A/N: I know there are still many possible stories to tell…but I couldn't resist this one-telling Hiccup and Astrid's first meeting from his POV.

The Alley

He was so tired.

It had been days since he escaped BERK and he had kept moving, driven on by his desperation to keep ahead of the pursuit that was surely on his tail and the knowledge that if they caught him, he would be dragged back, they would surely find Toothless and he would die. He shuddered, the biting wind cutting through his aching body. The sun had set behind the grey clouds and night was falling fast, the wind freezing and a sleety drizzle slapping his face.

He honestly had no real idea where he was, for he had been on the road for days, hitching lifts, stowing away and walking through the wilds of Scotland and the equally inhospitable north of England. He had no money left-not that he had much to start with-and he had run out somewhere near Carlisle, where he had managed to just afford an egg sandwich and a coffee. And since…nothing. He hadn't eaten for two days and had only been able to drink what water he could scrounge from public toilets. His stomach was hurting from hunger, his head was feeling light and muzzy and the light was hurting his eyes.

He coughed and what he thought was a tickle wracked through his skinny shape, the hacking cough leaving his chest hurting and him exhausted and struggling for breath. He staggered from the effort and pain lanced up his stump, the sudden surge making him feel sick. He winced and stared accusingly at the ground, limping clumsily as he found a wall to lean again.

"Just perfect," he groaned.

Hiccup Haddock clung to the shadows, his aching shape anonymously clad in a beat-up leather jacket, stained skinny black jeans and a muddy boot on his foot, His shirt was thin over an equally thin T-shirt. He knew he was pale-Thor, he felt pale-and his dark auburn hair was a little too long and framed his face, riffling in the frigid breeze. His hands were freezing and he rubbed them vigorously, glancing around the area. The lorry he had hitched a ride on had dropped him about a mile away by the canal and he had walked slowly alongside the water, his heart clenching with the pain of separation…because Toothless wasn't here.

They were still out there, Dagur and his cronies, working for Alvin who were looking for the Night Fury, the unique Alpha dragon who was Hiccup's best friend…probably his only real friend. And it had been the worst and most difficult thing he had to do in letting Toothless go and leave him hidden by the Loch. The black dragon, a creature that could hide in the shadows or in the water, was probably safe but Hiccup was not. Everyone knew that he had hidden Toothless and thus he was a marked man, the only one who could lead them to the Night Fury…so he had fled. Not that it had worked, for the first time he had sneaked home, he had been captured and tortured.

He shuddered. That had been shattering and it was only by dredging his deepest well of courage that he had survived, focussing only on the image of the black dragon, the black pupils in his big green eyes wide and worried as he comforted his rider after some beating or other. Toothless was the only person Hiccup could rely on and Hiccup would die before he handed his dragon over to the enemy, which in his mind probably included everyone now who wasn't Hiccup, Toothless-and Gobber. But he was alone and broken, a fugitive, screamed at and rejected by his father, abused by his Uncle and then…tortured by Dagur.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to stop himself from trembling all over. Dagur was his personal demon, a man who had made it his project to dominate and own Hiccup and the young man had resisted him ferociously. But Dagur had beaten him so many times, raped him and been responsible for Hiccup losing his left leg and Toothless losing part of his tail so when the man had returned-having fled BERK as a traitor-Hiccup had been sure that BERK wasn't secure. And Dagur had tortured him without mercy, treating him in contravention of all the laws of BERK and pretty much every country on the globe. But his father had just dismissed him one more time as he had begged for protection and when Gobber had come for him, beaten and broken in a small isolation cage, he had not even believed the man was there as a friend.

Because no one was Hiccup's friend except Toothless. Everyone else tolerated him because he rode Toothless and broke him down for sport when they didn't need him.

But he had been released in the dead of night, a handful of notes in his pocket and he had walked through the darkness, through the rain and the frost, desperately getting out of the remote Highland valley they were in and making the main road. And finally, he had hitched a lift-heading the wrong way, though the only direction really was 'away', ending up at the port of Aberdeen, staring at his ride vanishing on a ferry towards Norway. But he wouldn't leave, though it was his best option-because Toothless was out there and someday soon, he hoped he could some and rescue his dragon and together, they could go away…

So he had treated himself to a cooked breakfast and then he had tried hitching his way south. Walking, hitching and working for a few scraps or a meal had seen him criss-crossing Scotland until he finally crossed the border near Carlisle and finally, he ran out of money, walking south and realising people here seemed a lot less willing to pick up the grubby, skinny unshaven drifter. He had stayed a night in a hostel in Lancaster and managed to shave and get a swift shower-though he had been beaten up by a couple of drunks as he had walked away from the hostel to try to hitch a lift. He had refused any aid then, earning himself a mouthful of abuse and a rough search for anything he might own which could be used to fund his would-be rescuer's habit before he was left to make his own way once more. Sometime in the early hours, he had fallen asleep in a truck stop, trying to keep the rats away but in the end, he had been picked up by an articulated freezer truck and dropped an hour ago but he was feeling on edge because he knew they would be looking for him. And though he had no digital footprint at all-which felt wrong for the computer specialist-he guessed they would be trying to track him.

Please let them not find Toothless, he thought as he began to shiver.

His head was spinning and he was starting to feel sick. He was shivering as well, feeling cold and he stuffed his freezing hands into his pockets. His chest was hurting again and his leg was starting to ache. He winced: he hadn't been taking care of his stump and he had been walking far more than was sensible: he had probably just rubbed it raw. But he found he was limping as he crossed the old docks towards some former warehouses, now clearly modified into smart apartments. Signs for a museum, an expensive hotel and some smart restaurants posted the other way and he glanced in that direction for a second, his stomach giving a hopeful rumble but there were too many people and he had no money to buy anything they were selling. Orange and white street lights reflected in the still water, the dark cloudy night sky tinted with orange and obscuring any hope of stars. Somehow, the blank sky filled him with an unutterable sense of sadness, for as he had walked down all alone, he had known that Toothless was looking at the same stars and that knowledge helped him to feel closer to the Night Fury.

But the truth was, he was almost out of miles. His stomach hurt from hunger and he was starting to feel sick, his dizziness worse. Even his vision was starting to blur and he shivered convulsively…and then he saw the cameras.

Panic gripped him.

If he was on any form of CCTV or security camera, Ozzie could find him. The man was a genius at tracking people and with shame, Hiccup knew he had refined the algorithms for facial recognition and extrapolation so he had-in effect-made it easier to catch himself: in fact, Hiccup knew it was only a matter of time. He had hoped heading for the bigger cities would throw them off his trail…but a tiny voice reminded him that he was pitting himself against the well-resourced secret agency and the governments that backed it: there was only ever going to be one winner. Nevertheless, he hobbled into the alley between two of the converted warehouses, his leg stabbing pain and almost collapsing. He grunted and leaned against the wall, trying to ease the aching in his head. He shuffled forward, taking another halting step that had him sweating in pain-and the he saw her.

She was beautiful, truly a Valkyrie, dressed in sweat pants, a training top and a hoodie, with a small rucksack slung over one shoulder and a pair of trainers on. Her eyes were the brightest blue and her hair was golden, wisps escaping a messy braid. He stumbled and her head snapped round, staring at him and he retreated back, suddenly embarrassed. Her beautiful face locked in a scowl and she balled her fists, then advanced towards him. Panic gripped him and he backed up another pace.

"Oh Thor-please, no…" he breathed.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice clear and crisp. "What are you doing here?"

He cringed, instinctively trying to curl up and make himself look smaller-and then protect his body in case she attacked. It had been too many times when he had lowered his guard and learned a bitter lesson to trust that she would be any different.

"N-nothing…" he answered hoarsely, glancing from under his bangs towards the woman, praying the she wouldn't attack him. He was hyperventilating and tried to back away further-but as he put his weight through his left leg, it collapsed under him and with a low incoherent cry, he pitched sideways, his head cracking hard against the wall. Instantly he saw stars and as his vision turned grey, his mind slid back to those moments outside Pen One, the moment Dagur finally took what he wanted… He slithered to the floor, his arms wrapped around his body and he closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly, he felt utterly boneless, his head throbbing and chest hurting again. A cough over came him and he lay there, slumped against the wall, his breath stolen by the vicious hacking cough.

Suddenly there was someone there, someone crouching in front of him, a look of concern in brilliant blue eyes.

Blue eyes?

He blinked, his vision clearing. It was the girl, a look of concern on her face, her golden hair lifting slightly in the icy breeze. Close to, she was young-probably his age-and even more beautiful, for all she was a little sweaty and hot following a session at the gym. Her skin was smooth and clear with the occasional freckle and her lips were the most perfect pink.

"I don't mean you any harm," she said gently, her eyes roving over his unimpressive shape. He felt shame curl tighter around his hollow stomach and he grimaced. "You hit your head. Are you okay?"

"Ow," he managed, lifting a hand to the back of his head and feeling the lump already forming. "'m fine…" he added unconvincingly, cringing inwardly. Gods, this woman was beautiful, kind and she looked at him…as if he was worth the effort. He couldn't look so pathetic in front of her…but as he thought it, the cough came again, hacking through him and doubling him up, stealing his breath and leaving him exhausted and struggling, his head dizzy with even that exertion…just as he felt a cool, gentle touch of his hand. His eyes flicked up in shock and for a second, he almost wanted to ask for help.

"Please…" he began and then he stopped himself. There was nothing she could do and all he brought was trouble. She would be better off without him.

"You're really sick," she persisted. "You have a fever and probably a chest infection. And a horrible limp…"

The genuine concern in her words ignited a small, unfamiliar warm feeling in his chest, causing him to smile. It was a fair comment though of course, she would never believe what had happened.

"Yeah, that's a long story," he muttered roughly, seeing her blonde brows furrow. He noted that her nose wrinkled in the most amazingly cute way when she frowned and he blinked.

What?

"You need medical help," she urged him and his eyes snapped open in panic. Hospitals would mean paperwork, a digital trail that would betray him instantly to the IT department he had upgraded…and then there were the questions that they would ask. Oh Thor…how could he ever hope to explain his amputation? Or the scars on his wrist or back? Or in fact, who he was, period?

"No! No doctors! No hospitals! No authorities!" he blurted out urgently and then wondered what he had said. She looked offended, her expression cooling and he cringed inwardly. But maybe it was for the best…because she was a dream, a Valkyrie, a woman whose life would be a million percent better without him in it. He took a shuddering breath the deteriorated into another breath-stealing cough, leaving him heaving and exhausted, almost missing her cool words.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"I'm fine," he repeated as if to try to convince himself but he felt his heart sink as she rose smoothly and easily to her feet, turning and walking back towards the entrance to the alley. And then she paused, seemingly thinking before she turned back.

"You could come with me," she suggested as he coughed pitifully again. "At least have some aspirin, a warm drink and a rest…"

He stared at her, as if she was suddenly speaking old Norse. It was the last thing he expected, a sudden offer that may just save his life. He knew he was freezing and sick, he knew he was starving and thirsty and this-this angel had just invited him into her home when she didn't even know his name. A small cynical voice suggested she may be some kind of weirdo or mass murderer who had the bones of homeless men buried in her cellar…but there was something in her eyes-the concern and care-that had his throat thick with longing. He wanted to believe her, wanted to imagine-even if for a few minutes-that someone this beautiful and kind could care about him.

"A warm drink sounds like a great idea," he rasped, coughing again and tried to pull himself up to his feet-but his legs were wobbling and felt like spaghetti and frankly, it was excruciating. She leaned forward, her hand stuck out invitingly.

"Let me help," she offered, a small smile lifting her lips and he grasped it without hesitation, feeling her strong, sure grip tightening around his own hand. It was almost as if a spark shot up his arm when she touched him and he took a shuddering breath, resting his left hand on her shoulder as she easily hauled him up.

"Thanks," he murmured, surprised at how strong she was. He leaned against her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she slid an arm around his skinny waist. It was probably the closest he had ever got to a woman since his Mom died because his general nerdiness, geekiness and pariah status was about as attractive to the opposite sex as a case of leprosy with added facial disfigurement and a side order of terminal body odour. But she smiled as she helped him along, murmuring gentle reassurances as she matched her pace to his, taking his weight when he tried to limp on his prosthesis and not acting as if he was utterly repellant. And she smelled amazing, felt warm and real and her soft hair tickled his face as the breeze blew random strands that had escaped her braid. They made it into the lobby of her apartment building and as she helped him into the elevator, stabbing the '2' button to take them to her unit, she turned to him with a playful look on her face.

"You're not a rapist or a mugger, are you?" she asked him and he felt a cross between insulted and amused. He had been scared she would attack him, for he was vulnerable and afraid when they had met. But a low chuckle emerged from his throat: he guessed she could look after herself but she was careful. And he would never harm her.

"No, Milady-you're safe from me," he replied. And then he realised: he didn't know her name. And amid the sudden surge of embarrassment that she would learn his name and stare at him in shock at the hideous moniker he was saddled with, he would happily share his misery with her if she would grace him with a name he could cling to in his dreams. He smiled then, the relief lighting his face.

Somehow, in his nightmare and the fear of his flight, he had met someone who had treated him kindly and generously. And then she turned to him, so close he could almost lean over and kiss her and her face lit with a smile that he longed with all his heart to see again. And even if he left after his coffee and never saw her again, she would always be in his prayers.

Please Odin-if I die, let this memory stay with me. Because, no matter what else happens to me, I will always remember her. Thank you for letting me meet her-and know that out here in the world, there are people who care, who will give you a chance and help a wretched stranger who may well die if left. And I hope, one day, to repay her for her kindness.

She smiled, the expression fixing in his memory again.

"I'm Astrid," she said.