A/N: Hot off the presses, so apologizes for any errors. Maybe Ashley and Spencer just need some time to adjust to one another…
Even before the presidential SUV pulled to a complete stop outside of Darnall Hall on Georgetown's campus, Ashley was already unbuckled and out the door.
"See ya later Big Willy," she called to the chauffer. She didn't bother saying goodbye to her sister. Kyla was already rushing off to the other side of campus for her European Politics class, her new bodyguard following closely behind. Kyla liked to get to lecture early to get a good seat, the nerd. They would see each other again for lunch in a few hours anyway.
Waiting at her usual bench beside the driveway was Ashley's best friend Madison Duarte. Madison was dressed like she was going to a cocktail party instead of class, as per usual.
"What's with the army chick?" The Latina asked, standing up and adjusting a skirt that was probably too short to actually be considered an article of clothing. She rushed awkwardly in her signature three inch heels to match Ashley's pace.
Ashley glanced back to confirm that Carlin was indeed still a few feet behind her, despite the large crowd of coeds that shuffled along Georgetown's walkways between morning classes.
"New day, new pain in my ass. GI Jane here is Christine's latest technique in torture-parenting." Ashley rolled her eyes. She was sure Carlin was close enough to hear her. She flung a hand over her shoulder, gesturing to the marine. "Madison Duarte, meet Sergeant Shannon Carlin, my newest stalker. Shannando, meet Madison." She made a note to take it easy on the S-names, or she was going to run out.
"What happened to Eddy?" The Latina asked dreamily, sparing the new bodyguard little more than a cursory glance, "He was sex-y. I'd let him guard my body any time…"
Ashley laughed. Madison's blatant advances on her awkward and married former bodyguard had always been the highlight of her morning. He had physically squirmed in discomfort. It was fun to watch. A quick glance back at the marine behind her confirmed that Carlin remained unruffled. "From what I understand, he's seeking new career opportunities. I think my lifestyle was a little too fast paced for him."
"Girl, your lifestyle is a little too fast-paced for everyone." Ashley laughed along with Madison.
"Gotta move fast to keep ahead of those guys," Ashley gestured to the group of paparazzi who were fighting to get their telephoto lenses through a small opening in the gate that separated the private property of Georgetown from the very public sidewalk outside. The chancellor kept them off campus, but he couldn't ward them off completely.
Madison shrugged, not so subtly fixing her hair and adjusting her top. "If you are gonna be seen, you might as well look good." Ashley rolled her eyes. Madison loved to be photographed. She was an aspiring actress and was always aware of where the cameras were.
Madison's unapologetically real and honest attitude were part of what had brought the two together as friends in the first place. When Ashley first moved to Washington and started college as a freshman, her mother had just been elected president. She had been accustomed to some limelight as Raife Davies daughter, and a little more as the daughter of a Congresswoman, but nothing had prepared her for the constant scrutiny of being a First Daughter.
Ashley hated fake people with a fiery passion and during her first few weeks at Georgetown she had been surrounded by nothing but fame-seekers and wannabes who pretended to be nice to her in the hopes of winning an invite to the White House and meeting the president. She and Kyla had stuck mostly to themselves after several failed attempts to find decent human beings to hang out with, but with Kyla still in her senior year of high school, Ashley was left to fend for herself on campus.
By some miracle of alphabetical order, Ashley had been paired with Madison as partners in Biology 101 lab. Unlike everyone else on campus, Madison had been one hundred percent up front about how much she enjoyed the attention of working and studying with the Ashley Davies. On top of that, she had a diva attitude and could hold her own in a verbal sparring match. She never tried to kiss up to Ashley or fake nice.
For Ashley, it was like a breath of fresh air and what had started out as a volatile and tenuous lab partnership had developed into the only real friendship Ashley had managed to make since she was sixteen years old.
It also didn't hurt that the girl could keep up with her at the club and not only did Madison not care that Ashley was gay but she was also willing to help her keep the deep, dark Davies family secret.
Ashley tried to pay attention as Madison launched into a riveting tale about how the lady at the mall had nearly destroyed one of her eyebrows during her last wax, but she became more than a little distracted by the girl walking in front of them instead. Really, how was she supposed to pay attention to anything when girls were running around wearing leggings as pants? The tight, thin material left no curves to the imagination.
"Ash, stop staring at that girl's ass and at least pretend to listen to me!" Madison whined.
"Sorry, sorry," Ashley laughed. Madison always seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were ignoring her.
Out of her peripheral vision, she just managed to catch the look of surprise that flickered across Sergeant Carlin's face before it settled back into its normal neutral expression. The reaction distracted Ashley again from whatever the heck it was that her friend was going on about.
Was little Miss All-America looking the tiniest bit surprised and uncomfortable? Apparently mommy-dearest and the rest of the goon squad had failed to warn the marine about her "condition."
Ashley knew that people who joined the military tended to be a little more conservative than the average American. She also knew that the military was an extraordinarily anti-gay organization – especially since her mother had become Commander-in-Chief. In fact, there was an excellent chance that the good little Marine behind her probably viewed homosexuality as akin to the bubonic plague.
Christine had suggested that Marines had to follow orders and that they couldn't just quit until their enlistment contracts had expired. But surely they had some voice in their activities. Maybe they could even request a reassignment if they felt like they were unable to carry out the job they were assigned to…
A plan was quickly forming in Ashley's head. It used some of her best talents and all of her finest assets. On top of it all, it actually promised to be kind of fun.
Carlin didn't know what she was in for.
By the time Spencer had been unceremoniously introduced to the third professor of the morning, she was almost used to being treated like a non-person. Most of the teachers had given her a sort of sympathetic nod of welcome, as if they were more than familiar with the strings that came attached to dealing with Ashley Davies.
Spencer had to wonder how they managed to look so worn down already. It was only the third week of the fall semester.
After Ashley led them to two empty seats at the very back of the small lecture hall, Spencer had taken a moment to survey the environment for any threats. By the time she turned her attention back to Ashley, the girl had face-planted down onto her desk and by her even breathing, Spencer could tell that she was asleep.
Now sure, Spencer thought that the History of Medieval European Music sounded like a pretty boring subject, but she wasn't the one shelling out fifty thousand dollars a year for scheduled nap times. Ashley had shown some signs of life in her first two classes, even asking an annoyingly irrelevant question or two, but this one apparently wasn't worth her time.
Spencer guessed that money wasn't an issue for the Davies family. When Christine Davies had run for election almost four years ago, though Spencer wasn't old enough to vote she had paid some attention to the race. She knew that Christine was the widow to a very successful rock and roll legend, Raife Davies. The man's estimated net worth was in the hundreds of millions. That legacy was partially how she had funded her campaign and was most certainly how Ashley managed to have the most expensive looking outfit and bag in a sea of rather well-off looking private school college students.
After giving the coeds in the surrounding seats one last careful once-over to check for any obvious threats and mumbling an 'all clear' through her earpiece to the auxiliary Secret Service back-up team outside, Spencer turned her attention back to the professor lecturing at the front.
Was he seriously using an overhead projector? Spencer hadn't known those things even still existed.
She listened to him rattle on for a few minutes about the differences between minstrels and troubadours before she reassessed her initial criticism of Ashley. Maybe she had the right idea after all, though who in their right mind would sign up for a class like this in the first place?
Spencer's eyes drifted over to her sleeping charge. She took the opportunity to freely look at Ashley for the first time since they had met. She was actually quite beautiful, when she wasn't rolling her eyes or screwing up her face in some sort of ridiculous expression of superiority. Petit too, for someone who talked so big, and surprisingly in shape for someone who led what appeared to be a fairly sedentary lifestyle (if her midmorning snooze was any indication).
She was dressed in what Spencer could best describe as "rocker chic" – red leather jacket, band tee-shirt, ripped up designer jeans and motorcycle boots. Her look certainly matched her attitude.
Suddenly, Ashley's eyes snapped open at just the wrong moment and Spencer realized that she had been caught staring.
"Like what you see sexy?" Ashley whispered suggestively, dragging her tongue across her upper lip.
Spencer stifled a scoff and resisted rolling her eyes. She turned her attention back to the professor at the front as he shuffled through a few of his overheads. He was more interesting anyway and much less annoying.
A few hours later found Spencer and Chelsea walking the Davies sisters back to their suite.
"We're going to study with some friends later." Ashley declared over her shoulder, "We'll be leaving around eleven, so be ready to whisk us away, won't you Sarge?" She didn't wait for an answer. Instead she waggled her fingers in what Spencer assumed was supposed to be a cute wave and slammed the door in her face.
"Sarge?" Chelsea questioned with a raised eyebrow. They turned together and began the short walk upstairs to their apartment.
"Apparently," Spencer sighed.
"Does she realize that that's not a thing for Marines?"
"Oh, I get the impression that she knows," Spencer resisted rolling her eyes. They made their way down the hall towards their own small apartment.
The place had come pre-furnished with some cookware, beds, a television, and a large comfortable couch, which Spencer promptly collapsed into. She was mentally if not physically exhausted after the first day of their assignment. The jet lag from their day-long journey from the other side of the world wasn't helping either.
"I love college!" Chelsea gushed as she plopped down next to her friend. She pulled off her cover and ran her fingers excitedly though her braids.
"Oh yeah?" Spencer encouraged her to go on with a small smile.
"Yes! I can't wait until I can apply. It was like high school, except better! Everyone actually chose to be there! And you can pick the classes you want to take! Kyla's in mostly boring stuff – politics and all that – but she's in an art history class and English literature!"
Spencer laughed at Chelsea's obvious glee. She was glad she at least had had a good day.
Unlike Spencer, Chelsea had never entertained the idea of making a career in the Marines. She was as proud as any other marine, but her service was more a means to an end – that end being a college degree.
She had joined the Corp as a way to pay for college. Sometimes Spencer forgot just how smart Chelsea was. She wasn't the type to show it off, but she really was brilliant. Chelsea had enlisted when she was seventeen, substituting a high school diploma with a GED.
A lot of people who didn't know much about the military assumed that the Marine Corp was a last resort career option for high school drop outs. In reality it was nearly impossible to enlist without at least decent grades and four years of high school. Chelsea was a rare exception to this rule – her strong academic record, clean background and surprising emotional maturity for her age had convinced her recruiters that she could cut it as a seventeen year old recruit. She and Spencer had been the youngest recruits at boot camp and thus had become fast friends.
Chelsea was using her enlistment contract to save up money. The GI Bill would pay for her education once she completed the terms of her active duty contract, and she would still have a small income to support her during school from her status in the Ready Reserves.
Chelsea wanted to be an artist and had dreams of working in art therapy. Spencer couldn't think of a better job for her best friend. She was a good security officer and a good marine, but her heart belonged to the arts. During their time in Afghanistan, sometimes Spencer thought that the only beauty within a hundred miles of whatever patch of desert they were camped out in lived in Chelsea's sketchpad.
"I could be sitting in a UCLA classroom in less than a year!" Chelsea exclaimed, marveling at the thought. "Well, that is if I get in."
Spencer swung a pillow at her friend's head. "Of course you are going to get in, idiot. Your SAT scores are incredible!" Spencer knew it too, she had helped her friend study and they had celebrated together last year when her scores came in.
"Maybe, but there's also that small matter of making it to the end of our contracts alive."
In unison, Spencer and Chelsea tapped their closed fists against their hearts. It was a practice they had started with the rest of their unit during their first deployment, a combination superstition and good luck ward that they performed whenever anyone mentioned death. Dying young was a reality on the ground in Afghanistan, as it still was now.
Chelsea and Spencer both knew when they had been assigned this job that they would be responsible for putting themselves between the president's daughters and any threat. They were much safer now than they had ever been in Afghanistan, but neither of them was taking any chances. It was better just to knock on wood, so to speak.
"And we will," Spencer promised. "I've got your back, and you've got mine." She nudged Chelsea playfully with her shoulder. "…so long as Ashley's music theory classes don't bore me to tears!" Chelsea laughed.
At five to eleven, Spencer and Chelsea were standing at the ready outside of the Davies girls' suite.
Their afternoon had been spent filling out paperwork and reading through White House security briefings. Spencer's head was spinning with all of the codes and regulations she would need to remember for her new assignment. The Secret Service handbook had instructions on how to handle every situation ranging from a major pandemic to nuclear war. It wasn't exactly light reading.
She could hear Chelsea stifling a yawn next to her.
"We keeping you up Lewis?" She asked good-naturedly, giving her friend a gentle nudge with her elbow.
"Most definitely," Chelsea replied. "Shoulda had that third cup of coffee. This jet-lag is killing me. And seriously, who has a study group at twenty-three hundred hours on a week night?"
Spencer shrugged but did not respond. She didn't understand college kids any better than Chels did.
They probably should have known that the Davies sisters were up to no good when they showed up dressed in skin tight dresses and mile-high heels to study at the library. The stop their driver made to pick up Ashley's obnoxious Latina friend who was also similarly dressed was another big hint. But when the driver pulled their black SUV to a halt outside of a club called 'Gray' it became very clear that there would be little studying happening tonight.
The auxiliary Secret Service team did not seem at all surprised at the turn of events. They stationed themselves at every entrance and exit of the club and began to frisk the people waiting in line to get in. Even the bouncers seemed prepared to handle the added security with no fuss.
"It was really nice of everyone to give us a heads up about all of this," Chelsea muttered to her through her earpiece.
"Nobody's ever nice to the new guys," Spencer grumbled back. She forced her tired mind to remember what the Secret Service handbook had said about what she was supposed to do in a crowded social situation with no obvious threats to security.
All she had to do was keep Ashley in sight and be sure to maintain a decent reactionary distance from her charge. She didn't think that would be too difficult until she got her first view of the pulsing mass of humanity that was Club Gray. She lost visual contact with Chelsea within moments as her friend scrambled away to keep up with Kyla.
Ashley gave her a patronizing pat on the head as she walked backwards in front of Spencer towards the dance floor.
"Do try to keep up Sydney. Mother wouldn't like it if you lost me." And with that, she was off.
Spencer Carlin had been inside a Black Hawk helicopter with no ear protection. She had ducked for cover only yards away from grenade explosions. She had even been on the deck of an aircraft carrier when fighter jets were taking off.
None of that compared to the decibel level of this club. She could feel the vibrations of the incessant bass of the techno beat inside of her skull and it was almost impossible to keep track of the updates from the Secret Service team at the doors of the club through her earpiece. She had a headache that felt like her brain was being pulled in two.
It didn't help that Ashley seemed to try to dodge her at every turn. Spencer refused to let her out of sight though, and pretty soon the Davies girl seemed to give up trying and instead decided to put on a show.
By one o'clock in the morning, Spencer had lost track of the number of shots Ashley had taken. After a string of scantily clad female suitors swarmed the First Daughter as soon as she arrived at the club, Ashley seemed to have finally settled her attentions on a redheaded coed. Even if Ashley's sexual orientation wasn't common knowledge (yet another vital piece of information the Secret Service had left Spencer to discover on her own), the ladies at Gray all seemed to know her preference. The redhead in particular was all over her in a more-than-friendly way.
Now, Spencer didn't disagree that the girl Ashley was dancing with was hot (she did have eyes after all). In fact, in spite of her clown-like makeup and apparent lack of regard for leaving any part of her body to the imagination, Spencer could tell that outside of the club the girl was probably quite beautiful.
But there was nothing attractive about the way she was acting – drunk, clingy, shameless and easy. Then again, there was very little that was attractive about the way that Ashley was acting either.
Maybe it was a match made in heaven.
Spencer had never understood girls who made themselves out to be objects – things to be looked at, or touched, or fucked – instead of human beings. Girls who acted like they were worth nothing more than what their bodies could give others frustrated her to no end.
It was hard enough, especially where she had grown up, to meet other single lesbian girls - let alone a woman who Spencer could envision becoming a partner in more than just a sexual way.
Maybe she was a romantic. Maybe she was a traditionalist. Maybe she had just been burned one too many times. Whatever the reason, Spencer had to believe that there was more to life and love than random hook-ups at a club. Whatever happened to relationships?
Ashley apparently had a very different outlook on life.
Spencer could feel the frown of disapproval creeping onto her face as she watched her charge, but it seemed that the more she showed her discomfort, the wilder Ashley seemed to act.
The dancing turned into grinding, the grinding turned into groping, and Spencer could tell that the groping would soon be headed in the direction of a stall in the ladies bathroom. It was almost a cliché.
She felt like Ashley was intentionally being indecent just to get some sort of reaction out of her.
Everything finally made sense when Ashley's 'special friend' pulled away from her with a gesture that indicated she was headed to the bar to grab them some more drinks. After continuing to dance by herself for a few moments, Ashley seemed to suddenly remember Spencer's existence in her drunken haze.
She danced over to where Spencer was standing at ease a few feet away on the crowded dance floor. Spencer was forced to catch her when she stumbled into her and Ashley seemed pretty content to take a breather in her arms.
Ashley brought her face uncomfortably close to Spencer's own. She wrapped her hand in a fistful of Spencer's collar and smiled coyly at her.
"Enjoying the show?" She asked, in what Spencer could only assume she thought was her sexiest voice.
Spencer could not resist pulling her head back a little. The liquor in Ashley's breath was overpowering.
"Not particularly." She placed her hands on Ashley hips and pushed her a step back out of her personal space, maintaining her grip until Ashley seemed to get her feet beneath her once again.
Ashley laughed at her, but kept her distance this time. She shouted to be heard over the din of the club. "Bet you never dreamed that the president's daughter was such a dyke, did ya? Look at you!"
Now she was jabbing Spencer in the chest with an accusatory finger, "I can tell by that look on your pretty little girl-next-door face that I disgust you. Bet it just makes you want to pray to Jesus to deliver you from this unnatural freak of nature?!"
The marine very nearly laughed out loud.
Ashley apparently thought she was a raging, red-blooded homophobe.
Spencer wasn't sure whether she should be insulted that Ashley thought she was a bigot, or twistedly proud that she was so good at hiding who she was.
Suddenly Ashley's behavior was starting to make sense. She and Kyla had been very clear that they didn't want Spencer and Chelsea around. It seemed that Ashley thought by flaunting her sexuality on full display, she could somehow unsettle or disgust Spencer enough to get her to request a reassignment.
If only she knew, Spencer thought wryly.
For obviously reasons, Spencer couldn't reveal certain facts about herself that would show Ashley just how wrong she was about how she felt about lesbians.
But what she could do was show Davies that quitting wasn't in the vocabulary of a marine or of a Carlin.
It was game on. Spencer never back down from a challenge.
"Miss Davies," she said in her best detached military voice, "I think perhaps you have had too much to drink. Would you like me to take you home?"
Ashley almost looked offended by her lack of response.
"I'm fine just the way I am!" she insisted. Spencer couldn't help but notice that she sounded like she meant than in more than one way. Before she could say more, the skanky redhead returned double-fisting what looked like vodka cranberries. She handed one to Ashley, then wrapped her arms possessively around the First Daughter's waist, halfway dragging her away from her bodyguard and back out onto the dance floor.
Two songs later, Ashley's drink was empty and Spencer was watching her lead her eager and willing conquest toward the ladies room.
She steeled herself before she followed them inside.
It was going to be a long night.
Far too early the next morning, Spencer straightened her uniform and squared her shoulders before she forced herself to turn down the hallway that led toward the Davies sisters' suite.
She spotted Chelsea already waiting at ease against the wall facing their door.
"You ready for Day 2 of Operation Babysitter?" Chelsea asked as Spencer gave her a friendly shoulder bump.
Spencer laughed, "Operation Babysitter?"
"You got a better name for this gig?" her friend asked with a raised brow. Though Chelsea didn't have to deal with Kyla baiting her all day and all night in the same way that Ashley acted out, she still hadn't had an easy time guarding her charge at Gray.
"Not a one," Spencer replied, "Day 2 can't be any worse than Day 1. They had to have gotten their rebellion out of their system, right?"
The two friends looked at each other a moment before snickering to themselves. When it came to the Davies sisters, they had a pretty good feeling that life was only going to get harder.
"They're running a little late, aren't they?" Chelsea asked, checking her watch. "My time table says that Kyla's first class is in fifteen minutes. We'll never make it to Georgetown by then."
"I'm thinking punctuality isn't exactly at the top of their priority list after last night," Spencer replied with a smirk. She and Chelsea had dragged the Davies sisters out of the club at 0300 hours this morning when the manager had finally insisted that no matter who their mother was, they had to go.
It was now 0800 hours. Spencer was pretty tired herself.
She had just slid her earpiece into place and adjusted the clip so that it didn't pinch when Ashley and Kyla appeared in the doorway. Spencer noticed with some satisfaction that the girls looked miserable.
"You're still here?" Ashley asked incredulously when she turned her blood shot eyes to see Chelsea and Spencer looking perfectly awake and at the ready. Spencer contained a grin, loving how their plan had back-fired.
"Yes ma'am," Chelsea replied next to her, giving Ashley a tight nod.
"Ma'am?" Ashley asked. "That's what you're going to go with?" She used one hand to gesture vaguely to her body. "Does this look like a ma'am to you?"
"Yes ma'am," Chelsea answered. There was no trace of a smile on her face, but Spencer knew her friend well enough to hear the sass in her response.
"Let's just go. Mom would have an aneurism if we skipped and the lights in this hallway are doing nothing for my hangover," Kyla grumbled, grabbing Ashley's elbow and pulling her toward the parking garage where their chauffeur was sure to be waiting.
The two marines fell into step a few paces behind them. Spencer gave Chelsea a subtle low-five.
They could try and make their lives hell, but the Davies sisters needed to know that Spencer and Chelsea were in this for the long haul.
Marines got the job done.