A/N: Hello all! Thank you for dropping by this little experiment of mine, it is very much appreciated. I probably need to offer a disclaimer at the outset, since travel in 1928 was not quite the wonder it is today… So, while the practicalities of this premise make the suspension of disbelief required for this story quite remarkable in size, I do beg your indulgence with some of the details. As much as I'd love to write three months of Jack and Phryne aboard an ocean liner, I may have to save that for some sideline fic. ;) I hope you'll stick along for the ride anyway, and I certainly hope you'll enjoy it!

xXx

"Oh come on, Dot! What sort of Catholic are you? I thought you'd be delighted!" The level of teasing in the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher's voice was entirely owed to the level of excitement she felt. Her blood was charging through her veins as she dashed up the stairs and into her bedroom with an energy that ought to have been directed to an activity more rewarding than writing a note. "After the Holy Land, Rome has to come a very close second for your lot in a game of 'You'll Never Guess Who Touched This'."

"I am delighted, Miss, or I would be, I just - I can't go!" Dorothy Williams was apologetic, terrified even, as she refused her employer, following in her wake with a stocking half-darned and ignoring her light jab.

"Oh nonsense, whyever not?" the Lady Detective scoffed dismissively at the refusal as she bustled on.

"I just couldn't, not with -" There was a familiar sort of delayed and peripheral shock at the question regarding her Catholicity and Dot immediately began to worry about that as well, since her other great faith was unfailingly invested in Miss Fisher's accusatory abilities. If Miss Fisher asserted something, she was never wrong. "It's just not done," Dot offered with a sudden lack of surety that gave off the scent of wounded prey now vulnerable. Phryne did not miss it for a moment.

"Oh, who cares about what's done? If I spent my life worrying about what is and isn't done, I'm certain I would never do anything!"

"But what about -"

"Whatever it is will undoubtedly survive a little foray in the midst the tedium of the rest of it," the writing paper was retrieved with all the flourish and flair of a thousand Parisian artists.

"I can't, Miss Fisher. My priest would never -" the girl flailed.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake! It's just a lark, Dot! "

"It's at least a three-month journey either way!" Dot exclaimed incredulously, surprising even herself at the forthright answer. It quickly gave way to a wide-eyed look of absolute mortification as a pause filled the space that had been reserved for frantic activity a moment before and suspended the arguably one-sided conversation that had begun as a whirlwind through the front door. Phryne grinned, thoroughly inclined to be impressed with the improvement to her companion's tendency towards timidity and, as usual, pushed as far as she could along the boundary.

"And?" she pressed with the tantalising promise of adventure, a hand to her hip.

"And - and before I worked for you, Miss Fisher, I - I hadn't left Melbourne in my life," Dot pleaded by way of part explanation.

"Precisely why I insist you come along!" Phryne sat down at her bureau, allowing the height of a pristine brow to punctuate her words and express exactly what she thought of that sentiment before it descended to the task of efficiently pouring out urgent instructions in her elegant hand. The question hung in the air for a moment to the rhythmic sound of her pen strokes. She sensed that a further prompt was needed. "I would hardly drag you aboard kicking and screaming, however, if you're not up to it," her glance conceded in a tone entirely designed to play on the pluck she knew lay beneath Dot's erstwhile dependence on her local clergyman, "I mean, if you're absolutely set on staying here."

"I'm not," Dot rebutted quickly, wanting more than anything to avoid what might be disappointment in her employer's voice, "it's just -"

Phryne gave a theatrical sigh of frustration, before announcing "Well, you have exactly two hours to decide!" She then rose just as quickly as she had settled and handed the missive to Dot as though she were handing her an ultimatum, "I've a feeling we could spend all day embroiled in 'it's just's, so I'm off to see man about an ocean liner! Pass this on to Mr Butler, if you would, and when I get back I expect at least a valise ready for the voyage!"

And just like that, she was gone, whipping off and leaving Dot - still with stocking in hand - once again in the centre of the room that had been the source of so many of the poor girl's most challenging decisions. She could only be grateful that the visit had been a very short one, since Miss Fisher had not had time enough to lay waste to the morning's careful righting of her boudoir. Dot allowed herself a sigh then, to counteract the tension that had risen for too quickly in her chest and actually consider for a moment what Miss Phryne had proposed.

When the lady detective had gone off for her luncheon meeting with the handsome Italian Dot could only imagine came alongside a name like Rudolpho Agostini, her companion had thought nothing of it in the long line of such appointments that peppered her lady's calendar. Now that there had been such a drastic aftermath to it, Dot fairly imagined that she had experienced a deep sense of foreboding the moment his card - ever á la mode - had arrived in her hand in the care of a phenomenally-dressed valet.

Rome!

To think she had once dreamed of going there, with its mountains of religious relics and landmarks, and iced cream if she were totally honest. As she considered - and quickly reconsidered - now taking her rest on the edge of Miss Fisher's bed, she could think of nothing worse than the opportunity that had been presented to her. In her hurry, Phryne had not considered what a trip of six months at least could mean for a girl like Dot.

Not all were so free in their lives to simply abscond for a half year and disappear into some startling adventure, expecting the pieces to fall neatly back into place when the time called for it. There was her family to consider - though she knew that her steady income would be well taken-care-of by her conscientious employer - and the business of her church commitments, of course.

Above all, however, there was Hugh.

For all of Phryne's generosity, Dot was not inclined to think that Constable Collins would be along for the ride, and if she left him now, who knew what sweeping angel would descend on him in her absence? The thought of his being unfaithful never once crossed her mind, but the possibility of her demanding his dedication to her for such an extended and unpredictable absence seemed wholly unfair. It was not within her to require such dramatic displays of love, and she was not sure that Miss Fisher - in all her sophisticated ways - would understand, which brought her to the root cause of her earlier protestation.

If Miss Fisher could not understand, how could Dot possibly expect her to keep her on as lady's maid? She finally gave over her objections and collapsed into a seat on the fur throw at the foot of the bed, her brows knitting in the kind of consternation that had not been uncommon to the girl's face in her latest post, despite how keenly she felt it now.

Did she have it in her to choose between her Miss Fisher and her Constable?

xXx

"The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, how are you?" Premier Hogan effused as his guest stepped lithely into his office. It had been a hop skip and a jump from their first meeting at the Windsor Hotel to the friendship that now persisted. Phryne never let go of an influential contact and the Premier had found himself moved by the tenacity with which she had advocated against the release of Murdoch Foyle. Her exploits as a detective had also not gone unnoticed to him, the nasty business with Mayor Phillips having particularly rattled the halls of Parliament at the news of his arrest.

"You will never hear me complain again, Premier, with the Autumn finally here to break this awful heat," the detective smiled as she approached and shook his hand before taking the seat he offered her in a small section of the room decorated for entertaining dignitaries and those who needed to be intimidated by the circumstance of Government.

"Yes, I can't imagine such weather is ideal for fine silks, and it would certainly get in the way of a good day coat from time to time," he chuckled.

"I never let anything get in the way of a good day coat," she countered elegantly, turning his chuckle into a laugh in earnest.

"Of course not, how stupid of me!" he raised his hands and his bright smile in playful surrender at the mere thought of having suggested that she might, "Can I offer you a drink?"

"Isn't it a mite too early in the day?" Phryne queried with an innocence so excellently feigned it almost covered over the teasing truth beneath it. Both she and her host knew full well that the time of day was as much a hindrance to a good whiskey as the weather was to a good day coat.

"This is Parliament, Miss Fisher, it is never too early in the day," he moved to the sideboard to relieve a decanter of its burden and returned with two tumblers, handing one to her before sitting in his own cushioned seat. He was a picture, sitting there, his tie ever-so-slightly loosened by the work that was likely to have built to a fever pitch in light of recent political developments. It was well-known that challenges were pressing in on the Labor Government from all sides and major disagreements within the party were a serious cause for concern. From the way Phryne had read the situation, there were already hounds at the poor man's heels.

It was only a matter of extreme importance, then, that could draw him out of it; helped merrily along by the allure of a hard-earned glass of Irish Whiskey, she was sure.

"I received your offer this morning," she began, not wanting to be any more a pressure on his time than was necessary, "at the hand of a dear friend I thought never to cross paths with again after I left the Continent. You will have to tell me the fascinating story of your connection with him at a more leisurely time; it's a tale I couldn't bear to miss."

"I could tell a thousand tales and still fall short of any adventure of yours, Miss Fisher. I'm sure I'd love to hear a little of how you first crossed paths with him as well," Phryne smiled enigmatically as he continued after a sip from his glass, "but he tells me there are a number of faces in this endeavour that are likely to be recognisable to you, and it could well be a conversation reserved for different circumstances, for the sake of brevity."

"Oh?" Phryne's attention pricked, her head tilting slightly at the suggestion, "He didn't mention anything to me about familiar faces, only a matter of some distinct importance, which I assumed considering the source. Although, familiar faces do point towards an answer to another pressing question I have regarding your reasoning in choosing me for this assignment."

"Your reputation is formidable," the Premier responded in defence of her, as though affronted by her modesty.

"True, but hardly in a skill set that could be of any use to you," she finally sipped gently from her glass, unable to help grinning into it.

"It's hard to know what skill set would be best in this instance."

Phryne eyed him with the usual tenacity that lingered behind any moment which aroused her suspicion, "Why don't you tell me exactly what this 'instance' is, and we can muddle through the details together?" Hogan hesitated, finding more than her reputation formidable when faced with making this request of her.

"It's a rather delicate matter, Phryne," he finally began.

"I've rather a knack for delicate matters," she said.

"Quite," he conceded as she carefully upended his gilding the lily. "The Governor has asked me personally to present the proposition to you, as it is a matter of some tension between His Majesty's government and the current leadership in Rome. We should have sent our best diplomats to deal with it, but Mr Agostini insisted that your familiarity with the group in question would be a better match, and avoid a ruffling of feathers that we would just as soon avoid right now."

"I assume you are referring to the rather tentative arrangements being made between our two governments over Italian immigration?" the disdain for the policy was not far from Phryne's voice, even in the presence of a man in such a position of power. In fact, Mr Hogan was not entirely convinced it was not there for his benefit.

"It is a gentlemen's agreement," he tested, but Phryne merely rolled her eyes, "and if we do not conclude deliberations on our limitations on the quotas for Italian migrants, there will be other catastrophic economic effects on trade and shipping between the two countries."

"Never let the plight of a thousand helpless people get in the way of the bottom line," she bit back, hard and sharp.

"Phryne," he all but pleaded.

"What is the problem, Mr Hogan?" she pressed, holding her brows in question until any more silence became uncomfortable.

"What do you know about Benito Mussolini?"

"Il Duce?" she responded with sing-song amusement, "Men always do love a dramatic title."

"Italian men especially," the Premier responded and Phryne could not help the tilt of a smile despite her earlier political irritation.

"I know that he is just now closing his strangle-hold on Italian politics. I believe the Fascist Party has managed to finally ban all other parties," she waved her hand dismissively through the air, "it's almost refreshing that he has given up his illusion of a Government of the People in favour of codifying the status quo. That said, he seems to have done a decent job of impressing most Italians on the way through, 'A Man of Action' I believe they're calling him. "

"And he certainly is that," Hogan added, "his handling of the Mafia has been thoroughly active. If reports are to be believed."

"Quite," Phryne's political irritation returned, this time in line with the Premier's as they both silently considered the violent means that had been employed during the Great War and the advancements that must have been made since.

"But reports are simply reports until they come from the right mouths," the Premier continued, interrupting Phryne's revisitation of undeniable horrors, "which is why you're here. We have a man on the inside - Australian-born, though he returned to Italy as a child - and he has been in contact with our people. He's offered Prime Minister Baldwin and the British Government information on Il Duce's leadership plans that are of extreme interest to us all. He promises intelligence that could neutralise whatever threat Mussolini and his Fascist Party promises in exchange for safe passage back to Australia and his remaining family here."

Phryne took a moment to take this new information in, considering the multiple angles of contention, "I can see now why the Prime Minister is far from keen to openly antagonise Il Duce by assisting him."

"Yes," the Premier acknowledged briefly, "and his Health Minister, Chamberlain, is putting a great deal of pressure on him, which is why Agostini suggested a more… feminine approach. "

"So, you want me to retrieve this man?" Phryne clarified, wanting to be absolutely sure that she knew what it was the Premier's very round-about explanation was getting at.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, allowing the gravity of the request the proper silence.

"I'm assuming Rudolpho was his means of contacting us," the lady detective began to conclude aloud, "but that still doesn't shed any light on his reasoning for involving me." Hogan seemed to hesitate, breathing in and considering his next words extraordinarily carefully.

"He thought you might make contact with your old friends in Rome, perhaps even Florence, and develop a ruse that might serve as a convincing, well, reason for this man to return to Australia - with you - without arousing suspicion," the last of his whiskey drained, the Premier was left to consider the empty glass as the delicacy of the proposition settled into a pause while Phryne attempted to make solid sense of his entire meaning.

As ever, she addressed the question head on.

"Am I to understand, Mr Hogan, that you wish me to ingratiate myself to Italian society and cultivate a love affair with this man - real or imagined - that might convince his compatriots that he has taken to Australia for more romantic reasons than political betrayal?" Her brows might have delivered her scepticism, but the tilt of her lips betrayed her incurable curiosity.

"That sounds about the long and short of it, yes," he looked up at her, meeting her challenge with forthrightness of his own.

"That sounds like the poorly-developed plot of a Penny Dreadful," she countered.

"Fact is often as surprising as fiction, Miss Fisher, you of all should know that," he said. She narrowed her eyes.

"Often, it is more so." It was not clear if she was referring to the ruse itself, or the meeting in which it had been presented to her.

"You would, of course, be well compensated, to say nothing of the honour of a grateful nation," he trailed off, as though merely greasing the wheels of her decision-making.

"Naturally," she responded, less impressed with those promises than the chance to bring a little zest to proceedings. She took a moment to consider the scenario, evaluate the risks and consider the adventure, but it was clear after a moment that Premier Hogan had won, "All right. I'm in."

"Excellent! Thank you Phryne, you don't know what this means - "

"On one condition," she interrupted, causing his halt and a querying brow that creased with a little worry. Conditions from Phryne Fisher were always a little dangerous. "What are you not telling me?"

Whatever he had been imagining, this request seemed to make him genuinely uncomfortable. He paused and then, "It's not so much a matter of not telling as -"

"I want all the details, or you can count me out. As fond as I am of throwing myself into unpredictable situations, I like to have at least a basic grasp of what I'm dealing with."

"Well, you needn't worry too much, I'm sure with the assistance of your travelling companion there won't be much trouble," he offered clumsily in an attempt to reinforce the request for her assistance. It did not have the desired effect, Phryne's neck arching very slightly at his remark and her grip tightening ever so subtly around her glass.

"What travelling companion?" she demanded immediately.

"Of course, you couldn't expect," he started on the back foot, "after all, a woman alone - " Phryne's eyes widened to a state wildly closely to offence, prompting increasing alarm in her current companion. "What I mean to say is -!" he faltered.

"I assure you, Mr Hogan," she clipped, suddenly formally, bristling at both his insinuation and his presumption, "I am perfectly able to take care of myself."

To his merit, the Premier seemed to recognise his error.

"That's all very well, Phryne," he dared not voice the skepticism that threatened to colour his tone despite his efforts and found another excuse to press her into accepting proper assistance by retrieving their former ease of conversation, "but it would looked damned irresponsible for me to send you off to Italy by yourself all the same." He peered into his whiskey with a gruffness that seemed to punctuate his point. After a moment, Phryne shrugged, finding the tedium of arguing the matter a deterrent to pressing him further. She refused to be dissuaded from at least expressing her dissatisfaction with the situation, however.

"So, who were you planning on saddling me with then?" the interrogation continued, despite his efforts to thwart it.

"Richard Armstr - "

"Absolutely not," she cut him short, seemingly knowing the answer before he had begun to speak it and tossing her head to the side as though it were an insult to her. "I flatly refuse to spend a single day in Rome with a man who could spend an entire evening at Molly's Autumn Soirée so wholly intent on a discussion of agriculture, to say nothing of the voyage."

"He's a political attaché, his expertise would be invaluable to you."

"Only if my tactics involved boring Il Duce to a point of desperation," she said, "pick again Mr Hogan."

"You know him socially, so your travelling with him would not be overly suspicious," he was leaning forward in his chair now, a politician's way of imploring if ever it had been seen.

"I know many men socially. I said pick again."

"Phryne please, I won't be at ease unless I know you're in capable hands. I need a man who can think on his feet, has a sense of duty and a knack for getting around a tricky situation. You've got to be prepared for any eventuality, and so must he. I also wouldn't say 'no' to a strong right hook…"

"Ned," Phryne stopped him in the closest thing to a panic the Premier had ever been in, and grinned, acquiescing to an old request to call him by his first name.

"Yes?" he dared.

Her head was suddenly tilted with that forceful surety that was so very often about her face and so very seldom denied, "I know just the man."

xXx

"No," said Detective Inspector John 'Jack' Robinson, "No, no and no."

"But Jack, you're the absolutely perfect choice!" Phryne returned with no less enthusiasm, "You've just the wits about you and I dare say that pale skin of yours could do with an Italian Spring."

Jack looked self-consciously down at his hands, as though they might solve the mystery of Miss Fisher's consistent need to all but change the subject while she was making a point. It was but a momentary lapse, and he shook his head as the red herring proved close to distracting him and forged ahead with his defence against her latest barrage of convincing logic. "Need I remind you, Miss Fisher, that I am a policeman -"

"A Detective-Inspector no less," she flirted dangerously with flattery, but he continued undeterred by her more predictable tactics.

"And as such, I have duties that require my attention - my consistent attention - and I do not make a habit of abandoning them on a whim," though his words seemed heated, they remained atop his unflappable deadpan delivery like a conversation about the weather. Equally infuriating was his posture, seated casually as he was behind his desk with his arms now folded, as though to eradicate any evidence that her comments on his tan had affected him in the slightest. As his blue eyes fixed her with the kind of gaze that she was sure was meant to accuse her of such flippancy, his brows rose with a slight tick that challenged her to respond.

"Whims, Inspector, are the very essence of life," she returned with equal force of opinion, though she reserved her thoughts on duty for another time; she had learned a lot about dedication to duty and its consequences at the Front. She kept her conversation light, sparking cheekily at the end of it, "At least it is for those who will live it."

She could feel his eyes narrow.

"Nevertheless," he deflected, "they are the privilege of those without places to keep, and are of little use to the likes of me."

"You're worse than Dot," she muttered, hoping the comparison would highlight just how very delicate he was being at this moment. While he did not immediately respond, his deep breath in assured her that she had hit her mark at least partially. She smiled triumphantly at him and glibly undid whatever work she had done. It was foolishness to gloat before the fight was truly done.

"Then you are surrounded by people of good sense," he all but scolded, resolute in the face of her smug sense of victory, "and would do well to follow fewer whims."

A frown appeared on her brow, the sort that was not often found about her face, and signalled a sense of being uncomfortably thwarted in her game. That it was most prevalent around a certain Detective Inspector was a matter that was much too complicated to consider for any real length of time.

Before long, she was onto the next line of attack.

"Well," she seemed genuinely disappointed, "I had hoped that you might want to come along, but if you insist on being difficult, you leave me no choice."

Jack felt his stomach catch in the heady mixture of curiosity and terror that always seemed to surround his Lady Detective, and was tainted on this occasion by a betraying sense of regret that he might truly have disappointed her. Propositions that included Phryne having 'no choice' sounded distinctly unpleasant for a multiplicity of reasons, but the primary amongst them was the feeling that whatever she could cook up when she did have a choice was frequently horrifying enough.

"What?" he pressed cautiously.

"You've already been assigned," she shrugged, as though the fun had quite gone out of the game.

"What?" his caution was quickly replaced with a kind of restrained outrage.

"At the Premier's request," she tilted her head in the way she so often did, in the way that seemed to speak of sweetness and innocence and childlike uncomplication that was purview of less worldly women. That she managed it so effortlessly, with such conviction and with so little guile, baffled him still.

"Right," he returned, unsure what exactly he had to say to that. While he hated resignation, there truly was little he could do to resist the task, save losing his position, and a little voice begged that there were worse things in the world than accompanying Miss Fisher to Italy.

"Don't worry, Jack," she grinned brightly at his acquiescence, as though it hadn't been obtained through a carefully constructed extortion, "you're safe with me!"

Her enthusiasm was contagious and Jack found himself pandering to the latter of his internal voices, as he seemed to be doing more and more of late. As she swept from his office with all the flair of her obvious excitement, he had to admit to himself that, whatever she said, there were parts of him that would never be safe with the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.

xXx

A/N: And there you have it folks! Please review if you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts. Now that all the exposition is out of the way, I promise a bit more fun in the next chapter. :)