AN: Get ready, folks. Spencer, meet Ashley.

Musical Inspiration:

Best Days – Graham Colton

One Last Song – Josiah Leming (love this kid)

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She missed her bed.

She missed her phone.

She missed her friends.

(Though she doubted they missed her.)

She missed her school.

She missed Clay's hugs.

She missed Glen's ugly face.

She missed her dad, even if she would pretend to hate him for the next year.

She almost missed her mom. Or, that is, she would have, if Paula had ever been there to miss.

Not even nine hours had passed since her father woke her up at such an unusual time to such an unusual circumstance. Two car rides and one plane ride later, and she was already feeling her losses. So soon, she felt the gaps in her life. She felt like a box that someone has just tripped over, leaving her contents spewed haphazardly across a floor to be stepped on and forgotten. She felt empty, void of everything except the sick weight of dread in her stomach as she stepped from the decrepit van and into her new future. She was the lonely apartment whose previous tenants had abandoned it, leaving only the memory of furniture and life and happiness in their wake. Cobwebs, dust, and sorrow now filled the naked corners of her life as she waited for the next occupant who might look at that empty space and care enough to fill it.

She was feeling a little shaky as she took her first steps in the "Wilderness Camp." Her arms were crossed over her chest, her hands trying to generate warmth as they ran up and down over her skin. It was February, and this was no California winter. There was snow on the ground, and she was dressed in a very thin and tight-fitting brown and white striped t-shirt paired with faded jeans.

A car door slammed behind her, making her jump. She turned to face Ms. Linton, teeth beginning to grind as she attempted to stop their chattering.

"Welcome to New Hope."

The woman's cordiality was gone. She was in her element now, and Spencer had never felt more out of place and awkward.

"Wh-what—"

"Follow me." The woman interrupted her and smiled thinly—an expression that failed to reach her eyes.

They moved forward, and for the first time, Spencer glimpsed a massive tent. She eyed it warily. Its white walls melded with the thin layer of snow that cloaked the ground and surrounding pine trees.

As if reading her thoughts, Ms. Linton finally turned to her to provide her with information. "Spencer, that tent is where you'll be sleeping tonight. I'll have one of the team leaders give you your new clothes and instructions, okay?"

Did this woman always need to ask for her acknowledgement, or was she just particularly annoying? At least Ms. Linton was smart enough not to wait for a response she wasn't going to get.

"Right this way."

Instead of heading inside the imposing tent as Spencer assumed they would, they headed toward a smaller shed. There were small gaps through the wood, as if this structure had been built by hand. There was, however, a door that they passed through. The inside was just as crudely constructed as the outside.

A middle-aged man was seating behind a relatively smooth log desk, examining what looked to be a sample of urine. Behind him were rows of containers and medical equipment. He paused what he was doing as they entered.

"Dr. Harlan, this is Spencer. She'll be needing the usual, when you get a chance."

He peered at her as if through imaginary glasses. She couldn't shake the feeling that his probing eyes were trying to read her. She also had the sinking feeling that she'd be getting a lot more of that while she was here.

"Drug test and a physical? Sure thing." He went back to examining his urine sample.

His expansion of her words seemed to irk Ms. Linton, as if she wanted to keep Spencer in the dark as much as possible. As if the girl wasn't smart enough to connect Wilderness Camp to a urine test. Just because she was blonde didn't mean she was also incompetent. The woman's mouth twisted just the slightest bit into a grimace.

"Right." Ms. Linton's tone was dry. She turned once more to Spencer, visibly attempting to conjure some of her previous pleasant attitude. "Well, Spencer, I'll be catching up to you later, once Dr. Harlan has finished, all right?"

Again with the annoying request of reassurance. Spencer decided to appease her, just this once. "All right."

"Good. I'll see you later, darling."

Spencer was left there, again awkward, alone, and cold in the center of this makeshift shed stocked with drug tests and medical equipment.

"How you feeling?" Spencer blinked back into focus at the doctor's question. She found the doctor was staring at her again.

"Huh? Oh, well, you know. Just fine for having been uprooted and shipped to Montana. Fantastic, really."

The doctor smiled, crow's feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. He removed his attention from her as he lifted a sharpie to make a mark on the cup it looked like he had been testing. It was a smile of acceptance.

"It'll get better, you know. You'll get used to it here. You might even like it after a while." Somehow, she doubted that. She preferred her psycho family and friends that she knew and her comfortable living arrangements as opposed to being thrown out into the wild with strangers who examined her as if she were a lab rat.

Having finished writing whatever mark he had made, he got up from his folding chair, a coat in his hand. "Here, take this coat. You look like you're freezing." She accepted the coat, which was many too sizes too large for her, but comforting nonetheless.

"Okay, Spencer." He retraced his previous movements only to return with a sealed container in his hands. "I'll need to take a urine sample, and then we'll have a look at you."

"I haven't taken any drugs or alcohol, you know. I don't do that sort of thing," she piped up.

He eyed her. "I would say I believe you, but unfortunately I've been proven wrong too many times before. Plus, this is just standard procedure. Have to follow the rules, you know." He winked at her, a pleasant smile on his face. He was pretty likeable; she had to give him that.

She took the cup and went in the direction that he motioned her to go. Their excuse of a toilet was basically a hole in the ground. The stench was awful.

She returned, sample in hand, which he took and placed on the desk. He then moved her to a table (a plastic one, thank you) and began to go through a standard range of tests.

"So, what's going to happen to me, exactly?"

The doctor didn't falter in his ministrations at her question. "Well, I wish I could tell you, but that's something you're going to have to find out for yourself. It's a different experience for everyone."

It was still cryptic, but at least it was more cordial than any other response she had received thus far. Better than her father's 'you're going on an adventure.'

Dr. Harlan asked her a list of customary medical questions about her health which she responded to agreeably. He stepped back from her.

"Looks like you're pretty healthy, Spencer." He glanced at his testing equipment before adding, "And clean." He smiled at that, then regained his seriousness as he regarded her. "You'll need to watch that you're eating enough while you're here, though. You're looking pretty skinny."

Yeah, she got that a lot. It was probably something she was going to have to be careful of, especially in this… emotionally stressful environment.

All of a sudden, as if in accordance with that thought, yelling interrupted their previously calm environment. Both Spencer and Dr. Harlan were distracted from what he had been saying. They didn't have to strain to hear what was being said as the voice drew closer.

"I don't fucking need medical attention! What do you not get about that?!" A girl's voice was heard outside the shed, almost hysterical in her aversion to going to visit the doctor. Dr. Harlan let out an exasperated sigh as he swiveled to face the entryway, his shoulders squaring up as if in preparation of entering the fray of some barroom brawl. The voice was obviously not new to him.

"Well, honey, you need it, okay? Don't fight me on this, or I'll have to call Joshua to assist me…" Spencer would recognize that voice anywhere—it was Ms. Linton.

"I said no! What? You think I can't handle a fucking cut on my head? You think I'm gonna die from this scratch?! Trust me, I've seen way worse than this. I've survived from way worse than this, okay, woman?! I don't need to see some fucking doctor that's just going to stitch me up and pat me on the head and tell me to feel better!"

"Miss Davies…"

"Don't fucking call me Miss Davies! It's Ashley, woman, Ashley! Why can't you get that right?! … Don't fucking touch me."

The pair burst through the door as if a bombshell had exploded. The girl who called herself Ashley was like a whirlwind flying through the makeshift door, grounded only by her human flesh and tan complexion. Her brown curls were a mess atop her head, matted with blood and dirt. The girl looked like all hell—her chest heaving, and drab clothing torn, askew, and smeared with mud. She had obviously been there longer than Spencer, already sporting the New Hope uniform Spencer had yet to receive.

Ashley turned to face her. Well, not really face her. Pierce, or maybe skew her perhaps would be a more fitting term as Spencer found herself scalded by hazel eyes that were more akin to liquid fire than brown irises. She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs as movement stilled and the world was put on an extravagant pause. Their eyes stayed connected for one unbelievable heartbeat, then two—the only sound in the room emerging from Ashley's heaving chest. In the midst of the chaos this girl was spreading, the connection of their eyes brought an immediate calm. And it wasn't just Spencer who was caught in an instant trance—Ashley had gone from raving beast to crouching tiger, all in the span of a second. Her energy was now retained behind eyes that remained fixed on the blond girl seated on the plastic table.

Just as quickly as their eyes had connected, the moment was broken like a particularly brittle twig when Ms. Linton tentatively reached out to touch Ashley's arm. It was snapped apart, obliterated, crushed as Ashley leapt back from the contact. Spencer resisted the urge to shake her head, which felt strangely clouded and ridiculous as this girl before her continued her previously interrupted dramatic confrontation. Maybe it was her imagination, but Ashley seemed to be putting up less of a fight than before she had entered the shed door. Spencer remained almost stupidly engrossed in the situation, as if she were staring at a math equation that wasn't adding up to her.

"Ashley." Dr. Harlan's voice rose above all, firm and unyielding. Surprisingly, it made Ashley pause. Ms. Linton, with a frustrated sigh and what could have been a muttered expletive, gave up on trying to get a hold of the girl.

"Yes, Dr. Harlan?" Ashley had made a 360 degree turnaround with that approachable voice, her movements calming. She still had an air of strumming energy about her, even when she was still. The room was buzzing with it now as Dr. Harlan approached her. She looked at him with nostrils flared, but didn't flinch as he examined a wound located on the back of her head. Dr. Harlan stepped back.

"Ashley, you need stitch—"

"Oh, fuck that." Ashley rolled her eyes, preparing to resume her previous behaviors.

"Ashley, stop! You will do as I say, or you'll lose all group privileges. Are we clear?" That caught her attention. Ashley glanced at Spencer with a look of anxiety in her eyes before returning her attention to the doctor.

There was a heavy pause, and then, "But I hate needles, Doc! I'd rather have the hole in my head." A note of pleading had entered her voice, as if she now knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her lips had gained an almost pouty edge.

"Ashley, you'll be fine." His voice was commanding.

She heaved an explosive sigh before becoming visibly and bitterly resigned.

"Whatever, I'll do it, just get it over with." She moved toward the table. "I fucking hate needles, I really fucking do," was muttered under her breath as she approached and stopped about a yard away from the girl with vivid blue eyes. Spencer felt herself being examined.

"Who are you?"

Spencer felt as if her mouth had turned to cotton balls, and she hadn't the slightest idea why. Her capacity for speech had fled out the window as she tried to muster a response.

Ms. Linton chose to interject—anything to further aggravate Ashley. "Come on, Ashley, you know the rules. No talking to anyone." The woman gave Spencer a pointed look, purposely refusing to use her name. "You'll be coming with me, now. Time to get you oriented."

Ashley whirled to face Ms. Linton once again. "Jesus Christ, am I not allowed to ask for someone's name? I mean, come on, it's not like we're going to make some 'great escape' when we're who knows how many miles from civilization! I mean I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is!"

Ms. Linton brushed past her to grab hold of Spencer's arm. Spencer stared down at it as if it repulsed her, then looked back to Ashley, back to warm summer brown eyes that just looked irritated where before they had been feral. She could have sworn her features softened as they held each other's gaze. Spencer felt a tug on her arm and was jerked from the table and from her continued trance.

"Spencer. Spencer Carlin." She breathed it from her lips as Ms. Linton dragged her out the door, sputtering angrily as she went.

They were only a few strides away when, from inside the shed, Ashley called out after her. "See you 'round, Spencer!"

Ms. Linton's mumblings got louder and more irritated. Spencer glanced back until she was forced to focus on where her feet were landing, the doctor's coat still draped over her shoulers. As she was marched to the impending tent of horror, she felt the dread in her stomach ease just the tiniest of degrees.