A/N: Maybe it's time for a change – and a little background.
After finally reaching a sort of truce with their young wards, life had become a little easier for Spencer and Chelsea. They were finally settling into their new roles at the White House. Now that she had learned the basic ropes of how the Secret Service operated, Spencer felt like it was time to start some quality improvement.
The Secret Service had been protecting presidents and their families for decades now, and the Marine couldn't help but notice that their methods were somewhat archaic. If Spencer had learned anything in Afghanistan, it was that those who did not adapt their tactics to a changing environment were asking for trouble.
It was this mindset that gave Spencer the courage to bring the first of her suggestions to the attention of her commanding officer.
"Sir, I wonder if we might make a request?" Spencer asked Colonel Michaels when they met for their next debrief, this time at his office at the Pentagon. There was only a hint of hesitation in her voice.
"You can ask, but I cannot promise to agree," Colonel Michaels responded fairly. He rubbed his clean-shaven chin and leaned forward to hear what they had to say. It was enough encouragement for Spencer to go on.
"Corporal Lewis and I have discussed the matter extensively, and we believe that we will be better able to serve the needs of the Davies sisters by dressing in civilian clothing. We believe that in plain clothes, we would not only draw less attention to the presence of the POTUS's daughters out in public, but we might also foster less resistance to our presence from our charges."
The colonel took a moment to ponder this suggestion. It was certainly unusual for active duty Marines to work out of uniform, but it was also unusual for Marines to serve as bodyguards to two unruly college-aged girls. Ultimately, as the commanding officer in charge of the operation, it was his call.
"Hmmm," the old man leaned back in his chair, inclining his head towards the ceiling as he thought out loud. "The uniform of the Marine Corps is an important part of who we are. It commands respect and reminds those who might interfere with our work of exactly who they are dealing with. On the other hand, one cannot forget the element of surprise and the value of concealment. MARPAT fatigues are an asset in the desert, so perhaps civilian attire would be equally appropriate camouflage for the District of Columbia."
"Permission granted… with reservations," he finally relented. Spencer and Chelsea nodded immediately, waiting to hear the colonel's ruling.
"You must wear clothing that will allow you carry and conceal your usual side arms and that will not restrict your movement. I believe this is rather common sense, but I've got to be sure we're clear on the issue. None of those – what does my wife call them? Strappy sandals." He offered them a sheepish smile.
"Yes sir, of course sir," Spencer replied, letting a grin of her own slip. She wondered what Ashley would have to say about the change in wardrobe. Whatever it was, it was sure to be hyperbolic and overly dramatic.
"All right, one last update before I send you on your way ladies," The colonel twirled his chair over to a file cabinet, opened a draw and pulled out a manila file. He opened the file on his desk and turned it so that the "Top Secret" stamped documents inside were facing the two junior Marines.
"Our friends over at the Central Intelligence Agency have given us another name to add to the list of people who seek to harm the President and her family dead."
Chelsea leaned in to take a closer look at the document. "Is that Russian?" She asked, squinting at the foreign characters.
"Indeed," replied the colonel. He flipped through the thick file before stopping on a large blurry photo of what looked like four men huddled in an alleyway. None of their faces were visible.
"Though the language is Russian, the country is Kyrgyzstan. Our sources tell us that there have been whispers that a certain black-market arms dealer in the former Soviet Republic has been asking all sorts of questions about the White House and its occupants. We don't have any names or faces, so it's not too much to go on, but it's worth giving you a heads-up about."
"Kyrgyzstani arms dealers," Chelsea wondered aloud. "I suppose we'll just have to add them to the list of people to keep an eye out for, along with North Korean spies, al-Qaeda agents, and overly enthusiastic Japanese Purple Venom fans."
The colonel chuckled. "It's getting to be quite the list!" He stood from his chair and Spencer and Chelsea followed his lead.
"We'll keep an eye out for anything and anyone, just in case," Spencer joked. Being ready for anything was pretty much the job description after all. Still, these sorts of security updates were important, no matter how vague. You never knew which piece of intelligence was going to save your life or the lives of those in your care.
"That a girl!" The colonel replied cheerfully. "All right now, off you go. You are dismissed!"
After a sharp salute, Spencer and Chelsea made their exit.
"I can't believe he went for it!" Chelsea nearly squealed in the most un-Marine like of ways. Spencer humored her friend's excitement. She was pretty darn excited herself.
"Real clothes," she replied dreamily. "Wait a second," she cut herself short. "I don't even have any real clothes here!"
Chelsea laughed. "Me neither. I guess we'll have to arrange for our stuff to be sent from home. But in the meantime, you know what this means?" She had a mischievous, child-like grin.
"Shopping?" Spencer asked hopefully.
"Shopping." Chelsea confirmed.
"Let's go tonight, after we get off work," Spencer suggested as they made their way through the maze of corridors that was the Pentagon. "Ashley's dragged me to enough places that I know where – umph!"
Out of nowhere, a solid form with her nose buried in a notebook unexpectantly appeared from around a corner and crashed right into Spencer. Though both Spencer and the woman who ran into her remained on their feet, the stack of files that the woman was carrying fell into a mess on the floor.
"My apologizes ma'am," Spencer said as she got down onto her knees to help the other woman, whose uniform Spencer could now see what that of a senior Marine.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," The woman responded, finally looking up.
"I… Spencer?" The Marine asked, big brown eyes widening with recognition under bluntly cut bangs.
...4 years earlier...
When her grandpa had told her stories about what it would be like at Paris Island, "Hot as Hell" had been an expression he used all too frequently and with a sort of pained emphasis. Spencer found the description to be all too accurate.
As eighteen year old Spencer Carlin stepped down off the bus that had carrier her from the airport to the Marine Recruit Depot at Paris Island, South Carolina, it was like stepping into a sauna. She could see the flickering ghost of shadows made from air heated from the black top of the parking lot rising into the sky. The exhaust from the long line of busses didn't help the matter. She could already feel perspiration forming on the back of her neck and she wasn't even in the heavy uniform recruits were required to wear yet.
When Admiral Carlin had finally come to terms with the fact that her daughter was choosing to put off college to enlist in the Marine Corps instead of seeking a commission in the Navy, she had asked a few of her Marine colleagues to help Spencer prepare for the intensive training she was about to begin. Nothing that any of the Marines had told her fully prepared her for the moment at hand.
Even before both feet were firmly set on Paris Island soil, there was already someone screaming in her face. Lucky for Spencer, she was prepared for this. The sound of sniffling noses and chattering teeth informed her that some of her fellow recruits were only now discovering what the next few months of their lives would be like.
Spencer felt like she was in a fog as a Gunnery Sergeant with a name tag that read "Peters" gripped her shoulder in a tight grasp and lead/shoved her into a line behind a stocky Hispanic girl and next to a short black girl with trembling knees but resolved fists.
There were a series of yellow foot prints lined up into columns indicating where recruits should be standing. As Spencer lined up her sneakers with the larger prints on the ground, she took a moment to appreciate how many Marines had stood in this very place before her. She wondered if the prints had been here back when her grandfather arrived at the beginning of World War II. Maybe her grandfather had stood exactly where she was standing right now, feeling as nervous and green as she was feeling.
She squared her shoulders and held her head high. If Grampa Carlin could do this, so could she. It was in her blood.
The afternoon passed in a blur of information sessions and long lines waiting for haircuts, uniforms, and health tests. Though their physical training would not officially begin until the next morning, the Drill Instructors wasted no time in educating and disciplining their new recruits.
By the time the recruits were finally segregated by gender and led to their sleeping quarters, Spencer was dead on her feet and more than a little annoyed with her fellow recruits. Anytime anyone did anything that upset their Drill Instructor, Gunnery Sergeant Peters, they all ended up paying.
Take right now for instance. Spencer was forcing her shaking arms through another set of twenty push-ups because that last set of twenty the group had been charged with (thanks to some idiot who decided to chew gum during a briefing), had been quote, "the most disturbing display of pussy shit," that Gunnery Sergeant Peters had quote, "ever had the misfortunate assignment to look upon."
Spencer had to admit that the DI had somewhat of a point. The only other girl in the barracks who could do a proper set of push-ups was her neighbor and new bunk-mate, the black girl she had been standing next to on the yellow footprints.
When the recruits were finally give a free moment to settle into the new quarters, her neighbor approached her.
"That looked easy for you," the girl laughed, gesturing with an exhausted arm to the floor where they had spent far too much of their evening. "You've got guns of steel girl!"
Spencer brushed off the complement. "Not really, I just come from a military family. No way in hell my mom was going to let me come here and wash out. Once I decided to enlist, she started making me do push-ups every time I walked through a doorway. "
"That doesn't sound crazy at all," the girl replied with a grin.
"No crazier than signing up for this summer camp," Spencer agreed, feeling quickly comfortable with the girl's easy manner. Her bunkmate looked young, about Spencer's own age. "What about you? You seemed to be putting on a little bit of a gun show yourself."
The girl rolled her eyes, reaching up to massage one of her presumably aching pectoral muscles. "My high school basketball coach made us give her fifty push-ups for every foul shot we missed a game – and man did I suck at free throws."
"You played basketball?" Spencer asked skeptically. The girl was solidly built, to be sure, but she was on the short side. Her new uniform pants billowed out from where they were tucked into the top of her boots.
"Hey, watch it! I'm a lot taller than I look," the girl laughed easily. "I was mainly a perimeter player, 3-point marksman."
"One of my brothers played basketball in high school, well he still does for Navy over at Annapolis, but he always said that the closest thing in the civilian world to boot camp is basketball practice after losing a game you should have won."
"Damn," the girl smiled ruefully, "And here I though this summer was going to be one long slumber party."
Spencer laughed, enjoying the girl's easy sense of humor. "I'm Spencer Carlin," she stuck out her hand. "Cleveland, Ohio."
"Chelsea Lewis. Los Angeles, California." She gripped Spencer's hand in a firm but non-aggressive shake.
Spencer would have liked to have more time to get to know her first friend, but when a Drill Instructor spoke, it was impossible not to hear them and even more impossible not to nearly jump out of your boots.
"Listen up recruits," Gunnery Sergeant Peters bellowed in a voice Spencer would have never imagined could have come from such a tiny woman. The DI gestured behind her, drawing another uniformed figure forward.
Spencer's breath caught. The deepest smokey brown eyes she had ever seen appeared to be looking right at her. Spencer's heart jumped into her throat as a different kind of butterflies took flight in her gut.
"This woman right here is about to become the second most important woman in your life! Sergeant Sanchez will be assisting me in attempting to turn you pansy-asses into Marines. Though she is not technically one of your Drill Instructors, you will be begging to crawl back into your mother's wombs if any of you so much as look at her funny."
Spencer swallowed down a lump in her throat. She was in for one hell of a summer, because she wasn't sure it was possible for her to NOT look a Sergeant Sanchez funny.
As she pushed herself back to her feet, Spencer did not miss the fact that woman she now recognized as Carmen Sanchez was giving her a subtle once-over.
She noticed a new bar on Carmen's rank insignia that hadn't been there the last time they had seen one another, almost four years ago. "Staff Sergeant Sanchez," she managed to rasp out through the shock of the unexpected reunion. Spencer wasn't quite sure what to say. She took an awkward half step backwards.
"Spencer Carlin," Carmen gave a tiny laugh of disbelief. "How have you been?"
How had she been? That was really a loaded question, now wasn't it? Apparently Carmen was going to drag this encounter out.
As she often did when faced with unsettling social situations, Spencer decided that proper military decorum was the best way to handle the situation.
"Very good ma'am." She replied curtly. She hoped that Carmen would take her formality as a clear indication that she was not particularly interested in talking.
Talking with Carmen, after all, was never just talking. Spencer felt like she should have learned that lesson by now. Yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to make her excuses and go a clean escape.
Carmen reached out and brushed the insignia sewn onto Spencer's sleeve, letting her fingers linger on her bicep. "Looks like the years have been good to you Sergeant," she said, making note of Spencer's significant rank advancement since they had last spoken.
From beside her, Chelsea cleared her throat none too subtly.
Carmen glanced over to the other Marine as if she was just noticing the girl was there for the first time. She was still slow to pull her hand back from Spencer's arm.
"My apologizes Corporal, I didn't see you there," Carmen replied in a particularly unconvincing tone. "So good to see another familiar face from Paris Island. The name is Linus, isn't it?"
"Lewis," Chelsea replied coolly, stepping forward to wedge herself somewhat between Spencer and the Staff Sergeant. Spencer found that it made it a little easier for her to breathe. God, did she love her best friend.
"Right," Carmen gave a gravelly chuckle. "Lewis, how could I forget? To this day, I don't think I ever heard a Gunny yell any recruit's name quite as much as Peters yelled yours…" She tapered off, apparently remembering what exactly Chelsea had done to get on the bad side of the legendary Gunnery Sergeant Peters.
Carmen at least had the decency to look away from Chelsea's measured gaze, though she made no sign of moving aside to let them pass on their way.
She focused back on Spencer. "So, have you been stationed here in the city?" She hefted the stack of files in her hands. "Never took you for a paper pusher. You were always more… hands on." She quirked her lip in a half smile.
Given their history, Spencer was half inclined to say the same about Carmen, but she kept her mouth shut. It was becoming hard to keep her expression even with all of her conflicted feelings. Sometimes it felt like life was so much simpler when she was isolated in the desert…
Spencer was glad when Chelsea jumped in to answer for her, "Special Assignment." She kept her response general and brief, just as they had been taught in special operations training after boot camp.
Lewis to the rescue again.
"Ah," Carmen replied, realizing that she wasn't going to get anything more from the tense corporal.
Carmen had flicked her gaze over to Chelsea for no more than half a second, opting instead to hold uncomfortable eye contact with Spencer. Spencer found it hard to look away from the enigmatic, once familiar eyes of her superior officer.
"I would love to have a chance to catch up with you sometime Spence," Carmen all but cooed. "Maybe trade a few war stories over coffee?"
"Uh," Spencer stammered. She swore that she once had the ability to form coherent sentences. She darted her gaze around, hoping that none of the passersby were noticing Carmen's thinly veiled attempts at flirting. This was not the place or time for this conversation.
Carmen apparently took her stutter for some sort of affirmative. She shifted the manila envelopes under her arm and scribbled a phone number down onto a scrap of paper which she had the audacity to slip into Spencer's breast pocket.
"Call me," Sanchez purred before slinking her way around the corner and out of site.
Spencer found that she could breathe again.
"I'm sorry for that back there," She told Chelsea as they finally made their way outside into the cool autumn breeze.
"Not like you knew she would be there," Chelsea replied easily. Spencer could tell by the tight way her friend was holding her arms by her side that Chelsea was not nearly as nonchalant about the encounter as she was trying to appear to be.
"I feel like I should have handled that better, and not gone all deer-in-the-headlights on you."
"That girl has nerve," Chelsea fumed, laying the blame on the other party as any good friend should. Not that she was really wrong… "In the Pentagon, of all places. She's got trouble written all over her Spence."
"She hasn't changed a bit," Spencer agreed. She couldn't decide what that meant about how Spencer felt about her. What she did know was that Carmen was still as dangerously attractive as ever.
"You're not thinking of calling her though, are you?" Chelsea was giving her a skeptical glare. Spencer wondered what her own expression had looked like.
"No," she replied quickly. "Of course not. No."
She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and let it flap once, twice in the breeze before she let it fly.
Together the two Marines watched as a strong gust carried the telephone number off towards the interstate that ran alongside the Pentagon. "Not a chance."
But the number was already burned into her memory, damn military training. It danced at the back of her eye lids, taunting her.
"That girl is bad news Spence, don't make me remind you about that. After the way you two left things, I have to say that that was not the way I expected that run-in to go. She was way too cozy, if you know what I mean." Chelsea broke away from her to get into the other side of their borrowed Secret Service SUV.
"You're telling me," Spencer muttered as she slipped into the passenger seat.
Yet even if her complicated relationship with Carmen had never really made sense, it was intense in a way that Spencer had yet to feel anything comparable since.
She knew Carmen was nothing but trouble, she really did.
But it didn't stop Spencer from being drawn to her anyway.
The next morning when she opened the door to let their Marine guards into her and Kyla's apartment, Ashley Davies found herself doing a double-take.
Hell, she did a triple-take, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Instead of their usual beige bland-suits, GI Jane and her partner in crime looked normal.
No – Ashley had to admit that that was an understatement. Sergeant Carlin looked better than normal – she was hot?
In soft brown boots, skinny jeans and a loose fitting navy blazer rolled up at the sleeves, Spencer was effortlessly beautiful. Her hair, instead of being contained in the usual severe bun, was neatly wrapped in a loose French braid. It was much longer than Ashley would have imagined and looked silky smooth.
"Wha…?" She had definitely started out with the intent of asking a complete and competent sounding question, but she didn't quite make it. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't in a coma or something and just dreaming up this rather unexpected turn of events up.
Who know what the hell her subconscious could do? Once she had had the most vivid daydream that she had turned the White House into the Playboy mansion. Things that seemed too crazy to be true usually were.
Pinching herself just made her arm hurt. She was definitely awake.
Carlin had the audacity to smirk at her antics.
Damn her. Ashley's bristle helped clear her mind.
"The only logical explanation for all of this," she swept her hands in wide circles in the general direction of the Marines, finally finding her voice, "Was that I apparently missed an episode of Extreme Makeover, bodyguard edition."
"I think what my sister is trying to say," Kyla interrupted, appearing just behind Ashley's shoulder, "Is that you ladies look great and we both will appreciate avoiding some of the attention your uniforms attracted." Kyla translated.
"After months of khakis and fatigues, I think we're on the same page about the wardrobe," Corporal Lewis agreed.
"Well, all right then," Ashley stalled, trying to buy some time to get her head on straight and subtly wipe away the drool that had somehow appeared on her lower lip. She pushed past the Marines and made her way out the door. "Let's get this new show on the road."
It didn't take Ashley long to decide that she liked this turn of events. On campus, she noticed that she and Kyla were able to melt back into the crowd in a way they hadn't been able to with suited or otherwise uniformed bodyguards.
…Or she would have noticed, if she hadn't been so busy sneaking glances at Carlin.
She was just getting used to it, that's what she kept telling herself. Carlin's attractiveness was just a result of the relative blandness of her former attire. Ashley refused to admit that Spencer had even looked good in her poorly-tailored uniform and that now she looked even better.
Instead of focusing on things like the way Spencer's blue v-neck brought out her eyes, or the way her jeans hugged slim, endless legs, Ashley turned her creative mind to the possibilities the Marine's new wardrobe offered for her social life.
That night, Ashley and Kyla decided to celebrate their new-found freedom from blatantly obvious bodyguards with a night at Gray.
Now in street clothes, Ashley noticed that Spencer blended more readily into the crowd. She fit in with the young crowd so much so that her old habit of standing stoically a few feet from Ashley surrounded by a sea of thrashing bodies was no longer working. She'd lost the respect of the uniform and apparently had to adapt her surveillance tactics.
Though Ashley was more than happy to distract herself with all of the girls who regularly competed for her attention at Gray nights, she found herself keeping an eye on her Marine from time to time.
Spencer had waved off more than a handful of guys herself before finally seeming to decide that it was easier just to pick one and ward off the other ones from distracting her from keeping an eye on Ashley.
Ashley decided that there was something not quite right about seeing Spencer being grinded on by some guy. It was probably because she was way too hot for the guy she had settled on. He was just an average Joe, nowhere up to her level.
Ashley gave herself a little shake realizing that she was being distracted from much more important things. Namely the hot Asian chick whose hands were deftly making their way under her shift.
A few drinks into her night, Ashley was interrupted from her foreplay dance party with the petite beauty by unwanted man hands gripping her hips and pulling her back against a distinctly male pelvis.
Ashley turned to glare at the intruder. He was exactly the kind of guy she hated – a frat star rocking a pastel polo and chinos. He was sweaty, grabby, and way too proud of himself for getting handsy. He gave her a patronizing smile, raised his hands in mock surrender and made a modest retreat, grabbing another girl a few feet away to dance with instead.
Ashley turned back and wrapped her arms back around the waist of the girl she was dancing with.
But the bloke poke retuned.
She turned around again, this time giving the loser a shove to get him to back off. "Not interested," she shouted over the roar of the DJ's turntable.
"I think you'll find that I can be very interesting," the frat star slurred, taking a firm grip on her waist and pulling against the bulge in the front of his pants.
"Take your mangy paws off me before I make you," Ashley growled, recoiling from his body. She tried to push away from his sweaty chest, but his grip on her hips and now butt were throwing off her center of balance.
"Oh God," he growled, "I love a girl who plays hard to get… though your warm-up with your gal pal over there definitely has me hard already. Why don't the two of you come home with me tonight? A good time will be had by all, I promise." He let his tongue poke out between his teeth.
By now the look in his eyes had Ashley a little nervous. She pushed again against his admittedly broad chest but to no avail.
"Let go of me!" She growled again, this time hearing the edge of panic in her own voice.
"God, I love it when women squirm…" But if frat star had anything more to say, he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a well-muscled arm snaking forward from behind him to wrap around his neck. His legs were kicked in from behind and he fell hard on his knees.
As his eyes began to bulge and his face turned red from a lack of oxygen, he released his hold on Ashley to pull futilely at the bicep holding him in a vice-like choke hold.
Spencer's head darted forward, resting on his shoulder. It looked like the Marine was whispering something in his ear as the large co-ed started to collapse in her arms. The glint in her blue eyes was calculating and hard. Within seconds, the frat-star's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped further to the ground.
The Marine released her tight grip on his neck and head, letting his dead-weight fall to her feet. She stepped forward and wrapped a gentle arm around Ashley's waist, starting to lead her off the dance floor, even as two suited Secret Service auxiliary agents pushed through the oblivious crowd around them to more thoroughly detain Ashley's unwanted dance partner.
"Let's go!" Spencer yelled into her ear over the roar of the music. Ashley, still in shock, let herself be led.
Spencer did not remove her arm from Ashley's waist until they reached one of Gray's emergency exits. It led out to the side alley where the Davies sister's Secret Service chauffeur was waiting with the car.
"Carlin, Lewis," Ashley heard Carlin call into her earpiece. "There was a situation. Time to call it a night."
Sergeant Carlin finally turned to inspect Ashley, cursively checking her over for injuries. "Are you all right?" She finally asked with what sounded like real concern.
Ashley was shaken, which meant that she was feeling snippy. "I'm fine. I was handling that," she barked at her bodyguard.
Sergeant Carlin looked unconvinced. "That is not what it looked like from where I was standing." She stepped back and crossed her arms across her chest. Ashley found herself looking at them, wondering what other tricks that Marine had up her sleeves – literally.
"Yeah well," Ashley sputtered, adrenaline still high, "You didn't have to kill the guy and make a scene!"
"Wow now," Carlin put her arms out in front of her, gesturing for Ashley to calm down. "First of all, that was about as discrete as I could be without compromising your safety. The people around you didn't even notice what was going on. Second, he's not dead, just unconscious… and obviously very stupid."
Ashley was a little relieved. The guy was a douche, but she didn't think he deserve to die for being stupid, drunk and horny. She'd been there herself, after all. "Yeah, well, then thanks for ruining my night!"
"You are more than welcome." Spencer answered as if Ashley's thanks had been sincere.
Ashley felt her defensive temper flare, but her bodyguard was spared her wrath by the appearance of her sister.
The sound of the club momentarily became louder as Ashley, Madison and Corporal Lewis slipped out the back door of Gray.
"Ash are you okay?" Kyla asked, rushing over the wrap her sister in a tight hug.
"I'm fine, everything's fine," Ashley calmed down, seeing how upset Kyla appeared. Big sister instincts took over as she soothed her little sis.
The car ride home was long and quiet. Even Madison had surprisingly little to say.
When the SUV pulled to a stop in the subterranean garage of the White House, Ashley had hoped to make a clean escape with her dignity. It was not to happen.
"Ms. Davies, may I have a word." Spencer was giving her one of her solemn, serious looks. Ashley was still pissed at her, but how was she supposed to ignore that look? Deep down she understood that her anger was being misdirected.
She let her sister and Corporal Lewis go on ahead as she lingered behind. She gave Spencer a nod to indicate that she would at least hear her out.
"Look, Ms. Davies, I apologize if you felt like I overstepped my bounds," Spencer began, "But I will not apologize for protecting you. My job is to keep you safe. I saw a threat and I dealt with that threat. "
"All in a day's work for G.I. Jane," Ashley rolled her eyes. Apparently you could take the girl out of the uniform, but you couldn't take the uniform out of the girl. Or something.
Ashley searched the Marine's face. "I could have handled that you know. You didn't have to come galloping in on your white horse or tank or whatever you Marines use for transportation these days. You've got a hero-complex, don't you?"
She didn't give Spencer a chance to protest. "We're going to have to work on that Carlin. For now we'll just add it onto the long list of your annoying displays of character."
Ashley was rewarded with an eye roll. "Okay, well then please tell me, what were you going to do?" Spencer stared at her expectantly.
"Knee him in in the balls." Ashley nodded, agreeing with herself that her BS retort didn't actually sound like a bad idea.
"And if you had done that at any point within the ten seconds that his groin was within range, I would have applauded your enterprise," Spencer replied, "But you were frightened, and you didn't do that."
"I was not frightened," Ashley retorted, more for the fact that she had to keep up her reputation as a bad-ass than because it was true. It wasn't true at all, actually.
Spencer reached out and slipped a gentle grip around Ashley's wrist. They both paused, feeing her still-pounding pulse belie her bold words. Ashley yanked her arm back half-heartedly.
"It's okay that you were," Spencer told her softly. "I was too - frightened that he was maybe more than just some drunk co-ed looking to score. But I have training, instincts that help me to act when emotions get in the way."
"Well gee, when you put it like that, it makes you sound even more like a robot than you already are."
Spencer shrugged, "Sometimes emotions are less than helpful in my line of work."
Ashley studied her bodyguard. "That's actually kind of sad. It can't be normal."
For a moment, Spencer almost looked like she reluctantly agreed. "It is what it is. It's just how I am now." She returned the conversation to its original topic. Her eyes were serious. "Look, if I have to choose between being right and protecting you, I'll be wrong every time. That's just how it is."
The Marine walked away, leaving Ashley where she was left rooted in place by the intensity of her bodyguard's words.
A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the long wait! I'm in a rather intensive program of study and it takes over my life from time to time. I can't say it won't happen again, but I can tell you that I have around 25,000 more words of this story already written and waiting for polish, so there is a lot more where this came from. Bear with me! Thanks for all of your encouraging reviews! ~gottaget