Murph was sat on the train. Almost 100 years of life had managed to be stuffed into a gym bag, a drawstring bag, a rucksack and a guitar case. It was safe to say that she was a little depressed. She was sat at a one of the tables and there was a young man sat opposite who kept glancing up at her over his phone. Had she been human, Murph probably would have given him a chance, but she wasn't human and he- along with the family sat next to her and the football fans at the other end of the carriage- had no idea that there was a monster among them who had the power to slaughter them all.

Murph took a silent gasp in and flushed the thoughts out of her head. She tried to concentrate on the words on the page in front of her and the lyrics of the song that was playing through her earphones but thoughts of blood kept seeping in. As if the blood cravings weren't enough, there was that horrible, irrational feeling of fear running through her and she had no idea why.

She looked up and her eyes locked with the man opposite her. He smiled and she smiled back. She could do it. She could coax him into the toilets. She could make it look like suicide. Or she could just take a nibble . . .

"Next stop. Bristol, Temple Meads." The voice over said and the words pulled her out of her thoughts. She broke her gaze away from the young man and slammed her book shut. "Sorry," she breathed. "I thought I recognised you." She shot up and pulled her bags from the overhead compartment as the train started to slow. "This is my stop." She explained while she pushed her book into the rucksack and hauled it onto her back. She pulled the gym bag over her shoulder along with the drawstring bag and carried the guitar case in her hand.

She made her way to the door, leaving the man wondering what the hell had just happened.

There was the screeching of brakes as the train stopped and then the sound of air locks releasing as the doors opened.

Murph stepped quickly off of the train pulling her phone out with her spare hand and texting Mitchell. '10 minutes.' She sent before pushing her phone back into her pocket.

She stopped momentarily to look around the station. It was bustling with people and Murph couldn't stop a small smile creeping onto her lips. Though she hadn't seen Mitchell in 7 years, she hadn't been back to Bristol in well over 15. The city even smelt the same. She sighed inaudibly and went on her way.

She caught a taxi outside the station, flicking a 20 pence coin into a busker's hat as she went. She was wearing her usual get up; her brunette curls cascaded out of the grasps of the grey beanie hat that was expertly hanging towards the back of her head and on her hands she had fingerless gloves of the same colour. Her black tee shirt had the rolling stones logo on the front and a red skin-tight long-sleeved top underneath, her jeans were the usual Levi Strauss jeans she'd had for at least a decade and her brown converse had faded in some parts, showing how much they'd been worn.

She told the taxi driver to take her to The Nags Head Pub and she paid him when they arrived.

The pub- as per usual at two o'clock on a Thursday- was practically empty. There was a small group of Goth-looking friends that consisted of two people who looked high, another pair who were practically sucking each other's faces off and a young girl who was just listening to music. There were two elderly men who were just waiting for the atmosphere to pick up though that wasn't going to happen for another few hours yet. There was an awkward silence that the pub was submerged in due to the noticeable absence of any music or television talk.

Mitchell wasn't there yet.

Murph pulled her earphone out and let the pair hang lazily from the collar of her tee shirt as she moved the strap of the bag on her shoulder. She moved over to the bar where there was a middle-aged man who was cleaning a glass. "Can I help you?" he was clearly bored and probably wondering why he even opened the pub at this time of the day.

"Um, yeah." Murph said, setting the guitar case down gently. "I'll take a Guinness." She said and then thought for a moment. "Probably best to get a Stella, too." She knew what Mitchell would want.

She paid and carefully moved to drinks over to a table in the corner before relieving her shoulders of the weight of the bags. She sat and took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her right hand to try and distract herself with the movements of the bones and muscles.

The decor of the pub seemed to run along the theme of 'dark green'. The sofa's, stools and the chairs had cushions of that colour and the walls were panelled with dark wood.

There was a recognisable squeak as the heavy wooden door opened and Murph's gaze shot up.

Mitchell was in the doorway. He looked slightly tenser that the last time she had seen him but it had been years as she had other things to think about so she let him off. He was dressed in slim fit jeans and practically worn-through combat boots with a red jacket over a black vest.

He let out a relieved sigh as he smiled happily. Murph only saw a glimpse of his look before she buried her face in his neck and wrapped her arms firmly around his torso. He held her just as tight, gently holding her head.

Murph took in a deep breath through her nose; he smelt of whatever brand of detergent he used for his clothes and there was a faint smell of aftershave and barely noticeable cigarette smoke and . . . Werewolf?

She decided she would question him about it later because a sudden thought overcame her. She realised that- even in a dodgy pub in Bristol- she hadn't felt as safe as she did then in years. In the arms of a recovering serial killer, who smelt faintly of cigarettes and wet dog, she felt like nothing could touch her; there was no blood and no cravings and no guilt and she felt at home.

She felt Mitchell's breath on the top of her ear as he stroked her brunette hair with his thumb. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

She sniffed; realising there was a small lump rising in her throat as she nodded against his shoulder. "I'm better now." She replied and pulled away from his embrace. "T'anks for comin'" she said with a small smile.

He nodded slightly and shrugged. "'s alright, you didn't t'ink I was jus' gonna leave you to struggle on your own, did you?"

She shrugged. "Guess not," she smiled. "That's probably what made me call you. C'mon, I bought you a drink." She gestured over to the table and started to walk over.

He chuckled when she sat down next to the sticker covered guitar case. "are yo0u still trawling that poor guitar wit' you everywhere you go?"

She gaped with a small smile. "What do you mean, 'everywhere'? It's not like I'm always movin'." He gave her an 'oh really?' look and she chuckled before continuing. "I've managed to live in London for 7 years." She informed him.

"Really, who with?" he took a sip of his drink as he sat down on the sofa.

"Paddy and Sarah O'Brien."

"Oh? Are the O'Brien's still helpin' vampires?"

A sad look flited over Murph's face and, obviously, Mitchell noticed. "Why don't you tell me why you need my help?"

She took a deep breath and was about to answer but her phone vibrated in her pocket. Her expression dropped and she paused before quickly pulling out her phone. 'Unknown Number- Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.' cold, bare fear ran through her body and made her tense.

She read the message several times before taking a shaky breath and sliding the phone to Mitchell over the table. He read it a few times with a confused expression before he glanced up at her. "Herrick?" he asked.

Murph sucked on her cheek. "Nah, Herrick wants me back, he'd try to persuade me not freak me out."

"So who is it then?"

She thought for a moment. "Haven't the foggiest. Well, I have an idea but there's, like, t'ree people who it could be."

"Anybody I know?"

"Don't t'ink so. But they have my phone number so I'm gonna have to change my SIM."

"You can buy them from the corner shop." He stated simply.

"Can you?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

There was a pause as they both took a drink, Mitchell sighed and reclined in his seat. "So what happened that you got kicked out?" Murph shot him a 'how-the-hell-did-you-know-that?' look. "c'mon," he exclaimed. "you're life has been practically vacuum-packed into your bags and that guitar means everyt'in' to you, you wouldn't jus' take it wit' everywhere you go."

Murph sighed. "Jeese, talk about a watered down 'Sherlock Holmes', Mitch." She leant forward and took a drink before the small smile evaporated from her face. She took a breath before relaxing herself. Mitchell looked at her encouragingly and she gave in. "I attacked Sarah." She said quietly just so he could hear.

His eyebrows rose for a moment and his mouth moved slightly, his brain trying to form words. "Is she alright?"

She gave a small shrug and looked down. "I don't know. Paddy kicked me out before I could check. I don't think I pierced an artery but I drank her blood so I thought it best that I found you before I did something I'd really regret."

He smiled reassuringly. "Ok," he paused before realisation flooded his face. "Wait, so you have nowhere to go?"

Murph sighed. She didn't want to impose; she just wanted the comfort of Mitchell. "This is what I was worried about. I'll be alright Mitch," she smiled and leant on the table. "I can rent somewhere out nearby and you can just keep an eye on me. I'll get a job and-"

"Murph," he reached forward and gently took her hand. His touch would have made her jump but it was Mitchell and the feel of his fingers on hand was so comforting that she felt every muscle in her body relax impossibly further. "I'm not letting you walk out of that door without making sure you're ok. I mean," he shrugged. "You'll probably have to sleep on the couch or somet'in' but it'd make me feel a lot better if I could keep a proper eye on you." They chuckled and Murph squeezed his hand- with the gentleness of a child- in thanks. "And you could probably get a job at the hospital where George and I work, I'm sure you'd be able-"

"George?" she shot him a confused look.

"Oh yeah," he released her hand and the warmth that had spread through Murph's body disappeared instantly. "I didn't tell you, did I?"

"Tell me what?" she asked, slightly worried why he was so excited to tell her about 'George'.

"I got house mates." He said, pride evident on his face.

"House mates? Vampires?"

He gave a single, short chuckle. "Nah, not quite."

Her mouth gaped slightly and her eyes went wide. "Humans? Mitchell I can't live with you if you're living with humans, I'll lose it. I can't-"

He laughed and it cut her off. "They aren't human, I struggle too you know. Do you really think I'd live with humans? I've always had less control than you, you've pulled it off for 7 years but I wouldn't even last 7 days. C'mon," he gestured towards the door. "Why don't you meet them for yourself? Believe me, you won't hurt them." He smiled reassuringly and drank the rest of his beer. She sighed and stood up, she grabbed her guitar and rucksack and went to grab her gym bag but Mitchell got there before her. "I can take those." He pulled the gym bag over his shoulder and snatched up the drawstring bag before she could protest.

"Mitch," she moaned with a small smile.

"No, honestly. Its fine." He said.

Murph sighed and gave in. "Jeese, Mitch. Sometimes you're too kind for your own good." She said and drank the remainder of her own drink before joining him and leaving the pub with a renewed feeling of happiness that had been absent for years.

OK, so that was Chapter 2. Please tell me what you think. I love Mitchell's character so much, he's so complicated and it should be fun to write him and his relationship with Murph. Constructive Criticism is always welcome. Please Review, Favourite and Follow because its nice to know people are reading. Thanks.