So I was convinced to continue this story and make it into a (very) full length fic (bc I appreciate feedback but also I'm a sucker for time period AUs). So here ya go!
It was impossible to avoid staring at the colorful red and gold sash of the royal guard that stood out so strongly from the rest of Will's dark tenement. Finally, he crossed the small room and tore the leering sash from the chair it had been lounging on. He threw it into the corner and out of sight. But before he could resume his work, there was a purposeful knock on his door. He knew exactly who it was, and Will knew the exact conversation that was about to unfold before he even opened the door.
"Hello Will," Jack Crawford said while silently assessing Will's condition. Will could easily tell from the displeasure in his voice that his worst fears had been confirmed.
"Jack," Will said, and stepped aside to let Jack in.
"Did you receive my letter?" Jack asked. His eyes scanned Will's small domicile as if it would reveal the inner workings of Will's mind. All he found was scattered clothing, various papers, and a few empty bottles and dirty plates. At least Will was eating now.
"I did." Will answered, watching Jack closely.
"But you didn't reply," Jack said, now looking directly at Will.
"No," Will admitted. "I intended to but after our last conversation, I assumed you wouldn't have agreed with my response."
"Will," Jack said, "this is not healthy. You need to move on from the Ripper."
"You mean Hannibal Lecter?" Will said with a side eye. Jack furrowed his brow.
"King Hannibal is not the Ripper," he said with force that can only be gained after having repeated something to the point of absurdity. Will sat back down at the table and shifted through his papers. Jack stood silently for a moment before locking eyes with a chair, and at its feet sat a crumpled up sash. Even from under the layers of grim, Jack could still make out the iconic royal colors. He sat down across from Will.
"Will, have you considered the possibility that this Ripper fantasy is your way of expressing your anger and frustration about killing Garret Jacob Hobbes? This might just be a subconscious excuse to quit the royal guard because you couldn't handle his death," Jack said.
"I quit the royal guard because I refuse to work for a corrupt and sadistic monarchy," Will said, not taking his eyes off the paper in his hand. He frowned at it with dissatisfaction and began to shuffle through his papers again. "I am handling Hobbes' death fine."
"That is treasonous talk Will and it will get you in trouble. And I don't think you are handling Hobbes' death well," Jack said. "We've got a report last week from your landlord that stated he was afraid someone was being murdered here in the middle of the night."
Jack glanced towards the sweat stained mat Will was using to sleep on.
"I think you should rejoin the guards," Jack said, all formality gone. Will nodded, his suspicions of Jack's reason for visiting him confirmed. "Getting back in the field will give you something more realistic to focus your skills on."
"Jack, the Ripper is going to kill again. And soon," Will said.
"The Ripper has not been active for over a year. For all we know he might be dead. Floating in the Thames somewhere. But people are concerned for you Will. Me, Dr. Zeller and his wife, Price, Countess Bloom-"
"The royal court?" Will asked, looking up at Jack. "They're probably very interested in why the most promising captain would suddenly retire from the royal guard and decide to inhabit the seedy district of London. I bet the king is very interested."
"Yes, there is talk. And people have their speculations, they always do. Especially the court. All they do all day is gossip, but the fact remains that you quitting reflects badly on the royal guards. And we're already in a worse position without you." Jack said.
"I'm sorry, Jack, I really am," Will said, setting his papers down. "But I'm not coming back."
"I'm not giving up on you yet," Jack said, getting up. He gave Will a friendly smile.
"I never expected that you would," Will confessed and returned the smile. Jack swung his coat on and as he opened the door, the smells of sewage and horse manure wafted into the room.
"At least inquire for new residency," Jack said, "as a personal favor."
Will nodded and Jack turned to leave. Before he could leave though, Will called out to him
"Jack, the Ripper is going to kill again. Just be on the lookout, okay?" Will asked. Jack paused to absorb the raw emotion in Will's words, before nodding. Will nodded back and slowly closed and locked his door.
After months of digging his way into and through London's seedy underbelly, Will had made little progress in finding a lead or connection between the Ripper murders. Picking up the mannerisms of London's dock district had been easy enough, and Will certainly smelled enough to fit in, but it seemed that all traces of the Ripper had been washed away in the Thames months ago.
Yet Will still found himself donning his old ratty overcoat and tattered top hat to wander the darkened cobblestone streets after midnight. From the edge of the lamplight, the dark fervent with which he followed the prostitutes lurking in the shady corner was not noticed. Night after night, he struggled to imagine himself as, not an knight and ex-captain of the guard, but rather the king himself, masquerading as a beggar, or maybe a lustful drunk in order to lull his prey into a false sense of security before leading them into a dark alley and butchering them.
And each night Will would inevitably find himself thinking back to that fateful ball. Masquerading was right, but butchering wasn't the correct word. No, the Ripper had a morbid grace to his killings. The grace that comes with being king.
Will hoped to use that grace to orchestrate the Ripper's downfall. For, even if Jack hadn't believed him, one can only hide their grace and natural tendencies so far. Will clung to the hope that if he stayed focused, he'd be able to pick out that grace from one of these sleazy drunkards. Unfortunately, either Will had misjudged his abilities, or he had been wrong about the Ripper.
One shadow that slinked around the edge of the halo of light cast by the lamp across the street caught Will's eye. The undeniable fluidity with which the shadow moved piqued his interest. He stepped back into the shadows himself and slowly matched pace with the silhouette as it weaved its way through the alleys with familiarity.
Will couldn't help but get excited at the prospect of being close to the Ripper once more. Previous mistakes would not be made again. He was being careful this time. He was being observant and kept himself alert. His heartbeat pounded against his chest in tandem with his and the Ripper's footsteps. Together, they hunted the most unwanted sections of London.
But suddenly Will felt the unison shatter. The rhythm was dispelled for there were now only two instruments left to play it, his footsteps and his beating heart. Feeling the Ripper slip away with each passing moment, Will frantically ran forward and scanned the asymmetrical cobblestone square that he'd been led to. Each side street was filled with only empty shadows. Not even any painted faces emerged from the darkness to greet him at the corner.
Turning back home, Will felt the moonlight on his back, mocking him. He pushed away any thoughts of doubt. He couldn't have imagined him. It wasn't just the pull of the moon on his sanity. But as Will stumbled back home, he felt the doubts clinging to him like hungry rats.