Chapter Text
“Down, Inspector!”
Vimes threw himself face first at the ground - he recognised that tone of voice, it was one he used himself quite often, it meant if you have any interest in seeing the sun rise again you will do exactly what I say, right now! The only thing is, he couldn’t ever remember anyone using it on him.
A gunshot reverberated down the narrow alley, there was a scream and the sound of something metal hitting the ground. He waited a moment to see if there would be another shot. When there was only the sound of high heels striking cobbles behind him, he came roaring to his feet, spinning to face the shooter. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The rather sparkly lilac heels came to a clattering halt.
“Give me that bloody thing!” Vimes was livid as he snatched the gun from Phryne’s hand. His mood was not improved by the rude reminder he received that a freshly fired gun is actually extremely hot. He tossed the gun between his hands before thinking to put it in the pocket of his navy police issue overcoat.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she tried to get her gun out of his pocket.
Vimes grasped hold of her wrists to prevent her from reaching it. “Do you have a certificate for that firearm?”
Phryne struggled to free her arms. “You know I don’t.”
“Are you a serving police officer?” Vimes evaded her attempt to stomp on his foot.
“Yes, yes I am,” she said sarcastically, as she aimed her knee between his legs.
Stepping quickly back and out of her range, Vimes was forced to release her. “Miss Fisher, you are a civilian with an unlicensed firearm who has just shot a man. I should arrest you…”
“But he was going to shoot…”
Vimes spoke over her, “I should arrest you but I have no desire to delay your return to Australia a second longer than absolutely necessary so we are going to pretend that I warned my suspect that he was under arrest then, when it appeared he was reaching for his own gun, shot him - for fear he may hit an innocent bystander.” Vimes looked at her as sternly as he could muster, which was enough to make battle hardened men quake in their boots. And had absolutely no impact on Phryne. “To be clear the role you are playing in this fiction is that of innocent bystander.”
Phryne folded her arms, effortlessly elegant in her cream trousers, matching top and lilac overcoat; and tapped her foot. “That’s fine with me but…” she looked towards the man currently rolling on the ground moaning as he clutched at his leg, “...do you think he’s going to stick to the script?”
Vimes glanced at the man. “Leave him to me,” he said, moving to secure the man’s discarded weapon.
She followed, standing behind him. Vimes could feel disapproval radiating off her. “You don’t get to critique my methods of persuasion, Fisher,” he growled as he straightened and turned to face her.
She sniffed, “If you were a proper policeman…”
Right, here we go - again, Vimes rolled his eyes.
“...like Jack, this would never have happened in the first place.”
“Jack this, Jack that... Jack Robinson is not even a proper name,” Vimes countered, “it’s a character from a bloody nursery rhyme and this perfect copper you keep going on about is probably just as much of a fairy tale.”
Phryne took a step forward so she was right in his face.
Vimes gritted his teeth and held his ground.
“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the City South Station in Melbourne is a very real man and a better copper than you’ll ever be!”
“He’s not a man, he's a bloody saint - if he can put up with your interference in his cases for more than thirty seconds!”
The two of them stood, in the dark alley, nose to nose, glowering at each other so hard the walls around them were in very real danger of melting.
“Excuse me?” a small voice came from the ground beside them. “I think I might be seriously hurt here… there is quite a lot of blood and… I don’t want to go on about it, but I’m actually in a fair bit of pain.”
Two sets of intensely irritated eyes swung to the poor unfortunate murderer.
“Or I could just wait here… quietly… till you’re ready,” he suggested.
The eyes swung back.
“You should be thanking me! You would never have thought of him if I hadn’t shared my findings with you,” Phryne pointed out.
“Your findings are inadmissible in court and only confirm what I already knew - that he did it.”
“Rubbish, your investigation was floundering...”
Vimes was honest enough to bite back the denial hanging on the end of his tongue because - God damn it - she was right but unfortunately, whilst he secretly admired her street smarts and particularly her brawling skills, she was also the most irritating person he had ever met. When she had first wandered into his case he had taken his complaint to the Commissioner. He shuddered at the memory...
The man had nodded his head thoughtfully as grievance after grievance poured from his mouth… she might have solved some cases in Australia but she was untrained, reckless, did not follow orders and distracted his men with that thing she kept doing with her eyes...
Eventually, he started to stutter as it struck him that the Commissioner nodding as though in agreement was... disturbing. His brain started sending urgent messages to his mouth to shut up.
When there was complete silence the Commissioner leaned forward, his long graceful fingers forming a steeple as he considered the man before him. Intensely.
“I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me, Inspector…” he said, in a slow considered manner, that sounded almost sincere, “...I operate an open door policy, as you know.
An image of a door opening over a bottomless pit presented itself in Vimes’ mind.
“I wonder, may I just check that I have understood your complaint?”
Vimes, a sense of foreboding settling around him, nodded.
“You are upset because this woman... Miss Fisher, is it?”
Vimes nodded again, beginning to regret his decision to get out of bed this morning.
“Thank you, so important to get the details right - don't you agree?” he gave a smile that barely reached his top lip, “As I was saying, you are upset that Miss Fisher, who by your own account has an impressive record in crime resolution, is performing her civic duty by assisting in the identification of a murderer. Further - and I do think this is a key point - she is doing so without expectation of payment.”
Vimes glanced longingly at the door,
“And you would like me to request Miss Fisher stop this activity forwith, presumably because you have solved all the crimes in the metropolitan area and our men have nothing to do with their time. Have I understood your complaint correctly, Inspector?”
Vimes stood calmly and walked out of the office.
...and so he had put up with her meddling, turning up unannounced in his office, pushing her way into his interviews and her constant references to the paragon that was Jack Robinson. He had even accepted that soon he would give in to Sybil’s demand that he invite her to afternoon tea. A shiver went down his spine, he had no doubt the two ladies would get on like a house on fire, after all Miss Fisher shared many of Sybil’s views on aristocracy, including that if you had to make a song and dance about it you simply weren't high enough in the tree to bother with.
Today she had been in the foyer of Brown’s Hotel when she had called him to report their suspect, who he had all his men out searching for, had just walked into the tailor’s shop across the street from where she was sitting, sipping Earl Grey daintily from a Royal Doulton bone china tea cup - well that’s what Vimes imagined she had been doing, at least. He had ordered her to keep an eye on the shop door and note which direction he went in when he reappeared. She was not, under any circumstances to follow him. She had told him she would leave a message at the desk with the direction they had gone in, and promptly hung up. Fortunately, the suspect was still indulging his sartorial desires when Vimes had arrived. Unfortunately, he did not have time to deliver his carefully prepared lecture before the suspect had appeared and the chase was on… until she shot him… obviously - which reminded him.
“...admit it,” she taunted, “without me you’d be nowhere.”
“Right, that’s it!” Vimes grabbed her shoulder and swung her around, clapping his handcuffs on first one wrist and then the other, leaving her hands secured behind her.
“What!” Phryne’s disbelief was clear, “You can’t do this!”
“You’re under arrest.”
“On what charge?” she challenged him. Loudly.
“On the charge of assaulting a police officer, possessing an unlicensed weapon and being a royal pain in the arse!” Vimes thought for a moment, “Probably more for the pain in the arse bit, to be fair.”
A struggle ensued. It was hard to say who was getting the best of it.
“Phryne?”
Two sets of eyes shot up to see the outline of a man in a long coat and fedora, standing at the entrance of the alley.
“Jack?”
Vimes rolled his eyes. Really? Of course super cop would show up right now, when he was in the throes of making a false arrest.
“What’s going on?” Jack looked from Phryne to the man in police uniform standing behind her.
“Miss Fisher was just helping us with our enquiries,” Vimes tried to smile but he had a feeling it was more of a grimace.
Jack tilted his head, his eyes taking in all the details of the situation. He nodded, “That does sound like something Miss Fisher would do. She is always...” his mouth turned up slightly, “...incredibly helpful.”
“Jack! He manhandled, then cuffed me,” Phryne complained.
Jack walked forward to rest his hand on her shoulder, never taking his eyes off Vimes. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”
Vimes looked down at the handcuffs. If it was, it was one hell of a misunderstanding but he was being offered an out and being a pain in the arse was not, unfortunately, a capital offense. “Yes, that’s true. Miss Fisher was being so incredibly helpful I may have gotten slightly…” he looked directly into the eyes of the man who was now standing extremely close to him in a completely non-threatening manner, “...confused. I think I should go find a police box.” He indicated, with a jerk of his head, the man whimpering on the ground. “I need to make arrangements to have the last thing Miss Fisher helped with taken to the hospital.”
“Yes,” Jack nodded thoughtfully, removing his hand from Phryne’s shoulder, “that might be a good idea. He may be going into shock.” He crouched beside the semi-conscious man, removing the newly purchased - and expensive - cravat that had proven to be his downfall, to make a tourniquet for his leg.
Vimes stepped back from Phryne, skirted carefully around her and headed towards the main road. Checking over his shoulder, he saw she was distracted by the medical procedure underway and ducked into the shadows at the end of the alley to observe.
Having destroyed the cravat to his satisfaction, Jack was on his feet again and considering Phryne’s predicament with amusement.
She did not seem to appreciate his sense of humour. “Jack! Undo these bloody things, will you?”
“I just got off the ship, jumped in the cab you sent and was building up the courage to walk into the expensive hotel next door - when I heard raised voices coming from down here. I wasn't expecting to find you at the end of the alley, especially not cuffed and so, strangely enough, I don't have a key.”
Vimes smiled, leaning back against the wall with arms folded to enjoy watching her stew helplessly for a while.
“It’s in my pocket.”
What? Vimes checked. Damn - when had she done that?
“Why do you? No- don’t worry, I don’t want to know.”
She smirked. “My extensive knowledge of police inspectors told me we were about to reach that point in our relationship when he was going to resort to arresting me, so I took the opportunity to relieve him of the key.”
Jack began to search her clothing.
“That,” she said, as she leaned into him, “is not my pocket, Jack.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, without removing his hand, “I am not overly familiar with the positioning of pockets in women’s clothing.” Their eyes locked for one of those seconds that never end, before he continued his search. “Hang on - I’ve got it now.” He held up the key with a flourish and stepped behind her to inspect the cuffs. Key in one hand, the other on the middle of the cuffs, he was clearly in no rush. “By the way, since you didn’t ask, I’m very well thank you, and my trip was rather pleasant. In fact, it was remarkably peaceful...”
“Jack! Get these bloody things off me!”
Vimes watched her stomp her feet in frustration. With a smile of relish, he straightened and prepared to face her vengeance. As expected, once she was free Phryne was a blur of movement...
...as she spun around to entwine her arms, cuffs still dangling from one wrist, around the neck of her rescuer. And began to kiss him. In a very thorough manner.
Ah, Vimes slumped against the wall, disappointed, that was the end of that then. He should have known better than to think the universe would do him any favours. No doubt they would now be rushing off somewhere romantic like Paris, Venice or… his knowledge of the great cities of love failed him… Burnham-on-Sea.
Eventually, Robinson pulled back from the enthusiastic welcome and attempted to look up the alleyway. Vimes slunk further into the shadows. “What about the Inspector? Didn’t he take your gun?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m far from finished with him,” she said, in a tone that brought to mind sharpened steel making a point in overly sensitive places, “but I’ve other priorities at the moment.” Placing her hands either side of his head, “I don’t feel I have your full attention, Jack,” she said, as she pulled him in for another kiss.
Vimes smiled broadly, excellent. It would appear the game was still on. He slipped around the corner, heading towards the police box. Locating a cigar in his pocket, he lit up and soon a series of perfect smoke rings marked his progress. A murder solved in record time using almost no police resource? The Commissioner was going to be very happy with this turn of events. He mentally reviewed the pile of unsolved murders hidden in a box, in a dark corner, in a store room at the station. How to entice her to solve another of his cases? Gods, she might even be quicker now that super cop was involved. Also, he grinned, hadn’t she said something about Robinson liking paperwork?