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vhenadahls · 2 years

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like your mother and your father too (all grown up but they’re just like you)

Jane’s at school in France, and Phryne and Jack take some time out to visit her. They all discuss what’s happened since they last saw each other.

G, 2900 words.

AO3 link in first reblog!

“Mademoiselle Jane? Tes parents sont là.”

Your parents are here. Jane looks up once the meaning occurs to her, face pinched in confusion. Parents?

“Qui est-ce?” Who is it, she asks, uncurling herself from the chair she’s been sitting in for nearly two hours straight, her body protesting the whole way. Madame Léontine gives her a curious look, so she amends the question. “What do they look like? It’s important.” If it’s…

Still curious, Mme. Léontine gestures for Jane to follow her. “Your mother is beautiful - lovely black hair, such pretty blue eyes. Cut so short, though, like a flapper. Lovely clothing. Your father is so stoic. Very properly dressed. But they seem so very much in love, still. You don’t see that often.”

Jane huffs in surprise, mouth dropping open. “Miss Phryne! Inspector Robinson!” she bursts out, speeding up so she’s nearly running down the hall. Mme. Léontine hurries to catch up with her, squawking about running inside, but Jane ignores her and rounds the corner at full speed. They're standing closer together than most people do, as always, heads bent together in conversation.

“Miss Phryne!” she calls out, and the woman in question spins around, arms wide open and with the biggest smile Jane’s ever seen on her face.

“Jane!” she cries, and Jane tumbles into her arms.

It's the first time she's seen either of them since that awful, awful telegram from Dot - Miss Fisher dead in Palestine - and the following debacle of finding out otherwise. She’d missed the botched memorial, showing up three days after Miss Phryne and Inspector Robinson had left for Palestine, to Aunt Prudence’s shock. Probably not the way anyone had expected her to find out that the reports had been wrong. Trouble followed them, as it always has.

Miss Phryne kisses her forehead, and Jane giggles at the lipstick print she knows is there. Being in her arms is like someone turned back the clock, but done it wrong somehow - they're nearly the same height now, and they're in the foyer of Jane's school, and the world has turned on its side a bit.

She holds onto Miss Phryne for dear life, and she can feel her hugging her back just as tightly.

"Hello, Jane," says the Inspector's voice over her shoulder. Trying to turn to greet him without letting go makes her trip over her own feet, and she bursts into uncontrollable giggles when she realizes there's tears streaming down her face. Miss Phryne just holds her tighter, and Inspector Robinson's smile reminds her of home.

"Can we take her out for the day?" Miss Phryne asks over her head, also in French, and Jane's heart leaps. She has an exam in Latin to study for and an essay to finish for history, but anything pales at the chance of getting to spend the day with Miss Fisher.

“Her legal guardian may sign her out,” Mme. Léontine responds, nodding to Inspector Robinson. Jane rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to explain exactly how things work.

She doesn’t need to. “That would be Miss Fisher,” the Inspector says in English, nodding to Miss Phryne, with a look on his face that Jane’s seen many times before. His French isn’t the best, she remembers, but apparently he understood enough of that to demure.

Miss Phryne nods too, the movement sharp, unwrapping her arms from around Jane and adjusting her blouse. “Show me where I need to sign.” Clipped, abrupt French now. She follows Mme. Léontine around the corner to the teachers’ office.

Jane’s left in the foyer with Inspector Robinson. It’s been a long time since she’s seen him, and his presence almost makes her feel fourteen again. “It’s good to see you, Inspector.”

His familiar, nostalgic smile appears again. “You can call me Jack at this point, Jane. Everyone else does. Including your Miss Fisher.” He reaches out an arm - asking for a hug, if she wants it. When she accepts, it’s not nearly the same kind of reminiscent as hugging Miss Phryne. His cologne’s far less familiar than her French perfume, for one, and his coat is a far cry from silk and satin. But it’s lovely.

She steps back and grins up at him, putting on all her sixteen-year-old charm. His expression immediately turns suspicious, and she nearly bursts out laughing. She’s seen that look before. He does spend a lot of time with Miss Phryne, after all.

“Are you and Miss Phryne together?” she asks, point-blank. Best to catch them off guard. More likely to get the truth that way.

He actually blushes, and Jane’s grin widens. He can’t deny it now, like they’ve been doing for years.

“Finally,” she says, putting as much emphasis on the word as she can.

Clearing his throat but not meeting her eyes, he nods, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “You could say that.” He looks back up. “And you’re a lot like her, you know.”

It’s the best compliment someone could give. Her own cheeks heat to match his, and she ducks her head away from his penetrating gaze.

Miss Fisher appears from the office at that moment, clapping her hands together once. “Now! That’s done, and you’re all ours for the day, Jane.” She sweeps forward, linking arms with both Jane and Inspector Robinson - Jack - and pulling them towards the door.

“Where are we going?” Jane asks, trying to avoid whacking her outside arm against the doorframe as Miss Phryne pulls them both into the sunshine.

“Wherever we like!” Miss Phryne stops in front of an unfamiliar car - black, boxy, and a far cry from the Hispano-Suiza at home. She must notice Jane’s surprised look, because she wrinkles her own nose. “I know, I know. But it’s rented, and they didn’t have the widest selection of motorcars to choose from.” She climbs into the driver’s seat, on the left, which still feels wrong to Jane after years on the Continent. Jack looks resigned, and Jane laughs internally about the never-ending complaints about Miss Phryne’s driving.

She hasn’t changed a bit. It heals Jane’s heart, to realize, and to remember.

They wind up at a fancy restaurant Jane’s been to before, but only for etiquette practice. It’s a far cry from sitting in the dining room with some of her favorite people, speaking familiar Australian English and not worrying about her accent, laughing and teasing and never running out of things to say.

After their soup’s been cleared away, Miss Phryne fixes her with another familiar look. One that says she’s heard some story from Aunt Prudence and wants to know Jane’s side and she’s holding out judgment. A smirk, a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I hear you showed up at the Lofthouse estate a few days after we’d left, much to Aunt P’s consternation. Something about stowing away across the French countryside? Posing as a maid and a shopgirl? Oh, the horror for Aunt P.”

Jack’s clearly trying not to smile. Jane’s cheeks warm again, and she fixes her gaze on the salt shaker instead of looking either of them in the face.

“What’s your side of the story?”

The salt shaker is very interesting. “Well, I got the telegram from Dot. The one that said you were dead,” she starts, and even out of the corners of her eyes she can see them both flinch. “And then I heard there was a memorial in London, they said so in the English newspaper we get at school. I wanted to go! I needed to go. But Aunt Prudence sent another telegram, saying that she had contacted the school and they couldn’t figure out who my legal guardian was with you gone. And I can’t leave without a legal guardian’s permission.”

Neither of them are smiling now. “I’m sorry, Jane,” Miss Phryne says.

She never says that. Jane balls her hands in her skirt. “But I couldn’t miss it. I just couldn’t. You’ve done so much for me.” Tears start to gather in her eyes at the memory of those days, the emptiness and loss and drifting, and she squeezes her eyes shut to keep them from falling. “So I left. I walked to town, and I found someone who was driving north. And once I pretended I was a lady’s maid but had gotten lost and needed to get back to my employer. And then when we got to Calais, I stowed away on the ferry. And then the same thing in England, I just…told people I needed to get to London for various reasons, and they took me.” The words all come out in a rush. “Once I pretended I was delivering things for someone, that must be where Aunt Prudence got the shopgirl bit from.”

“But the trip took longer than you expected,” Jack says. She looks up, and his face is impassive, unreadable.

She nods. “I waited too long to hear from Aunt Prudence before I left. I would’ve made it if I hadn’t! It’s not that long of a trip, but I couldn’t ask anyone to take me directly. I had to just follow where they were going and then hope someone else was going the right way.” Dropping her head again, she studies the pattern of the lace on the edge of the tablecloth.

Miss Phryne taps her fingers against the same elegant tablecloth, rippling the lace. “That’s quite a story, Jane.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Jack murmurs, so low that Jane thinks she probably wasn’t supposed to hear it. She snaps her head up again, trying to catch it on his face, but it’s still just as impassive as before. A police officer’s face if she’s ever seen one.

“As it damn well should be.” Miss Phryne taps a finger against the back of Jack’s hand, and the immediacy of his shocked expression lets Jane know that they definitely were not supposed to hear that comment. She stifles a giggle.

“Well,” Miss Phryne continues, switching topics seamlessly, “Aunt Prudence certainly expects me to discipline you for all of this. Playing truant from school, running away, lying, traveling without a chaperone! I’m sure she could come up with even more.” She pauses, an unreadable look on her face, too.

“But?” Jane prompts.

“But I can't.” Both of Miss Phryne’s hands splay out flat on the table, long and poised - but stiff, and Jane knows from experience that she’s trying to keep them from trembling. “I can’t imagine how that must have been for you. I know what it’s like to worry about you, but I never thought about you worrying about me. I should have written. I should have…well. I should have done a lot of things, for you.”

Her face is stricken, and tears trail down her cheeks as Jane watches. “I’m sorry, Jane,” she says again, and Jane’s own tears spill over.

Heedless of the setting they’re in, she jumps out of her chair so quickly she nearly knocks it over and wraps her arms around Miss Phryne’s narrow shoulders. “You’re alive. You came back. That’s all I need.”

There’s some grumbling from the tables around them, a quip about disturbing the peace, but she ignores it all. She rests her head on Miss Phryne’s, and they stay that way for long enough that Jane loses track of time. Eventually Miss Phryne raises her chin, dislodging Jane’s head, and kisses her cheek.

“Thank you,” she says, and her voice is hoarse and quiet. Jane doesn’t trust her own voice, so she simply nods and returns to her seat. Jack reaches out and squeezes her hand when she sits down, his other hand outstretched to Miss Phryne on the other side of the table. He doesn’t say anything either. They don’t need him to.

Soon after, Miss Phryne flags down a server to pay and hurries them both out. Jane shares a rueful smile with Jack as they follow her. She’s never been able to sit still, especially not after an emotional display. They pile back into the car and Miss Phryne takes off. She fits right in with Parisian drivers, with very little regard for either other drivers or safety regulations.

They come to a stop along the Seine, near the Pont de la Tournelle. It’s not the nicest day for walking - a little too warm, a little too muggy - but Jane couldn’t care less as she climbs out of the car. Jack steps out of the front seat and makes a big show of holding onto a bench, pretending to catch his breath after the hectic motorcar ride. “You’re very lucky, Miss Fisher, that my authority as a police officer doesn’t extend to France. There are speed limits here too, you know.”

Laughing, Miss Phryne opens her parasol and links her other arm through Jack’s, pulling him away from the bench. “What rot. We were perfectly safe the whole time and you know it.”

Jane’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard as she watches them walk towards the path by the river. Along with her own joy at seeing them, it’s lovely to see them so happy with each other. It’s been a long time coming. But when Miss Phryne turns, gesturing with her parasol and another trademark smirk for Jane to catch up - Jane’s heart squeezes. She’s still wanted. They came to visit her.

The walk is nice, and the ice cream they get to cool off after is nicer. But when the sun sets and the motorcar turns back towards Jane’s school, the tears from earlier start to prick at her eyes again. Miss Phryne keeps up a steady stream of stories, with interjections from Jack, about everything under the sun. Adventures in India, their time in Palestine, even just anecdotes about riding a camel. Jane tries to keep up, but her mind keeps wandering, following her eyes out the window as she tries to keep the tears from falling. The Parisian sky is never as comforting as the Melburnian one.

They pull into the drive, and Jane steels herself for a painful goodbye. She’s said goodbye to them both before. But Miss Phryne turns in her seat with another wide smile on her face, and Jane can’t prevent the tears any longer.

“Jane? What’s wrong?” The smile gone, Miss Phryne reaches out, awkward as she tries to maneuver between the seats. She grabs for Jane’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“I just don’t want to say goodbye.” Jane tries not to blubber like a child half her age. “It’s been so long, and home is so far away, and…that news…” She takes a deep breath. “Part of me is afraid I won’t see you again.”

“Oh, Jane, no!” In one fluid motion Miss Phryne is out of the driver’s seat and pulling open Jane’s door. She wraps her arms around her, hugging so mightily that Jane won’t be able to breathe for much longer if she keeps it up.

“We’re here for the week, at least,” she says against Jane’s head, tugging on one of her plaits. “Did I not say?”

The laugh that bursts out of Jane is watery, but her tears are already drying on her cheeks. “No! No, you definitely only asked if you could take me out for the day!”

“You have school, so I thought we’d come back another day. But I apparently forgot to actually say that.” Miss Phryne looks mildly chagrined for just a moment, which immediately turns into less-mild indignation. She ducks further into the car, leaning across Jane. “Jack! Why didn’t you remind me to tell her?”

“I assumed you had!” He turns further in his seat, resting one hand on Jane’s knee. “I should have said, though.”

A week. They’ll be here after her Latin exam, after she hands in her history essay, over the weekend. “Oh! There’s the Théâtre de Verdure du Jardin Shakespeare, with gardens themed after his plays. They might be staging something, too. We should go!” She squeezes Jack’s hand, still on her knee. “You like Shakespeare too, right? I remember you mentioning.”

“I do.” He pulls his hand back. “We should definitely go. But for this evening, you should definitely go back inside before we get in trouble for keeping you out too late.” She rolls her eyes, Miss Phryne scoffs, and Jack looks between them and laughs. “I deserved that. Wrong crowd.”

“I should go in, though. You're not wrong.” Jane nudges Miss Phryne, who steps back to let her out of the car, and Jack climbs out on the other side. As he rounds the front of the car, Jane wraps an arm around both adults’ waists, pulling them in towards her and ignoring their squeaks of surprise. After a moment to get over the shock, she feels both their arms wrap around her in return.

They stand that way for a while.

“Thank you,” Jane mumbles, her face pressed between their shoulders. “For coming.”

“Couldn’t miss it,” Miss Phryne says, and Jane knows her well enough to hear the apology and the promise in those words.

Five minutes later, she stands at the front window, watching the car drive away. Even knowing they’ll be here for the week, watching them leave is difficult - it was hard enough to learn that Miss Phryne would always come back the first time around, and the six weeks of believing she was gone forever have not helped that matter.

But the taste of home, and the people who made it such, is the nicest thing she’s had all year.

#miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #jane ross #phryne x jack #phrack #otp: let's misbehave #mfmm fic #logan writes fic #AO3 link will be in a reblog because tumblr doesn't like links!

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