The Rest of September (almost)

Sir Charles Warren sported a fine mustache. That was really all anyone ever said about him with fondness.

He wasn't terribly well liked at Scotland Yard, but that wasn't his job. His job, as Police Commissioner, was to delegate and lead. Abberline, his head of the ground investigation in the Whitechapel murder cases, was well respected enough, and had told Warren on numerous occasions that the theory of a woman committing these crimes was absurd.

He didn't listen.

He was open to any and all possible suspects, and until they discovered the knave, he would continue to order all leads as viable.

Until Lord Odinson came to the office and told him the story about the apothecary and to make an announcement regarding the fact no woman was being treated as a suspect oh and by the way here is fifty pounds.

Then he listened.

What was baffling…what no one could figure, was there was no apparent motive. There was always a motive. Even if the culprit was insane, that was motivation.

The Yard was absolutely baffled. No angry lovers. No theft. No apparent or obvious rape.

"So…you're saying that a woman is not on the suspect list?" asked a reporter from the Times.

"That's right," replied Warren, with an air of smugness. "Never has there been. I don't know why these rumors get started…"

Because you never stop them, thought Erik Selvig in the back of the room. He had been listening to Warren for half and hour. He had enough…he would leave and walk to the Market.

Out the grimy door he went. He adjusted his cap and coat, and walked outside…the streets fairly full. Strange how everyone becomes suspicious when you're geared up and tense.

Selvig made his way to Spitalfields, nodding to passers-by he recognized, and those he didn't. He was a kind enough man.

Selvig walked passed the apothecary, noting it still to be closed…this was the third day. He thought it odd, and would ask Loki about it. He made his way to Asgard, and opened the door.

There was Loki, looking though some of his books stacked on the shelves, and Fandral, reading once more behind the counter. The bell announced his presence.

"Mornin' gentlemen," he said.

"Selvig," replied Loki from where he stood, not turning around. "You haven't been around lately…" and now he turned, a large volume in hand.

"I have had nothing to report. I do now," and he sat on the couch. "When did you get this? Seems a bit large for the space."

"Loki is sentimental, Inspector. He houses things for people even when there isn't ample room for them."

Loki didn't look at Fandral, but rolled his eyes…"I'm keeping it here for Jane for the time being."

"Speaking of Miss Foster, is she all right? Hasn't been to her shop…"

"She hurt herself," replied Loki. "Injured her ankle."

Selvig nodded. "Hm. Well, I'm visiting because I wanted to tell you that her name's been cleared..that is, Warren made the announcement that no woman is being considered a suspect in the murders."

"Very good," Loki said, and began wrapping the book in brown paper, not looking at Selvig.

"Have you seen her? How did she injure herself?"

And now he looked at the policeman. He had been thinking about this situation, and honestly didn't know what he should divulge to the police…if Selvig knew about the incident in the alley, would he insist that they cease their investigation? And what's more, should they? Was it becoming too dangerous?

He had decided to speak with Jane about this concern when he saw her later that day. "She fell walking home from work. There was a wet spot on the stone she didn't see."

Fandral coughed. Loki kicked his shin from behind the counter.

This exchange wasn't lost on Selvig. "I see…" he said with a hint of doubt. "Those stones can be slippery."

"Indeed," replied Loki. "We really ought to see to that. Something must be able to be done about it. Old women walk these streets all the time! They'll break a hip and be a wretched mess."

Fandral laughed. "Are you suggesting that someone dry the stones in the street?"

"Well… why not? Honest enough work," and Loki went to the back.

Fandral looked at Selvig and shrugged. "He's just worried about her," he smiled.

"Indeed. Does she know he…?"

"No," he whispered. "But I wish he would just say it. He won't even admit it to me."

"Admit what?" Loki reentered, apparently ready to leave for the day. His cap and jacket were on.

"I wasn't talking about you, boss," Fandral replied cooly.

"You know, Fandral, I thought that I enjoyed you referring to me as 'boss', but I'm now thinking that it's rather irritating."

"Oh, but you made it pretty plain that that was our relationship. We aren't friends, recall?"

"You are a stubborn wench, Fandral. Do you require a trinket to set things right? Perhaps a bouquet or some sweets from the shop?"

Selvig stood. "This is all very interesting, and while I'd love to stay, there have been several murders in the area that I'm supposed to be helping with…you'll forgive me…" and Selvig hurried out.

Loki looked at Fandral and laughed. "In all seriousness, though. I do hope that you'll overlook my behavior the other day. I haven't said it since, and I ought to have, but I consider you a friend. In fact, you and Jane are my only friends…I wouldn't wish things to be permanently spoiled."

Fandral smiled. "Love is a wonderful thing."

"Shut up," he turned and headed for the door.

"You'll be telling her, I trust?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Loki said, leaving.

"Will you be back later?" he called.

"We'll see."

"I like daisies and the chocolates with the nuts!"

Slam.

"Poor Jane Foster."

Loki strolled down to Whitechapel Road toward Algate. He was a bit nervous, yes. He wasn't accustomed to groveling. But then, he certainly owed her an apology. He always seemed to hurt the ones he cared most for…

Except Fandral. He would need to see to that.

He smirked to himself.

The past few days were wretched without her. He thought over what they would need to do if it was decided that they continue this investigation…and he came to the conclusion that they would need to stay together.

He wasn't certain how Jane would receive that. Part of him thought that she would agree, for she was certainly frightened from what transpired that night. But she was stubborn, and might think that he was suggesting she couldn't take care of herself. There was some truth to that, but only insofar as everyone was in danger, and that she, in particular, could be rash.

Rash.

He smiled. That she could…

And his mind once more after countless times heretofore drifted to the night in Asgard with her limbs wrapped around him, her body pressed against his, her breath a silent song to his ears…

He thought that he would never sleep when she suggested it…

…but he had never slept more soundly.

He arrived at the Foster's row home and went up the stairs. He knocked.

"Ah, Loki. I was wondering when you'd be calling," said Dr. Foster, allowing Loki passage.

"How is the patient?" he took his hat off and coat, but held onto the parcel.

"She is almost healed. Tomorrow should see her right. She'll be back to the shop Saturday, since it is normally only a half day," he smiled.

"Tomorrow she'll be…?" Tomorrow was Friday, and he wondered what she'd do if she wasn't at the shop.

"Running errands that have piled up that I couldn't see to during her respite."

Loki nodded. "Erm…might I…?"

"See her? Of course. She's only just in the sitting room. I daresay she's heard every word," he smiled, then leaned in. "Tread carefully at first, my man. She is rather hurt," and Dr. Foster went to the back kitchen to brew some tea.

Loki gulped. He hesitantly went into the room to find Jane sitting in her chair with her foot propped up on a stool. She was knitting, it seemed.

He didn't know that she knitted.

He cleared his throat.

"I heard you Loki," Jane said, not looking. "Have a seat."

He looked away from her and sat on the sofa next to her. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am, thank you," she continued her stitch.

"I am very glad to hear it."

Nothing.

"So, Jane. I am come to tell you that the Times will be publishing a dismissal of the notion that a woman is the person behind the Whitechapel murders."

"That is good to know," Jane said, then reached for the small table next to her and had a sip of lemon water. She still hadn't looked at him.

"Quite. So…any notion that you are at all connected with these killings should be put to rest."

"But the gossip won't."

"I'm sorry?"

Now she looked at him. "Well, people believe what they want, don't they? You certainly do. What's more, your display in the Market the other day was absurd and loud. People will talk…" she went back to her knitting.

"Do you honestly care about the idle chatter of the Market?"

"As a woman, I do. My reputation is much more easily sullied than yours, Mr. Odinson," she looked at him now with a steady eye.

"We are back to 'Mr. Odinson', are we?" he leaned forward.

"You'll recall that I referred to you as such many times before this business began. I am respectful. I cannot speak for you."

"Jane…" he lowered his eyes. "You'll forgive me and my bad behavior. I was known to lose my temper quite frequently before I inherited Asgard…unfortunately, when Thor or Odin are involved, I tend to revert back to my old self."

"And so everyone who cares for you must pay the price for your lapses into childhood?"

He looked at her. "Cares?" he searched her face. "You care for me?"

"You're my friend, Loki," she smiled. "Of course I care for you…more than anyone, really, save my father. I believe I've told you as much."

"You have," he said softly. "I simply cannot believe it."

"Why ever not?" her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I am abrasive, sarcastic, irritable, a snob. I dislike most people. I prefer, ordinarily, solitude above all else…"

"Well. Since you put it that way, I might need to rethink my position," she smiled.

Loki laughed. "No one likes me, Jane."

"Fandral does. Your parents do…Thor…" she added and dropped her eyes. "And me."

He sighed. "I don't deserve you."

She looked at him. His expression was warm…almost awestruck. "Loki, it simply isn't a matter of deserving anything. I enjoy your company. And I think, despite it all, that you are a good person. You are too absorbed by the value of things. Sometimes things just are."

He smiled and looked down. "You forgive my horrific behavior, then?"

She crossed her arms in front of her. "Let's put you on probation and take you up for review in a fortnight."

He chuckled, and looked at her once more. "So, shall we continue next week, or do you think we should step back and allow the police to take over?" he sat back in the sofa.

"Step back?!"

His hands went up. "All right, Jane. Don't upset yourself."

"How can we step back? The killer is still at large! We cannot simply sit idly by while he walks free! Free to kill again! I'm shocked, Loki."

"It was only a suggestion based on…"

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head slowly.

He took the hint. Dr. Foster didn't know about the details of her injury, either. "…your recent injury and suspicion…"

"No. We aren't stopping."

"Very well. I know better than to argue with you…but I would like to posit a suggestion, one I hope you take very seriously."

"All right…"

"I think that we should not split up anymore…that we should stay together…eavesdrop more and talk less."

Jane swallowed. This made sense. She needed to be mindful of herself and what she was doing…her father depended on her. She lowered her eyes. "I think that that is a fine idea."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"You have nothing more to say than that?"

"No."

"Well, wonders never cease!" he smiled.

"Shut up Loki," she chuckled.

"Selvig was by," he continued. "I thought that I might speak with you and decide…" he paused. "That is…"

"This is something that we can discuss on Saturday, I think," she nodded, in apparent understanding.

"Very well," he dropped his gaze, and swallowed. "I brought something for you," he said, reaching for the brown paper wrapped parcel.

"You did?" Jane asked, in apparent shock.

"Yes…for you while you heal. I suppose I should have brought it earlier, but…circumstances being what they were…" he handed it to her.

Jane accepted it and tore open the package.

It was a book.

On astronomy…

"Loki…" she breathed, touching it delicately, adoringly.

"I recall, some time ago now, you mentioning that you always loved the night sky, but with the lamps and the air in London, it was difficult to see."

Jane looked at him, an air of confusion…and then she remembered…

She had been at the shop rather late…it was May, and she had been cleaning for the warm weather. Loki had not been to the apothecary in a few days, so when he arrived so late, she was surprised.

"Well, Loki. Haven't seen you in a while."

"No…been busy with things at the shop."

"Your new hire giving you problems?"

"He's hardly new, Jane. Been there since before Christmas."

"Has it been that long?" she whispered. "I suppose I get so wrapped up in things here that I forget and lose track of time."

"You should allow yourself time to stop and admire things…"

Jane smiled. "Such as?" she locked the door to the shop.

"Whatever you fancy. Gardens…books…"

She looked up. "The night sky…" she added wistfully.

"Pardon?"

"I love the stars. But I never really think to look up…silly. Something as common as that, and I never do it."

"Well, you should," they made their way toward Whitechapel Road.

"The lamps obstruct the view…the air is too thick. One can never really get a proper view in London…"

"That's right. I did say that," and she turned back to the book, and began to look through it delicately, as though it was something quite precious.

"I pay attention," he said, watching her.

Jane looked at him. "Thank you," she breathed. "It's perfect."

He smiled. "Well," and he slapped his knees. "Saturday, Jane?"

She nodded, still absorbed.

And Loki, pleased, went to the entryway and putting his hat and coat on, left.

And Jane tarried among the stars that night…

Saturday morning dawned grey and sick.

But Jane was light.

Her ankle all but healed, she walked briskly to the market, so happy to be out and about again. She opened the shop, noting the stale scent from being shut up all week, and opened the windows with a disappointing deep breath stymied by the scents of the Market. No, London. Actually, all of it.

She sighed and wiped the counter down.

"Morning, Jane," Loki's voice came from the doorway.

"You're here early, Mr. Odinson."

He was momentarily disappointed…"I…thought that you had forgiven my behavior," he hadn't moved from the doorway.

"I recall saying that you were on probation," she smiled.

And now he entered fully. "I see…so does that probationary period state that you must not call me Loki?"

"It states that," and Jane walked from behind the counter and sat on her chair. "Miss Foster may choose whatever method she deems necessary to test Mr. Odinson's resolve. So long as it is respectful."

He sat opposite her. "That seems rather much, wouldn't you say? Whatever method she deems necessary? Should I be afraid?"

"Do you question my decision?"

He smirked, sitting back. "I wouldn't dare."

"Good. Now, you wanted to discuss…"

"Mornin' Miss Fosta!" an eager young man burst into the apothecary.

"Oh! Freddy Church!" she got up to greet the young man, taking his hands in hers. "How are you? And your mother?"

"She be in a right state, Miss. Wifout ye bein' open, she be 'urtin'…"

"Oh, I am sorry. I've been injured."

"Dat I 'eard…ye be better…I 'ope…"

"Oh yes," she turned away and went to mix her ingredients.

"I'll call later, Jane," Loki called, a bit put out. She should have closed the door so that they could speak privately.

"Later, Loki!" she called back.

And he smiled, leaving the shop.

He went to the bookshop, noting that the Market was once again more full up. Slowly, without another murder in recent weeks, people were returning to normalcy. It was the 22nd, and life must go on.

Loki couldn't deny, as he navigated the Market, that there was an almost constant sense of heaviness and foreboding in the East End since early August. It could be that he imagined it, since he had become so invested in the murders. But he thought not.

"Well, Loki. She didn't want to see you?"

He entered Asgard with a dramatic opening of the door. "She most certainly did," he hung up his coat. "This place smells odd, Fandral. Perhaps you should clean it."

He didn't look up from his book. "Wood floors will often mold," he replied, turning a page.

"So…see to it!" and he went to the back.

He didn't move.

Loki returned with two cups. "How does one see about moldy wooden floors?"

"One replaces them."

"Replace, my eye. What's wrong with the old ones? People don't value things anymore, Fandral. They take everything for granted, never appreciate what they have, and then proceed to replace them."

"Are we still talking about floors?" he looked up at Loki.

He glared at him, then his face fell. "Jane dismissed me for some cockney young chap with bad hygiene."

"What?"

"Some Freddy fellow came in and she dropped everything to speak with him about his ailing mother or some such nonsense," he gesticulated then went to the door and propped it open.

"So…a customer?"

"Who knows what goes on in that head of hers?"

"Loki. I know that you aren't quite familiar with the term 'customer', but if Jane wishes to maintain a business, she really must tend to them. Even over you, occasionally."

"Humph," and he went over and downed his tea.

"She's been closed all week, man! She's likely starving, and she has her father to think of! She doesn't have the benefit of a wealthy family to pick up the pieces when she's indisposed."

Loki considered this. He nodded, closed his eyes. "You are a good sort, Fandral," and he went to the back.

Fandral got up and fetching the mop, began to wash the floors. "Poor Jane Foster."

It was late in the day Saturday, and Jane's ankle ached. Though she was fully healed, it was still a touch tender.

She set about cleaning up…it was much later than she would keep open on a Saturday, but with her being at home all week, people were getting desperate. Though there were other apothecaries within about ten or fifteen minutes of Spitalfields, it seemed evident that most of her clientele wished to stick with her.

There was a knock at the door…

Loki, thought she.

Jane opened the door. It was the post. "Hello, Mr. Richards. I thought we had the post already?" she smiled.

He handed her an envelope. "Dis was at da office…saw it an' t'ought I'd bring it to ye."

Jane smiled and nodded, taking the brown envelope.

She closed the door behind her and went inside, opening it.

Inside was a fifty pound note…nothing else.

She looked again and again for any indication who it might be from, but it was otherwise empty. Perhaps a client had forgotten to pay her…?

But she almost never had an outstanding bill of fifty pounds! A few crowns, mayhap…

"Good evening, Jane Foster," came Loki's voice.

She turned and saw him entering.

And then it dawned on her…"Did you send me a fifty pound note in the post?

"Excuse me?" his countenance bore a look of shock.

"You heard me, Loki. What's going on."

He sighed heavily. "Well, I thought that you wouldn't accept it if I gave it to you directly."

"You are quite right," and she handed him the note.

"Come, Jane. You were home all week. You made no money…"

"I'd sooner walk the streets," and she continued to hold the note for him to take.

"I'll not be taking that back, and you should be more considerate of those who care for you. It's not amusing to joke about you walking the streets."

Jane rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean," she paused. "Look…I thank ye kindly, that's very sweet of you. But I have a stash of funds for emergencies such as these, and father and I are fine. Now take back your money."

He snapped it from her. "Shall we tomorrow night, then?" steadying himself and his temper. She really was so ungrateful.

"Mm…yes," and she swept the floor. "We can try your idea out. I think it'll work nicely."

"Did you enjoy the book?"

"Oh Loki," she stopped. "Yes. I've gone through all of the charts, and I even went outside to see if I could spot what the authors and artists drew…it's so incredible."

"Were you successful?" he sat and crossed his legs.

"No…the air is as thick and as rotten as it smells."

"Smells?"

She sighed, putting the broom away, smoothing herself out, fiddling with her hair, and finishing up pitting things away. "Yes. For some reason, I smell the stench of London and no one else seems to…or else they don't mind. I think that I am ill suited for this place, and the country is a much better atmosphere for me…clean air, clear skies…perhaps once father is gone I can settle out there and become a small town apothecary," she smiled at him and stood there, waiting for his response.

Loki cleared his throat and stood. "You know, I had often thought that myself…"

…and he had.

"Well, Jane. Since you are ill bred and refused my monetary aid, what say you to some dinner at Martha's Tavern? You never did honor your promise to allow me to escort you for dinner…"

Jane nodded. "You're right. Let's do that."

And they set off for Martha's, both a bit light despite the dark. Both smiling despite the dread…

…and September faded to its last breath without blood.

Almost.