Phryne's fingers mirrored his and she was quite content with the soft moan it drew from him and his dilating pupils. He fished for another red berry and fed it to her, without taking his eyes of hers, while she ran her hand over the front of his shirt, finding a nipple through the thin fabric. His eyes fluttered shut briefly at the sensation. Then he brought his lips to hers, trapping her hand between them. The taste of champagne and raspberries was mixing on their tongues as they deepened the kiss, his hands sneaking under the back of her dress before he brushed the silver fabric down over her right shoulder and caressed the tender skin just above her collar bone. Miss Fisher realised in the fuzzy mixture of arousal and love, that she was still holding onto a glass of champagne. That could certainly be leading to fun. While Jack pulled back to look at her flushed face, probably plotting how to drive her to insanity tonight, she slowly, purposefully extended a hand and began tipping the glass. Jack watched on, his breath held, as the first splash of cold bubbles soaked through to his skin. He shivered.

"You do like to ruin my shirts, Miss Fisher." He stated hoarsely, but without stopping her while more cool liquid turned the white fabric transparent.

"In fact, I love it, Inspector." She smirked, when her actions had left the glass disappointingly empty. Miss Fisher set down the flute before in indulgent slowness starting to undo Jack's tie. He did not move, as if not to disturb her. Really, Jack was currently battling with his emotions. It was still hard to grasp the reality of her hands on his skin. Some mornings he woke in the fear that on opening his eyes he would find himself alone in cold sheets, it all having been a cruel dream. But tonight she was real and tomorrow she would still be. The happiness about this currently threatened to overwhelm him, rendering him unable to move.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Phryne started to unbutton his shirt that was clinging wet to his skin, then leaned in to taste his champagne soaked shoulder. He woke from his passivity when she swirled her tongue around a wine flavoured nipple, digging his fingers into her silky hair and groaning quietly in the back of his throat. Phryne took this as a challenge and kissed further down to his navel, where a droplet of the champagne had lingered. Her fingers found the line of his pants with no effort and she looked up to see him watch her with bated breath, as she slowly, teasingly opened the buttons. He was stunningly beautiful in the candlelight, she found. No sculptor could have caught the glow of his skin, the intensity of his eyes. Not even Riya and she had given it a fair shot. And while the artist had captured Jack Robinson in a way nobody else ever had, she did not know this part of him. This belonged to her, Phryne realised, her alone and it was a treasure she would never be willing to share with anyone else. Perhaps it was this very moment, that she really made a decision, even though she might have made it a hundred times already. Two actually. The second one she followed through with straight away however. She reached for the champagne glass he had put down earlier and dribbled sparkling liquid over the most sensitive area of his body. A sharp intake of breath let her look up from her task with a smirk on her red lips. The passion in his eyes took her breath away, when she leaned forward and tasted him. The way Jack's head fell back at this drove home that she had hit the right spots. Content, Miss Fisher took a sip of wine and went on with her work, making his knees tremble at a combination of her mouth and champagne pearls caressing his tender skin. She could sense by his quickening breath that his arousal was growing to dangerous heights, when he stopped her with a touch of her shoulder.

"Phryne." He whispered and her eyes flew up. Jack reached out his hand and she took it, confused, as he helped her to her feet. He pulled her into a kiss, clamping their bodies tightly together, making her feel his trembling muscles and the very hardness she had caused.

"I think you should take off that dress." He whispered hoarsely beside her ear, brushing his lips over the tender skin of her neck.

"Why is that, Inspector?" She asked teasingly, feeling his hands roam her back through the thin fabric, before grasping her and pulling her hips against himself. She moaned.

"Because you set a challenge. And I accept."

Tingles ran down her spine, as Phryne reached for the hidden buttons holding her drapes in place and slid the silver dress with a simple gesture over her shoulders and onto the floor. The way he looked at her made her feel like the entrée to an indulgent meal. The way he touched her, however, as he freed her of her lingerie, opened her garters and rolled down her stockings, caused an entirely different notion in her. As if she was a gift that he unpacked with a mixture of awe and care. Then he gently guided her to their love nest and laid her down. Phryne felt herself shiver in anticipation, her lids falling shut, as he leaned over her, starting his caress at her earlobes, before running his tongue over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones. She was holding her breath, as he reached her breasts, a steadying hand having found it's way onto her stomach. As liquid hit her nipple, her eyes curiously fluttered open. A red droplet of raspberry juice ran in a slim line down her white skin, before a similarly red tongue lapped it up. Small explosions seemed to go off in Phryne's belly as she watched how Jack bit into another one of the ripe, red berries, dribbling more ruby liquid onto her. She squirmed under his mouth, wondering if it was possible to reach the edge before he had ever really touched her. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her with intent longing and she couldn't resist pulling him into a kiss. He tasted of raspberries and Jack and she wanted to feel him, but the Inspector was not yet ready. He was indeed taking the challenge and would not sate his own desires, till he had tasted every centimeter of her skin, flavouring it in turn with berries and wine. Trembling all over, Phryne gave into the sensation of being overruled by a man who knew exactly which buttons to push and was intent on hitting every single one of them. She had stopped counting how often he had brought her to her knees by the time, he finally decided to fulfil her longing and his own. Wrapping himself around her, he made love to her under the stars.

While Phryne watched the last candlelight flickering in his dark eyes as they moved in perfect harmony, she wondered how she could have ever been scared of belonging to him. Every muscle, every breath of the man she held in her arms belonged to her. They had crossed the line, had started to melt together in more ways than physical. Even though the physical part was quite enjoyable she remembered, her loud moan sounding through the night, as he made an unexpected move. She witnessed his growing ecstasy, felt his gentle fingers run through her hair, his hot lips on her's. She held him close, as with a last groan into her mouth, he shivered and collapsed into her embrace, the long day and the equally long night finally catching up on him, turning his muscles into pudding. She didn't let go till his breath had settled and they lay, a thin film of sweat and a mixture of sticky liquids covering their skin, together in the darkness as the last candle died. The light night breeze cooled their heated limbs while their bodies calmed down. A still shaky fingertip trailed a lazy line down through the middle of her breasts to her navel. Phryne turned her head to look at him, the familiar tenderness in his eyes greeting her.

"That was quite something." He whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

"Yes, it was." She smiled, stroking his cheek.

Jack's eyes swept over Phryne, her sated body stretched out in the moonlight, her lips twisted into a content smile and felt his heart speed up again. Something clicked in his brain. Knowing. Daring.

"Phryne?" He asked, playing with her hair, watching her nod curiously.

"Will you be my wife?"

Both of them forgot to breathe at this stage. Then, to his utter relief, her smile was back.

"I think that can be arranged." She whispered.

"Is that a 'Yes', Miss Fisher?"

"I rather believe it is, Inspector."

She wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It was sealed. She would be Mrs. Robinson. Phryne wasn't quite sure, if she should feel this giddy at the prospect. To her disappointment, he freed himself from her embrace; then it occurred to her just what he was doing.

"I'm afraid, you already know the ring." He stated, breathlessly, as he took the black diamond out of it's lining. Miss Fisher realised with a start, that really she didn't. It had been a piece of jewellery before. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes threatening. Now it was her engagement ring that glittered in the bright eyes of the moon, as Jack slipped it onto her waiting finger.

"Have I mentioned before, that it is quite stunning?" She asked quietly, looking at the silver band in wonder. It really did fit perfectly.

"I find it quite stunning myself." Jack answered, not meaning the ring at all, as he looked at his fiancée. Phryne smiled, settling down beside him and curling into his body. They were still the same and yet, something was different. They lay for a long time in silence; both wondering if the other had fallen asleep; both knowing that that was impossible. There was no sleep to be found in the giddiness filling their chests, the rapid heartbeats sounding in unison. Jack stared up into the wide sky, watching the glittering diamonds strewn over the black silk. None of them was as beautiful as the one on her finger. He would get married again. To Phryne. In all his scheming it had never really occured to him that she might actually say yes. And the whole universe with all its wonders, suddenly was his.

He must have fallen asleep after all, overwhelmed by a week that had been entirely too much on his mind and body, because the next thing he knew was Phryne moving beside him and soft morning light filtering through his lashes.

"Jack." She whispered. He murmured something similar to a response, while prying his eyes open. Then he understood her excitement. A red sun was creeping over the horizon, promising a new day. One without a serial-killer roaming Melbourne. One in which Phryne was ready to be his wife. He smiled as he inspected the morning sky spreading over the city in all its colours, dipping a few innocently floating clouds into shades of pink. Miss Fisher stared at the firmament in wonder, then lay back down, while he wrapped his arms firmly around her, snuggling against her back.

"I finally figured it out, Jack." She said quietly.

"What is that?" He murmured, listening to a bird singing somewhere in a nearby tree; wondering if his scratchy face would leave marks on her white skin.

"The sky. It tastes like raspberries."

"Does it now, Miss Fisher?" He smiled into her hair and pressed his lips to her shoulder. She turned her head to kiss him.

"Yes, it does."

Jack Robinson chose to not argue with her. Miss Fisher was, as he had figured out, mostly right. Unless of course, she wasn't.

At the end this time, instead of wise words, I thought I'd share a few odds and ends on the process of writing this:

You just read over 72.000 words, equivalent to a decently sized Phryniverse novel.

The sky actually does taste like raspberries, modern science has found. Even though we are still unable to lick it.

I happened to steal both the Windsor and Morell from a story my beta is sitting on and didn't realise it till afterwards. Luckily, she was a good sport about it.

I had to change my intended killer after a few chapters, because the character took on a life of her own. They do that sometimes and it's better not to argue with them.

I was rather gobsmacked, when someone figured out my plot halfway through posting, up to the last detail. (Which is also a reminder for the future: Kids, if you know who the killer is, please don't blurt it out into the review section without a spoiler warning.)

The more *cough* graphic pictures of the ending rooftop scene popped up in my mind as soon as I found the title. But I didn't know what the proposal would look like till I had almost reached it.

The three monkeys actually have a very different meaning in Buddhism that with the years has done a 180 degree turn in it's western use. The poem mentioned has no idea of the nasty meaning those three would eventually gain. It does however use the wrong name with vigor.

I actually read most of "Lady Chatterley's lover" and "Candide" in the process of writing this, as well as "The Mysterious Affair at Styles". Fanfiction can be very educational.

I find a certain irony in the fact that I started a new job lately, now spending my lunch breaks on a roof top.

The more I write Jack, the more he reminds me of Pratchett's Sam Vimes. Since he has been my favourite discworld character for the last ten years, I really don't mind the resemblance in the slightest.

I pondered long and hard if I should include the L-word this time, something I had refused to do so far, as I don't see Jack and Phryne as people talking very openly about their feelings. It snuck in three times in the end.