The rain padded harshly against the ground. The wet droplets were barely visible against the darkness of night. Wind pushed her umbrella back and sprayed droplets of water in her face.

“Need some help, love?” She heard over her shoulder. The man smiled and extended his hand. She shook her head. He smelled of beer and the way he slurred his words indicated that he had defiantly drunk a little too much. She politely declined and tried to briskly walk away.

She was stopped by a hand extended in front of her. Another man stepped from the alley, “Listen, American, streets here in Britain are dangerous, you should really let us take you home.” This man discreetly pulled out a knife so that only she could see it. She wondered why he bothered, the dark night around them held nothing but his accomplice. She declined once more but the two men were joined by a third, then a fourth.

A hand gripped her shoulder, forcing her onto her knees, it was much too strong for her the break free. The men snickered, they had her, and she knew it. The fourth man slapped her across the cheek and she growled at him. Then, she started the lie. Her father is a police officer. He would hunt them down. Her boyfriend is an FBI, no CIA agent. They wouldn’t let them get away with this. The first man said that they already had. A tear slipped down her cheek. The third man’s face mirrored her emotions. He shook his head, “we shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. That got him a scowl from the other men and his face immediately hardened.

The first man snorted a laugh as he raised his hand to hit her. She winced knowing that pain would soon follow the motion. Rain padded in the ground harsher than he had before. She slowly opened her eyes to a scene from a movie. A fifth man had joined the party to stop the blow to her head. The first man’s face was scrunched up in a look of shock.

“I have no idea what’s going on, but you really should not hit women, it’s distasteful.” His Scottish accent stood out clearly from the other men’s British ones.

The second man gripped his knife and went after the Scott. He seemed too double over, stabbed right in the stomach. The Scott fell to the ground and the second man turned away, smug. However, the Scott was not wounded and, having taken the second man’s knife, pounced on his back, knocking the second man down. The Scott motioned to her to run before attacking the first man. She knew she had to. She knew that being here only made it harder for the Scott to fight. She knew that there was nothing she could do to help, except to run. She snatched the umbrella and took off down another alley, leaving the Scott to fend for himself.

The Scott was glad she ran, that was the reason he had intervened in the first place, as he took down the first man the fourth punched him in the back. The Scott cursed. What had he gotten himself into? Nevertheless he turned to face his opponent, only to find the third man running away down the alley. He considered running himself, but the fourth man wouldn’t allow that.

That left the fourth man standing alone. The fact that he was the only man was no comfort to the Scott, of the whole group the fourth man was the biggest. The Scott was going to be beat up, real bad.

During the fight the Scott had managed to claw the knife away from the fourth man and to break it so it couldn’t be used against him. Even so the Scott had been beat by the fourth man pretty badly. He had finally gotten away from that barbarian but pain still raced through his body like fire and all he could do was sit, curled up, defeated in the rain.

The Scott heard footsteps racing towards him, great the men were back for revenge. The feet stopped right in front of him and the rain stopped hitting his head. The feet wore navy flats and wriggled nervously.

“I told you to get out of here, American” he growled.

“I ran away and didn’t even look for help. The least I can do is shield you from the rain, you did just save my life.” She held the umbrella carefully over both of them and handed him a tissue. “For your nose,” she explained.

“You Americans really never know when to give up.” He laughed out painfully, gratefully taking the tissues.