... and we're done. I've been amazed by the reception this fic has received, especially for something that nearly ended its life as a single abandonned orphan scene lurking on my computer. Thank you all once again for your support, and I hope you like the ending.

Jack stood guard over Parkes, holding him at the point of his own gun, while Phryne went to telephone the police. He didn't particularly like being separated from her, given her evident distress at Parkes' professed motive in leaving Windstanleigh to die, but he could hardly leave the man unguarded. Phryne would understand. For a long time Parkes didn't speak, and Jack was grateful for the chance to compose himself. Phryne had done a sterling job of keeping the situation under control, but, even so, he was well aware that he had come close to dying today.

"When I was a boy, I captured a beautiful little bird in the bush," Parkes said suddenly, staring out of the window with a far-off look in his eye. "I took it home and put it in a cage. My father said it would die, but I wanted so much to keep it that I didn't listen. For the first couple of days it beat itself desperately against the bars, trying to escape, but after a while it sat still on its perch, and I thought it was growing used to captivity. But then I came down one morning and it was dead." He turned agonised eyes on Jack. "It died because I wouldn't let it go. It was born to be free, as all things are, and I took that away from it. When the Germans took me prisoner, I learned for myself how that little bird felt, and when I was free I swore that I'd never again have any part in taking another living thing captive." He was silent for a moment. "Do you love her, Inspector Robinson?"

"More than you could possibly imagine."

"Then I beg of you: don't try to put her in a cage. Whatever else you do, let her keep her freedom."

He nodded. "It never occurred to me to do otherwise."

He was relieved when Guy arrived a few moments later, bringing the same police inspector who had interviewed them after Windstanleigh's death, and one of his constables. Over the course of his career Jack had seen many a man's tongue loosened by the shock of arrest, particularly if there was a possibility that the gallows might be involved, and had learned to tell the difference between calculated words intended to sway an unwary listener and the genuine confessions of the remorseful or disturbed. Ashley Parkes struck him as a man profoundly disturbed, and he was glad to be able to hand him over to another officer.

"A word, Inspector?" Detective Inspector Brown asked as Jack made to leave the room.

"In a few moments?" he asked.

"She's in the blue drawing room," Guy called helpfully after him.

Phryne rose when he entered, appearing almost completely composed when compared with her aunt and Companion, who were both clearly struggling to take in the idea that a seemingly harmless man had suddenly decided to bring a gun to the Stanley residence and use it to threaten Jack Robinson. But there was a tension in Phryne's face - her beautiful eyes just slightly too wide, her delicate jaw clenched just slightly too tight - that told Jack a very different story. He remembered her words the day before, that one of the things she wanted from him was for him to hold her when she was sad, and God knew that he wasn't feeling a hundred percent steady himself just at that moment, either. And so, heedless of their audience, he crossed the room to stand in front of her, wrapped his arms around her, and once again pressed soft, sweet kisses into her hair.

"It wasn't your fault, Phryne," he told her after a moment. "Parkes chose to leave Windstanleigh to drown that night. You might just as well say that it was my fault for not locking him up in a nice, safe police cell."

She stepped back slightly, still in the circle of his arms, and smiled at him. "When you put it like that, it makes it a lot easier to bear."

"Good." He kissed her, hearing a sharp inhalation of disapproval from her aunt and, after a moment, an apologetic and slightly embarrassed throat-clearing from D. I. Brown.

"So, all those denials of a romantic involvement the other day...?"

"Have been somewhat overtaken by events," Phryne told him.

...

A few hours later their statements were made, the car was packed, and they were almost ready to leave. Until that point Jack had managed to avoid being cornered by Prudence Stanley, but his luck ran out as he was returning from one last check of his room.

"Of course, you know that she can never marry you," the older woman informed him bluntly.

"'Never' is a very long time," he replied, tired of the woman's endless jibes and attempts to pair Phryne off with men who were violent, mentally disturbed, or simply unpleasant. "But I can assure you, I have no plans to propose to your niece." Her expression softened slightly, but any trace of a smile was wiped away by his next words. "I'm sure we'll both be quite happy living in sin."

...

"So, Miss Fisher, are you ready to admit that you were wrong?" he asked, as she pulled away from the house.

"Wrong, Inspector? Whatever do you mean?"

"Parkes may have walked away and abandoned Windstanleigh to his fate, but he didn't murder him. His fall into the pool and subsequent drowning really was a tragic accident."

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "I'm sure I never said-"

"You said that his death wasn't an accident, and commenced your investigation on the basis that it was murder." He looked at her with something dangerously close to a smirk. "You were wrong."

"I may have been mistaken-"

"You were wrong, Phryne." He really was grinning now, although he was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. "You may as well admit it."

From the back seat, Dot made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone trying to disguise helpless laughter as a bout of coughing.

Phryne paused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. I will admit that I was, on this one occasion, and this one occasion only, wrong."

He stared out at the road, shoulders shaking silently with repressed laughter, knowing that to make a sound right now would be all but suicidal. After a moment he composed himself enough to ask "I don't suppose there's any chance I'd be able to get that as a formal, written confession?"

...

"Given his mental state, and the fact the he didn't actually kill Windstanleigh, Parkes may escape hanging," Jack told Phryne as he sat in her parlour the following night.

"I'm not sure that hanging wouldn't be kinder," Phryne replied. "He has a horror of cages."

"Well, that's for the judge to decide." He sighed. "I'm just glad you were able to talk him down."

"So am I." She deposited herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Did he tell you about his little bird?"

"I would never try to put you in a cage, Phryne," Jack responded, looking into her eyes. "I would never do that to you."

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "I know that, Jack. I know. And that's why I love you; it's why I can love you. Because you'd let me go, no matter how much it hurt you. If I really wanted to leave, you'd let me. And that's why I can bear to stay."

He wasn't sure who kissed whom, but it was more than a kiss between lovers. It was a kiss between friends and equals, partners who had neither lost their freedom nor attempted to rob the other of theirs, and, free to go, were both therefore free to stay.