"The marks humans leave are too often scars." - John Green

It was one of those nights where the smell of booze wafting around me was making me sick to my stomach. One of those nights where if I had to deal with one more obnoxious man telling me I had "great tits" I was going to break his nose and projectile vomit, probably at the same time. One of those nights where the weight of my life was pressing on me to the point where I was ready to take off again and not look back.

I had built a solid life for myself here, though, I had finally gotten a decent studio apartment, was making my entire rent check from tips alone, and there was no chance in hell my past could catch up with me here, considering, as far as the Canadian government was concerned, I had simply fallen off the radar, not hopped the border at Niagara Falls.

I had gradually worked and hitched my way through New York, but the huge population sent me into a tailspin and I fled further south until I ended up where I am today. I now live just outside Quantico in Virginia. In hindsight it was a stupid move, but I think the danger of the FBI literally being housed in my backyard is what attracted me to the location.

I stared at my reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror and sighed, pushing my crimson hair back from my face and touching up my eyeliner slightly. It was only midnight and I still had three hours to go before the bar finally shut down for the night. Plastering a fake grin on my face I left the bathroom, tugging the skin tight black dress down slightly in a vain attempt at covering my pale thighs a bit more. It was futile, the so called "uniform" was designed to optimize tips from the skeezy patrons. I had to admit that it worked fantastically, but it made me feel like a cheap hooker.

The night progressed like it always did; slowly and with great struggle, but I made enough in tips to buy my groceries for the week. I guess I couldn't really complain too much, between this and my day job, I was more than set money wise, however the long hours drained my energy and spirit.

I left the bar a little after 3:00 AM. I had changed into a pair of grey sweats, slung low on my hips, a pair of Vans, and a black wifebeater. I had a baggy unzipped blue hoodie on to keep me warm against the slight chill. Upon exiting the building I threw my red hair up in a bun. I couldn't wait to get home and snag a few hours sleep before heading to the diner I worked at during the day time.

I clutched my messenger bag tight against my shoulder as I hurried to the train station a few blocks away so that I could hop on the last (first?) train to my home in Fredericksburg. It was a pain to travel back and forth to Quantico at night, but money talks in this world I guess.

I reached the station quickly, and began digging around in my bag, searching for my pass.

"Fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck," I cursed under my breath, unable to find the one thing that can get me home.

"Are you okay?" My head shot up and my eyes trained on the long man standing a few feet away. He had a soft look on his face, and wavy brown hair cut somewhat short. I watched him warily for a moment, but when he made no threatening move I relaxed noticeably.

"Um, yeah, I can't find my train pass. I think I have some money to spare though..." I trailed off and pulled out my tips, turning slightly away for the disheveled man to count them.

I needed $200 this week to pay my heat and light. My tips only came to $125.58, nothing to spare for train fair. I sighed deeply and shoved the money back in my bag and turned my face skyward. I would have to walk which would probably take me two hours. That gave me two more hours to shower and get to the diner for my shift. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"How much do you need?" he asked me softly. I flushed and shook my head.

"I couldn't, honestly, it's okay I'll find another way home," I insisted, pulling back from him slightly. I didn't want to take money from a stranger, even one that seemed as genuine as him.

"Please, I insist. You can pay me back by maybe keeping me company?" My eyes narrowed. So this was his game. He thought I was a prostitute.

"Look buddy, I don't know what you think I am, but I will not exchange favours for money. I'm not that-"

"Oh no!" The man looked horrified. "I meant genuinely keep me company and chat with me on the way to Fredericksburg! I didn't think you were a prostitute! I'm FBI," he pulled out his badge as proof and I relaxed slightly. I didn't want to bring up the fact that there was more than one case of law enforcement being involved in prostitution since he seemed so completely upset by the misunderstanding. I sighed slightly, and smiled up at him.

I wasn't short by any means, maybe 5'6" or so, but this man towered over me reaching at least 6'3". He was long and lean, all limbs but it was easy to see that there was a lot of power compacted in that frame in much the same way as a cheetah's lean body contained power.

"Well when you put it that way, sure why not?" I smiled softly at him, and he handed me enough money for a ticket which I then went and bought.. "My name is Lily, by the way."

"I'm Spencer." He was obviously somewhat shy, I could hear it in the way he said his own name. He seemed childlike in the interaction; adorably awkward and was probably neurotic.

"It's nice to meet you Spence, you're like my own angel," I laughed a bit, "if it weren't for you I'd be walking home right now." He looked mortified.

"Do you realize that in Virginia there have been 15,968 violent crimes in the past year? And walking from Quantico to Fredericksburg is like asking to be attacked?" I raised an eyebrow at him as the young man continued on his rant. The train pulled up to the station and we got on together and sat down on the mostly empty train.

Sitting side by side I continued listening to him, actually enjoying the sound of his voice. It was soft and melodic but had a slight fire behind it. Listening to it I began to doze off slightly, the sound and motion of the train lulling me into a light sleep.

I knew I shouldn't let my guard down. I knew I should prepare to run. I knew that this man, Spencer, would never be more than an interesting, kind man that I met once and would never see again, and yet my body couldn't resist curling into his strong shoulder. My nose couldn't resist the soft smell of his jacket; soap and scotch. The combination of everything was a heady mixture that was acting like a sedative on my already exhausted body and before I realized it, I was asleep on the shoulder of a man I had just met.