AN: Well, this is just a quick little thing that got into my head at work today, so I decided to come home and get it down before I lost it. :) I'm not completely satisfied with how it came out, but I don't really think any effort I might give right now would really improve it any. Really, it's not bad considering how quickly I wrote it.

Jack and Jill, sprinkled with Jack the Ripper. I like warping nursery rhymes. Maybe someday I'll do another.

When Jack Met Jill

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down
and broke his crown
and Jill came tumbling after

--Jack and Jill, a nursery rhyme--

X X X

She said her name was Jill.

It was a fitting title; a common name for a common woman. It probably wasn't really her name at all.

They had met on a street corner. The street was where he met all of his women, and invariably it was where he would leave them. To this, Jill would be no exception.

He was a doctor. Sort of. He had gone to all of the best schools, taken the courses, learned and studied for years. He had wanted to become a surgeon, but he wasn't really cut out for it. His hand was just a little too unsteady.

His name was Jackson, but everyone called him Jack.

X X X

The city in which they lived was small, but lay on the outskirts of a much larger one.

The whole of the city had been built on a hill. It was a wide, sprawling hill, and no matter where one went they were either climbing or descending the constant incline.

Yellow lights lined the streets. Some flickered slightly, and some of the bulbs had burned out all together. The light that they cast wasn't flattering, but neither were the gray concrete streets or the colorless buildings that lined the ways. But the women didn't seem to care, so long as it was dark enough. They always waited until dark. And so did Jack.

She had been standing a bit back from the street when he had passed. He had never seen her face before, and he suspected she was new. She certainly looked young.

He had come back a couple of times before slowing the car to a stop beside her. She had approached the passenger side window, and they spoke briefly. He offered to buy her a drink or two. There was a bar not a few blocks away, up the hill. It was an offer that most of the women he met--women more experienced in their occupation--would have declined.

Jill accepted.

The bar was murky, filled with the smoke of a hundred lit cigarettes. Bodies pressed against one another, moving to the beat of some brash techno sounds, flickering in and out with the strobe lighting. The bar area itself wasn't quite so crowded. Casting her company a slightly uncertain look, Jill ordered a strong drink.

Jack asked for water.

She tossed back drinks stiff with vodka. He sipped patiently at his water.

The bar was nearly empty before they left. Jill was unsteady on her feet, and Jack practically had to haul her from the building onto the ill lit street. She had a tight hold on his arm. He grinned down at her.

The car wasn't parked far away, along a narrow side street--little more than an alleyway. He led her to it, speaking idly about his desire to become a surgeon. She didn't seem to really hear his words.

Around them the street was empty. Yellow light flickered from a distant lamp, but the nearest streetlight had burned out long ago and simply not been replaced. Jack fumbled for his keys in his pocket, and dropped them. It was as good a reason as any to pry his arm from Jill's grip.

He propped her up against the brick of the nearest building. Left to her own devices she slid to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms about her legs. For a moment Jack regarded her with a frown that she didn't notice. Quickly he retrieved his keys from the ground. With a jerking motion he pulled open the rear door of the car.

The back seat was where he kept his most important possessions.

The briefcase was black and nondescript. At least on the outside. Inside, however, the plain looking case had been modified to hold all of his favorite tools. The tools of a surgeon.

He pulled the case from the car, heedless of Jill's eyes watching his back.

He moved easily, resting the case on the hood of his car as he scanned the streets for passers by. But the streets were empty, and he opened the dark briefcase without worry. The tools gleamed in the sickly light, polished to perfection, brand new and not yet christened.

Tonight was the night.

Then something hit him. For a moment it felt as though his head had been struck wide open, and his knees gave way with the pain. But still he noticed the movement from the corner of his eye. Jill had staggered to her feet. She was stumbling, walking away with an unsteady gait. He didn't know what she had hit him with, but it was still in her hand. Whatever it was, it had hurt--but not enough.

Jill was quick, but Jack moved faster.

He hit her hard, throwing his weight behind the blow. He didn't use any weapon, only his bare hands. She fell, much as he had, but Jack didn't stop there--he had no reason to stop there.

His hands were around her throat. It wasn't the way that he had imagined it happening. But it was satisfying in a way that he had never dreamed.

He was a little disappointed when she stopped breathing. Then he remembered the tools. They were sitting in wait on the hood of his car.

Surgeon's tools.

X X X

The morning papers reported the story.

They had made the front page, he and Jill. A big, bold headline. It was better than he had expected.

The article said that she had been cut open with a surgeon's precision. He was a little proud of that. After all, she had been his first.

And he still had so much practicing yet to do.