Disclaimer: Every character that has been taken from BtVS or AtS belongs to Joss Whedon. Every other character belongs to me. And if Joss doesn't ask nicely, I won't let him play with them. Ha.

A/N: Thanks to my lovely Beta, Adela Nightmoon.

***

New York, 2004


Night. Darkness. Cold. Fear.


But she’s not alone, she never is, not really. Surrounded by shadows and whispers, all of them in her head. She can hear hundreds of alien thoughts, feel hundreds of conflicted emotions. She is hundreds of different people. Not able to stop them from violating her own mind, she unconsciously clenches her fists and opens her mouth for a silent scream.


Not thinking clearly. Not being herself. Frighten. Lost.


Everybody but her.


Suddenly she doubles over in pain. Her head is filled with animal rage and bloodlust. She feels an urge to kill and slash and rip and oh God…


She doesn’t see a Groxlar beast, running down the alley, nor a white-haired man in a black, leather coat. She doesn’t hear the sounds of fighting, the punches and growls. Completely lost in strange feelings invading her brain, she is not aware of anything else.


The sensation is gone as unexpectedly as it came. She felt different now. Sadness overwhelms her as she notices a man bending over her.


“You all right, love?” he asks with a concerned look. He gives her a hand and helps her stand on shaking legs. Two feet away lies the beast’s body, it’s neck twisted.


She looks at the man silently. His thoughts are clear in her mind, they block others and she finds it comforting. In a split second, she learns all about him.


“Hey, I asked you a bleeding question.” He seems to be loosing his temper but she already knows his irritation is fake. He’s far more worried than angry.


“I’m fine,” she answers, her voice faint and trembling.


“Fine? Oh, I’m sorry, ‘seems that my advancing age makes me a bit paranoid. You were just out for a bloody midnight stroll, right?” he mocks. “Have you gone completely carrot top?! Why the bloody hell aren’t you in your bed? The only sodding place you actually should be in right now?!”


He is yelling and she knows why. He’s got a thing for little girls, she thinks, like every other overprotective type.


“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he mutters, grabbing her forearm and dragging her down the street. “Better start thinking about a really good excuse for your folks...”


“I don’t have parents,” she says calmly. He stops and looks at her, slightly uncomfortable.


“I’m sorry. Hell, girl, just tell me – tell me where I should drop you off...”


She interrupts him, “I don’t have a home.”.


“How’s that?” he asks with amazement.


“I live here.”


He stares at her for a silent moment.


“Ah, you mean New York?” She can feel hope in his voice. He is breaking easily and she has already made up her mind.


“No, I mean on the street.”


There is definitely something about this guy, something calming and that makes her feel secure. Although she knows that he’s a one big lie, from his stupid leather coat through to hisperoxided hair and a fake accent, even if two minutes ago she learned all of his secrets and God, weren’t his previous acts horrifying... There was so much under the surface.


She loved him the moment she saw him.


“Oh, bollocks,” he swore, not meeting her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”


She looks at him intently, forcing him to return her gaze.


“I’m Carrie,” she says with a shy smile.


“Name’s Spike.” His answer is automatic. Seconds are passing by, while he is trying to make a choice.


“So... I’ll go.”


“Don’t be ridiculous,” he growls, still making an attempt to look dangerous. “You bloody well can’t go back there. Come on, we’ll figure it out at my place then,” he finishes lamely and resumes walking.


Carrie smiles at his back, deeply inhaling his scent.


“What the bleeding hell are you waiting for?” he says snarkily, sharply turning around.


“Spike? Thanks.”