Having built it all up, I now get to start knocking it all down again, which is the fun bit! :-D

Apologies if Riley's line in this offends anyone. I did hesitate about using it when that line popped up, but in all honesty it needed something pretty brutal to get a reaction out of Mitchell, so it stands.

Hope you are enjoying it - looks like it will run to 11, maybe 12 chapters in total.


When Barbara's grandparents gave her permission to go out to her first dance with Mitchell and to stay out till ten o'clock 'and not a minute later' he was sure they didn't anticipate he would take her to a bar beforehand, nor what she would ask him to order for her.

"I'd like a dry white wine, please."

He wanted to ask if that was really what she wanted or if, like the cigarette, she would sooner have a Coke or something and enjoy it rather than suffer to be sophisticated. Still, he brought back one for her and one for himself; he was more of a beer man usually, but Herrick had insisted he acquire a taste for wine so he was less obvious in certain social circles. The fuss the barman made you'd have thought he had asked for something exotic: maybe white wine was considered exotic in Barry Island, but they tracked down a bottle from somewhere and he made his way back to their table.

His suspicions about her choice of drink were confirmed when he brought the wine back and she took a sip and screwed up her face. "Oh, that's dreadful! Really nasty."

So she would have been better off with a soft drink then? He tried a taste himself and grimaced. "You're right, that's really not nice. Here let me take it back."

"Not from around here, are you? Look mate, do you know how often we get asked for white wine in here?" The barman's expression told Mitchell exactly what he thought of dry white wine, especially when one of the glasses was obviously being drunk by a man, for heaven's sake. Any self-respecting man would be drinking beer, and plenty of it. "Not very bloody often, that's how often. So take yourself back off to your table and be grateful we found you any white wine at all rather than quibble it's not the right vintage or whatever your problem is. We don't appreciate trouble makers around here." Great, so after being educated by Herrick on the finer points of wines in Paris in the thirties, he was now having his palate exposed to whatever cheap plonk the pubs and clubs of Barry could supply. Seemed like he was better off sticking with beer; you couldn't go too far wrong with that.

Mitchell returned to their table with an apologetic expression, a glass of lemonade and a pint of Worthington's. "Seems like there isn't much appreciation for white wine around here, so you can either stick with what you've got, or I got you this." He set down the beer in front of her and took a sip from the lemonade, his eyes twinkling mischievously over the top of the glass. She played along, sipping a little off the top of his pint and smiling up at him, froth from the beer coating her upper lip. She giggled, wiping her lip on the back of her hand and pushing the glass across to him, "I think you can have this. I'll stick with the lemonade and look the loser everyone here thinks I am."

"I don't think you're a loser." He reached across and put his hand over hers. She smiled at him, and made no attempt to take it away. "And you missed a bit." He reached across with his free hand and wiped away a smudge of foam with his thumb.

He knew Herrick had his suspicions; he knew he was getting in deeper than he should. But sitting there with Barbara seemed the most natural thing in the world. She was everything he wasn't - young, innocent, naive – but he was comfortable with her, her youthful charm an antidote to the constant bloodshed and conflict amongst the vampires. Heaven knew, had been the source of a lot of it and much of the time he had revelled in it, especially early on when he had established his reputation for bloodshed and carnage, but just recently he had craved some peace from it all. He let his touch linger, cupping her cheek with his hand and she nuzzled into it, a gentle smile on her face. He should make his apologies, he knew: take her home, let her down gently, leave her alone to find someone who could give her what he was unable to. But he couldn't: not yet.

ooooo

They cut quite a dash at the dance, Barbara in her best frock and Mitchell in a dark suit with his hair slicked back. Neither of them were much for dancing, preferring to sit and people-watch and only occasionally venture out onto the floor themselves.

Even sitting quietly and chatting over drinks they attracted a fair bit of attention, not all of it good. Mitchell was drawing many admiring looks from the women present, who were talking behind their hands, apparently about Barbara, and their menfolk looked less than impressed about the attention their dates were paying to Mitchell. Thankfully Barbara seemed oblivious, so happy was she to be at a dance with Mitchell. Either that or she was used to studiously ignoring any negative attention; Mitchell couldn't decide which.

He delivered her home to her grandparents practically on the stroke of ten, stopping on the doorstep to press a quick kiss to her cheek. She blushed and squeezed his hand, and then turned and went through the door to where her grandparents were waiting for her. Mitchell leaned up against their garden wall and lit up a cigarette, glancing up as a light went on in a window above him and then a figure pulled the curtains across, not noticing him standing quietly outside.

How different to the girl outside the bar at full moon, he reflected; how like his date with Irene forty years before.

ooooo

At opening time at the Pleasure Park, Riley laughed as Mitchell, bleary-eyed, leaned up against the wall and yawned widely. On his return from Bindles Herrick had kept him up late, excitedly talking about his plans for continuing the dog fights beyond their stay. It looked like they would be returning to Bristol a day or two after the next full moon, but Cardiff had already offered him the opportunity to return – news of the success of their first one had evidently spread. Mitchell hadn't got to bed till 2am in the end and then he had lain awake wondering what to do about Barbara, and he was feeling the effects of a night with little sleep. Riley had placed a different interpretation on his tiredness, though.

"You not getting much sleep, Mitchell? She more of a goer than she looks?"

"What?" Mitchell pushed himself upright.

"Don't go all coy on me, mate. It's all over town you're fucking the retard."

He was up against the wall with Mitchell's hands round his throat before he knew what had hit him. "Hey, woah there!"

"You do not talk about her like that. You know nothing about her: nothing, do you hear me? And it's not like that; it's not like that at all." He released Riley, who rubbed ruefully at his neck.

"Hey, man, we just thought, you know . You two seemed to be getting pretty cosy and you don't seem the type to hang around, Mitch, if you get my drift."

If that was how things were being seen by the local youngsters then Mitchell befriending Barbara might make things worse for her rather than better. He had hoped being seen out and about might make her more sociable, that she might even make some friends her own age, but conclusions had obviously been drawn. Mitchell had to admit they made an unlikely couple – no-one would have thought him as unworldly as her, but on balance she was better off being seen as the local nutter than the local slut.

He would be gone from Barry soon, if the conversation with Herrick the previous night was correct, so maybe he should let her down gently now, rather than risk a painful parting later. He had been wrong to risk her becoming attached to him; he was fond of her, but it was never going to be more than that. She was sweet and everything, and he enjoyed taking her out, but he wasn't about to get involved with a human; that would get way too complicated. And the hint from Herrick that he had guessed what was going on was gnawing away at him; Herrick wouldn't like this one bit and Mitchell was all too aware that Herrick would be ruthless with Barbara if he found out about her.

In the back of his mind he knew he was drawn to her because she reminded him of Irene, but the two girls although physically similar could hardly have been more different. Irene had been sweet, but with an edge to her forged in the field hospitals in France. They had all seen things they shouldn't have: the young people caught up in that war. They had gone out naive and innocent and come back changed: some more than others, he reflected. Irene had understood him; Barbara never would, if she even could. Better to get out now, and avoid anyone getting any more hurt than he could help.

ooooo

Irene Griffiths knocked and listened. She was pretty sure they were both out; Mitchell normally headed straight out to work after breakfast and although Herrick sometimes read the newspaper in the lounge first, he wasn't normally too far after him. His business kept him busy, whatever it was.

No, there was no answering call from inside, so she drew out her bunch of keys and unlocked Mitchell's door. She did her usual circuit of the room, emptying the bin and opening the window to let some fresh air in. It was the day she changed the sheets and towels, so she stripped the bed quickly, stooping to pull the sheet away where it was caught on the corner of the mattress. Some clothes lay discarded on the floor under the bed and she smiled indulgently; her son had always been the messy type too – clothes everywhere. It seemed Mitchell was the same.

She bent to pick up the clothes – a shirt and vest – from the floor, but froze when she noticed the state of them. The fronts were stained a deep reddish brown. It could only be blood, she decided, and in large quantities at that. A nose-bleed, maybe? It must have been a heavy one if so, the poor boy. What a shame he hadn't given them to her to wash when it happened; chances were he would never get the stains out now; maybe that was why they were discarded under the bed – he couldn't quite bring himself to throw them out yet. But, she considered, she could try; even now, she might just be able to make them wearable again, if a little the worse for their experience. She tucked them away in her cleaning basket. That would be a nice surprise for him, if she could give them back to him clean again.

ooooo

"Hey," Mitchell slid into the seat opposite Barbara in a booth of their favourite ice cream parlour. He'd slipped out to meet her for his lunch break and there was a feeling like lead in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't going to be fun for either of them.

"Hey," she responded, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. Oh God, this was going to be hard. The kid had had a tough enough time as it was, without him being a bastard to her too. He bought the ice creams and drinks. The least he could do was let her eat ice cream before shattering her illusions of him.

"They were hoping you wouldn't show up," she glanced at a group of girls at one of the window tables. "It would have made a good story for their mates if you'd stood me up."

"I wouldn't do that," he said gruffly. "I might not be great at turning up on time, but I turn up." He shovelled down a few spoonfuls of ice cream before continuing, "Not that I'm going to be around much longer."

She paused, ice cream part way to her mouth. "What do you mean, you're not going to be around?"

He steadied himself; this wasn't going to go well. "Well, you know I'm not from around here and it's going to be time for me to move on soon, so I figured..." She just looked at him, sadness gathering like clouds in her eyes. She was going to make him say it, wasn't she? She wasn't going to let him off the hook: walk away quietly. Why should she? This mess was all his fault; he had led her on. He had let himself think he could behave like normal people, have relationships like normal people – and he just couldn't. Herrick and Seth and Marco – they were his family now. He was destined to squabble with Seth for ever, like two siblings jostling for a parent's affections. Damn it!

"Barbara, I don't want you to get hurt. This is nothing to do with you: you're a lovely girl, but you're starting to... You're starting to get attached to me and that can't happen. Can't you see? I'm not staying here – we don't have a future togther. You need to find someone who will stick around and be what you need them to be." Someone who will be human with you.

He could see the tears starting to gather in her eyes. "Are you breaking up with me?" Her expression twisted a knife in his guts; she looked devastated. He wanted so much to gather her into his arms and tell her no, it had all been a terrible mistake: he loved her and he would take care of her whatever the rest of them thought.

"Yes, I guess I am. I can't see you any more, Barbara." He couldn't meet her eyes. He'd taken a damaged girl under his wing and now it fell to him to damage her far more than anyone else had managed before. She gulped back tears, pushed her chair back and ran for the door, barely crossing the threshold before the wrenching sobs escaped her. The shop fell silent, watching her run up the street, then all eyes turned to Mitchell, who sat slumped over the table with his head on his forearms. Gradually a low buzz of conversation returned as people speculated about what they had seen and watched Mitchell for any signs of a reaction.

"Girlfriend trouble?" He looked up to see a girl looking sympathetically down at him. She looked vaguely familiar and then it hit him: it was Cerys, the werewolf's sister. She had said she'd found a job in an ice cream parlour: just his luck it was this one.

Mitchell dashed a hand through his hair. "She's not my girlfriend," he said, picking up his spoon and pushing the remains of his sundae around the dish. Ice cream – well, anything starchy or sugary, really - normally helped with the blood cravings, but he didn't fancy it any more. He threw the spoon down and pushed the bowl away in disgust.

She chuckled and nodded towards the door, "Yes, I gathered from the melodramatic exit."

"No, she was never my girlfriend. I mean...it was complicated." Mitchell groaned. "This will be all round town by tonight, won't it?"

"Not from me, but maybe from them," she flicked a glance at the group of giggling girls who were making their way out of the door and along the road the same way Barbara had just fled, and Mitchell buried his face in his hands.

"What a mess. Jesus."