Dear god, I love your mind, Plei.

Very nice, Plei. I love the whole mood you created by having these vignettes in a series like this.

It was for the Five Things challenge, Anne.

I'm glad you wrote something last night. You definitely had more luck than me. I like it a LOT.

blush

I worried that these ended up sounding like Ralph Wiggums wrote them. "They're unpossible!"

Not a chance. You around?

I'm up.

Fine, rip the wound open again.

Lilah!!!

This is me writing while way too tired, way too late at night

Ethan wondered which gods were rolling over and laughing hysterically as he, minion of Chaos, Acolyte of Janus, sower of discord and confusion, smiled winningly at the cautious middle-class housewife in Birmingham. "I completely understand your concern, madam, but I can assure you Molly will be safest with myself and my colleagues from the Council."

Good God, he'd even managed a straight face when he said that.

Mrs. Culpepper twisted her hands in her apron and looked around her sitting room uneasily, reached over to fuss with the tea things, did everything but meet Ethan's eyes. "Mr. Rayne, it's all so terribly, terribly odd. That nice Miss Tate did explain everything about the--the creatures that Molly's supposed to ... well ... but then they found Miss Tate there in the shopping arcade stabbed, and I've just not known what to think. Molly said she was followed home the other night. Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Trust me, Mrs. Culpepper, the police are not equipped to deal with this situation. Molly was followed? Did she see them?"

"No, she said she just hurried home as quick as she could, trying to stay with other people. It's lucky we live on a busy street."

Ethan looked out the window the street. "Yes, it is." He wanted to scream at the woman that she was an ignorant idiot and no better prepared with the madness of the real world as that dust bunny of a dog snoring next to her on the sofa, but he was afraid that he'd insult the dog. Dammit, impersonating one of those twits from the Council wasn't doing the job.

"Mrs. Culpepper, I don't want to alarm you--" liar! "--but I was being completely serious when I said Molly would be safer with me than if she stayed here. And to be brutally honest, you'll be safer, too. The people who killed Miss Tate are looking for Molly, and I know first-hand that they're not particular about what happens to anyone who happens to be nearby when they make their attempt. Molly must come with me now. She'll be able to ring you as often as she likes, so you'll know she's safe."

She looked up the stairs, where Molly had gone a few minutes ago to pack. "I know," she said softly. "I've tried to tell myself that Miss Tate was a nice young lady but just a bit touched and that it didn't do any harm if she wanted to teach Molly about self-defense. But I've seen things, strange looking people lurking in the shadows when I'm coming home from the shops at night. It's real, isn't it, Mr. Rayne. Every bit of it."

"Yes. Every bit of it." He glanced around the room. He had as much trouble believing in this prosaic British world, concerned with football and rates, as Mrs. Culpepper did believing in Ethan's world of demons and magic. Why did people like Rupert worry so much about protecting these plebeian sheep? They were fodder for the predators, a smokescreen for those who knew the real world to hide behind.

He hid his cynical smile. Rupert didn't see them as sheep, he saw them as innocents, people worthy of defense. And having thrown in his lot with the side of the sheepdogs, it was up to Ethan to downplay his own fangs and long, wolfy tail.

Footsteps came hurrying down the stairs. Ethan got to his feet as the young proto-Slayer came in. He didn't see it, himself. She was just another teenaged girl, except for the careful way she moved and the hint of knowing fear in her eyes. She carried a back pack and a medium duffle bag.

Mrs. Culpepper came over, hands still twisting on each other. "That's everything you're taking?"

"Uh huh." Molly looked nervously between Ethan and her mother. "Miss--Miss Tate said I'd best learn how to travel light."

"We'd best get moving," Ethan said, cutting across the storm of tears he saw building on Mrs. Culpepper's face. "We're due in London."

"London!" Mrs. Culpepper gasped. "So far."

Ethan managed not to say anything of what he was thinking. Molly saw his face, though, and hurried to her mother.

"Mum," she said, "it'll be all right. Miss Tate said the Watchers were based in London, I'm sure it'll be safe as houses."

As the pair hugged, Ethan found himself sympathizing with the Council. These families were such an inconvenience. So much easier to go up to a girl and say, "Come along, it's your duty," and have them obey.

He shuddered, realizing that he, of all people, was coming down on the side of calcified tradition. If he wasn't careful, he might start thinking that a suit and tie were an acceptable part of one's daily wardrobe.

It was getting dark outside. "Ladies, my apologies, but we must be going."

Mrs. Culpepper nodded and pushed Mollie away after one last hug. "You be good, Molly, and be careful, and do what Mr. Rayne tells you." She wiped her eyes and looked at Ethan. "You take care of my little girl, Mr. Rayne."

He kept his smile to the briefest twitch. "I'll do my very best, Mrs. Culpepper. We'll be in touch."

He put a hand on Molly's shoulder to conduct her to the door. She moved away from him neatly and, after a last wave, led the way out.

Out on the street, Molly stayed out of arm's reach. "I know you lied to my Mum."

"About what?"

"About you being a Watcher. You're not. I don't know what you are, but you're not a Watcher."

"My dear girl, I never said I was. I have a colleague who is a Watcher. I, however, would rather drink molten glass than be a member of that group." He smiled at her. "And if you knew I wasn't a Watcher, why did you agree to leave with me?"

She hugged her duffle bag. "Because you know about those things out there, the ones who killed Miss Tate. And you're not like them. I need to keep them as far from my Mum as I can. You've seen then, haven't you? You know how to deal with them?"

Ethan f

Ethan finally identified that oddly queasy feeling in his gut as the desire to reassure the girl. "I've found that shooting them works well. One of them was about to take an axe to a friend of mine, but I was able to stop that."

Molly moved marginally closer. "Why was it after your friend?"

"He *is* a Watcher. He was working with the Slayer up until very recently."

"She's dead?" Molly blinked. "But--Miss Tate said the current Slayer had been around for years and years, I didn't know she was ..."

"Oh, she's not, she's still quite alive and kicking in California. For some reason Rupert decided she didn't need a full-time Watcher any longer and he cut her loose. Buffy seems to be managing, from what Rupert's said."

Molly stared at him. "You know the Slayer?"

He couldn't resist a jaunty smile. "Oh, yes, she and I go way back." He nodded at the train station they were approaching. "Best let's hurry, I want to be in London before midnight."

tease.