A/N: Maybe Ashley can catch a glimpse behind Spencer's poker face?
"Please tell me you are not wearing THAT to dinner," Kyla implored her sister. Ashley was sprawled on the couch wearing a pair of Georgetown sweatpants and Purple Venom tee-shirt so old and worn that it would be better described as 'Lavender Venom.'
Ashley did not look up from her copy Rolling Stone. "Not American enough for them?"
Kyla shoved her sister's legs off her side of the couch and sat down to pull on her pumps.
"You'd give the group of twenty-five little old ladies a collective heart attack. Do you really want to be responsible for that?"
Ashley laid the open magazine down against her chest, giving her sister her full attention. "Kyla, let's be real here. It isn't my fault if their pacemakers can't take the jolt my physique would send to their granny-panties." She waggled her eyebrows with a playful smirk
Kyla scoffed. "Seriously?" Where did her sister come up with this stuff? "Please don't ever say the words 'granny-panties' and make that face again. Ever."
Ashley seemed to reconsider her comment. She shrugged, "That's fair."
Kayla laughed as she reached over to the coffee table and began to pull on the white gloves that went with her ball gown and hat.
Tonight was the Daughters of the American Revolution's annual "Women of Inspiration" dinner. For the fourth consecutive year, Christine was hosting the event. The DAR loved that fact that one of their own was President of the United States and took every opportunity they had to show off their influence.
"Seriously though, you're going to have to change fast if you are going to make it to dinner on time."
"Yeah about that…" Ashley replied, "I've suddenly taken a turn. Probably cholera, possibly typhoid – shouldn't have tried to ford that river after two of my oxen died just past Fort Walla Walla."
Ashley gave two incredibly fake hacking coughs, for good measure. She moved her magazine back in front of her face. "I don't think I'm going to make it. I'm not up for fighting through my illness to support mommy dearest tonight."
Kyla winced, catching the reference to Ashley's birthday. She still hated herself for ditching her sister on her 22nd birthday, even if Ashley didn't seem to be holding it against her. In Ashley's eyes the blame, as always, sat squarely on their mother's shoulders.
"For someone who claims to love history – apparently enough to double major in it – you sure do seem to harbor some deep-seeded animosity toward the DAR."
Ashley sat up, tossing the magazine to the ground with a light thud. "Don't even get me started on their elitist bullshit – and I think we both know that Christine wouldn't even qualify for membership if she hadn't been a congresswoman and BFFs with the DAR vice-president when she joined. Grandma and Grandpa barely speak English!
Kyla sighed, knowing that this argument had been a lost cause from the start. She wasn't even sure why she had tried in the first place.
"All right, all right! I'll tell everyone that you've got cramps, happy? I don't think they'll buy the cholera bit – and ewww, do you even know what cholera is?"
Ashley shrugged, settling back down onto the couch. "Yeah, but they won't."
Kyla stood up to leave, patting her sister on the head as she made her way to the door. "You're probably right. Maybe I'll give it a try, just to see what they say."
It didn't take Ashley long to finish reading her magazine, and without Kyla to entertain her, she was finding her Friday night more than a little dull. Madison was home in Miami vising her parents for the long weekend and Ashley wasn't in the mood for hitting the club scene solo. For some reason, she wasn't interested in the evening companions she usually went out to score.
She practiced her cello and guitar, finished her Medieval European Music term paper, and even resorted to watching re-runs of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo," before her boredom became unbearable. She half considered sucking it up and going downstairs where at least she would have Kyla's company before she remembered that there was someone else who's presence she tolerated fairly well just down the hall.
Though Spencer rarely had visitors over to her White House apartment, she was still surprised when she answered a knock to find Ashley – who else – on the other side of her door.
"Ms. Davies?" she blurted. Spencer had a moment of panic, thinking that she had somehow managed to forget a scheduled outing before she remembered that she and Chelsea had both been given the night off because the Davies family was hosting some sort of dinner in the reception room down stairs.
"What are you doing here?" Spencer reached an arm out to lean against the door frame and took a moment to appreciate the fact that she had never seen Ashley look so… comfortable. In place of her usual expensive, tight and/or revealing outfits, she was wearing sweats. Her curly hair was wrapped up in a sloppy bun, she barely had on any make-up and she was wearing black, thick-framed glasses.
Spencer realized with a jolt of surprise that she had also never looked so beautiful.
"I'm bored." Ashley deadpanned, crossing her arms across her chest. She rose up on her tip-toes and peered over Spencer's shoulder and into the apartment. "…and it looks like you are not."
Before Spencer could say anything further, Ashley had nimbly ducked under her arm and into the apartment.
It only took a moment for Ashley to appraise the pizza on the counter, the empty beer cans by the sink and the cards on the dining room table.
"You're having a party and didn't think to invite me? I'm really hurt Carlin."
Upon hearing Ashley's voice all around the dining room table, Chelsea and the rest of their guests sprung to their feet. "Ms. Davies," the group murmured in surprised greeting.
Ashley recognized more than a few faces around the table. Aside from Chelsea and Spencer, there were Jenny and Pablo, two of the elder White House janitors, Maggie, an assistant chef, and Elliot, a grounds-keeper.
"The Help are assembled," Ashley gave a raised brow. "You may be seated," she told them with mock gravity and an overdramatic sweep of her arm.
"If you're uncomfortable…" Spencer began, gesturing back towards the still open door.
Ashley flapped a hand at her. "Very little on this planet makes me uncomfortable." Spencer watched as the elder Davies moved around the table to catch one of the janitors up in a familial hug.
"How are the girls Pablo?" Ashley asked as she pulled away from the hug.
"Theresa just started guitar lessons, Ms. Davies. I should have never let you show her the basics. Six years old and my granddaughter thinks she is going to be a rock star!" He laughed good-naturedly.
"Who says she won't?" Ashley asked with a half-smile and cocked eye-brow. She turned back to the rest of the group as Pablo reclaimed his seat, giving them each a greeting by name.
"So what's going on here? Wait, wait, let me guess – crazy eights tournament?"
Spencer held back from releasing a tired sigh. "Poker tournament."
Ashley tuned to look at her with a skeptical gaze. "Seriously."
Spencer could not hold back an eye-roll. "Yes."
"Huh." Ashley looked over to take in the scene again. "All right," she nodded to Elliot, who was collecting the discarded cards from the last hand. "Deal me in."
Ashley proceeded to make her way back over to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer. When she began rooting through the cabinets and drawers in search of a bottle opener, Spencer finally overcame her shock enough to confront her.
"Ms. Davies, what exactly are you doing here?" It was her night off, after all. She shouldn't have to deal with Hurricane Davies until tomorrow afternoon at least.
"I hate to state the obvious, but I'm about to kick your ass in poker." She had finally found the bottle opener by the side of the sink and proceeded to crack the seal of a Sam Adams with a gentle hiss of released air.
"With 'The Help?'" Spencer prompted, still trying to wrap her head around how she had allowed this invasion of her home to be permitted without a much of fight.
Ashley took a swig of her beer. "Yeah, sure, why not? I have no problem with the White House staff, just the Secret Service." She reached into a bag of chips on the counter and plucked out a handful. "And you, of course," she added as an afterthought - more of a formality now. Neither of them really believed it.
"Aren't you supposed to be downstairs being a 'Woman of Inspiration'?" Spencer did not try to hide her sarcasm.
Ashley merely snorted. "That actually had some punch to it Carlin." Spencer realized that instead of looking insulted, Ashley looked mildly impressed. "And no. I have cholera."
"Cholera?" Spencer asked skeptically.
"Figurative Cholera." Ashley replied, as if that made any sense. She took another swig of beer and wound her way around Spencer and back over to the poker table. Ashley had claimed Spencer's seat next to Chelsea before she even had a chance to protest.
"So are we talking Texas Hold 'Em, or Five Card stud?" Ashley asked.
Chelsea gave a helpless shrug and all Spencer could do was go find another chair as Elliot dealt her in.
Two hours later Ashley found that it was her ass that was being thoroughly kicked, by her bodyguard no less. The girl had a poker face like nobody's business. She was secretly glad that they were only playing for chips and not for real money, or else Ashley would have easily lost her monthly trust fund allowance and then some.
Though she had been able to get a read on the rest of the White House staffers, and once or twice had been able to avoid a disastrous betting war with Chelsea, she had not been able detect any sort of tell from Spencer. The marine gave nothing away.
Ashley drummed her fingers on the table as she studied first her cards, then the community cards, and then Spencer. Only Ashley and the senior marine were left in the betting after the river had been dealt.
Again, Spencer didn't seem to be giving anything away. Instead she stared right back at Ashley, keeping her cards flat on the table, were they had been sitting since she had a taken one quick peek at them at the beginning of the round after they had been dealt.
The blonde took three blue chips from her impressive stack and tossed them into the growing pot.
"I'm guessing you've got something good there Carlin," Ashley tested, risking a glance away to make sure that she had enough chips left to match Spencer's bet.
She did, but it would take all she had.
"Yep," Ashley continued, stalling her answering bet, "Must be really good. Like maybe a straight?"
Spencer gave nothing away, just kept her steady gaze fixed on Ashley.
"Maybe even a flush?"
Again, nothing. Not even a twitch.
"Or maybe you've really got nothing at all soldier." Which was what Ashley had – not that she was going to admit it. Unless she psyched Spencer out, her jack high card wasn't going to win anything.
Spencer finally cracked a soft smile at this. "You really think you're going to break me that easy?"
"Maybe," Ashley retorted, still trying to stall and still trying to read Spencer.
Carlin actually laughed. "You do realize that I've been trained to resist giving into interrogation, don't you?"
Ashley sighed, pushing her chips into the center of the table, all in. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you're super Marine chick. It doesn't mean I can't at least try to get you to spill the beans. And hey, at least you're getting a chance to see if all that training actually works, right? Even if it is just poker."
Spencer's gaze darkened. "It works."
Now for a different reason, Ashley wished she could read her bodyguard better. If she could, she wouldn't have to be sitting there wondering when, why and how Spencer had been interrogated.
What did that even mean?
"Spencer?" Ashley asked hesitantly, needing to know, but at the same time, never wanting to hear the response.
Next to her, Chelsea shifted uncomfortably and everyone else around the table suddenly found themselves fascinated with their beers.
Spencer ignored her and instead turned over her cards. "Full House."
It took Ashley a moment, but she finally realized that she was expected to show her cards as well. She flipped them over wordlessly, still trying to catch Spencer's gaze which was decidedly anywhere but on her.
"I guess I'll just be taking these then." She swept her arms forward to gather the large stack of chips toward her side of the table. She then reached behind her to turn up the radio to help cover the uncomfortable silence. "Who's up for a few more hands?"
She tossed a few chips back at Ashley so she could stay in the game, but Ashley had soon lost them again. She had a hard time keeping her focus for the rest of the night.
About an hour later, Pablo was the first to announce that he should be heading home. It was well after midnight and most of them still had to work a weekend shift early tomorrow morning. Upon seeing him stand to leave, the others made their excuses too and headed out for the evening as well.
Before long only Chelsea, Spencer and Ashley were left in the apartment.
"That was fun," Spencer told her friend as she gathered up empties and carried them over to the sink.
"I told you it would be," Chelsea replied with a knowing smile. Her friend had suggested the get-together with their new friends as a way to help Spencer to relax. Ever since the return of Carmen Sanchez to her life, Spencer had felt more on edge than she had since leaving Afghanistan. Poker was a welcome distraction, and it always reminded her of home.
She'd spent many summer nights staying up late with her dad and brothers, learning the tricks of the game. They'd bet for chores and Halloween candy, their father helping each of them in turn. The game was also one that she had often played with her fire squad as a way of breaking down the barriers of the chain of command and getting to know her Marines as individuals.
"I should have learned by now that you're always right." Spencer admitted.
"Damn straight," Chelsea laughed. She turned back to the table to finish cleaning up. "Hey, where did Ashley go?"
Spencer fought down her instinctual panic at hearing those words after a quick glance at the apartment door confirmed that it was locked and chained as it had been when she had let Pablo and Elliot out a few moments earlier.
Instead of answering her friend, Spencer set out to find her charge. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew where Ashley had snuck off to.
Her suspicions were confirmed when moments later she found Ashley poking around her room. Of course. Personal boundaries meant nothing to the girl.
"Can I help you with something?" Spencer asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.
Ashley didn't bother to turn away from where she was looking at the photos on Spencer's dresser. "No, no, I'm fine."
Spencer rolled her eyes, realizing that Ashley would not take the hint and get out of her personal space without an escort.
Ashley hadn't been able to resist the chance to see Carlin's natural habitat and she was not at all surprised to find that it was perfectly spotless. Her bed was made military style, with squared corners. A quick glance in her closet showed every hanger evenly spaced and pointed the same way. Even the book on the corner of her desk was perfectly squared to the edges.
A second glance at the title confirmed that it was a copy of the Bible. A bible by the bedside - she really is Ms. All-America, Ashley thought to herself.
The only personal touches to the room were a series of photographs neatly lined up along the top of Carlin's dresser.
The first showed Carlin in dusty fatigues, standing with Chelsea and a group of similarly dressed men who Ashley could only assume were her platoon – or whatever it was called. They were standing in front of a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been a building. Each was holding a large gun - casually, as if it was something they did every day.
The next photo showed a much cleaner and happier version of Spencer, wearing a blue graduation cap and gown and matched and drew out the color of her eyes. She had her arms wrapped around a blonde woman who could only be her mother and a dark haired man whose sparkling blue eyes suggested that he was her father.
They looked so happy that Ashley couldn't help feeling a sting of jealousy. Even if her mother hadn't been such a bitch, Ashley would have never had the chance to experience the moment that the Carlin family seemed to be enjoying in the photo. Her father had been killed in a car crash a week before homecoming sophomore year. Ashley had opted to skip out on her graduation senior year – her mother had been in Washington and the ceremony didn't mean anything without her dad anyway.
Ashley moved on to the third photo. She was most intrigued by this one, and not just because it showed Spencer wearing a bikini. It showed a slightly younger version of Spencer sitting next to two boys at the beach.
Ashley's inspection was interrupted but the sound of a clearing throat. "Can I help you with something?"
Ashley winced, realizing that she had been caught snooping. "No, no, I'm fine." Hey, it was only fair, after all. The marine had already seen all sorts of personal parts of her life. It was time for a little reciprocity.
"I take it this one is your brother?" Ashley asked as she felt Spencer approach. She pointed to the boy on the right. His blond hair and blue eyes screamed Carlin. He was almost the male version of Spencer.
Beside her, Spencer nodded. "That would be Glen, my oldest brother." Ashley was surprised that she gave away the personal detail. Normally, the Marine avoided talking about herself and her personal life at all costs.
"And does he share the tight-ass Carlin family charm?" Ashley asked ruefully.
She could almost feel the heat radiating off the Marine's arm, which was just far enough away from her own to avoid contact.
"I'm not going to validate that with a response."
Ashley decided to take that as a yes. She gestured to the other boy in the photo. His dark skin and brown eyes were a stark contrast to the two Carlins. "And who is this guy? One of these things is not like the other…"
Spencer scoffed, but rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Oh, like I've never heard that before. His name is Clay. We may not share the same blood, but it didn't take long for us to become family." She reached out to straighten the frame, placing it back in line from where Ashley's inspection had disturbed it. "Aside from Corporeal Lewis, he's my best friend."
"Adorbs." Ashley rolled her eyes. Straight girls and their boyfriends. "I thought your family was super conservative. They're okay with you mixing things up?"
"I think we need to clear up a little confusion you seem to be holding onto," Spencer said, turning to face Ashley properly. "My family is traditional, yes. We're a military family, yes. And we do tend to lean conservative on certain issues. But that does not mean we are a) racist, or b) homophobes.
I would have hoped that despite your deep-seeded desire to put everyone into nice little boxes - in spite of the fact, I may add, that you are quote 'not into labels' - you would have realized by now that I'm not anything like what you made me out to be when we first met."
Ashley took a small step back, cleared her throat and appreciated the fact that she had just been completely schooled.
"All right, all right. Point taken. Thanks for clearing all of that up Sergeant Suddenly-Speaks-A-Lot. You do know that I'm just pushing your buttons most of the time, right?" Ashley was suddenly very self-conscious.
Spencer sighed, but finished her mini tirade. "I know. And just for the record, while we're on the subject of your assumptions I only have a problem with your sexuality when you insist on conquering your conquests within eye or ear shot. Its…" she seemed to be searching for the right word, "…unseemly."
"I will keep that in mind," Ashley mused. She tucked that tidbit of information away to process later. She might have to reassess some of her assumptions about the Marine. If she was liberal enough to rock a bi-racial relationship, then maybe she couldn't be half-bad after all.
Even so, Ashley couldn't help but rile Spencer up every once in a while. She was so smoking sexy when she was mad.
Well, it's true. Ashley admitted to herself when she realized what she had just though, but she filed that thought away for later processing as well. Now was not the time.
A glance to the clock revealed that it was probably late enough that Carlin might want to be heading to bed. Ashley decided to be a gracious guest.
"I guess I'll leave you to your beauty sleep."
Carlin followed her to the door. "Want me to walk you back to your place?" She asked.
Ashley chuckled. "You're off the clock Sarge, give it a rest, will you? I think I can make it 200 feet down the hall on my own."
Upon seeing the look on Spencer's face, she realized that the Marine had just been being polite, not acting on some sense of contractual duty. "But thank you – you know, for asking." Ashley winced at how stupid that sounded.
Spencer merely shrugged, opening the door for her. "Good night."
"Night," Ashley replied, crossing the threshold. A lingering curiosity held her and forced her to turn back.
"Wait, hey Spencer?"
"Mmm?" the marine replied.
"About before… the interrogation thing…?" Ashley had to ask.
Spencer looked uncomfortable for a moment before forcing herself to smile. She placed a hand on Ashley's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about it, everything turned out fine." She gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling back. "And here I am, safe and sound."
"Yeah, well…" Ashley wasn't sure how to express herself. "I do."
"Do what?" Spencer asked, not quite following Ashley's response.
"I do worry… about you I mean."
There was a long pause as they both thought about what she had just said. Ashley realized how that might have sounded and tried to cover. "You're sort of my responsibility now, you know?"
Spencer gave her one of her dazzling, soft, thousand-watt smiles, one of those rare ones where her eyes caught the light just right and sparkled like the blue water off Santa Monica pier. Ashley felt like for once in her life, she might have actually said the right thing at the right time.
"I think you've got our roles a little mixed up there, don't you think Ms. Davies?"
"Well, maybe we can just agree that we're responsible for each other?"
Spencer chuckled. "I think I can live with that."
A/N: Another long delay, and not my longest chapter, but I wanted to give you guys something. I'm looking forward to finishing the next chapter. It will be Thanksgiving at the White House, and there might be some fowl play afoot.