Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere or anything relatively related to show, nor this story. Story belongs to Kim Pritekel, all credit goes to her.

A/N: Sorry you had to wait a wee bit longer than what you normal have to. I was going to put this up early tonight, but then I got watching the Teen Choice Awards, so here it is now. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

"Okay," glancing up at the screen, I clicked to highlight the address bar. "D-E-L-L dot com." I waited as the computer maker site trudged its way onto the screen. Tapping my chin, I scrolled around, clicking on various models of desktops.

Not knowing a mega bite from a Mega Gulp, I rested my cheek in the palm of my hand, already bored at the lists of computer jargon that meant diddly to me. Aiden knew what all this crap meant, but it would be a cold day in hell before I'd let him know I was

considering a new computer.

Tipping my chair back, I leaned back as far as I could, trying to get a good look out into the apartment. I hadn't hear Aiden coming back home from work yet, but I wanted to make sure.

"Shit!" I barely caught myself as the chair tried to rebel and hit the deck. Grabbing the edge of the desk, I got myself back into position, then clicked onto the laptop link. I wasn't going to give the little fairy the satisfaction of knowing I was thinking about taking his advice, and that I had actually listened to him for once.

I checked the prices for various models, impressed with some of the less technical features that I could actually understand. Obviously just for curiosity's sake, I wandered into the payment plan link, you know, just to see what they offered if I were to be interested.

"Wow," I muttered, chewing on my bottom lip. "I could definitely handle that." Clicking and typing all the correct places, I finally was able to click on the ORDER button, and I had me a brand new Inspiron 9300 on its way with a whole buncha mega this and mega that.

I sent the cursor back up to the address bar and highlighted it once again. Fingers on autopilot, I was surprised to find myself at Ticket Master. Once again pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I typed in 'Midnight Race', curious when it was playing.

The smile crept onto my lips before I even realized it, seeing Spencer's name on that screen, where it should have been years ago, and may very well have been, for all I know. After all, it had been what, some thirteen years ago since she'd left? Where did she go? And the thing that had bothered me for so many years, why didn't she say goodbye? Well, that is, I guess she did. I wish I had been awake, or she had left a note.

I sighed, knowing that it did me absolutely no good to live in the past. It was just that- the past. I found myself in a search engine, typing in her name. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of hits I got, including several fan sites dedicated to the "… best, brightest talent of her generation." And that's a direct quote!

After living in Denver, Co. for a year and a half, dancing at the Davies School of Dance, Carlin made her way through Scottsdale, Az., finally ending up in San Francisco. She danced at the Aldred School for the Performing Arts under the tutelage of celebrated dancer, Erika Storenski. By the age of twenty-six, Spencer had danced her way to London, where she travelled with the Royal Dance Corp. for six years, winning several core roles, including that of Sleeping Beauty, Cosette in Les Miserables, and Victor/Victoria in the play of the same name.

As of this writing, Spencer has started to make her mark in New York's Broadway scene.

I couldn't help but eat up every article I could, so happy for her, my eyes wide as I soaked in the pictures that accompanied many of them. There was one in particular that caught my attention.

Sitting back in my chair, I looked at it, my mind absorbing what Spencer looked like five years ago. The picture was in black and white, a severe close up of her face. The expression was calm, yet there was something in her eyes that caught the onlooker instantly.

The depth I remembered so well was still there, though it had grown more intense with age. There was a fire and a confidence there that definitely had not been there when she'd been twenty-one or twenty-two. Even in black and white the color was magnificent, the way light played and reflected.

"Wow." Time had definitely been most kind.

"So, I'm like, wait a second, Mr. Holland. You did not just give away the Meinke account."

"Huh," I said absently, staring down at the pork chop I'd been tearing apart for the past five minutes.

"Ashley?"

"Wow, Aiden. New account."

"Ashley?"

"Huh?" My head lifted, eyes wide, trying to focus. My friend was staring at me from his seat to my left. "What?"

"You're not listening to a damn thing I'm saying," he said, obviously hurt with me. Blinking several times I looked at him, letting my brain try and catch up with my ears. I shook myself from my barren void.

"Ah, hell, I'm sorry, Aiden. You lost the account?" I encouraged, trying to give him my full attention.

"Forget it." He sipped from his wine, looking down at his meal as he set the glass down.

"No, come on. Finish your story."

He looked at me for a moment, studying me. "Go to the damn show already."

I blinked, taken aback by his words. "What?"

"Ashley, you've been lost in your own little world for the past two weeks now. I know where you're head is, so just do us both a favour and go. Okay?" He stood, throwing his napkin down on the table. "Maybe then I'll get my best friend back," he muttered as he left the dining room.

Sighing heavily, I let my fork drop to the plate, feeling like a total schmuck.

The mirror wasn't showing me what I needed it to show me. I needed it to shout out, wowee! It just wasn't happening.

With a sigh, I turned back to the my closet, pushing clothing aside to see if my fourteenth outfit would call to me more than the thirteenth. I saw a pair of my favourite jeans that fit me in all the right places. Snatching them from the hanger, I also grabbed a heavy, Irish wool sweater, that would look far better on Spencer than it did on me, the deep green of the material would do incredible things to her eyes.

Sitting on the edge of my bed lacing up my comfy, warm brown boots, I stood, smoothing my pant legs into place.

Luckily after years around performers I'd gotten past the pretentious ways of the casual theatre goer. I didn't feel the need to show off my Sunday best, knowing full well that those on stage didn't give a rat's ass what the audience wore, as long as they were there.

Running a brush through my hair one last time, I decided I was ready, like it or not. I was running out of time and patience with my own stupidity. I was going to the theatre, not a date for crying out loud.

Grabbing my heavy pea coat, keys and a white rose I'd bought earlier, I was ready to step out into the November New York night.

I was stunned to feel my palms sweating as the train took me closer and closer to my destination. Nerves were eating up my insides, and it took several deep breaths to get me moving once the doors had whooshed open at my stop. God, how did she make me feel like I was seventeen again?

The curtain opened, and the wonder I'd felt as a teenager seeped out my ears as I saw the vision of the woman she'd become. Though Spencer was no more than four years older than myself, seeing her on that stage, her body exquisite as it moved, carried the voice of her character, silently telling the story of a young girl, tortured throughout life, I was rapt awe once again. I was not surprised to feel tears silently streaming down my cheeks, so lost in the story and the past, I was.

As the cast stood for their applause, the leading lady took the apron, bowing at the waist as the cheers echoed through the theatre, filling me with so much pride and happiness for her. She deserved this honour.

The lobby was filled with boisterous voices as theatre goers met to talk about the production they'd just seen, many carrying flutes of champagne. I did not wait around to chat about the amazing performances, I was waiting around for what I knew came if only you waited long enough.

As the lobby began to thin out, a few scattered groups lingering, two heavy doors opened, and a small group of plain clothed people emerged. I felt my heartbeat pick up, my fingers finding the gift that sat next to me on the bench.

A few gasps rose as people realized it was the cast themselves coming out, leaving for the night. I hung back, content to sit on my bench as I saw her, swallowed up by admirers. I could hear Spencer's lilting voice, gentle and accepting of their praise, and graciously signing autographs.

She looked so different yet much the same. Her face had thinned somewhat, the look of a young girl now replaced by the confidence of a woman. She wore blue jeans, though no holes in these, and black boots. Her sweater hugged her body, which was still glorious. Her hair was now a little longer, the golden strands free around her shoulders and face.

She was stunning.

Spencer stepped away from the last group, the dancer was making her way toward the door, long overcoat draped over her arm.

"Spencer," I said softly, standing. She stopped at the sound of her name, turning to face me. It took a moment, but then I saw recognition bleed into those amazing blue eyes. A look of stunned pleasure filled her face as she walked over to me.

"Oh my god," she said quietly, seeming to try and reconcile today with so long ago. "Ashley!" She took me in a warm hug, then stepped away, wonder filling her eyes. She smiled shyly as I handed her the white rose.

"You were incredible," I said, my voice soft and filled with reverence for her craft.

"Thank you." She inhaled the fragrant flower, then cocked her head slightly to the side. So much stayed the same. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"No kidding?"

"Nope. No kidding. I saw that you were starring on Broadway, so I had to come and see it. It's about damn time someone realized just how good you are." I gave her my best smile, and she chuckled slightly, looking down at the rose, which her fingers played with.

"Well, I'm glad you did. And I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Very much so. You were truly brilliant." As she looked up at me, I could only hope she could see the truth behind my words. She took my breath away.

"What are you doing right now?" she asked, her words quiet.

"Seems I'm talking to the star of the show."

She rolled her eyes, batting my arm playfully. "Well, would you like to get some coffee with said star?"

My smile widened, and I nodded. "Absolutely."

"Great." She smiled at me, then whipped her coat around her shoulders, sliding her arms into the sleeves. Digging black, leather gloves from the pockets, she glanced over at me. She said nothing, just seemed to need a second look. I smiled politely, stepping through the glass door of the theatre, holding the door for her. With a quiet thank you, she stepped through, joining me on the sidewalk.

"Do I need to hail us a cab?" I asked, nodding toward the street. She shook her head.

"Ever been to Jerry's? It's just down the street."

"Lead the way." I followed as she took us to the left, the sidewalks filled with people, folks getting out of nearby shows, talking and laughing. I could feel my heart beating at a ridiculous cadence as we continued on, neither of us saying a word. I didn't know what to say, my throat suddenly like the Sahara. I could see her long, blonde hair whipping in the cold night wind, and it struck me anew each time. It was so very different from what I remembered.

"How long have you been in the city, Ashley?" she asked suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts.

"About three years," I quietly explained. She nodded, then grinned.

"Got you beat by a year."

"Oh yeah?" I didn't want her to know I'd researched everything about her save for her bra size.

But then, guess I kind of already knew that.

Again, I held the door for her once we reached the small deli. I was freezing as the warmth of the place hit me, a shiver passing through me.

"Coffee?" she asked, looking up at me. I nodded. "Grab us a table, will you?" A gentle hand on my arm, then she was gone, heading toward the line that was beginning to grow. I made my way back through the busy deli, managing to grab one of the few tables that remained.

I still felt like I was in a daze, not sure what to make of everything. She had really thrown me for a loop with the coffee invite. I figured I'd be lucky if I managed to snag her for a congratulations after the show. I wasn't prepared for this, and really wasn't sure how to handle it.

Or maybe I was just over analysing it and should just be myself. As appealing a thought as that might have been, I had to remember that every time I'd been myself with this woman the last time she was in my life, I always got myself in trouble.

"They have the best coffee here," Spencer was saying, suddenly materializing across from me. I nodded absently, watching as she let her coat slide off her shoulders, flopping onto the back of her chair.

A cup of steaming brew was set before me, a small mountain of cream cups and sugar packets between us.

"You didn't hit me as a Splenda or diet sugar kind of gal," she grinned, noting the white and blue Holly Sugar packets that littered the table. I couldn't help but grin back.

"Why? Are you trying to tell me something?" I asked, brow raised. I grabbed two bags of the stuff, knocking them both against the table to get the granules at the bottom of the bag so I could rip off the tops.

"What, you need to sweeten your day?" she chuckled, pouring a cream cup into her coffee, then stirring it with one of the thin straws she'd brought for that purpose. Holding the cup between her bare hands, green eyes closed as a look of contented pleasure crossed her face. She took a careful sip then set the cup back to the table. Eyes opening, she looked at me, catching me in mid-sip.

"So how long is the show slated to last?" I finally asked, setting my own cup aside, yet keeping my hands tucked around it to thaw them. Unlike the industrious Miss Carlin, I'd forgotten to bring gloves.

"I have a three month contract with option for three more," she said, her voice soft. I always thought she had a wonderful voice. It had a calming quality. Then again, maybe it was because I so rarely heard it.

"Impressive. Someone's happy with you."

She smiled at me, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "So what do you do in the big, bad city, Ashley?" She brought her elbow to the table, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand.

"I write for New York Magazine," I explained simply. "I also indulge in my true passion now and then- writing novels."

"You're a writer?" she asked, surprise and mild excitement filling her eyes. I nodded, sipping to unthaw my insides.

"Yup. Imagine mom's excitement at finding out that I do have some sort of creative talent." We both chuckled.

"Other than singing cutsie little songs about teddy bears for Christmas?" she added, fingers absently playing with one of the little cream cups.

"Oh boy," I brought a hand up, rubbing the back of my neck, looking anywhere but at her. The beautiful sound of her laugh brought my gaze around to her.

"How is your mom, by the way?" The soft tone of her voice surprised me. It was almost reverent.

"She's good. Still cracking the whip on unsuspecting students." I grinned. "She's hired on a few instructors now, though. She mainly just handles choreography."

"That's wonderful. Please tell her I said hello."

"Or you can tell her yourself," I grinned. "She and dad are coming up for Christmas. No doubt they'd love to catch you show."

"I'd be delighted!" The light in her eyes was so damn bright. God, she could light up an entire city block.

"So would she." So was I.

She smiled at me, then cocked her head slightly to the side, as though in some sort of contemplation. I glanced at her, but then had to drop my eyes, focussing instead on my coffee cup. Finally her soft voice floated over to me.

"You and Brian look a lot alike."

Surprised to hear her mention my brother, I looked back up at her. She could see the question in my eyes.

"I had the opportunity to work with him in Berlin," she explained, bringing her cup to her lips.

"Really? Did you get to see his boys?" I asked, brows raised in excitement. She chuckled.

"Oh, yes. Tanner and Ryan are adorable. He would bring them in during rehearsal so we could all fall in love with them, watching them try to emulate their daddy. They've got your eyes," she said, almost as an after thought.

"That's what I hear." I smiled proudly. "Mom is biting at the bit to see the twins again. He and Melanie travel so often, and usually out of the country, it's hard to get everyone together. Tanner and Ryan are her first grandchildren, and she fears the only." My laugh was strong as I remembered all the threats mom had thrown at me over the years. I could see the twinkle in those blue eyes.

"No children in your future, Ashley?"

You wanna be Mommy number 2?!

I shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Who knows. It's not a definite, and it's not a no. You know?"

She nodded. "Well," she said, downing the rest of her coffee. "I should be going. Brutus will wonder where the hell I'm at."

"Oh, uh, okay." I gave her a bright smile to cover a sudden sense of disappointment. We both stood, gathering our trash and bundling up. Once we'd reached the sidewalk outside, Spencer turned to me, smiling.

"I'm so glad you came, Ashley," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "And thanks again." She held up the rose.

"You're most welcome. Take care of yourself, and break a leg." I winked, and she gave me the most charming smile.

"Night."

I watched as she made her way down the street, quickly disappearing within the throng of people. With a heavy sigh, I headed for the subway.

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