Notes: This is my Christmas present (or not... hahaha) to all of you. Two brand new fanfictions (there's also "Eeny Meeny Miny Mo").

Let's have a bit of a talk about warnings... There will be some reference to drug use, underage prostitution and abuse inside the family. I know that reading these it may sound a bit depressing -and it might be -but please, give it a chance.

Life is hard and we all know it, but Agatha had it bad. Nothing explicit will appear, there will only be mentions of the abuse, the drugs and the prostitution. I'll put more warnings in case they are necessary.

I was reading "Kiss me now (Before I can run)" when this idea struck me. So the beginning is a bit similar because it was totally inspired by Persephoneggsy's amazing work. I hope it's not too similar, because I had no intention of copying someone else's work.

So... Let's see ow it goes.

Chapter 1

Nikki was not a complaining person. Well, teenager, to be more honest. She'd had her rebel phase, thinking that she was smarter than everyone else around her and that her parents were stupid tyrants.

Running away with her good-for-nothing boyfriend of the time seemed like a great idea. She had been a very stupid 15-year-old.

Nikki was now 17 and the street had made her cold and cynical. Most days, she felt like she was 90. That's what being a teenager prostitute did to you. She should not have been surprised.

Good-for-nothing boyfriend left her alone in the middle of London with no money, a fondness for LSD and too scared – and ashamed – to call her parents.

Nikki had always been too pretty and looked older than she actually was. The street was cruel to stupid young girls and turning tricks had been the only answer for her, even if it ate at her faster than the drugs. She was way too skinny now, but at least she was alive and had a roof over her head.

She had been lucky, honestly. Some of the girls had felt sorry for the lost 15-year-old and took her in. She had cried on her first night, until Foxy – one of the older girls – slapped her and told her to grow up and deal with it.

Six months after that, Nikki didn't give a shit anymore. She felt dead inside and was just waiting for her body to catch up on that.

She wished now that she could look into the eyes of her 15-year-old self and tell her she was a stupid little bitch. She wished for a lot of things.

Right now, she wished she had a jacket.

The asshole of the night had put her in a car and drove her to some fancy neighborhood, then stopped in front of a house and demanded a blow job. Apparently it was his ex-wife's house. Everybody had weird kinks and ideas; she could not care less about his.

What she did care a lot about was the fact that the bloody bastard refused to pay her for it, then slapped her – hard – in the face, before throwing her out of the car. So now she was in the middle of a posh neighborhood with no idea how to get back home.

It was after one, so there was no living soul on the street and even if there was, she could hardly see one of those blokes wanting to help a hooker. She would be lucky if she didn't get into even more trouble.

Nikki hugged herself, hoping for a bit more of warmth. She had split lip, her shoulder hurt from where the arsehole had pushed her against the door, before he managed to open it and throw her out of the car. That lovely action left her with skinned hands and knees. The worst part was that she ripped her damn stockings, and they were bloody new!

She sighed and saw her breath in the air. Well, great. Just fucking peachy. She would freeze to death out here. Although… If she thought about the headlines of the next day ("Young hooker found frozen in a respectable neighborhood!") she could even smile a bit.

She had to get fun from the very few places where she could.

She turned into another street – they all looked the same – and saw a man walking in her direction. He was wearing an honest-to-God suit at this time of night and carrying an umbrella on his arm. He looked like a fucking lord coming down the street.

When he saw her, he stopped for a second to access her – there was no other word for it – before coming in her direction.

"Are you alright, miss?" He asked, a small frown on his too pretty face.

He was older, she could see it now. His hair was perfectly styled, his glasses probably were of some fancy brand and his accent was as posh as it got. But he called her "miss" and Nikki had to laugh at that.

"Miss, darling?" She huffed in a laugh. "Need stronger glasses?"

He arched a brow. "Are you lost?" He insisted.

"That obvious, huh?" She scoffed. "Just need some directions."

"You're hurt."

"Very observant of you." She rolled her eyes. "Look, darling, either you point me to a direction or…" She looked him up and down. "Ask me the price."

His lips thinned in obvious reprove. Then it was like he had thought of something. "Alright. What is your price?" He asked politely, like he was asking her what time it was.

Well, she was not expecting that. At all. But she did not trust this guy for a second. He was way too good looking and proper to want a hooker like her. If he wanted one, he could get way better, but she could play the game.

"Depends on what you want, sugar." She put her hand on her hip and cocked it.

"I want you to come home with me so I can take a look at your bruises, then ask a taxi to take you home." He said with a simplicity that left Nikki feeling actually shocked.

"You wanna play doctor?" She asked flatly.

This time he rolled his eyes. "Yes." It was amazing how much sarcasm a person could inflict on one single word. "So?"

"Why not?" She shrugged. What was the worst he could do to her? Kill her?

She walked a bit behind him, but they didn't have a long way to go before he walked into a street that had a very charming house. It figured.

He opened the door and made a gesture for her to walk in first. She chuckled again at that, being treated as a lady by one of those guys.

He told her to sit on the couch and went to get something. Nikki started regretting a bit not having a knife hidden in her boots like some of the girls did. Maybe she had been a bit too harsh.

She was considering getting up and leaving when the man came back, carrying a small first aid kit.

"Let me see this lip." He said, sitting by her.

"You can't possibly be serious." She was looking at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because there was no way this man was this nice for absolutely no reason. "I'm not letting you fuck me for free, just cuz you're being nice." She warned him deadly serious.

The man looked at her like she had just said the stupidest thing ever. He had this curious look about him, a cross between outrage –at what she said -and disappointment –that she really thought that.

"This is not why I helped you." He said firmly.

"Why was that again, sugar?"

"I do have a name." He told her with exaggerated patience.

"OK. Do you want me to ask you what it is?" She made a face of such extreme innocence, that she knew he would see right through it. "I can even pretend to care about the answer."

The man sighed – once more – and fixed his eyes on her. "Why so hard on the world?" He asked gently. "Why such tall walls?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" She snapped. "I'm a junkie and a whore, you don't even know me. Why do you care?" She demanded of him. Yes, she was pushing, because she wasn't exactly a junkie, but she wanted to make him cringe.

She was so pissed at him! Angry that he dared to make her care, that he scared and pressured her. Mad that he made her feel anything at all.

"Because we already live too harsh lives to be unkind to other people for no reason." He replied honestly, his eyes looking at her like he could actually see her, the real her, not just this empty shell. "Because someone – anyone – ought to care about another human life."

Oh Lord, this man couldn't possibly be serious. How could anyone believe in something so cliché and naïve? How could a man at his age – she was guessing late 30's to early 40's – even think that the world was anything but a terrible place?

"You're delusional." She informed him, her voice shaking a bit.

"Maybe a little bit." He had this grin on his face. "I'm also Harry Hart. Nice to meet you."

He offered her his hand, but Nikki was not seeing it. The name kept playing over and over in her head.

"Harry Galahad Hart?" She asked, her voice now really trembling.

His face became shocked, then suspicious in a second. His eyes fell to her chest, not to ogle, but she knew what he was looking for.

Nikki had been born with the name "Harry Galahad Hart" on her chest, right over her heart, in the curve of her breast, the name of her soulmate, the one person in the world that was meant for her. She spent years trying to figure out who that person was, imagining thousand ways in which they could meet.

Then good-for-nothing- boyfriend came along and reminded her that Harry had her name too and was probably older – since she was already born with his name – and he had not come looking for her. Harry might not want her.

Maybe, if she hadn't been in such a bad place back then, she wouldn't have listened to him so easily, but she was desperate to leave, so she pretended she didn't care about Harry Hart anymore.

Nowadays, she just knew she had nothing to offer and with her luck Harry would either be a drug dealer or a pimp.

She never thought, in a million years, that she would really meet him, or that he would be so… This.

Harry was frowning now, because there was nothing on her chest. Clients didn't appreciate seeing soulmates names on their hookers – maybe it reminded them that they were likely cheating – so most girls covered theirs.

Nikki licked her index finger and passed over her chest, revealing some of the letters, enough to read "Galah".

"So…" He cleared his throat. "You are Aga…"

"I go by Nikki, it's more whorish." She had no illusions that this man would want her, so she might as well destroy this now.

"God, you're 17!" He seemed beyond shocked now. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then his eyes started going from one direction to another, never looking at her.

"I'm also not interested." She declared getting up; she had to leave this place. This was all she could never have, not now, not ever. Harry might even be a decent man, but he would never be able to handle this.

Even if he thought he was, one day they would fight and what would he say to her? She could hear him calling her a whore already.

"Look." He got up too, "It's not that you…"

"Spare me." She threw her hair back, the picture of nonchalant. "Let's not make this harder than it has to be."

"Nikki, my life is complicated…" He tried again, but she had enough.

"I don't care." She told him with finality. "Because I know where this is heading and I lived 17 years of my life without you in it. I can sure as fuck live the rest of it."

She walked to the door. "Let me call you a cab." He asked politely, but also nervous.

"I can walk, darling." She called over her shoulder before stepping once again into the cold night.

She started walking fast, but Nikki only realized she was crying when the first drop hit her arm. Yes, it still hurt, even knowing she could not have it. It would get better, then again, it was not like it could get any worse.

Notes: So... What do you think? Let me know how you feel about Nikki/Agatha and Harry.

She's a cynic and very bitter for her age, isn't she? Maybe it gets better... We'll find out together.

I wish you all Happy Holidays. It doesn't matter what you celebrate in the end of the year, I just hoe it's full of love and you have the people that really matter with you.

See you all next year!

xoxo