Disclaimer: Every character that has been taken from BtVS or AtS belongs to Joss Whedon. Every other character belongs to me.

A/N: Great thanks to my wonderful Beta reader, Fetching Mad Scientist. There are no words for saying what a great help she is - not only is she checking 'Insight', she also gives so me many tips about English/American language and sometimes other matters. If there's still something wrong with this chapter, it's because of my being careless.

Also, I'd like to thank those readers, who review each, or nearly each chapter, making it worth writing and letting me know someone actually likes this story.

***

Los Angeles, 2006

Carrie sat on the stairs, very content with herself. If it wasn’t for her, Jenna would probably stay in their room for the rest of the day, maybe come out to grab something to eat before hiding in the bedroom again. Although Jenna was very reluctant, Carrie dragged her out where the people lived.

She was sure that, someday, Jenna would thank her for it.

In the kitchen, where they went to make themselves a cup of tea (not a very Californian thing, but try living with a British vampire, and not become a tea addict), they bumped into Cath. Literary. Split tea caused difficult-to-stop-giggles, which led to introductions and so-called making friends.

Oh my God, Cath was a slayer just like Jenna! What a coincidence!

Of course, there was no coincidence. Cath, in Carrie’s humble opinion, was perfect for convincing Jenna that the company of another super strong teenager could be a nice experience. At first sight, Carrie learned that Cath was a sincere, gentle, bright and warm hearted girl. At second sight, it became obvious that there was nothing Cath was ashamed of, nothing she would hide. She was easy to read, like an open book. And, absolutely likable.

Talking with Cath was as easy as reading her mind. Cath was their age, she came from Alaska and every ten minutes complained in a funny, joking way about high temperatures in California. She had fair, straight hair and bright blue eyes, which made her look less like an Eskimo and more Norwegian, or Swedish. They chattered for a while happily. Jenna was seemingly feeling more and more comfortable when Cath asked her if she was going to train with the other slayers now that she was in the Hyperion. “Of course she is!” Carrie answered before Jenna got a chance to say no. Jenna scowled at her best friend, thought a few threats, repeated how much she hated Carrie for doing that, and smiled helplessly at beaming Cath.

When Spike got up, Carrie was going to tell him everything, and she was sure he would be very satisfied, too.

Carrie returned her attention to training Jenna. Fortunately, there had been no school-ish say hello to your new friend, before Jenna could join the others. Cath just introduced the new girl to her own friends, while Carrie, already making herself comfortable on the stairs, waved to them cheerily. The slayers were using the spacious hotel basement as a training room. Although roomy, the basement still couldn’t seat all of the LA girls, so General, their beloved and feared Ma’am, had separated them into thirty-person units made of girls of the same age, that were supposed to train and patrol together. Currently, the Council had, in The Hyperion, two hundred and ten active slayers, which gave them seven disposable troops.

And then there was Jenna.

Cath assured them that they don’t have to ask anybody’s permission, that a new girl was always welcomed, so there was no problem at all, and Captain Fitzgerald wouldn’t fuss over it.

Captain Kennedy Fitzgerald turned out to be a short, dark-haired woman with strong, muscled limbs and a firm look in her eyes. During the whole session, she kept pacing before the first line, looking for any mistakes in the slayers' movements. Before ordering the right thing she would shout, “Attention!” and then give the trainees some Japanese or maybe Chinese word, that most probably meant roundhouse kick or left hand punch, or you’re all stupid, or something like that. Although Carrie had to match up each term with Captain’s thoughts to understand her instructions, Jenna had no such problem – Carrie knew that her friend had spent many hours studying her Watcher’s books and learning how to fight and recognize demon species. It made her, as Jenna called it,self-sufficient. And right now, it didn’t make Jenna suck.

“Attention!” Captain yelled once more and then said something resembling an awful cough.

Carrie felt that the more the slayers trained, the clearer their minds became. The same thing happened when Jenna was sparring with Spike. ‘Strange people,’ Carrie mused, her own mind finally free. ‘You’d think they need a tactic, some kind of a plan. Spike’s always been telling Jenna to use her head, or she’d lose. But when you watch them, when you feel them, it appears that during a fight they think of nothing.’

As long as the girls were training perfectly synchronized, Carrie’s thoughts were drifting away, not focusing on their huhs! and moves. But suddenly something changed; something ruined the order Captain managed to put the trainees in.

Carrie immediately spotted the cause of the unexpected mess: Jenna.

At first, Carrie didn’t know what was happening with her friend. But after a minute of intently watching her, Carrie finally understood the situation.

Jenna began working out on her own, however she followed her trainer’s orders. She found her own rhythm and her own way of fighting. She moved differently – truth be told, more graciously and precisely. She also appeared to be faster. Jenna simply had surpassed the rest of the fourteen-year-old-slayers. Maybe, at first she tried to stay on the same level as the others, but now, absolutely caught in the moment and thinking of nothing, following her instincts… Well, right now, she forgot about it and showed her real skill.

Okay, Jenna being scary good at kicking ass wasn't a bad thing. However, Carrie felt that it led to trouble. And when did Carrie's intuition, and enhanced senses, mistake her? –

"You, slayer! What do you think you're doing? Where have you lost the rhythm?" Captain's angry scream confirmed Carrie's worst suspicions. With a final huh! the trainees froze in position. Apart from Jenna, who just stopped and stood in her place calmly, clearly not understanding what was going on.

When Kennedy approached her, she looked around, hoping she was not the slayer in question.

Captain's irritated glare, however, left Jenna without any doubts, whom she was referring to.

"Uh, sorry," she smiled apologetically. "Got caught up in a moment."

All of the girls gathered in the basement held their breaths. Carrie rose slowly, getting ready to intervene – either by dragging Jenna out of there, or by running for help. She desperately tried to reach Captain's and Jenna's minds, hoping that she would manage to foresee the upcoming events, but she was too inexperienced to succeed in a crowd. She couldn't understand particular thoughts. All she caught was a feeling of nervousness, curiosity, anger, fear and aggression… all mixed up.

"Is this how you refer to your Captain, slayer?!" Kennedy yelled, enraged by Jenna's lack of respect.

"Jeez, freaking out much? I told you I'm sorry. I'm not gonna repeat that."

"Down and give me fifty!" Captain totally lost it.

"Fifty of what? Candies from the nearest shop?"

"Fifty push-ups, you maggot!"

"Not likely. God, what is this? The Council of Watchers or some para-military scout camp?" Jenna looked around incredulously. "And what's amaggot? Is that even a word?"

Slowly, the slayers surrounding Jenna took a few steps away from her, giving her more space to do those fifty push-ups.

Kennedy completely lost her temper. Although she stopped shouting, her words were full of badly hidden hatred, "Your name and the location of the Council's branch you work for."

'Please, please, don't say anything stupid,' Carrie prayed silently, feeling that Captain was on the edge and it would take only one insolent retort to –

"How about: Kiss my ass, you sadistic freak?"

- Set her on fire. Seriously, it looked as if Kennedy was ready to explode. But before she did anything, Cath, who was standing on Jenna's left, straightened up, saluted stiffly and shouted, "Slayer Cathrine O'Neil, ma'am. I report that I am responsible for the current situation, ma'am."

Captain looked at her expectantly, while Jenna laughed nervously, "Cath, tell me it's all a joke, some kind of a game – "

But the blond remained motionless, dutifully staring ahead. "Slayer Jennifer Abrams doesn't belong to our unit, ma'am. Actually, she doesn't belong to the Council at all. She arrived to Los Angeles yesterday, accompanied by a vampire and a civilian. It was I who asked her to join today's training, ma'am. I didn't know it'd be a problem. I thought that – "

Fitzgerald shot Cath an angry glare, "Apparently, you haven't thought at all, O'Neil. I remind you that slayers are not allowed to switch places in their groups without an Officer's permission. Not to mention unregistered ones. Rules have to be obliged, O'Neil. The Code is not to be broken," she said through gritted teeth. "You will be punished for your disobedience."

Cath's naturally pale face now became alarmingly white. "Y-yes, ma'am. I apologize, ma'am," she lowered her head guiltily.

"A hundred. For starters."

Jenna couldn't believe her eyes, when Cath – sweet, funny, witty Cath – fell on her knees without another word, and started to do those damned push-ups, her face grim, and a determined look in her icy blue eyes.

"Cath, get up," Jenna pleaded, glancing nervously around them. "You didn't do anything, and even if you did, they can't treat you like that – "

"O'Neil knows her place," Kennedy chimed in, "and respects the chain of command. She agrees with our hierarchy. You, however, seem to think that you're better than the rest of us."

Carrie immediately detected a provocation hidden behind Captain's words. She hoped that Jenna would see it as well.

"If being like you means being constantly bossed around by a bunch of sad losers… then yeah, I'm better," Jenna challenged, proving that she didn't notice anything suspicious in Kennedy's statement. "God, I can't decide what's more pathetic – you, you poor excuse for a leader, or those lying bastards, the Watchers, nosing around – "

Carrie somehow managed to reach her furious friend and started to drag her toward the exit. "Okay, that's it, we're leaving now," she told her firmly, hoping to get her friend out of this, without bloodshed.

As if –

"They're our watchers," somebody exclaimed, so shocked by Jenna's obvious blasphemy that she apparently forgot about the military drill. "We need them to – "

"Oh my God, just listen to yourselves!" Jenna stopped abruptly, forcing Carrie to stop as well, who was still holding her by the arm, trying to pull her to the exit, "You're slayers, for Christ's sake, you don't need anyone! Especially old, powerless tweed guys, whose only ability is reading books! And hey, guess what? You were taught that at the age of six!" she yelled, her eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, and the spirit of Vladimir Lenin, the father of all revolutionists, evidently by her side. "Open your eyes!”

The punch seemed to come out of nowhere. Suddenly Jenna found herself on the ground, sweeping blood from her nose with the back of her hand. Carrie was immediately by her side, helping her get up.

"Let's see, how much better you are, exactly," growled an enraged Kennedy, clenching her fists, one of which was stained with red, spots of Jenna's blood. "You maggot."

Infuriated by the unfair attack, Jenna violently shoved Carrie away.

Captain held her arm, ready to throw another punch –

Jenna ducked.

***

Greenville, 2005

"Middle cupboard, third shelf," Jenna muttered to herself, searching for a first-aid kit. She didn't think that getting a stupid kit would cause her so much trouble… Why is the hardest thing to find something you need at the very moment you can’t find it? "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, when her shaking hands finally rested on a rectangular, white box.

She jumped off the chair she had used to reach the cupboard and ran toward the living room. There, lying calmly on a couch, so weak that she was barely conscious, lay Carrie. It looked like she was trying to sit up straight, but her bleeding head kept lolling over from one side to the other. Jenna knelt by her side and examined the wound one more time.

"I can't see how deep the cut is," she started uncertainly, "but, I think it needs stitches– "

"No doctors," Carrie mumbled.

"No hospitals, no doctors, no medical supplies, no professional help – I get it!" Jenna was getting more and more angry with this stubborn girl, who refused to be taken care of properly. She covered the wound with a bit of gauze, hoping it would, if not stop, then reduce, the bleeding. "Just tell me what to do!"

"Call Spike."

Oh. Call Spike. That was it. So easy. Just pick up the receiver, dial the number and call the vampire.

"Yeah, just like that," Carrie muttered, fighting her own eyelids, that for some reason wanted to fall down and give her eyes some rest.

Jenna blinked. "Uh, like what? Carrie?"

"So easy. Just pick up the receiver, dial the number and call the vampire," Carrie answered, or did she? She didn't seem to talk to anyone in particular… "818-555-4297,"she dictated, her eyes opening and closing, her head still lolling over, her whole body fighting sleepiness.

Fine. She would call and then leave –

"Please, don't go," the hurt girl cried out, grabbing Jenna's wrist. "Don’t leave. Wait with me, please? "

Was she that obvious? It looked like she wasn’t fooling Carrie, the Perceptive Girl.

"Fine… I'll wait," Jenna promised, reaching for the phone. "But you have to give me your word that you won’t faint."

'Or die,' she thought, feeling the hysteria rising in her the more the couch became stained by Carrie's blood.

"Not a chance of both," Carrie smiled weakly, relaxing a little and loosing her grip on the slayer's hand. "818-555-4297," she repeated.

If there were more time, Jenna would wonder what the answer meant, but since she couldn’t spare a second, she shook her dark head and focused on the call.

"Yellow," she heard a tired voice.

"It's Jenna… I'm not actually sure if I introduced myself when we met… But maybe Carrie told you my name," she started awkwardly.

"Jenna, the Slayer," Spike confirmed. "Yeah, I know," he hesitated for a second and then asked, "What's wrong?"

Jenna couldn't help herself, "Why do you assume that anything's wrong?"

He snorted, "Yeah, you're callin' from my house to chat about the newest trends in teenage fashion."

Before she could object to this and say that she was not a shallow cheerleader interested only in clothes, he went on, sounding really worried, "It's Carrie, right? Is she fine? Did somethin' happened to her in school? Was she – "

"She's fine," Jenna interrupted his rambling. "More or less," she added, trying to be sincere. "Look, she was attacked in St. James’s. I don't know by who or why and I don't think it matters right now. Her head is hurt and it looks bad, but she doesn’t want to go to a hospital."

Carrie muttered, "No hospitals."

"I don't know what to do!" Jenna cried, “The cut's still bleeding. It needs to be sewn by a doctor and I'm not one!"

"Calm down. Carrie's right, if she was attacked, we can't take her to a hospital, it's too bloody dangerous. Press the skin 'round the wound with your fingers, it should stop the bleedin'. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," with those words, he hung up.

God, she hoped he would come fast. If not –

"Don't even say that," Carrie pleaded in a weak voice.

"Say what?"

"That he won’t come. He will. I know him."

"I didn't say anything," Jenna whispered incredulously.

"But that's what you thought," Carrie replied, smiling very lightly.

'How did she – '

"Don't worry," Carrie sighed, falling asleep. "I won't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?"

"About Aunt Dorothy's earrings," Carrie was now barely intelligible. "It's not your fault that the pearls fell out of those golden frames."

Aunt Dorothy's golden earrings – how old was she when it had happened? Five, six years old? Aunt Dorothy came for mum's birthday party. For some reason, which Jenna never found out, Aunt took off her jewellery for a moment, leaving it on the table. Those beautiful things fascinated Jenna; she felt like watching them for hours.

She would take the adornments one by one in her small hands and try them on. The ring was too big, but she liked it anyway. The bracelets were so shiny she couldn't take her eyes of them, she loved the way they jingled on her arms. The pearls felt kinda heavy. What she liked the most, however, were the earrings – golden as well, each one of them with a pearl settled in. She thought they looked like tiny eggs in two miniature nests. But when little Jenna reached for them, as she had before, as they lay on the table above her head, the pearls somehow fell out and rolled on the wooden surface, down to the floor and under the cupboard.

Jenna left Aunt Dorothy's jewellery where she had found it and ran away.

Hidden in the garden, she could hear Auntie's cry, when she found the earrings, without the tiny, beautiful pearls.

Jenna never told anyone what had happened to those pearls. Never.

'Oh my God.'

"How are you doing that?!" she yelped, absolutely freaked out.

Carrie, who was already half asleep and rambling, explained quietly, "I'm a mind reader, don't you know? They do…That's why they came. They came for me… they will come again. They keep coming, 'cause they know… Why don’t you…?

***

A/N: Yes, I consciously paraphrased the garden scene from "Get It Done". Back then, Kennedy's aggressive attitude caused (more or less), Chloe's suicide. I just wanted to confront this character with someone stronger and more independent… And okay, I hate Kennedy. Maybe that's what this was all about.