Jo's asleep. Or at least, she's supposed to be. In actuality, Ellen expects she's buried somewhere under the covers with a flashlight and a lore book she'll be reading till two in the morning, but it's Friday, and Ellen doesn't have the energy to argue with a stubborn twelve year old tonight. She'll let it slide.
Rufus is sat at the bar, wearing a scowl and a bandage round his arm where Ellen had tried to patch him up post-hunt. She crosses to him without a word and pours them each a drink. He accepts the tumbler of scotch with a nod of thanks and knocks it back in one go.
Alcohol loosens tongues, and they get to talking. There's bitching, mostly about Bobby Singer, and reminiscing, then talking turns to flirting and flirting turns to fucking, and they end the night going at it in Ellen's bed, while Ellen bites her lip to keep from disturbing Jo through the thin walls.
Rufus is a gentleman. He stays just long enough the next morning to make her breakfast - eggs over easy, bacon, pancakes, orange juice, and a dash of whisky in her coffee. He's just about to be on his way when Jo comes down to the kitchen, still in her pajamas and hair mussed from sleep. She politely waves goodbye then takes a seat at the kitchen table next to her mother, a knowing smirk on her face and a mischievous glint in her eye. "Sleep well last night, mom?"
It's all Ellen can do not to choke on her coffee. That girl's growing up too fast.