Moving from FF. I do get these threads confused (not spoilery at all; a giftie for Fay):

Hmmm. For fun, taking Fay's advice.

• ***

She stepped out of the Jag XKE, and into the dusty July sunlight of a London afternoon.

Every eye in every head present for the length of Marlborough Street watched her. She was accustomed to it; if her height and cheekbones hadn't turned heads, her black leather catsuit and four-inch laced granny boots would have done the trick. She herself wouldn't have given the stares a moment's thought. After all, it was London, it was 1966, and she was a scant twenty metres away from Carnaby Street.

She made for a small pub just south of where she'd parked. There were signs all over the shop, telling her she mustn't park there, threatening violators with dire consequences. No one would remove the Jag; no one would write her out a summons. The small blue government ministry sticker on the windscreen would see to that.

She glanced up at the lovingly restored pub sign. The Blood & Garter; this was the place, lashings of lolly spent on it, all tarted up like a dog's dinner for the tourist trade. How too bloody chichi for words. What peculiar names they gave pubs. Surely someone, maybe Conan Doyle, had written a short monograph on the subject? She really ought to ask Steed. It was precisely the sort of thing he cluttered up his brain with.

She became aware of one particular pair of eyes, watching her through the leaded glass of the pub's frontage. She walked inside, turned left, and headed for the eyes.

They belonged to a rather goodlooking child, dark-haired, cut features. Her first thought was that he'd likely spent far too much time in front of his looking glass, practising that sneer.

He stood up. At least he had some manners, she thought, and then realised, he was measuring himself against her height. She could see the mixture of outraged ego and lust as he realised he'd come up short.

"Don't worry, luv," she told him kindly. "It's not your willy at issue here. It's just my high heels." She watched him flush, and grinned, her cheekbones moving. "You're Ethan? Ethan Rayne?"

"Right." His voice squeaked a bit. He flushed again, but suddenly, as if seeing how silly his reactions were, got a grip on himself and grinned. It was a charming grin, and it changed his face, relaxing it, making him someone she could do business with. "And you're Emma Peel?"

more, from FF thread:

"Right. What are you drinking?" She caught the landlord's eye, gestured for two of the same, and turned back to Ethan. "You look puzzled. Is something wrong?"

"Well," he told her, "I was rather wondering where you'd possibly keep money in that gear you're wearing."

"Money? I don't need money. Jack here knows me. Hullo, Jack, long time no see. Ah, beer. Good thing we're still in licensing hours."

The landlord winked at her. "Ah, well, not like I'd refuse you a pint, Missus P."

"Sssh," she told him. "We don't want to corrupt Rosy-cheeked youth here, do we?"

The landlord, grinning sourly, headed back to the bar, leaving Ethan sputtering. Emma pulled a chair out, turned it back to front, and swung her legs over it.

"Let's get down to it," she suggested, and took a mouthful of beer. "The message you sent to the Ministry - you said something about black market trading in human blood?"

"Right." Ethan emptied the dresgs of his first pint. "See, me and two mates of mine, Rupert and Deirdre, we live in Oxford - my dad's a Fellow at Magdalene...."

The story that emerged was a strange one. Simply put, over the space of nine or ten weeks, Ethan Rayne and his two friends had discovered eleven bodies, their throats pierced, emptied of blood. Three of the weirdly mottled corpses had been derelicts, and their bodies had been left in the alleys in which they'd lived in life. The rest, however, had been strewn about Wolvercote Churchyard as carelessly as straw at a Guy Fawkes bonfire.

("What were you doing hanging about in a graveyard, anyway?" "We just were!")

Oh, now I wish I hadn't said anything. See, this is what I get for posting at 1:00 am. Yes, it is spoilery as in spoilery for things that haven't happened yet. I know enough from just lurking to know that things that have already aired are OK. So, I will not post it and go back to enjoying the wonderful fics here. Maybe I'll post it after it's not spoilery anymore.

Last of the Ff posting:

She listened, keeping her face completely smooth and impassive. In fact, it was an odd story; she wondered if this child knew just how odd a story it was.

When he had finished, she ventured a question. "What made you assume it was traders in black market blood supplies? Rather than, say, someone playing silly beggars and pretending they were Dracula? You know, someone nice and high?"

"There were eleven dead people," he told her flatly. "Eleven. Unless there's a whole lot of people getting that high and doing that particular bit of assing about, I don't see it." He abruptly tipped his still-foamy second pint to his lips, and drained it. "And you didn't see them, either. They were blue, sort of marble-looking. No blood left. So unless it really was Dracula, then someone wants all that blood, right? And what else could it be, except for money on the black market?"

Emma considered telling him about all the twisty things people had historically used blood for - Elisabeth Bathory came to mind - but decided against it. "Right. Supposing you're right - you want us to investigate?"

"That was the big idea," he told her wryly. "Because why else would I take my life in my hands and call a government ministry? Not that you aren't smashing, and all, but I didn't know that when I rang up, did I?"

She laughed out loud. "No, I suppose you didn't. All right. I'll have to clear this with my partner, but assuming it does get cleared, I'll head down at the weekend. Give me your address and number in Oxford."

She headed out into the street, turning over the information he'd given her. Had she looked over her shoulder, she might have surprised a rather odd look on Ethan Rayne's face.

kat perez, I do hope you'll post it here when it is no longer spoilery. I'd love to read it.

I'd love to read it.

Kat, what Elena said.

Well, this is another try. Same topic motel/gun/note. Non-spoilery.

It’s not right. Even though they love each other, it isn’t right. Arriving separately. Checking in under assumed names. Sneaking up to the shabby room and screwing against the wall because heaven only knows who has been on the bed. Trying to let no parts of their bodies touch the moldy shower curtain as they wash up.

They’d been going there for weeks. Oh, he saw the way the guy behind the counter smirked every time he handed over the keys. He thought this was just some afternoon fuck, something secret and dirty. What did he know about it? This wasn’t just some casual affair. He would never do that.

Their cars were parked in the lot now. She’d already gone into the room. He knew they’d be there for a while. It was never just wham, bam, thank you ma’am. He cared about her. He was so good.

He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the gun. Nobody had ever asked about it, not even after what had happened with the girls. He read the note again, “Our love is pure.” He smiled. Then, Andrew went up to the room to kill Anya.

Kat! Welcome to Fan Fic evil!

That's fun!

My first time here, this is fun stuff! Deena, I'm anxiously awaiting your next one...

Whee! Kat! Fun!

I will be posting something, the start of, later. Err. It's not... pleasant. Just as a warning. My brain is in a nasty spot.