A/N: It's only a date if you call it a date, right?
Ashley Davies was feeling an odd sense of nostalgia being back in a high school.
It wasn't that she had particularly liked high school – in fact, high school had pretty much sucked.
First there had been dealing with all of the people that hated her because her dad was famous. Then there had been all the awkwardness around realizing that she liked girls in more than a friend way. And of course, there had also been that time she had found out that her father died in a fiery car crash via a news notification on Facebook the night of homecoming.
Yup. High school had most definitely sucked.
Ashley's nostalgia primarily stemmed from the reason she was back in a high school in the first place. She was here this morning as a guest speaker for an event for teenage girls in Baltimore sponsored by her favorite charity, Girls Rock.
Girls Rock was a non-profit organization that her father had supported throughout his career as a musical artist. Originally the organization had focused on encouraging young female musicians to explore all types of musical instruments and musical styles without feeling restricted by gender stereotypes. Now, years later, Girls Rock had expanded to show girls that women were important contributors to all forms of art, from marble sculpting to stand-up comedy. Raife had taken Ashley to the organization's events since she had been old enough to walk – it was just one of the ways they shared their love of music.
Ashley used to get nervous over giving speeches at these types of events. It was one thing to play music in front of hundreds of people, safely protected by the shield of a cello or guitar, but it was another to speak in front a crowd without music to cover any waiver in her voice.
In fact, the first time she had spoken on a Girls Rock stage when she was thirteen (which hadn't required anything more than a few words of introduction for her father), Ashley's hands had shaken so hard that she had dropped her microphone. Now, however, after years of suffering through speaking at events that she loathed (like every single one of Christine's campaign or diplomatic events), she'd come to find a certain sense of inner peace when she stood up to speak for something she actually cared about. The words came easier when they came from the heart, after all.
Since Raife had died, Ashley and Raife's Purple Venom band mates had carried on financial and personal support of the organization he loved.
Today's event was for high school students and Ashley had spent the twenty minutes before she was set to speak shaking hands and signing the sheet music of young aspiring musicians. The First-Daughter never understood exactly why they wanted her autograph – she was only famous by association, after all – but seeing the smile on a nervous teenage face after she not only complied with their stuttered request for her signature but also then took a moment to ask about their favorite piece or artist was always totally worth the weirdness.
Spencer dutifully stayed by her side in the crowded, noisy hallway outside of the auditorium, and Ashley did her best to try to ignore how good the Marine smelled. It wasn't any perfume that Ashley could recognize. Knowing Carlin, it was probably some combination of generic military grade soap and her natural essence-o-Spence.
Soon enough the lights in the hallway flickered, and Ashley signed a few more autographs before rushing into the auditorium to get ready for her talk.
Ashley took her seat at the outer end of the front row where the rest of the speakers and organization leaders were sitting. She was unable to do more than offer a polite smile and quick hello to the CFO of Girls Rock sitting next to her before a quick movie clip about the Girls Rock mission began to flash up on the screen at the back of the stage.
Before she was quite ready, it was Ashley's time to speak as the opener of this morning's events. Ashley felt more than saw Spencer settle into place near the stairs leading up onto the auditorium stage as the brunette continued up past her and into the glaring lights illuminating the podium where she was supposed to speak.
Ashley looked out onto hundreds of expectant young faces in the crowd before catching Spencer's encouraging smile, taking a deep breath, and beginning.
She gave her annual speech about how it was okay for her to love playing both a soft, feminine instrument like the cello, and a harsh and traditionally masculine instrument like the electric guitar. Like spoken language, the rhythms and chords of music didn't have gender, and the contrast of the two instruments let her express all sides of herself.
She talked about how her parents (well, really her father – Christine hadn't ever given much of a shit), had always encouraged her to explore all of her musical interests. The ability to express herself was more important than the media she used to do so. She finished up her allotted time on stage with a little performance. Her three minute concert began with an excerpt from a Boccherini sonata that she played on one of her father's old Gibson electric guitars. She let the students appreciate how the modern instrument was still able to capture the nuances of classical music before she traded her guitar for a cello and seamlessly transitioned into an instantly recognizable cello rendition of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" that had the teeny-boppers bopping in their seats.
After accepting their applause (and having a nose-crinkling smile drawn out of her after a nod of appreciation from Carlin) Ashley laid her cello down and made her way back to the podium to wrap things up and introduce the next speaker.
"Thanks for listening to me ladies," Ashley finished, feeling a little winded after putting her heart and soul into her music. She glanced down at the schedule resting on the podium below her, prepared to announce the next speaker when the name she found written there gave her pause.
A quick glance to the near end of the front row confirmed that she had indeed just been the opening act to headline speaker, comedian Ellen DeGeneres.
Ashley was momentarily star struck – just momentarily of course. Ashley found Ellen hilarious, and who didn't love Finding Nemo? But Ellen was no Oprah Winfrey, and so Ashley's inner Oprah fan-girl wouldn't let herself get too excited about another daytime talk show host.
Ashley wondered how she had not noticed the headlining speaker for the event when she had been given her schedule earlier that morning, but a shimmer of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye reminded her quickly enough. Spencer-distraction had struck again. Sometimes it felt like Ashley's eyes were magnetically drawn to the Marine or something. It made her more prone to surprises like this one.
Ellen DeGeneres, of all people.
Ashley recovered as quickly as she could. "Most of you millennial types will recognize our next speaker as the voice of a forgetful fish from some Disney movie that I'm way too proud to admit I've watched about sixty times," she got a laugh from the crowd from that one, and it encouraged her to take a calculated risk.
It was time to take another subtle jab at her mother's bullshit political agenda.
"But," Ashley continued after a deep breath aimed to try to slow her racing heart, "This next entertainer has been a pioneer in comedy for longer than you all have been alive. Throughout her career, there have been a lot of haters that this woman has had to stand up against, and I think that she's a fantastic artist and role-model for all girls to look up to. People in the industry said that no one would want to listen to her jokes because she was a…" Ashley paused dramatically to shoot a smile over to where Ellen was sitting, letting everyone in the crowd end the sentence for themselves, before finishing with, "… woman. Ladies, I'm sure we can all learn a thing or two from Ellen DeGeneres about being ourselves and doing what we love, no matter what other people might think. Mrs. Ellen DeGeneres, everyone!"
And with that Ashley hastily made her exit, hearing whispers of confusion intermixed with the crowd's applause. On her way down the stairs leading off the stage, she passed Ellen making her way up from the seating below.
"Thanks for the introduction Ashley," the comedian offered with a warm smile and brief, but firm handshake. "Your use of metaphor continues to astound." With a wink, the headline speaker bounded up the rest of the stairs and began her own speech.
Spencer was by Ashley's side the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs and guided her towards the side exit of the auditorium where Willy was waiting with the car to help her get to her afternoon lectures back at Georgetown on time.
"That was pretty amazing Ashley," the Marine told her with a shy smile as she opened the door to their SUV for her. "And definitely a ballsy move."
Ashley shot the Marine a smirk as she slid all the way into the other side of the back seat before Spencer hopped in to join her. "Ballsy's my middle name."
A beat later, Ashley realized how that sounded.
"Actually, no, forget that, scratch the balls."
Spencer snorted beside her.
"Okay," Ashley admitted, hearing how that too sounded. "Forget that too. Screw the balls."
"Screw the balls?" Spencer was laughing outright now, and it was the kind of music Ashley could never replicate on her guitar, cello, or any instrument.
"Whatever Carlin."
Another Friday morning found Chelsea and Spencer in another weekly meeting at the Pentagon with their overseeing officer, Colonel Michaels. Walking into the iconic military stronghold back in the khakis of her service uniform was becoming somewhat of a shock for Spencer, almost like waking up after nap you never intended to take. She was still a Marine – she would always be a Marine – but the longer she spent out of uniform and away from Marine camps, the more that the military world felt foreign and the pseudo-civilian life she now lived with Ashley was feeling more like the norm.
Spencer fought the urge to glance down at her watch at the grandfatherly old Colonel went off on an tangent about the success of this year's Toys for Tots, an initiative that he had helped organize early in his career. Ashley would be getting out of her morning classes in the next half hour or so and would need escorting to orchestra rehearsal. Spencer knew that Agent Miller was decent body guard – for a Secret Service Agent – but he never seemed to understand the proper protocol for clearing the old performance hall on campus. Spencer wanted to be there to make sure that the task was done properly, but their meeting was already running long.
The colonel eventually cleared his throat and brought himself back to the present. "All right then, one last order of business – I have the CIA's latest threat analyses for you both to look over." The colonel swiveled in his desk chair to dig through a filing cabinet behind him before passing Spencer and Chelsea two identical manila folders stamped "Top Secret" across the desk. These were their weekly security briefs – they had to be read here and could not be taken from the Pentagon.
"You'll find very little that you don't already know in there this week. Sometimes I wonder what the hell those CIA analysts do all day since they keep sending us the same old briefs with nothing new to report." The colonel shook his head, leaning back in his office chair to stroke his bushy mustache. "It's hard to adjust a mission to current conditions when you are working with old intel."
Spencer absently flipped through the folder to see that the colonel was right. She had already memorized the majority of these briefs by heart and most appeared unchanged.
"Uh, Sir?" Spencer glanced over to see Chelsea staring down at a sheet in the back of her file. Her friend's forehead was wrinkled in disbelief. "Is this last one here a joke or…"
The colonel sat up with a laugh. "No, Corporal, I'm afraid these sorts of stories are the ones that you could not make up even if you tried."
Spencer flipped ahead to the back of her own folder to see what they were talking about.
The last report outlined the rise of a new cult religious sect out of Idaho that apparently, for whatever reason, believed that Kyla Davies was the reincarnation of Cleopatra and would be leading them to some sort of Promised Land on one of Jupiter's moons in the year 2033.
Chelsea read aloud from the report, "… their teachings include the 'ritual of passage' in which believers must 'stroke Kyla's shinny hair to ensure their place on the pilgrimage journey.' Seriously?"
Spencer's abdominal muscles worked to contain her laughter. There were some straight up weird people out there in the world.
"I'm sure that you'll see to it that no one strokes Ms. Davies' hair that she doesn't want stroking it, Corporal Lewis," the Colonel replied with a smirk.
"Yes sir," Chelsea replied with a smile of her own, shaking her head as she closed the file and lowered it to her lap.
The colonel sat forward in his chair to lean his elbows on his broad mahogany desk. "Really, I think there are only two major issues to discuss before you leave. First: Our terrorist friends from Kyrgyzstan have been quiet, at least as far as their 'Death to all Americans' propaganda goes. They still want their leader back, but the Kyrgyzstani government made an announcement this week that they will be cracking down on any terrorist groups operating within their borders, and that even if Abraham Uricef was to be released from Guantanamo, he would certainly not be welcomed back in their borders. The CIA thinks the group might be scaling back their operations, but personally, I think any quiet coming from them is just the calm before a storm."
"Agreed sir," Spencer replied, "We'll remain on guard."
"And second," The colonel continued, "A more immediate concern is the fast approaching five-year anniversary of Raife Davies' death. I've been informed that many entertainment media groups will be featuring the late Mr. Davies in their programming this week. The entire First Family will be under a great deal of stress and media scrutiny for reasons completely unrelated to American politics and their security will need to be adjusted appropriately.
There are still more than a few diehard Purple Venom fans, who in their own grief and obsession, may attempt to contact the Davies family by extreme means. Keep an eye out for them. I went to more than a few Venom shows in my day," the Colonel admitted sheepishly, "and I can say that most Venom Heads are harmless, but there are also more than a few crazies out there. You should know that on the one-year anniversary of Raife's death, when President Davies was just running for Congress, an obsessed fan broke into the Davies' Los Angeles home and was found hiding in Raife's old closet holding one of man's vests in one hand, and a pistol in the other. LAPD determined that the fan had only meant to harm himself and no one else, but the story gives you an idea of what you may be up against."
Spencer felt her jaw clench, but managed a stiff nod to let the colonel know that she had heard and understood him. This next week was going to be challenging both technically and emotionally. She only hoped she could give Ashley the kind of support she would need to make it through.
Spencer sat at her kitchen table later that Friday evening, nursing a steaming cup of hot apple cider in one hand, and distractedly drumming her fingers across the table top with the other.
In front of her were two neatly stacked piles of forms, each completely filled in save for the final signature lines on the final pages of each.
On her left, the pile contained a 5-year contract renewal and an application for the Marine Corps' officer training school. A signature in this pile would mark the beginning of the path to an officer's commission and the full-fledged career in the Marine Corps that Spencer had dreamed about since she was a little girl. Duty, honor, routine and certainty.
On her right, the pile contained the honorable discharge paperwork that would end her current enlistment contract with the US Marine Corps, as well applications to a handful of 4-year universities and the intake form that would help her make use of the GI Bill to pay for college. Freedom, exploration, novelty and the unknown.
None of the forms for either pile were due for another couple of weeks. No decision had to be made today, but Spencer could feel the weight of the it all resting heavily on her shoulders and on her mind.
She had just gotten off the phone with her parents, running through the pros and cons of each option with them. Unsurprisingly, they had not told her what to do – they never did, which was both a blessing and a curse. Mostly they had just listened to Spencer ramble about her indecision for an hour and half.
There were so many reasons to consider one pile or the other, but the thing Spencer had most wanted to talk about was the one thing that she absolutely could not talk about – Ashley. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the thought of Ashley Davies was a powerful force driving her both toward and away from both options.
On the one hand, re-enlisting in the Marine Corps meant that she could stay with and continue to protect Ashley. From the latest polling numbers that Spencer could find, Christine Davies was setting herself up for a landslide victory over her recently announced Democratic opponent this coming November. That meant that Ashley was almost certain to remain First-Daughter and to continue to require specialized security for the dangers that came with that position. If Spencer and Chelsea's weekly updates with Colonel Michaels convinced Spencer of anything, it was that the Davies were always the target of some shadowy threat or another. If Ashley was going to be forced to remain in the hot zone, Spencer was going to make sure that she was protected.
Even if she was accepted into the officer training school, USMC policy dictated that Spencer would not begin the program until her current work assignment was complete. That meant the possibility of 4 more years at the White House.
Re-enlisting with the intent of beginning a lifelong military career, however, also meant that Spencer was deciding to hide her sexuality for good. There would be no girlfriends, definitely no wife, and no children for at least another 15-20 years until the point where she would begin to consider retirement from the military.
On the other hand, accepting honorable discharge from the military and stepping into the civilian world meant stepping out into unknown and uncharted territory. She'd never seriously considered a life outside of the military before the last year or so. Discharge meant Spencer would be forced to let other people take care of Ashley's protection, but Spencer would be free to be herself in every other way possible. She could go to college and find some other career that hopefully came close to the same level of satisfaction that she got from her work in the Marine Corps. Maybe she could study to be a social worker like her father. As impossible as it seemed, maybe she could let herself dream about a relationship with Ash… someone she loved and could see herself settling down and starting a family with.
With a soft thunk, Spencer let her head come to rest on the table between the two stacks of papers.
It was so much to consider and Spencer felt like she was at the kind of crossroads that would shape the rest of her life. She was trained to make decisions carefully and strategically after viewing the situation from every angle, but there were too many angles here for her to wrap her head around.
Maybe her parents were right, maybe she just needed to think on her decision for a bit longer.
With a long sigh, Spencer released her mug and shuffled the two stacks into neater piles before moving them to rest on the edge of her kitchen counter near her mail.
Spencer had just decided that a Disney Princess movie marathon was just the distraction that she needed to fill her free Friday night off when a sharp knock sounded at her door.
Spencer opened it to find none other than Ashley Davies on the other side.
Only this wasn't your usual, run-of-the-mill Ashley Davies.
This Ashley Davies was wearing a Santa hat, and a chunky oversized holiday sweater complete with cross-stitched scene of what looked to be two snowmen melting on a tropical beach. Over her shoulder she carried a bright red velvety sack.
"Merry Christmas!" Ashley declared before ducking under Spencer's outstretched arm and into her apartment, as had become her usual method of entry.
The entrance and outfit were ridiculous, and yet still 100% Ashley. Spencer had to smile. "Uh, you're a couple of weeks late, but I appreciate the spirit, I guess." It was mid-January, after all. Even the White House decorators had long since packed away their excessive holiday decorations until next year.
"Excellent," Ashley replied distractedly, digging into the velvet sack. "Put these on, you are going to need them."
And before Spencer quite understood what had happened, Ashley had shoved a small bundle of cloth into her hands. The Marine unraveled the bundle to reveal an incredibly tacky holiday sweater depicting a panda bear in a Santa hat, as well as a matching Santa hat of her very own.
"For what?" Spencer asked, still puzzled as to what exactly was going on here.
"For your Christmas gift." Ashley replied with a thousand-watt smile. "Better late than never, am I right?"
"Oh!" Spencer replied, genuinely surprised. She hefted the sweater and hat in each hand, "Well, thank you, they are… very seasonal?"
Ashley straight-up snorted. "That's not your gift, Carlin. It's part of the preparation for the actual gift-surprise. You think I could just get you something generic after you gave me Otter-Ash?"
Spencer blushed, realizing that Ashley was referring to the Christmas gift she had given the First Daughter a few weeks ago. Spencer hadn't been sure Ashley had actually gotten the personalized stuffed otter she had snuck into the Daviess apartment with Kyla's help. The kiss – well the kisses – had put the memory of the gift on the back-burner in Spencer's mind. "You didn't have to get me anything Ashley."
"Oh, but I do." Ashley gave her one of her nose-crinkling smiles that set butterflies fluttering in Spencer's stomach. "Gift reciprocity, and all that, I told you before. Besides, sue me, I want to do something nice for you Carlin. Role with it and put on the sweater!"
Something in Spencer recognized a hint of drill-sergeant in Ashley's sharp command, and so before she quite realized what she was doing, she had slid the ridiculous panda sweater onto her arms and over her head. Ashley helped her finish dressing by snatching the Santa hat back out of her hands and onto her head, pushing the furry bottom so low that it covered the Marine's eyes.
Spencer reached upward to push the hat back up before a warm hand halted her own. "No leave it there, that's how it's supposed to be," Ashley told her from the other side of the hat.
"But I can't see," Spencer replied, confused (but what else was new?).
"Exactly. That's how a blindfold works, idiot," Ashley teased her. "What kind of surprise would it be if you could see where we're going?"
Spencer's first instinct was to panic. She didn't like blindfolds.
Not being able to see what was going on, and not being able to know what was coming harkened to memories of darker times that Spencer still struggled to cope with, if not forget.
But this was Ashley in Washington, not the enemy in Afghanistan.
She could trust Ashley, and so Spencer did.
She felt the Davies girl move behind her and place one of her hands on each of her shoulders. "Now let's get moving!" The other girl began steering her in what Spencer could only assume was the direction of the door.
"Wait, wait, wait," Spencer countered, digging her heels into the carpeting to slow their progress. "Hold on. If we're going out, I need to go grab my earpiece and my gun. And how am I supposed to keep an eye on you if I'm blindfolded?"
"You don't need any of that!" Ashley began to push her again, and eventually Spencer gave in and allowed herself to be moved. "That's the beauty of tonight being your night off – we've got the lovely Sean and Sydney of the United States Secret Service to do all of the official me-watching this evening. You're off the hook, unless you want to do some me-watching, recreationally of course."
Spencer felt herself blush, appreciating the fact that the hat covering her eyes meant that she didn't have to see the suggestive eyebrow wiggle that she knew Ashley was giving her now.
"Let's hit the road Carlin!"
Minutes later, Ashley had steered her to the parking garage and into what Spencer knew must have been Willy's SUV. Spencer did her best to ignore Ashley's banter in order to try to read the turns, stops and starts of the vehicle to get an idea of where they were going. But before long, even with her Marine training, she lost her sense of direction and any hope of figuring out where they were going.
When the SUV finally rolled to a final stop, Spencer was gently pushed out of the back seat and Ashley reclaimed her hold on the Marine's shoulders to guide her up some steps and through a series of doors.
"Wait here for a second. Don't move!" Ashley warned her before Spencer heard her footsteps hurry off to the right. Spencer could hear the brunette whispering to someone, but they were just far enough away that Spencer couldn't make out their words.
Since her eyes and ears were failing her, Spencer reached out to her other senses to try and figure out where she was. The ground beneath her feet was definitely concrete, and there was a sharp, acrid scent to the air that somehow reminded her of her brother Glen and winter at the same time.
"Ready Carlin?!" It took all of Spencer's training not to jump after Ashley had sneaked back to her and shouted into her ear through the thick velvet of the Santa hat. "Almost there!"
This time Ashley took her hands instead of her shoulders, walking backwards to lead Spencer to their destination. "Watch your step!"
When a cool blast of air met Spencer's exposed neck, she finally realized that the smell from before hadn't reminded her of Glen so much as Glen's disgusting hockey gear bag.
"Why are we at an ice rink?" she asked.
"What?!" Ashley released her hands to pull the hat down more tightly across Spencer's eyes. "Are you peeking, or is this one of your ninja skills?"
Spencer laughed, "Why should I tell you my secrets if you won't tell me yours?"
"All right, you got me Carlin. Obviously, we're going Curlin'!" Ashley was way too pleased with herself on that one. "Get it, Carlin, Curlin'? Okay it's about to get slippery!"
The pair hobbled a short way across the ice before Ashley stopped them and guided Spencer to sit down on some sort of plush blanket.
"Okay," Ashley sounded almost nervous, "We're here. You can take off the hat."
When Spencer uncovered her eyes, the first thing she saw was Ashley's hesitant smile, which she instinctually met with one of her own. Then she took a glance around.
The two of them were sitting on a blanket in the center of the Verizon Center, the home of the Washington Capitals hockey team. The entire stadium was lit up like it was game night, but the two of them were alone on the center of the ice. Spread out in front of them was a picnic dinner of burgers, fries and chocolate milkshakes.
Spencer looked back up at Ashley to find her biting her lip nervously. "Ashley, what is all this?"
"Well," The Davies girl began, playing with a corner of her red velvet sack nervously, "I wasn't exactly sure what to get you for Christmas. I had originally planned to get you this…" She reached into the sack and pulled out what appeared to be a doll. She handed it to Spencer. The doll turned out to be a modified Barbie. The figure's trademark long blond locks had been trimmed shorter and pulled back into a tight bun, and her fabulous clothes had been traded out for what looked suspiciously like a GI Joe tactical uniform. All of the army insignia, however, had been traded out for Marine Corps insignia and on the breast pocket of the doll's jacket was a tiny label that read "GI Jane." In one hand was an tiny plastic M16, and in the other was a pink hairbrush.
"…but," Ashley continued, "It would seem that great minds think alike, and you did a better job with it anyway, so then I had to come up with a new plan. I may or may not have called your brother, and he may or may not have told me that you loved the ice capades."
As if on cue, the sound of dozens of skating blades cutting through ice began to ring out throughout the arena. All around them, ice skaters dressed in the tights and sweatshirts of practice attire began to glide around them on the ice.
Spencer glanced back at Ashley in disbelief.
"Ashley," Spencer began, not really knowing what to say. "How…?"
"It's not a private performance or anything like that. Even I'm not that good! But I know I guy, who knows a guy, who talked another guy into letting us get a front row seat to the practice for this new ice show based on Frozen that will be premiering here next week, and, well, here we are."
Amazingly, the girl still looked nervous.
"You did all of this for me?" Spencer could not contain the smile that broke onto her face.
Ashley blushed a little and shrugged. "Merry Christmas Spence."
Everything in Spencer was screaming for her to kiss Ashley. She didn't know how it was possible, but she felt herself falling even more in love with the amazing, beautiful, occasionally irritating, but incredibly sweet woman in front of her.
Spencer fought off the urge for the kiss, not wanting to ruin everything that they had rebuilt between then. Instead she ignored the skaters twirling and jumping around them and pulled Ashley in for bone-crushing hug that was readily returned and lasted far longer than it probably should have.
"Thank you Ashley, this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me," Spencer whispered into her shoulder.
"I'm the one who should be thankful to you Spencer. I don't know what I would do without you in my life."
When they finally pulled apart, Spencer was suddenly struck by the thought that in this moment, here wearing ridiculous Christmas sweaters with Ashley Davies, she was perfectly content.
She felt happy, excited, grateful, and fulfilled - every positive emotion that she could even give a name, Spencer felt all together at the same time. It brought tears to her eyes that she could barely hold back.
Not even the highest of highs she had felt after a successful and difficult mission during her years of work with the Marine Corps had ever felt as good, as right as this.
Spencer had spent months agonizing over whether her true happiness lay inside of or out of the military.
Now she had her answer.
"You really didn't have to do this Ash," Spencer said again, unable to stop smiling as she took a big first bite of the delicious burger in front of her.
"I know," Ashley grinned, "But I wanted to."
They ate in a comfortable silence, leaning against one another and watching the skaters move around them, practicing their routines.
"Hey Spence," Ashley drew her attention a few minutes later.
"Mmm?" Spencer responded around a mouthful of fries.
"Clay might have mentioned something else that you love about ice rinks."
Spencer froze mid chew, the rest of her meal immediately forgotten. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Ashley grinned from ear to ear. "What to drive a Zamboni?"
When Spencer finally returned home to her apartment hours later, her face literally hurt from smiling so much.
In fact, when she answered her cell phone after it began to ring as she was kicking off her boots, she was pretty sure that whoever was calling on the other line could probably hear the smile in her voice.
She was that happy.
"This is Spencer Carlin," she answered.
The voice on the end of the other line was stern, definitely not smiling. As Spencer listened to the tone in the officer's voice, she quickly grew somber herself.
"Yes sir, I am… of course sir."
She began to pace through her kitchen and dining room, nodding smartly in response to what the officer was informing her, training and instinct overriding the practicalities of the fact that he could not see her over the phone.
"I see, sir. Do you…" she swallowed thickly around a lump that had formed in her throat, "...do you have any idea about a time line?"
But Spencer found that even as she listened, she really didn't want to hear what the officer was saying. She found herself pushing back against the authority in his voice.
"Sir, I was under the impression…"
But there was no room for push back in this. Spencer's free hand began to clench and relax as adrenaline flooded unbidden into her veins. She didn't understand how this could be happening - it didn't make any sense.
But protocol had her responding with, "Yes sir… Yes sir… I understand sir… of course. Thank you for telling me yourself sir."
In all , the call had lasted no more than a few minutes.
Spencer tossed her phone onto the living room couch and found herself moving back into her kitchen so that she could brace herself against the countertop.
She took three deep breaths, pulling air deep into her lungs and holding it there for a few counts before exhaling through her nose.
She wasn't sure why she was surprised. She had always known that phone call could come at any time.
That time, apparently - inevitably - was now.
A fit of uncontrollable rage suddenly overcame her and in one smooth movement, Spencer swept one of the heavy stacks of paperwork she had been agonizing over earlier that evening into the trash barrel conveniently located off the edge of the countertop.
Then she retreated into the recesses of her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Boom.