Chapter Text
He had lost her. He always knew it would happen no matter how foolishly he had tricked his heart and mind into believing otherwise– she was too reckless, too confident– and now he’d lost her. Worse still, it was entirely his fault.
Jack sat in the waiting room of the hospital, staring at the closed doors at the end of the hall, not truly seeing anything; everything he needed to see was behind the swinging doors—everything he dreaded seeing was also behind them. The light overhead suddenly flickered in a strange mirroring of his heart, threatening to go out at any moment. If he had thought his heart had been damaged at the news of the Gertie Hayes car wreck, he now realized it was little more than a preview of how shattering the pain could feel, how his own culpability could razor through all the other anguish and lacerate what little shards were still beating.
Phryne..Oh God, Phryne.
It felt incomprehensible; his brain whorled, trying to understand it, trying to make even the slightest sense of those horrific moments. The scene looped through his mind, and his hands began to clench and unclench, reaching for the phantom feel of her hand in his, of that final grasp before it was gone– the flutter of her delicate fingers seared into his flesh and memory. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to dash the scene from his mind before it drove him mad or if he needed to cling to it as his lifeline, as the last tangible moment he had with her before he’d lost everything.
Nurses had come and gone around him, at first distressed at the sight of the blood smeared over the front of his shirt, sticking it to his body like a perverse second skin. Once they realized it was not him who was hurt but that it was a by-product of some horrific act, they tried to usher him into a room to clean up, but he refused. First, in a quiet whisper, the words were almost unable to move beyond the knot clogging his throat. But as they became more insistent, something snapped within him, and before he could stop himself, an angry yell erupted, causing the nurses to retreat. The unsettling quiet of the room shattered with his outburst as those waiting for loved ones locked in on the scene before them, their shocked eyes taking in hands that were caked in dry, rust-colored blood. Jack’s sticky shirt front and a blood-soaked jacked dangling from his hands created an alarming image—it was the strange mingling of raw grief and searing anger blazing from his eyes, though, that spoke more of his stability than any physical indicator. He was detachedly alarmed in his mental state as the frantic despair radiated out of him and soaked the room, but he couldn’t care. What did it matter now?
The sound of a mother scolding her son for starring jarred Jack, and another realization crashed upon him– her family.
Christ. How do I tell them all? Jack ran trembling hands through his hair, pulling at the ends. God, I have to tell them.
Jane..How the hell do I look sweet Jane in the eye and tell her that I did this, that it is because of me? The realization pierced his thoughts, God. She has to go through this yet again, and it is my own damned fault.
A surging wave of nausea roiled up in Jack’s stomach, and he launched from the chair to find the nearest waste bin, emptying his stomach of the ice cream he and Phryne had eaten not even two hours before. How had it already (and only) been two hours without her, Jack thought as he drew a shaking hand across his mouth.
Jane will never forgive me. None of them will. His stomach churned again at yet another horrific realization. Oh god…Dot.
Dear Dorothy, so heavily with child and so near to her time. Her pregnancy had been rough, and all the joys she’d anticipated as the precursor to motherhood had not only failed to come true but had sent the young woman into a depression of anxiety. Phryne, loyal and unflappable in the face of a loved one’s needs, had been a safe port in the storm for Dot. What would she do now?
Phryne, I’m sorry.
A tremor began to build in his core, and Jack had to collapse back into the chair as a long-suppressed sensation began to overtake his body. Not since he’d crouched in the muddy, bogged trenches of France had a blinding, adrenaline-fueled panic of this magnitude overtaken him. The panic attacks after coming home from the war had numbed him, but the sheer terror that ripped through him during those years of hell was inhuman. Jack’s frame stiffened as the frenzy of remembered panic began to seize hold once again, and even though his body shook, his mind locked itself into a vice of paralyzing darkness. Cold sweats broke over his skin, and a razing buzz of static flooded his ears. Black seeped into his sight, dilating his field of vision smaller and smaller until the darkness engulfed him. His heart, he noted with sardonic detachment, was rapping a frenetic staccato against his ribs. How could it beat such a rapid pace when it was no longer whole, when it was now lying cold and unmoving beyond the hospital doors?
Again, the scene flashed into the void of black—he couldn’t see her face, but there was the hitch of her breath and the pressure of her grip in that last moment.
Jack stared into the distance, trying to banish the memory back into darkness and force his mind to latch onto anything else but the pain radiating in his chest. He rubbed absently at his sternum as though it could alleviate the sensation, and with a long blink and his jaw tightening, Jack forced his mind to focus on a clock hanging on the wall across from him. As time moved by, he noted the room emptying of people who’d received news of loved ones or for whom the hour drew too late to stay. Though he’d held the clock in his gaze like a last tether to reality, Jack hadn’t truly noted the passage of time– any progression through the night feeling grotesque and unreal. The fact that hours had passed seemed impossible.
Again, Phryne’s family surfaced in his mind, and he realized that it was very likely that they still didn’t know. After all, no one else had charged the waiting room to demand answers. The right thing to do would be to call them, he recognized, but was it the fair thing? Would it be kinder to let them sleep on for a few more hours, unaware of the new reality that now stretched before them all? Or was it that selfishly, he could not bring himself to face them yet (perhaps not ever)?
Feeling cowardice settle into his stomach, he realized it was the latter, but he still could not bring himself to do it. Disgusted disappointment settled over him like a pit as he thought back to how Phryne would tell him that he always did the right thing, the noble thing.
Not always, Miss Fisher.
Eventually, Jack found that he could sit no more and rose from the chair once again, with anxious energy coursing through his body. Why, he wondered, had no one come out and spoken with him yet? Why was he still sitting here with no answers? He supposed he was not entitled to any; after all, who was he really to her? To the outside world, they were little more than professional colleagues– maybe someone watching them could feel the tension between them and pick up on the banter that was a staple in their verbal sparing– but he had no right to her. Hell, he couldn’t even figure out what they were to each other. However, he’d felt so close to finding out, especially this evening as they had walked along, Phryne’s hand slipping so naturally into his own. God, we were so close to finally doing this, Phryne. Of course, no one would bother to come out; what was there to say?
He could always use his badge, he reasoned. No, it would certainly not be his case– he was too involved– but until someone else arrived to start the official police investigation, he could have tried. But, it would not get him what he truly wanted when all he was entitled to was the detached professional information that doctors supplied with such cases. What he wanted was her; what he needed was her, and arriving as Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was not ever going to give that to him. He wondered who was her next of kin. Thinking of that now, he found it odd that no one else had arrived. It seemed likely that it had to be Prudence Stanley, and surely she would have been notified by a pair of constables, as was the protocol. He laughed acerbically at the thought of the hospital staff looking for the authorities to send out on the job when he was right here, desperate to have them come and at least confirm the news.
Jack’s cadence faltered as he tracked back and forth over the lino of the room. The stillness that was usually a hallmark of the inspector’s features gave way to a tight tick in his jaw and hands. Once again, they began to clench and unclench as they dangled from his arms, seeking the sensation of her touch. The room felt oppressive around him, and his clothes cloying against his skin; it was all too tight, too closed in.
I need to get out of here. He turned and took several steps toward the entry before stopping mid-stride. I can’t leave her here, not yet.
A nurse across the room noticed his pause and took a chance at approaching Jack. Again, she entreated him to follow her down a different corridor to a room where he could clean up. But he could not move in the opposite direction from the doors that divided him from Phryne; to do so felt too final. He knew he looked ghastly, like a sick pantomime of death, but the idea of stepping away from the space was too much. What if that was when someone finally came to explain, and he was not there? He would not be moved from this spot until he knew the definitive answer.
Recognizing that he still would not be persuaded, the nurse retreated for a few minutes and then returned to press a steaming cup of tea into his hands. The heat of it startled him as his traitorous brain immediately compared it to the cold of the last thing he’d touched– her hands. Jack raised the cup to his lips and took a shaky sip, shocked by how sweet the brown liquid was. With large, kind eyes, the nurse looked on approvingly as he drew another unsteady sip, and she admonished him to drink the entire thing before turning to once again return to her work. Pausing, she turned and looked dolefully at him; she told him it wouldn’t be long now before they took Phryne away from here and that she would come back to check in on him later.
Phryne his heart keened. The tea suddenly tasted very acidic.
Finally, around 3:30 in the morning, a set of doors crashed open into the plaster of the walls, shattering the tomb–like silence of Jack’s vigil. The blur of a figure paused, eyes scanning the room wildly before locking in on Jack’s rigid form. It took him a moment to process that before him stood Elizabeth McMillan, appearing so unlike her usual self. Dressed in nothing but a house jacket over a pair of night clothes, a plait of long flame-colored hair tumbled over her shoulder, and he realized he’d never seen her in anything other than tweeds and a swaithed hairstyle. It would have made her look ten years younger had it not been for the look of abject fright on her blanched face. She had been away at the coast with a “friend,” Jack recalled. She must have driven straight through. Of course, as Phryne’s doctor, someone had called her.
“Jack, what the hell happened? Where is she?” She charged at him, slowing only before she actually ran into him.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, only to choke on the knot that was once more clawing its way up his throat.
“What happened!” Mac grabbed him by the shoulders and was about to demand answers of him again when she finally took in his condition. Her face morphed through an array of emotions, passing from fear to incredulity before finally landing on utter devastation. Her lips drew into a tight line as she shook her head, almost imperceptibly from side to side. In what was the most uncharacteristic behavior he’d ever witnessed from the woman, Mac slowly pulled Jack in, engulfing him in a hug. She simply stood there, not moving her arms, utterly still around his back, statue-like. It was then that Jack began to feel himself truly crack, and he raised trembling arms up to wrap around his unlikely companion. They stood like that for a moment– although neither was sure how long it indeed lasted– before Mac seemed to come back to herself and pulled away, clearing her throat as she did so.
“Jack, they called me all the way in Cape Otway. They said she’s…” she faltered at the unspoken words, “God, Jack. What happened?”
Jack could only stare at her through tear-laden eyes as his frame began to tremble again. He tried, really tried, to get anything to come out. He opened his mouth only to close it in vain, for fear of nothing but a painful howl coming out. He could feel himself slipping back into the panicked shock lapping at the edge of his mind. Mac must have felt it in the stiffening of his limbs because she gave him a critical look before once more scanning the room. The nurse at the station shook her head solemnly when Mac caught her attention.
“He’s not said a word, the poor dear,” she whispered.
Mac sucked in a steadying breath, tutted her head, and bracingly ran her hands up and down Jack’s arms before fully releasing him. (If she had to turn her back to him so she could dash a rebellious single tear from his cheek, she’d never admit.) His eyes followed her steps as she moved toward the swinging hospital doors. She was about to push her way through when a gut-wrenching sob of anguish punctured the air.
“Mac.”
They locked eyes for a shared moment of grief that only two people who loved Phryne so dearly could understand, and then Mac moved beyond the doors. Alone, Jack was sure he’d never felt despair until now.