a/n: Reading or reviewing, you have my gratitude.

"You're still here."

"Did you really think I'd leave?"

The wordless nature of her response sends a jolt of emotion lancing through me. Somewhere along the road, it's not just my trust she's lost.

Turning away from the window with an automatic smile, my eyes adjust to the dimmer light of the room and catch her return smile before she turns away to toss her purse onto the couch.

I notice she has a cardboard box sitting on her hip, a corner of it digging into her waist and dimpling the fabric of her shirt.

"What's in the box?"

It's hefted into my lap. "It's all yours." She steps back, arms crossing mutely.

I frown, hooking a finger around one of the top flaps and leaning over. A few folded shirts, a stack of documents, a photo album. All that's left of a stretch of time I called life.

"That's all?"

"That's all I could get back."

My chin drops. There wasn't much to begin with. And what I began with I have no attachment to, nor any fondness for. I resent that now I've been here, my memories of dank halls and empty apartments, slippery steps and daunting parking lots are permeated with nausea. Hating where I've been. Where Ashley's eyes have been and seen me. Because as real as my life was, Ashley's presence opens my eyes to another reality of could-have-been's and what-should-be's.

"Hey, space cadet," she interrupts my thoughts lightly, with some tentativeness, holding out another box that seems to have materialized from nowhere.

I look inside. Clothes, in styles I used to wear – and still do, tags still attached. "Clothes? But…"

"Don't be daft. What you have won't even last you a week. Here, I had to guess your size but I've gotten pretty good at it. Try them on and I'll take back whatever you don't like or doesn't fit. You're welcome."

I rub the edge of a shirt between my fingers and thumb absently. "Thank you," belatedly aware my voice has a dropped an octave. And that a girl I've despised and mourned and missed has shown me more kindness than I could have ever foreseen.

What is an already awkward moment explodes with tension as she takes the reins in a semblance of control. "Come on, time's a'wastin. We should get those tags off; I left my scissors somewhere…"

The first time I went shopping with Ashley, we were young enough to act out and get away with it, and old enough to not look out of place in the make-up aisle. Certainly, young enough to walk into a changing room together with armfuls of dresses and get off with a glare.

"So, you know, when you get this…" I cut off with a slight noise of disapproval as the coltish brunette wiggled. "It's going to catch your skin if you keep twitching, Ash. Stay still."

"I can't help it!" Bubbled through red lips, tribute to the three pure-sugar iced cappuccinos that, according to her, I was liable for. "You could have stopped me. I was a monster!" She dragged her voice out into a distinctive, endearing whine.

"Self-control, Ash," I said in a tone that I knew would further aggravate her, and tugged mercilessly on the cold zipper at her backside. "As I was saying, it would be practical not to toss this on the floor after you've coughed up a hundred bucks for it." I pictured her room again, draped with clothes, holding back a laugh at the recollection of a pair of jeans she had stepped out of left upright on the floor.

"It's just a dress," she groaned when her next jitter found the zipper scoring her skin.

"I told…"

"Uh uh. You don't get to say that." She whipped around, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

My heart dropped and I had the distinctive feeling my insides were dispersing, creating a deeper and darker void for the muscle to fall into. My eyes had made the unavoidable drop from her face to the bronzed skin over the gentle swell of her collarbone, the trigonal notch that led right down to the low neckline of the dress. Those eyes wouldn't stop despite my slipping control, chasing the contours of the creamy fabric over her stomach and hips as it made its svelte way down her thighs and finally fanning out in a series of frills.

I realized, belatedly, that a smirk was blossoming on her face.

"T-that this dress looks amazing on you?" I backtracked unconvincingly, mortified at the sensation of a powerful blush.

"I wasn't finished," she paused, unable to contain a pompous grin. "You don't get to say that just once."

"Look who's fishing."

She winked emphatically. "Don't be sad I got this dress first." Was she mistaken or helping me skulk back behind the line, repair the walls, reassemble my resolve? Which was I supposed to hope for?

"Oh Ash, that colour would only look good on you."

"Come again?"

I laughed, falling comfortably back into our effortless banter. The previous indignity faded so easily from my mind in a way only Ashley could facilitate.

I finger a button on the pinstripe blouse, cooling my fingers. The clothes in that box are more than I could have ever asked for. It's only after this unforeseen act of kindness from Ashley and having chanced on a moment of peace and quiet I start my attempt to right myself somehow.

Bemused, the knock on the closed door comes escapes my notice.

"Spencer… Spencer? Yoo hoo."

Unbidden, a smile comes to my lips. "Come in."

A tousled head of loose curls comes around the door, sweetened with a familiar rakish grin. "Hey. Lookin' good."

I look down self-consciously. "Thanks."

"Anything you want me to take back?"

"No but… now? You just got back."

She sighs, coming fully around the door. I notice she's changed from her usual, provocatively revealing clothing to well-fitted slacks and a navy blue blouse, a blazer draped over one arm.

It's this image of a grown-up Ashley, wearing something a teenaged Ashley would have never been caught dead in, even if by necessity, that bolsters the depth of her transformation.

"I know," she hisses out, restlessly tugging down her blouse. "I just got a call. Emergency meeting with the bigwigs. I'm so sorry Spencer, I wanted to…"

"It's fine. You shouldn't have to drop anything for me," I reinforce my words with a beam. "And I think playing hooky is thing of the past."

"If you say so," she grins genuinely, albeit archly. "So I'm going to go, help yourself to anything. I'll see you when I get back."

A statement, not a question.

"Yeah," filtering all the uncertainty out of my voice the best I can.

She eyes me for a long moment. "'Kay."

I watch her leave, eyes glued to the curve of her back the blouse so clearly underscores. Then folding a few tops blindly, ears trained on the sounds of her heels all over the apartment, and finally the front door closing and a key in the lock.

So Ashley's off to work and I'm left to stew in emotions set to fester until they boil over. No distractions and no respite.

Only one thought occurs. I've to escape before the gravity of this situation, my unmanageable emotions and thoughts swallow me whole.

Grabbing the phone, I punch in number by heart. As a male voice answers, I look for a scrap of paper and leave a note with little thought for what comes later.

It hadn't been that long since I found out about Ashley's nightly visitors. I'd done my best to push it away – I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about it, and why I felt and what exactly these things were whenever I thought of it. I'd examined and re-examined my feelings time and again, but I was frankly reminded of that dizzying and sensation of stepping into unfamiliar territory.

And it was one sensation I couldn't quite seem to walk away from, because for every step back, the unknown seemed to move forward.

That was what came of an early morning stroll into Ashley's apartment.

"Hey Ash, rise and…" My voice was light when I turned the knob, and then it wasn't there at all.

There was a dirty blonde head attached to petite shoulders that narrowed into an exposed back somewhere in the sea of covers. And Ashley, whose eyes sprang open as she moved with alarming speed, hands darting to crinkled linen already covering her chest. There was a beautiful pink flush to her face, accentuated on her cheekbones where the sun through the curtains hadn't honeyed her skin.

It was an image that would chew me up inside and out for a long time to come.

"Get out."

It was the first time she had ever said those words to me, but she didn't have to tell me twice. I gaped long enough to see something in her eyes flicker. Then I couldn't get out fast enough, not even bothering to lock the door on my way out as I fumbled down the stairs was down the street with no place to go but no mind to care.

Then I was afraid. So thoroughly scared, so incredibly sorry a Sunday morning meant to be a refuge for friends had been so cruelly ripped from us.

"Spence! Spence, wait."

I shut my eyes, willing some sort of courage from some place inside to guide my failing limbs.

"Spencer. You…"

She had the take-out I left on the kitchen counter in her hand, between us like an olive branch. I made no move to take it.

"I got it for you. It's breakfast," I told her softly, honestly, knowing it was doubling this tension, trebling her guilt.

She smiled, and it was heartbreaking. "I'm sorry, Spence… she was supposed to be gone in the morning."

"Oh." I choked out, not sure what to say, or what I felt. Just that it was overwhelming, and I repressed the urge to flee far, far away from here until I knew.

"I'm so sorry."

"Ash…"

"I feel sick."

"Ashley." A deep breath later, I was in front of her, hands lifting to cup her face and half-backing down as last minute in a fit of bashfulness that had my fingertips along her jaw.

"Why would you feel sick?"

She looked back at me gingerly. "I don't know… I didn't know how you would react."

"What you do in the privacy in your own home has nothing to do with me."

"But you're…"

"Different? I thought you didn't answer to anyone."

"Things change," there was no accompanying smile.

I dropped one hand, not one babbling reply on my lips. The fingers of the remaining hand curled so a solitary thumb traced down to her chin.

She reached up and took my hand. "Are you coming up?" She looked down, rubbing her thumb over my palm. "She's leaving."

"I…" I hesitated, not sure how to word my thoughts. The thought of hurting Ashley… and the thought of stepping back into a place that in my mind and in my heart, was just between us, made my chest clench forcefully. I knew the truth, but seeing it was blow to the face. "I don't think I can, at least not today."

She gave me a demoralizing, crooked attempt at a smile, and let me go. "I understand."

I left her on the sidewalk in her mismatched outfit and bare feet, clutching a brown paper bag.

And all I wanted to do was turn back on gather her out of another girl's arms and into my own.

It rides low on my back, slipping in between my new blouse and slacks, tickling the skin underneath.

I'm reaching back to free the apron strings from it's giant knot when someone gets there before me. I crane my head, almost bending my head backwards to catch a glimpse of black tresses and green eyes. "Thanks."

Sabrina gives me a sympathetic grin. "Let me retie that for you, hon." She moves behind me, pushing my hand aside lightly as she takes the ties into her hands.

"So where've you been?"

"Moving," I answer swiftly. "A little strange how fast Boss let me off the hook, though?"

"Hey, now. You're the reason we have so many regulars."

I scoff, shake my head, and am proven yet again ineffectual in keeping the blush at bay. "Who else would work in this dump for minimum wage?"

She snorts sympathetically. "We're all just making a living, Spence, but…" She leans in, pretending to readjust my collar. "He tried to find someone else, but no one would take the job. You should've seen him when he realized it was you on the phone."

I nod wordlessly. Not many people in these parts pay off their debts and make a living the legal way. I wish I didn't know what ways in particular are easier than waiting tables, and how strong the draw was to something I swore on my heart and soul that I'd never go to for money before Ashley unknowingly jerked me back.

The bell over the door jangles and Sabrina disappears into the kitchens. I watch a shadow fall over the counter as the customer sits at a stool. Sliding a menu over the counter without looking up, I continue wiping down the sink until the stranger speaks with a whiskey-soaked voice.

"Strawberry milkshakes any good?"

I look up jerkily, startled.

Ashley's face is decidedly placid, revealing nothing. Her eyes are another thing in itself, all mottled golds and dusky browns blistering with an inner storm.

"As good as I can make them," I reply quietly, knowing all too well what's next. The girl this morning so set on getting her life back her way is gone, and I'm back to questions with no answers.

"One of those, then. Please."

I nod, scouring my mind for something to say. She watches my suddenly fumbling movements, and I have to repress a tremor at the intensity of the gaze I won't meet.

"Shouldn't you, ah, be at work?" I venture after long moments, punctuating it with the placement of the drink in front of Ashley.

She ignores my question completely, but it seems to set off the beginnings of whatever is behind those eyes. "What are you doing back here?"

"Making a living."

"You're living with me – you don't and shouldn't have to come here," her voice is rough and forceful, everything short of physically poking me in the chest to demonstrate her point.

I look up, galvanized by a sudden rush of bitterness. "I'm staying with you. And after? Where do I go? What do I do? Outside of your bubble, this is how some of us live. You don't have to like it, Ashley. But how you feel doesn't make a difference to me."

She doesn't answer, and I shy away form her glare to move clumsily from the counter and down the aisle, trained on a signaling customer in the back.

And I'm suddenly aware her eyes are watching when I feel the almost gentle caress of air against the strip of exposed skin on the small of my back before a hand descends and brusquely locks around my waist, plunging me unceremoniously into a stranger's jean-clad lap.

Cigarette smoke. Alcohol and dirty clothes.

"Hey Spencer, how much for a few minutes in the alley?"

A gruff voice, harbouring a crude comment no doubt, a comment I don't comprehend until I'm far away. I jerk away from the intrusive touch and scurry to the back room none-too-subtly, turning my face away as I flee, shrouding my profile in a curtain of blonde, choking back the burn of bile and tears. The door closes behind me, and I lean up against the door, lolling my head back as a mortified heat rushes up my body.

"This is a diner, not a brothel. Get out!" Sabrina's voice is muted through the door.

I've gotten my head wrapped around the fact this comes with the job, but Ashley's presence – like it always has, is wreaking havoc, and suddenly I'm coming undone.

There's the voice again, protesting. A scuffle, the door bell ringing. And there's the quiet. Thorough and dense, every breath tortuous and forced as if the air itself knows the meaning of an awkward silence.

Sabrina's voice comes through the door. She's on the other side now. "Spence?"

Pressing the back of a cold hand to my cheek to test the waters, I open the door. She pats my elbow awkwardly, and stands beside me. I'm first to move back to the counter. It happens to both of us, and she always takes a little better than me, knowing which customers to walk swooping arcs around. But it's always back to work, ready or not.

"Hey, you." Ashley's persuasive tone breaks the silence. We both turn towards her.

"Can I borrow Spencer for a moment? We need to talk. " A fifty dollar bill floats onto the counter, and I know I've just been bought.

"Why not."

Ashley grabs my wrist, the force of it shocking me and she's managed to drag me halfway to her car parked in the lot before I gather my wits enough to wrench free.

"What do you think you're doing?" I say to her back.

"Are you used to being treated like crap? Is that it?"

"It's the same thing, just with a different face."

She whips around, livid. "Different faces don't make being fondled at work alright!"

"Jesus, how many ways is there to degrade a person? One way, Ashley. It doesn't matter how you do it, it feels the same. It always feels the same." I hadn't wanted to be so reproachful, to turn the conversation around on her, but it's out before I realize.

"Are we done?" Comes my grating tone. I twist myself around, preparing to walk back to the diner when her fingers curl around my wrist again.

"You're not going back there. Not after they let you be bought off by a stranger for fifty fucking dollars," she snarls.

I twist my arm free once more with a jerk of my elbow, but I don't leave, turning back to her. "Who else is going to take a girl barely out of high school, looking like she's been living of the streets?" I pause. "And Sabrina's a good person. The only thing that makes her like most people in these parts, is that she would sell her soul to live like you do."

"Do all your friends think you're worth fifty bucks too?"

"Are you telling me to choose my friends a little more carefully? 'Cause I think I've learned that lesson a bit better than you."

She laughs dryly, sneering at the brick wall behind me. "Looks like we've come full circle, huh? It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"Never said that."

"You don't have to say it. I know what you think."

I meet her eyes, locked in the deadly dance. Our emotions are boiling over, shattering the floodgates, breaking the banks. "What makes you think you still know me, Ashley?"

"You would never sell your soul. Not for anything," she shakes her head with total conviction.

And I leer at her, hovering over the win. "You heard Sabrina. The bit about the brothel. How do you think that man knew my name?"

I've got her, now. Her eyes are zeroed on me, sneer quickly fading.

"Where did you think I got the money to buy a place? To make a life for me on my own?" I lash out, the truth mangled in those ugly words.

She steps back, eyes wide, what she's feeling registering in her eyes and face.

"You wouldn't."

"'Cause the Spencer you knew would never stoop so low?"

All I can do is watch, that breath hitching under the magnitude of feeling, there's a film that comes over her eyes, and then she's lost to me. Growling in retaliation, the entire length of her body pinions me as she slams me back into the wall, forearm tight against my sternum. It doesn't hurt, but the impact is enough to knock out my breath and my fight.

Her face is next to mine, mouth next to my ear. "You wouldn't whore yourself out for a few cheap dollars."

"Ashle – "

"You wouldn't, Spence."

I'm silent, stunned and frightened. I can't look at anything but the shapes and figures over her shoulder, can't register anything but her body against mine. She shoves me back again, even though I'm immobilized with the brick wall at my back and Ashley's body, chest to toe, against my front.

"Tell me. Tell me you wouldn't."

I recover quickly enough to shake my head, and at her proximity, she feels it. I don't know how she knew. "I spent some time at a brothel, Ashley. I was out on the streets… and I helped out one of the girls and they returned the favour. They gave me somewhere to live, three square meals. They also gave me a opportunity, but…"

The pressure eases as she moves back slightly to look me in the face. Her eyes are piercing, so acutely expressive I lose track of my breathing. Just because of that devastated, achingly feral look in her eyes, like none I've ever seen.

"But I never… I'm a virgin."

She holds my gaze for one more wordless moment before slowly stepping back. I'm slumped against the wall, matching her fast pants breath for breath.

Turning away from me tremulously, she breaks eye contact. Noiselessly sinking to sit on the curb, bowing her head into her hands.

And swallowing back the unexpected, incendiary bite of grief in my throat, rather than the shame and ire I was expecting, I will my knees not to buckle. Then I look away from that impossibly still figure, to where the streetlight shines a vigil over us with a gilded light, and where we're traveling in endless circles.