Spencer's hands hold the glass of ice-cold water.
And then they smooth over her legs, up one way and then down again.
But they always return to the glass, clinging to it – any port in a storm, anything will do – because her hands will betray her.

And she knows this because she has just witnessed it.
And her fingers burn, her palms sweat.

So, Spencer holds the glass and grips the glass and toys with the glass.
All of this so she won't reach out and try to take back… everything, take back what should be ours, take back a girl so long gone…

And she doesn't want to look up, in this trendy and crowded bistro as the L.A. sun pushes past window panes and bears down on everyone – the rich, the artsy, the destitute, the lonely – Spencer doesn't want to look up and find those brown eyes opposite her.

But I don't want to look up and find them not there either. God, what do I want…?

And what does she want? What did she expect, walking with an unknown purpose to the hotel that held Ashley Davies, but to have this moment?
What did she want so much that she ignored the words of protest ringing in her ears, painful and broken?
What is this longing still doing here, tugging and tearing her down… right back into you, Ashley, always back into you…

Spencer looks up then, as if confused by her own feet and her own clothing and her own messed-up logic – and Ashley is still there, gazing out at the world passing by and Spencer feels like she could break this glass in her hands… whether from love or from rage… oh, it is both and how do I finally find the end of these feelings? All of these feelings she still awakens in me… how do I finally set us both free?
Is it possible at all? Will we be forever damned to hurt one another and need one another?

"I dreamed of you in Africa."

And it is not what she plans to say, because she didn't plan to say a damn thing.
But flashes of images pervade her brain now, cracked and sepia-toned pictures of their bond stretched over the continents – and then they are overlapped by today… whispers of flesh, of tempers cooled by kisses and by knowing the lay of someone's personal lands… not the Serengeti , but the slope of where Ashley's hip disappears into her side and merges with her abdomen…

I could travel you forever and never tire out.

And it is not what she plans to think, because she didn't plan to think a damn thing at all.
But that is just another lie and Spencer allows her hands to drift away from the glass, to drop to her sides and finally rest.

"Were you filming there?"
"Yes."
"Darfur?"
"No. A project to bring awareness to the AIDS epidemic."

Ashley's eyes blink, but do not turn her way.
They still stare outside, on the traffic and on the millions of people, and Spencer almost chokes on her own desire again. She feels it push inside of her blood, wave after wave, lapping at her skin with insistence.
But she leaves the glass alone. She doesn't look away.
Because she didn't plan on any of this – not sex, not talking, not falling apart and not falling in love all those years ago… but I did and I can't turn back time… she and I cannot turn back time… we can only settle things now and… and… hope for more, hope for better days… we can only hope, right?

And Spencer Carlin deals in truth, capturing it on celluloid and jotting it down in notebooks.
And Spencer Carlin deals in reality, even if it hurts… even if it kills me….

"I dreamed… about loving you and wanting to… break free of you. And I… I don't know how to do one without the other, Ashley. I don't think I can do one without the other… not anymore."

And like lightning, those eyes are on Spencer and the roar of the ocean isn't far away now – it rumbles to life in Ashley's gaze, reaching out with white-capped hands that speak of undeniable despair.

"…Being sorry doesn't matter, does it?"
"It does, Ashley, it does… I just can't… I can't…"
"I know."
"Getting over you… it never happened, not well enough. It never stuck with me, it never took… but being with you, even now, and I feel… I feel…"
"Like everything is wonderful and horrible at the same time."

And they don't look away from each other this time, the bistro forgotten and that other world left behind on the sidewalks – it is just Spencer and Ashley.

No, we are not Spence and Ash anymore, are we?
That's not who we are anymore.
We are just two people… who used to know one another… who still… oh God, who still love each other and have to let it all go…

And old Spencer wants to fight, wants to scream, wants to pound her fists on the floor.
Because that girl has never stopped wanting Ashley, even when it was pointless to do so.
Because that girl wakes up every day and sees another lifetime, the one where Ashley Davies was her first real love and her first real heartbreak and her first of so many things… so many wonderful and horrible things…

"Yes. Just like that." Spencer whispers, fearful of her own voice suddenly. And she has a right to be, because it sounds like the hardest thing she has ever said and she is crying quite without meaning to.

And those thumbs, rough from plucking the strings of a guitar… but still so soft, still so sure… are there – not to hold on, just to offer what they have left now. Compassion and understanding and pockets of weeping in the grooves upon Ashley's fingers and they catch all of Spencer's tears.

"I love you. I always will."
"I know. I love you, too. Forever."

And that cheek, tanned from too many days at the beach… but still smooth, still so delicate… is there – not to create something, just to say all that is left to say. Forgiveness and acceptance and ceaseless devotion along the expanse of Ashley's face and Spencer can't help but lean against it one last time, to soak it in as much as she can and not shatter right here in this restaurant.

Ashley's breathing is shallow and dense, as if every single shred of these past seven years is held in her lungs and Spencer is moving with intent.
And it is not what she plans to do, but that's okay for now – that's how it's always been between them… we didn't plan on loving so hard, on falling for one another so damn much… and you didn't plan on running away and I didn't plan on getting so mad… we didn't plan on this, on any of this – it just is, isn't it, Ashley?

And they hug, arms shaking and things said without speaking, as L.A. drifts from day to night and prepares to do it all again in a few hours. They hold fast, for the last time, even as the bill comes and the lights get dimmed and people stare.

Spencer Carlin lets them stare all they want.
Because she knows that none of them – not the waiter, not the old lady at the bar, not the socialites or the tourists… not my friends, not her fans, not Kyla or Aiden, not my parents…

No one can ever know this kind of love, this wonderful and horrible kind of love, and Spencer Carlin doesn't know what comes next – only that the 'next' must now come.

And Spencer deals in the truth, so she does not pretend that her arms don't feel empty as Ashley walks away – taking in the sway to those steps, like the ground is no longer solid and taking in the way Ashley pushes the doors open wide, like not even miles upon miles is enough room to in which to leave.

Spencer does not put on an act, not ever, and not now – staring off into space, picking up where Ashley left off and watching the world again… the buses, the taxis, the homeless man slumped against the trash can and the cops speeding past and so many people… so many people, getting on with life and with living.

And so she gets up, gets on with living again.
And the bitterness slides off, pooling at her shifting steps. And the anger melts away, blown back by a gust of smog-filled breeze.

Spencer Carlin deals in reality… even if it kills me, right?
But she won't die this time.
Seven years is a long time to stop living…

"Too long…" She murmurs as she walks home, taking in everything with unburdened eyes and… she hopes, after many nights of not knowing how that felt anymore…
Spencer hopes for more than just existing.

And I hope it for you, too, Ashley… wherever you end up, wherever you go… I hope it for you, too.

**** **** ****

She expected to just die – to feel her heart stop and constrict painfully and then… and then…

I'd finally be dead. I'd finally be exactly as I have been for all this time. Cold and gone.

But it didn't happen that way and Ashley inhales deeply, as if she is on land again after being in the water too long – air pulled in greedily and filling her body.
And she walks to the hotel, not looking back at the street she just traversed… not looking back at the table that she just sat at… not looking back at Spencer, the only girl she'll ever love this strongly and the only girl she'll ever willingly set free…

Because it hurts, yes… but because it is over… we are no longer Spence and Ash, girls grasping at one another – in lust, in need, in battle, in sorrow – we are no longer in my car and we are no longer fighting outside that school… we are no longer that couple, that joy or that anger… I'm not sure what we are now, but… it isn't like it used to be and that's a good thing, right, Spencer?

The moment she saw Spencer's eyes, blue and endless and shimmering with honesty, Ashley couldn't look away again – couldn't falsify her own emotions, her own caring, her own ability to let things be – and so she moved forward and she took Spencer into her arms and she cried.

Paying no mind to men or women watching them, paying no mind to the minutes that ticked by or the food that came – and went… Ashley just held Spencer and was held in return and they said good-bye.

They said good-bye and they said 'I'm sorry' and they said 'I love you still' and they did it… they broke free and they forgave and they set loose the anguish.

And Ashley walked away, she didn't run this time, and she didn't turn around – pillars of salt left for another lifetime and for whom she used to be.

And Ashley does not pretend that there isn't a space in her heart that only Spencer Carlin can fill… but something light is in her steps again, something she almost forgot how to feel… and it is freedom, hard-won and it is mine and I don't want to lose it again…

And the bitterness slides off, fluttering away from her shoulders. And the anger melts away, dissolving with every intake of city air and Ashley thinks it is funny that she feels like smiling.
After seven years, she feels like smiling just for the hell of it.

Seven years is a long time to not smile…

Kyla looms outside her room door and before the girl can pepper Ashley with a billion questions, she leans forward and presses a kiss to Kyla's cheek.

"Everything's okay, Ky. It's all going to be okay."

And, for the first time in so long, Ashley means it. And, for the first time in a long time, Kyla believes her.
And they stay up for the rest of the night, talking about nothing but saying a lot more with looks and Ashley gets ready for the rest of her tour – packing up and making calls - and she watches her little sister drift to sleep.

And Ashley's eyes stare out the window, all of L.A. shining like a star from this high up and she sends a prayer up… bet you don't even know me, do you, God? We don't talk, do we? And while this might not be a regular occurrence… just this once want kill me, will it?

And she says good-bye to that girl she used to be, broken and hollow and so eager to wound others.
She cuts those ropes and watches her float away.
And Ashley hopes… for the first time in a very long while… Ashley hopes for more than just existing.

And, wherever you are, Spencer Carlin… I hope the same for you, too… All the same for you, Spencer…

**** **** ****

END