September 2nd-8th

Fandral Adamson was a very handsome man. He knew this, and he occasionally abused it.

That isn't to say that he was improper in any way. Nor that he was not a gentleman. He was…he was just…well…as he might put it, "Well versed in all things dealing with love."

When he met the Welsh immigrant Mary Kelly, he was taken pretty quickly. She was lovely, and he approached her for a business transaction.

She obliged him.

But it soon became obvious to Fandral that Mary was a bit green when it came to worldly knowledge. She sold herself, yes…but she was frank and a bit innocent and naive. That isn't to say that she thought that these men were in love with her, no. Well, a few, perhaps. But more, that none would ever harm her. That there was some genuine care for her well being. That Mary wasn't simply a commodity, but a person.

Fandral saw that, and he pitied her. The men who sought her were not interested in anything but sexual release. Sometimes they desired a feeling of dominant control when their lives were so out of control. But they didn't give a toss for Mary Kelly nor any other woman walking the streets for her doss.

So, he kept an eye on her. He would interview the men whom she would take up with, different from her "customers," and occasionally interfere when he thought he was needed.

She was like a little sister to him, he told himself.

He would meet with her at various pubs once or twice a week, depending. She would tell him stories, of which she knew a few, and he would listen and offer some advice if she asked.

Fandral himself was an only child, his father long gone, mother well kept by another man. They lived rather comfortably away from London's East End…not far from Loki's own flat. Fandral despised the place, but he knew that he couldn't afford lodging on his own, so he suffered silently knowing that he was, in fact, quite fortunate.

He enjoyed staying away from the area just east of Covent Garden where his mother lived for as long as possible; this meant, of course, that he kept late hours in Whitechapel by the shop. He developed a bit of a reputation, that is, that he was a snob.

He was. He wouldn't hire the services of just any lady. He was educated, and he understood what many in London didn't: promiscuity was dangerous, and could be deadly.

But he cared for Mary Kelly, more than he cared for most people. He hid this fact from everyone who didn't need to know it.

He hid, also, that he was in love with her…

Loki looked at Jane in the obscured darkness of the shop. He looked at the door, placed his palms on it, then nodded. They had left.

Jane felt light headed…she went to the chair and sat once more.

"Loki…" she whispered.

He leaned against the closed door. "Now, we mustn't rush to conclusions, Jane. There is nothing to lead us to believe that they were speaking of the Mary Kelly we met this evening."

"No," she replied. "But nothing to dissuade it, either. You said yourself that she hears loads of things," Jane looked at him.

"Look," and he went over to her. "We mustn't work ourselves up. Keep a calm mind. I'll let Fandral know tomorrow what we overheard. We can work from there," he ran his hand through his hair and sat down.

Jane looked at him, shirt still undone, no tie, overcoat discarded…hair a mess. He looked the part, almost. He could surely be a convincing day laborer, he was bright enough to pull it off. "We need to go out again…but not tomorrow…" she paused. "I mean, tonight. Let's wait a bit and come up with some false identities. Get into character. Make up a story…either separate or married…and I think that then we can really get some information."

Loki looked at her crookedly. "Concoct some identities…?" he exhaled. "Very well," he rose. "Allow me to see you home," he held his hand to her.

Jane took it and smiled, then began putting the chair back, closed the back door and locked it. She went to Loki and nodded, and they left with a click of the door and a turn of the key.

The streets were mostly deserted now, everyone had made their transactions, and were either seeing it though in an alley, pressed against a wall, or at one of the sleep houses. Only a stray older prostitute could be seen, a few workers who kept very late hours, and Jane and Loki. The bell chimed out…two am.

It had been a very long night. And Jane had to be at the shop again in six hours.

"Maybe I'll open late this morning," she observed, hoping that her father was long asleep.

"It is a pity that our apothecary thinks so little of her clientele that she would place her own silly pursuits ahead of their many maladies," Loki observed with a smirk.

"Silly pursuits my eye," she spat, smiling. "But in all seriousness, Loki…what time do you open ordinarily?"

"Mm…Fandral is expected by eight thirty."

Jane nodded, then sighed. "Well, I'll do my best, but if I'm not there by eight thirty, might you put a sign on the door? Say I'll be opening by luncheon?"

"Why not take the day, Jane?"

"The day! Because, unlike you, I have no wealthy parents to pay for my meat, and I have an ailing father to tend to."

Loki shrugged, and they walked in silence until Algate and Jane's street.

He walked her to her steps. Jane smoothed out her skirts, and looked up at Loki. "Thank'ee, my friend. You are truly a gentleman."

"Am I? I had heard that I was a knave in gentleman's attire," Jane had called him that many months previous during one of their more silly arguments.

"Well, whoever said that is a fool," knowing full well she had uttered that statement.

"No, not a fool…" he smiled. Then cleared his throat. "Well, shall I call on the shop tomorrow afternoon, then? We can discuss this more at length."

Jane nodded, then suddenly struck, stood on tiptoe and pecked his cheek. "Evening, Loki," and she turned and went up the stairs to her house.

Loki turned, then placed his fingers where she had kissed him.

…and the middle of the night was suddenly as bright as midday.

Loki entered Asgard at seven thirty the following morning. He set about readying the shop and such, when he heard the bell and Fandral enter.

"Fandral, come to the back, please," he called. He sat behind his desk. This wasn't anything that would normally give him pause, but the situation presenting in Whitechapel was so very dire that everything appeared to be a concern. He was turning soft. He cleared his throat and motioned for Fandral to sit.

"Am I being sacked?" he asked as he sat down.

"Pardon?"

"Well…you never ask me back here. You saw me with a prostitute last evening…"

"No! Of course not," Loki sat back shaking his head. He steepled his fingers under his chin and eyed Fandral long…

He shifted. "Erm…Loki…? What is this about?"

His hands fell to the desk. "Listen, Fandral…I'm not certain how to go about this, so I'll just be blunt."

"Good lord man, what happened to your hand?!"

Loki followed his gaze…ah. He hadn't wrapped his knuckles. Quickly he put his hands on his lap. "Erm. Nothing…"

"Shut up…" Fandral snapped his gaze to Loki's face. "Were you in a brawl…? In a pub fight?" he sounded almost excited.

"Hardly," he dismissed.

"No! You were! Oh lord I wish I hadn't left so abruptly. You in a fight!"

"I can defend myself, you know, Fandral," and Loki stood.

"But oh! What a sight it must have been! What did Jane say? Did she laugh? Or scold you?"

"She said nothing, as her face was smarting from the fellow who struck her," he stated with heat.

Fandral's mouth hung agape.

"Shut your mouth, man. You look like a codfish," and he turned away and poured some brew for himself and Fandral.

"You!" he whispered, taking the proffered mug. "You…defended her!"

"And why is that shocking?" he sipped.

"It isn't. That's why I'm shocked."

"You are speaking in riddles, Fandral. Finish your brew so you might regain your sensibilities," and he sat.

"But…but…what happened?" he was all wide-eyed and taut with anticipation.

Loki sighed. "Some miscreant attempted to solicit Jane for favors, she turned him down, he grabbed at her, she kneed him, he slapped her, I went over and punched him in the face and threw him to the floor," he paused. "Happy?"

Fandral was shaking his head slowly. "I wish I would have seen that," his face betrayed a faraway look as he whispered. "So…she loves you now, I'm sure," he sat back, pleased with his observation.

"What the devil are you on about? She loves me? Because I punched a prat?"

"Because you rescued her!" he exclaimed.

"Fandral, you have read too many fairy tales. That doesn't happen in real life. Perhaps you should go home and have a lie down. You are obviously unwell."

"Humph," he crossed his arms after he put the mug down. "You got a kiss, though, right?"

Loki stared at him.

"Tell me you got a kiss!"

Nothing.

"You know, I should tutor you. Obviously you have no idea how this whole thing works…"

"She gave me a kiss on the cheek," Loki muttered, gaze falling.

"That's all?"

And now he glared at him. "I'll thank ye for your fierce concern over my relationship with our apothecary, but I assure you, I wouldn't want to jeopardize the friendship I enjoy with her as a result of any interference from you and your questionable expertise."

"If it were me, she would have melted in my arms," he muttered.

"Has it occurred to you that I do not wish to have her, as you say, 'melt in my arms'?"

"No," he stated simply.

Loki rolled his eyes, exasperated beyond words. "We are dreadfully off topic, here, Fandral. I asked you back here for a very specific purpose."

Fandral raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "Last evening, Jane and I were at her shop…we heard some people speaking in hushed tones on the road just here. One was a foreigner, but able to speak English well enough. It was impossible to discern just what his accent was…" he stopped a moment. "At any rate, the fellow was looking for a Mary Kelly."

Nothing.

"Fandral?"

"Yes?"

"Did you hear me?"

"I did. But I really have nothing to say on the matter."

"No? It appeared that you rather cared for Miss Kelly."

He shrugged, attempting to convey indifference. "There are plenty of blokes about who seek Mary out. This is unsurprising. But, if you think it wise, I can alert her to be wary of foreign men."

Loki was a bit taken aback by his apparent disinterest. "Well. Very good. Yes," he shifted. "That is all, Fandral."

He nodded, then rose. "Will you be here all day, or do you plan on calling on Jane?"

"Why?" he looked at him critically.

"No reason."

Loki looked down at his desk and shuffled some things about. "I'll be leaving the shop here around four to go to the apothecary."

Fandral nodded, then left.

He would close the shop at five so that he might get to Mary in time.

Jane was speaking with Mrs. Smith, attempting to calm her nerves. Mr. Smith had taken to the drink again, and she was worried about his keeping long hours in Whitechapel. Jane was assuaging these notions, but was enjoying little success.

"Mrs. Smith, do take care. He is in no danger," Jane whispered kindly…but in her heart, she knew it to be a falsehood.

"Oh, Miss Jane…'tis all a tither. Mr. Smith keeps 'is 'ours…'an I stay at me 'ouse…'e's off at de pub, spendin' our rent…"

"Talk to your landlord," she replied, putting her things away. "He'll make arrangements."

"No, 'e won't," she sobbed. Mrs. Smith appeared to be well into her forty's, but she was just a few years older than Jane…maybe thirty five.

Jane was torn…should she hurry her out, for Loki would surely be arriving shortly, or should she listen to her some more?…though admittedly, she wasn't certain just how much longer she could tolerate her, and she felt guilty. "Mrs. Smith, I am sorry, but I was planning on closing up a bit early tonight," she smiled sweetly.

"Oh! And you opened late! Mus' be nice, Miss Jane," she stood and went to the door, a smug look about her.

Jane coughed, then followed her. "Have a good evening," she closed the door behind her.

She sighed, then quickly turned to begin locking the windows and such.

There was a knock at the door…Jane looked to see what Mrs. Smith had left behind. "I don't see anything here, Mrs. Smith…" she said, opening the door.

"Well, I know that I don't sport the burnsides which are so popular as of late, but I hope that that doesn't nullify my masculinity," Loki said, brushing passed Jane into the dimly lit shop.

"Loki! I thought that you were…" she closed the door.

"Mrs. Smith. I gathered that," he smiled. "Here, I brought some bread and cheese," he handed her a paper bag.

Jane smiled widely at him."Thank you," she breathed. She was positively starving.

"Now, Jane. It's only some bread…I haven't brought you a Christmas goose with trimmings."

"No…but I am starving. Haven't eaten all day."

"You'll be wise to take care of yourself, Jane Foster. The people of Whitechapel depend upon your good health," and he began to cut up the breads and cheeses for their enjoyment at the counter.

Jane, meanwhile, after procuring some plates and tea cups, sat down and wiped her brow. "Tea's on in the back."

He nodded, handed her a plate, and went to get the tea. He arrived back with two steaming cups, and handed her one, smiling. "You'll feel yourself in a moment, dear."

Jane looked at him crookedly. "'Dear'? What's that about?"

"Well, you are dear to me, my friend," he took a bite of bread, and sat down across from her.

Jane nodded, and wanting to change the subject, said, "I've always liked the name Clara."

"Indeed?"

"Mm. Yes. And you look rather like a 'Tom'."

"Hideous name."

Jane looked at him. "What's wrong with it?"

"'Tom'?! What's right with it?" he laughed. "How about…Nigel?"

She scrunched her nose. "Horrific."

"What about…Abraham?"

"Like the American president? Don't be absurd."

Loki sat back. "I've always been rather fond of my name. Can't think of another…"

"I told you. Tom."

"Absolutely not," he took another bite. "Let me think on it, Clara. How about we come up with our story, hm?"

Jane nodded. She finished her bread and tea. "Well…should we be married already? Or how about we are brother and sister?"

"Neither would work, as you are selling yourself and I am…purchasing…" good lord this was awkward. He blushed a touch.

"Have you never, not in your whole life, solicited a prostitute, Loki?"

His gaze snapped to hers. "Why?"

"Well, I mean…men are, I believe, bit more…virile?…than women…and if one isn't married or whatever, I imagine it would be…" she dropped her gaze. "Difficult? For erm…" she coughed and looked at him, laughing, as his eyes had grown wide in shock. "Come, Loki…you know what I am talking about! Don't make me say it."

He rolled his eyes, after putting them promptly back in his head, then swallowed. This was, without a doubt, the worst conversation he had ever had. Including the one wherein he needed to tell Thor that he had accidentally on purpose drowned his pet rat. But who keeps a rat, honestly…? "Jane, I feel some things should be made plain before continuing any further with this rather dubious conversation," he looked at his lap…at the floor…anywhere but Jane's face. "Firstly…now, I am no lady, but I believe that women can and do enjoy relations if they are fortunate enough to have a sensitive partner. Secondly," he wasn't looking at her still. "Women and men have been known to care about one another deeply independent of marriage or a contractual agreement of a financial nature. Thirdly," and he took a deep breath and looked at her now. "I've solicited a prostitute…" and then he looked to the ceiling for the answer. "Perhaps twice in my thirty three years," he looked back once more. "The first time I was fully young. I wanted the experience of sexual intercourse. The second time I had my heart broken, and desired the affection of a woman. Little happened there besides…well. Never mind. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Jane felt humiliated. She blushed again and again. How heartless to pry so! "I'm very sorry, Loki. I never meant to pry…"

"Oh, but you did. You've been aching to know this information since this business began."

"I have not!" she protested.

He took a deep breath. "I do not wish to argue. You asked, I told you," and now a smile spread across his face. "What about you?"

"Me?"

His eyebrows went up. "Well? Out with it, Miss Foster."

She laughed. "I've never solicited a prostitute, Loki."

"No…but have you had an experience of a sexual nature?"

Jane blushed again and again. Well, what did she expect? She had asked him. "I…have, yes."

"Your virtue has been compromised?"

She looked at him, a bit angry, a bit hurt. "If you are asking about my virginity, then no. My 'virtue' remains in tact. But I have had some…experiences…yes."

Loki nodded. "When I mentioned your virtue, Jane, it was in jest."

"No it wasn't…but I understand. That is how men view women. Either they are a virgin or they aren't. A virgin is better, but if we were all virgins, no one would be here."

He laughed. "Quite right."

She joined his laughter. "So…Tom."

"I won't answer to that name."

"…I suppose I could be a local prostitute, recently abandoned by my husband."

"Or beat by him, and you left. That way locals will be wary of you. No one wants the threat of a jilted lover."

Jane nodded. "All right. Clara with the lover who beat her…and you are Tom. A poor Englishman looking for his way in the world…lost in the maze of Eastern London debauchery."

Loki looked at her and laughed heartily. "I still won't answer to 'Tom'."

For five nights they wandered the streets, but usually only for a couple of hours. The talk still surrounding John Pizer, for he had all but disappeared. Jane didn't think much of that. "He has family here. I'm certain that they are keeping him hidden."

Loki shrugged. It was Friday, and he was tired. This double life was taking its toll. He also loathed letting Jane wander around unattended. They were almost always within a hundred yards of one another, but he worried about her, and was unable to concentrate fully on the task at hand.

He thought that perhaps that night he would go out on his own without the hindrance of Jane's well being on his mind.

They were at the book shop, and Jane pulled her hair back up in a taut bun. It had been their habit to return to one of the shops after walking until about eleven or so, to discuss the night's events.

"That chap…the second one I spoke with. There was something not right with him," Jane observed.

"He had fleas," Loki replied, sitting down and buttoning up his shirt.

"Not really," she breathed.

"Didn't you notice his fidget? He positively squirmed."

"I thought that it was nerves…"

"Dearest Jane, while you are lovely, no one would have that reaction to you."

"I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, but laughed. "What about you, Loki? Anything?" she sat.

"Nothing."

"Well, at least we are trying…"

He nodded. "Let's get you home," and he slapped his knees and stood.

She smiled and smoothed herself. "Let's go," she smiled.

It was a pleasant walk home for nearly midnight. The humidity had subsided during the day now a touch, so the night enjoyed a bit of a chill. It wasn't lost on Jane that this was unwelcome news for the night wanderers. Winter was a wretched and frightening time for them.

The soot on the stones crunched under their boots; the moonlight illuminated the wet rock softly…

Jane, unknowingly, walked a bit closer to Loki, nearly brushing his side. They hadn't spoken much since they left Asgard.

He didn't comment.

They reached Jane's stairs, and she turned toward him. "Well…I'll see you on Monday?"

"Monday," he nodded.

She turned and went up the stairs. "Jane!" he called out.

She stopped and looked at him.

"I meant what I said about you being lovely," and he turned and walked away.

…and Jane watched him leave, and turned the corner. And sighed.

Loki turned the corner and headed back toward Whitechapel. He would spend the next couple of hours scouring the place. He was certain that something was amiss, though he was hard pressed to put his finger on what.

It was now Saturday the 8th…

And the silence was deafening to those listening for quiet.

A/N: I received two PMs about the "canonical five." I figured since two people asked, others might be interested:

The canonical five are, in order:

Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Kelly.

I added Martha Tabram...some surely believe her to be a victim. There are a possible eight altogether, but I am only suggesting six.

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