The First Week of September

June 3rd, 1888

"Come into da 'ouse, Freddy!" called his mother from the stoop.

Freddy Cole was drawing with one of those stones that behaved like a pencil on the sidewalk on Sidney Street. There were other children along the row…some were drawing, others singing, some were kicking a ball. "In a mo', mum!" He called back.

The Cole's had changed their names since they had arrived from Ireland. There was worry in the capitol in their homeland. Unrest abroad had created an influx of immigrants, and Dublin had swelled to capacity.

London was worse.

Freddy looked down the street as he stood from the curb.

The men his dad referred to as "Jews" were congregating on the corner, huddled up and muttering. Freddy thought that they looked like they were exchanging secrets, so he went over covertly to listen.

In deep accents, he heard things like: No one trusts us here. Just like home…

He felt rather sad by this, and walked away, head down. "Eh, mum!" he yelled, entering the room they were lucky enough to live in. "Those men down der, dey're all pretty sad."

"Which uns?" Kate looked out…she saw the Jews talking in a circle down the road. "Well, dey ought, eh? Dey're all over now…taking your Da's job," she walked back in, closed the door. "We all be starvin'…dey come an take it'all."

"Dey are just tryin' to live too, mum."

"And why should they all live 'ere? Go home, I tell ye," she stirred the pot, muttering.

And little Freddy, who was but seven, didn't understand why everyone was so angry at the "Jews," the "Poles," and loads of other people he didn't know.

How could you be angry at people you didn't know?

September 1st, 1888. London.

She was dreadfully close, he could see her eyes shining in the darkened shop. "Leather Apron?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied in a hush. "There is a man, mad, most likely…he wears a leather apron and he frightens the ladies at night. I know who he is, and I know that he is innocent."

"You know who he is?" replied Loki, somewhat doubtfully. "How do you know…?"

Jane sat back in her chair. "He would come here…John Pizer. He would ask for medicine for his mother, but I think it was for him and his hysteria. He hasn't been here since the winter, but he hasn't a viscous bone in his body."

"So…based on your astute character sketch, there is no possible way he can be a murderer? Is he insane or not?"

Jane nodded. "But…"

"But what? Perhaps he should be questioned! Perhaps he needs some help, even if he isn't the murderer. Really Jane, is it wise to discount anyone at this juncture?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "No, but…"

"Then I say that is one less person we need to investigate. Cross one off the list," he smiled. "I'd say this is a stroke of luck. We have, what…ten thousand possible suspects? One less is most assuredly a positive."

"But he didn't do it! It's a waste of time. Time we could use discovering the real villain."

"Jane, listen to reason. If I am going to aid you in this, we need to work alongside the police, not against them. We are helping the investigation, not launching our own."

"Loki…look. I appreciate you helping me, but I don't think that you fully understand just how dire this situation is. Every hour wasted on interviewing obviously innocent suspects is an hour the culprit walks free, planning his next victim."

"What is your suggestion?" he stood and went to the counter. "Shall we waltz into Scotland Yard and demand that they cease questioning this 'Iron Apron' fellow?"

"…Leather Apron."

"…I can see it now," Loki continued, ignoring Jane. "Oh, stop searching for this chap, detective inspector. Jane and I here are absolutely certain of his innocence, for he purchased some salts from her apothecary shop six months ago," he smiled widely. "In fact, let us exonerate every one of Jane's clientele, for none who darken her doorstep could ever comment a crime. Her goodness simply oozes from her being, touching all within close proximity of her."

"Shut up, Loki," she said, but laughed. "All right. Your point is well made. So. What are your thoughts?"

He considered her a moment. What were his thoughts? Well…he thought that if he offered her what was really on his mind, Jane wouldn't be terribly receptive. He lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. "I imagine the first thing that we need to do is determine a motive. Why is this person targeting prostitutes? What is the nature of his psychosis?"

Jane nodded…she had been so preoccupied with the who, she hadn't really considered the why. But the why was likely the more important question…for the why would probably lead them to the "who." "Anger?" as she stood. "Erm…sexual frustration?"

"But was it sexual? There wasn't any word of such violence committed."

Jane shook her head. "No," she choked. "No…they said that she had been torn up the…middle…" she swallowed. "That her innards were spilt about…"

He shifted, taking keen note of her demeanor, and hardly ignorant of his own. "Let's have a walk, Jane."

She nodded in a bit of a stupor. She hadn't really thought about what had happened to Mary Ann Nichols…to say it out loud…it made it real…gave it a frame of reference…a picture. A horrific picture.

She locked the shop up for a bit. No one was coming to the apothecary anyway, they were all either at home, fearful of the streets, at the pub gossiping, or at Buck's Row, hanging about.

The pair walked along for a few minutes, not speaking, deep in thought.

Finally, Loki spoke. "There will need to be unpleasant things discussed between the two of us if we are to make a success of this."

"I understand that."

"Given the nature of these tragedies, I think it particularly apt that we come to an understanding now about it, for it is not something ordinarily explored between a man and a woman," he paused. "That is, between an unmarried man and woman."

"No," she replied.

"But…we are friends, and have known one another for some time."

"Yes."

"Jane?"

"Hm?" she was staring at the stones in the ground as she walked along.

"Are you paying attention?"

"Of course. You said that we aren't married, obviously. You said we are friends, equally obvious, and that we will need to talk about unpleasant things if we are to make a success of this endeavor," she looked up at him now and smiled. "Is that a succinct description?"

"Thank you, yes," he returned her smile. "So let us treat the subject matter with as little emotion as possible. I think that is best. You are mixing your salts and herbs…I am tending to my ledgers."

"Right…" but she was looking down the road a bit. She quickened her pace.

"Jane…?" Loki followed her.

"Inspector Selvig!" she called.

And Erik stopped and turned. Ah yes…the lady from just a few hours ago. He smiled at her. "Hello, Miss…?"

"Foster," she breathed as she reached him. "Jane is fine."

He nodded, then noticed Loki right behind her. "Ah…and this is Mr Foster, I assume?"

Loki glared at him a moment. "Mr Odinson, if you please. We are not married."

"Ah, well. Who am I to judge?"

Jane laughed. "Loki is a friend…"

Erik nodded dramatically. "That much is obvious."

"See here, Detective…"

"Loki," she touched his arm and smiled, shaking her head. She cleared her throat. "Erm…I understand that Scotland Yard has someone in mind for questioning."

"Hm…yes…" he paused. "Why?" he recalled that the lady here had said that she knew things…

"Because…I think that…" and she was nudged from behind. She turned to see Loki smiling at her. "That is…what do you know of the man in question?" She looked at Loki with a Was that acceptable look.

He nodded covertly.

"He is supposedly foreign. They say he is known as 'Leather Apron' or some such nonsense."

'That's all?"

"All I know of."

Jane nodded. "The man you seek's name is John Pizer."

Erik Selvig looked at her. "Is that so?"

"Mm, yes. You'll find him around Thrawl Street. That's where he lives, though I'm unsure of the exact address," she smiled.

"Well…Thank'ee kindly, Miss Foster," and he turned to leave.

"Inspector Selvig!" she called.

He turned, and Jane walked up close to him. "I'll be happy to continue this relationship throughout the investigation, as long as you promise not to reveal me nor my friend Loki's identity…"

"All right…"

"I own the apothecary. Loki owns the bookshop. Both in Spitalfields Market. Please stop by every morning before ten am at one of the two. Since it is only a five minute walk, I doubt that it should be much trouble, if we aren't at one, to walk to the other," she paused. "And I hope that you'll be sharing what information you have, too."

"Yes, Miss…I thank you…I'll certainly be calling."

Jane turned to Loki.

He was smiling at her. "You are an astounding creature, Jane Foster."

"See? And you had your doubts…" she sauntered away from him, his eyes on her back. And Loki swallowed.

The pair began to walk toward the market. "So you've given the police their golden apron…"

"Leather Apron!" she hissed.

"…now what do you propose? Wait it out a bit?"

"No," she replied. "Tonight, we go out and ask questions."

"Questions?"

"That's right. I'll pose as a prostitute. You cover me," they entered the apothecary.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll be the prostitute. You can be a customer."

"Jane."

She opened the windows. She breathed in the scents of London and felt ill. Jane turned and smiled after she recovered and regained her color. "Now, I think that I could probably find some suitable clothes…they just keep a low neckline. Everything else is pretty much the same. As for the rouge and such, that may be a bit more difficult," she went to the back of the store and he heard her rummaging through things.

"Jane," he said again.

She emerged with a tin. "Is this acceptable, do you think?" and she handed him the tin.

Loki looked at her, flummoxed. "Jane Foster, listen to yourself! Rouge?!"

"What? Is this not right?" she looked at the tin she handed him.

"I don't give a damn if it's right or not. You are not going to pose as some prostitute."

Jane looked at him incredulously. "All right, Loki. What is your suggestion?"

"Well…" he cleared his throat. "I think that perhaps we could go to the Princess Alice. That is where Mary Ann Nichols was last reported being seen, according to Fandral."

"And that is where John Pizer goes!" she paused. "…and where he sometimes threatens the ladies."

Loki eyed her suspiciously. "Hm. 'Threatens,' does he? I thought that you said that he was innocent."

"I mean…he is mad. I never said that he wasn't," she took out per pestle.

"Just how well do you know this Pizer?"

"What are you suggesting?" she responded with heat.

"Only that there might be more to him than the occasional salt intake and the donning of a bronze apron."

"Leather!" Jane rounded on him, then saw some ladies enter, giving her a sidelong glance. "Morning," Jane called. She looked at Loki, who was smirking. "Look. How about I come up to your shop after I close here. We can continue this later."

"I await your arrival with bated breath," he covered his heart with his hand, his face with a wider smirk.

"Oh good. Just be certain not to breathe until I get there. Then I'll know you really care."

"Jane…you think so little of me that you would deny the very breath of life?" he began to leave, nodding to her costumers on his way.

"No…I merely require proof of your adoration. I should be your air and only sustenance. Your commitment to our friendship depends upon it."

He laughed at her. "Jane, I could sooner prove my adoration than catch a villain."

"Humph," as she stood in the doorway as he walked out. "I should find another detective," she smiled. "But rest assured I adore you, Loki. Now get out of my shop," she turned back in to attend to her customers.

Loki stood a moment. Then turned.

She adored him? As a friend, surely. Yes. That was what she meant.

Loki walked back to Asgard, a very, very slight spring in his step.

"Fandral!" he said. "Lovely morning, is it not?"

"What's going on?" Fandral eyed him closely.

"What are you on about, my man? 'On'?" he poured some brew.

"There was another murder, and you think it a 'lovely morning?'"

"Well, not so lovely for the victim or her family, I imagine."

"Don't let Jane hear you speak thus. She'll never talk to you again," and he turned back to the book he was reading at the counter.

"Oh please, Fandral. The woman simply adores me," and he went to pretend to see to his ledgers.

Fandral rolled his eyes and turned a page.

Loki was nervous. He didn't like this whole scheme Jane had concocted, though he admittedly was having a time attempting to think of another suitable one.

Fandral had left for the day; the shop dreadfully quiet.

He went out into the shop itself and began to fidget with the books when he heard the door open.

"Evenin' guvna. Lookin' fer a date?" came a harsh cockney accent.

Loki turned and saw Jane Foster standing in the doorway, the front door just closed behind her. "Jane?" he went over to her.

The woman in question smiled. "How do I look?" She cleared her throat. "I mean. 'ow do I be lookin'?"

He glanced up and down…her hair was a bit mussed. Her neckline plunged…he quickly looked up again…there was a lot of rouge on her face, and she had done something with her eyes and lips…"Well. Very nice, if I was looking for a date, as you had said. Though I must say, I prefer you the other way."

"That's not the point, is it?" Jane replied. "Though I thank'ee… you don't offer compliments often."

He nodded. "So…care to alert me to the plan?"

"Well…we go to the Princess Alice. We have some ale. We pretend to be engaging in a business exchange, all the while listening to the conversation. Then we leave…shouldn't be more than a hour of our time."

"And your father…"

"If he's there, I'll be right cross. He needs his rest," she smiled.

"Jane! I was referring to the fact that he might be concerned that you aren't at home."

"He knows I'll be late. I went home at luncheon to tell him not to worry," she mussed her hair once more.

Loki swallowed. He took off his necktie, undid a few buttons on his shirt. Took off his suit jacket and put on his overcoat. Mussed his own black hair…he kept it longer than most men in London, and didn't sport the burnsides they all did. He seemed to prefer a more crisp look on his face.

He thought he might need to rethink that if he was to continue this.

"Well, Jane…" he turned to find her looking at him in an odd way. "Jane?"

She snapped from wherever she was. "Yes? Sorry," she mumbled.

"Look. If you are not well, or unsure…we can rethink this."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I'm perfectly well."

He nodded. "Shall we?" he opened the door for her.

Jane nodded, and entered London's night, heavy with scent, thick with heat, and foreboding in atmosphere.

A/N: thanks to JaninaM8 for her help on this chapter.

Also, I think that I should make it clear that I am not attempting to name the Ripper of lore. I have no idea whatsoever who might have committed these murders. However, I think that I might have come up with a possible motive, and that is what I'll be presenting here. Well, what Jane and Loki will be presenting. ;)

Thanks for reading, offering a review, following, and favoriting! This is a lot of fun.