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It was the sort of day that started out unpleasant and steadily plodded on towards perfectly dreadful with each passing hour.
Phryne awoke that morning with a heat in the back of her throat that felt very much like a cold coming on, which was bad enough on its own but made even worse by the fact that Mr. Butler was away on holiday and thus unable to fix her tea. Then, she tore her stockings as she was dressing and broke the heel of one of her favorite pairs of shoes.
After that she got a call from an old friend, something about stolen jewels and shady characters down at the wharf in Port King, and she managed to get Jack roped into it against his will, so he was cross, too. They caught the thieves fast as jackrabbits, but not before a scuffle that ended with Phryne being pushed off a dock into the frigid sea. Jack and Collins fished her out in no time at all, but that did nothing for the state of her dress or her poor hair. Jack gave Phryne the scratchy camp blanket he kept in his car for emergencies, but as they were wrapping things up it began to rain, and Phryne began to lose hope that she’d ever be dry again.
Now on top of all that, they had a bloody flat tire out in the middle of absolutely nowhere; no hotels to be seen. Jack rested his forehead on the steering wheel and groaned. From her spot in the passenger seat, Phryne shivered.
“Well,” Jack said, reluctantly sitting back up, “I suppose we’ll simply have to start walking and hope we find a place to stay. There must be something within a few kilometers.”
“What shall we do about your car?” Phryne asked, her teeth chattering almost comically.
Jack ran a hand down his face and sighed. “I’ll call Collins once we’re near a phone and let him know where we left it,” he said. “He can pick it up in the morning. I can’t imagine anyone will be out on a night like this.” Outside the car, the rain continued to fall, lashing and heavy.
“Come on, then,” Jack said, opening his door. “Off we go.”
Phryne felt very much like a drowned cat as they trudged across the swampy ground. “This is misery,” Phryne said with great feeling, nearly up to her ankles in a puddle. “All of my extremities have gone totally numb, and worse yet, the hem of my dress is stained with mud.”
Wordlessly, Jack began to remove his coat. Too chilled and weary to pay any attention, Phryne startled slightly when she felt Jack drape it over her shoulders. She looked up at him questioningly.
“I still have my suit jacket,” he said, by way of explanation, “and you’re shaking.”
“Merely a reaction to your dashing visage, Inspector,” Phryne said with a tired wink, but then a hazy, unfocused expression passed over her face.
“Alright, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, brow furrowed.
Phryne managed to somehow shake her head and nod simultaneously. Her forehead scrunched up, her nose twitched, and she snapped forward with a tremulous pair of sneezes.
“Bless,” Jack said, offering her his crisp white handkerchief, but Phryne waved him off.
“I’m fine,” she said, “but thank you.”
Jack squinted, inspecting her. “Oh, don’t you look at me like that,” Phryne said.
“Your nose is… a bit, ah, drippy, Miss Fisher,” Jack said with as much tact as he could muster.
Phryne huffed a sigh and accepted the handkerchief, then blew her nose softly. “This is utterly humiliating,” Phryne said. She wiped at her face, then rearranged her features. “Look at me, sniffling like a little girl. I’m sure I’m terribly ravishing like this, aren’t I?” The customary flirtatiousness in her tone was back, but her eyes were still dull with weariness.
“I’m not sure you could ever be anything less than ravishing, Miss Fisher,” Jack said seriously, “not even if you tried.”
She chuckled and blushed, or maybe it was just a fever; either way, it was far too charming for their present circumstances.
They finally found a rundown inn after nearly five kilometers of walking, though it only had one room available with—inevitably, it seemed—only one bed. “We’ll take it,” Phryne said before Jack could make his usual noises about propriety. “I’m assuming you have no objections to gallantly rescuing me from the imminent threat of hypothermia, Jack?”
Jack cleared his throat. “None to speak of,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he accepted the key from the innkeeper.
Phryne made a beeline for the bed as soon as they arrived at their room. She lay down on top of the covers fully clothed, still wet and shivery. “I could fall asleep right now,” she moaned, face half-squished into the pillows. “I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.”
“We’ll need to divest you of those wet clothes first,” Jack said, removing his shoes.
Phryne sat up, smirking. “Jack Robinson, you rascal,” she said, leaning back on her elbows. “You certainly know how to charm a lady.” Before he could come up with an appropriately deflecting reply, she turned into her shoulder and coughed thrice, wincing.
Jack frowned. “I’m not overly fond of the sound of that cough,” he said, walking over to the bed and sitting down on its edge.
“How funny,” Phryne said, voice scratchy and bare. “I’m not overly fond of how it feels.”
Jack pressed his divinely cool hands to her cheeks and then her forehead. “You are feverish,” he murmured. “I think you picked up a cold after your little dip in the ocean.”
“I’ve felt it coming on since I woke up this morning,” Phryne admitted. “I think that was merely the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”
“And I suspect our rainy trek across the windy moors didn’t do you any favors, either,” Jack said, and Phryne laughed weakly.
“No it didn’t, but it was awfully romantic, wasn’t it?” she teased. “Like Heathcliff and Cathy.”
“Though with a happier ending, I would hope,” Jack said, then extended a hand to help Phryne up. “I want you out of those things before you get influenza or worse,” he instructed, “then run a bath as hot as you can stand it.”
“Yes sir!” She quipped, half-mocking as she took his hand. “I assume I won’t be able to tempt you into joining me?” Phryne asked, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.
Jack rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and made a valiant—if unsuccessful—effort to keep himself from blushing. “I think,” he said diplomatically, “it would be in our… mutual best interests if I were to remain out here.”
Phryne sighed, theatrically put upon. “A shame,” she said. “I’m told I’m at my most fetching when I’m in the bath.”
The tub was old, but clean and roomy, and Phryne blissfully submerged herself within the steaming water. She still longed for her home’s usual comforts—a stiff drink or two and perhaps a kiss or four—but this would do for now. Her head was heavy and thick and the space behind her eyes burned with tiredness. It had been an exceedingly trying day. Though, she mused, perhaps it wasn’t all bad, if it was ending with a worried Jack looking after her. She did so love that little crease that he always got between his eyes when he fretted, a fairly common sight when she was around.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Alright?” Jack called.
“Magnificent, thank you,” Phryne answered.
“You’ve been in there a while,” he said. “Make sure you’re out before the water gets cold.”
“Thank you, Doctor Robinson,” Phryne said dryly. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
He was right, though; as soon as it began to chill she did as well, and she pulled the plug from the drain and wrapped herself in one of the provided threadbare towels. Then, she opened the bathroom door and peeked out into the bedroom. “I believe,” she said, “we’ve run into a bit of a snag.”
“Oh?”
“I haven’t got any pyjamas,” Phryne said. “Just my wet clothes, and I’m not partial to the notion of putting those back on.”
Jack opened the door a tiny bit wider, willing himself not to look at the milky expanse of leg revealed by the very short towel. “Here,” he said, unbuttoning his collared dress shirt, “wear this. I’ve got my undershirt on beneath it.”
Phryne took the proffered shirt and closed the door. It was still warm from his body heat. She held it to her nose and breathed in, smelling his soap and pomade and aftershave even through her hopelessly stuffy nose; it soothed her just as thoroughly as the bath had, if not even moreso. When she slipped it on, it was only a matter of inches longer than the towel had been, but much cozier.
Jack was already in bed when Phryne reemerged from the bathroom. She paused in the doorway, considering something. Jack cocked his head, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me that you’ve suddenly decided to be demure and proper now,” he said, a note of wry humor in his voice.
“I would just hate for you to catch my cold,” Phryne said, “which you almost definitely will if you spend the night cuddled so close. I can go to the desk and ask if they have any extra blankets and pillows so I can make up a camp bed on the floor.”
“In your condition?” Jack said, appalled. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, Jack, it’s nothing worse than a head cold,” Phryne said, though the explosive sneeze she aimed into her elbow immediately after speaking weakened her argument considerably.
“You, Miss Phryne Fisher,” Jack said firmly, “are sleeping in this bed whether you like it or not. If it worries you that excessively, I’m more than happy to find a spot on the floor—”
“No,” Phryne said quickly, “no, please don’t. The room is so draughty, and I’ll… I’ll sleep better if you’re warming the bed with me.
“That settles it, then,” Jack said, moving over to give Phryne plenty of space.
She climbed onto the mattress and slid under the sheets, sighing indulgently. “Is this bed oddly and inordinately comfortable,” she said, “or am I just delirious?”
“Merely tired, I think,” Jack said, looking at her with transparent tenderness on his face.
Phryne smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, probably so,” she said, sniffling. “Poor me.”
Phryne pulled the covers more tightly around her body and curled almost imperceptibly closer to Jack, seeking his body heat. Jack couldn’t scoot any further over without rolling onto the floor, but he turned out the lamp and after a few minutes she snuggled even closer.
She sighed out a shaky breath, and overcome by fondness, Jack moved his arm so it was curled beneath Phryne’s neck like a pillow. The smile she offered him in return was pleased and shy, her cheekbones softened and her lashes impossibly darkened in the moonlight and shadows from the window.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, brushing a still-damp lock of hair back from her forehead.
“Better,” Phryne said, “now that I’m warm and snuggled up in bed. And your positively sublime ministrations are working wonders, I might add.”
Jack chuckled and, in a rare moment of lost inhibitions, dropped a kiss onto Phryne’s forehead.
“Sleep well, Phryne Fisher,” he whispered.
“Good night, Jack,” Phryne murmured, the sound of his breathing the sweetest lullaby. “I’ll see you in the morning.”