Who: Sam and Ash What: Oblivious roller derby therapy Where: The rink When: Recently Warnings/Rating: Language and braid pulling
Physical therapy was a pain in the ass, and Sam hated it, which had left her feel good shrink looking for other ways to get her back in the game and out of bed. Oh, yeah, they said it was all about her hands, and all about the aches and pains in her bones from the withdrawal, but she knew better. She felt like a kid whose parents wanted to exhaust them, so they'd sleep through the night. But, yeah, whatever, she got that being locked up in a room probably wasn't a very good way to get over the shit that had happened to her. And, at least when she was being physical, no one was talking to her about her PTSD, or making her relive shit with Micah, or even Neil. So, yeah, there'd been ice hockey over the weekend, mountain climbing mid-week, and now some practice for Derby. Did people really do that?
But apparently they did, because Sam found herself in a new pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in bright yellow, fingerless gloves covered up by some protective ones, and elbow and knee pads rounding out the outfit. There was a helmet on the bench beside her, but she hadn't put it on. Instead, she was watching the people in the rink. Her hair was in braids, and she looked younger than her twenty-two years sitting there, skates on her feet and dark circles gone from beneath her eyes. She liked the fact that all the fucking fabric hid her story, and she figured she looked like any of the college-aged kids hanging around. It felt nice, blending, and she reminded herself that part of the day's assignment was to be around people without flipping out and losing her shit.
But there existed the fact that Sam had no fucking idea what Derby was, and all she knew was that the bitches elbowed each other a lot. She could do that. Elbowing? Elbowing was a piece of cake, but she was sure there was more to the rules than that, yeah? She was fine on skates - ice or wheels - so that wasn't a concern. It was the rules that she didn't know, and maybe she didn't need to for some practice thing, right? At least it was all chicks on the rink. She did better at not flipping out with women recently, and she would really like to get out of this place without throwing a punch.
Less than a week in the country and Ash had already found her way to one of the local rinks, because she knew that if she wanted a chance at joining any of the local teams, she’d have to show them she knew how to skate, knew how to block with the best of them. So she showed up with her skates slung over one shoulder, denim and cotton, the rest of her gear in a duffle bag that had been thrown over one shoulder, gear that had cost her an arm and a fucking leg to have shipped from home. With a sigh, she dropped down onto the bench beside the other girl sitting there, everything dropped down beside her feet. Her shoes were tugged off, tucked back into her bag, and she started lacing on her skates.
She was just tightening the laces when she gave the girl beside her a once over, eyebrows raising at the way she looked at the rink. “First time?” she asked in easy tones. The Scottish accent was heavy, and Ash knew the way she sounded to these Americans. Slow it down, she reminded herself, or they’d look at you as though you were speaking Greek.
The accent made Sam quirk a brow. Louis' was subtler than Neil's, but she was used to all ranges of that fucking intonation. She thought life was a funny bitch, like it wanted to remind her of shit she was trying so hard not to think about. But she chalked it up to coincidence and fate and all that stupid crap she liked to pretend she didn't believe in. Oh, god, she sounded like a fucking journal entry waiting to happen.
Dear diary, I ran into some cute chick at the rink today, and instead of wanting to hit on her, I spent the entire time thinking about how her accent reminded me of the guy I'm not supposed to be thinking about anymore. Dear diary, fuck you. I suck at this shit.
"Yeah, obvious, huh?" Sam asked, all New Jersey, and knowing she stood out like a sore thumb, and not liking it. But it was better than having her shit all over the journals, and if she could deal with that? She could deal with this shit. "Is this crap really necessary?" she asked of the pads and the unused helmet. They were all therapy issue, cheap and oft used for all kinds of fucking shit, and they looked as worn as they were. She nodded to the rink then. "They said there was some practice group here. Is there anything more to this than elbowing and skating fast?" Both of those she could do, but there had to be rules, yeah? Things that needed to be done in a certain order. That kind of shit?
“Everyone’s first time is always a little wide eyed. And yes, all of that ‘crap’ is quite necessary, unless you enjoy being covered in bruises at the end of the day and possibly having something broken.” Ash cracked a smile, giving her laces another tug before tying them off, sitting back against the bench with her legs stretched out in front of her. “Elbow. Skate fast. Keep the other team off your jammer. Protect your jammer. Try not to fall on your arse because they will skate right over you.” There was another grin, and twisting around on the bench, Ash stuck a hand out towards the other girl. She was chock-full of cheer, dark hair done in a plait down the middle of her back, face scrubbed clean of makeup, non-nonsense in wanting to impress people. She was there to get moving, to do something other than putter about Neil’s suite wondering what she was thinking coming out this way. “I’m Ash. You thinking of joining or just coming to see what the fuss is about?” Ash’s hands were rough, callused from cooking, a life of hands-on work that she enjoyed. Nails cut short, there wasn’t anything about her with frills or fusses. Simply put, with her, what you saw was generally what you got.
"What the fuck is a jammer?" Sam asked, glancing toward the rink, as if the question would answer itself. "And what the fuck does the jammer do?" It had to have a purpose, yeah? Or maybe it was a person; she had no fucking clue. At least she could manage to not fall on her ass, and elbowing was a piece of cake. "I grew up with seven boys and really cheap fucking skates. I can elbow, and I won't fall," she said, and it felt good to make a confident statement about something. Lately, everything had been can't, and yeah, it was a nice. change. "Sam," she said, holding out a heavily gloved hand with a grip that wouldn't close with anything like pressure. But she figured she could blame it on the gloves, which she was thankful of right then. "Nice to meet you, Ash," she said, and the name fit the girl with the happy smile. Sam didn't want to break her nose, and that was a good start. "I'm just looking for shit to do," she admitted. She didn't explain why, didn't go into her shrink's reasoning for anything. "I tried ice hockey this week, and wall climbing. Figured I'd try this next." It was noncommittal, but earnest, and it came with a shrug of shoulders that came across as being uncertain somehow, broken in a way she couldn't hide yet. "But, yeah, just checking it out. You play a lot?" she asked, motioning to Ash's gear, which indicated that she did.
Ah, the questions of the newbie. Ash relished the moments to explain the sport, as it were, to the uninitiated. “The jammer, love, is the one who scores all the points.” Ash pointed out towards the rink where a group were working. “See the one with the stars on her helmet? Jammer. She has to lap the other team, and everyone else’s job is to stop that from happening. Her teammates got to step up to protect her and keep the other team’s jammer from lapping them. It sounds simple, but trust me, these girls play to win.” She couldn’t help the grin at the mention of growing up with brothers, bobbing her head in agreement. “I have a bunch of my own. Never really got on with the girls, but the boys and me? I was out in the yard all the time with them.” After giving Sam’s hand a firm shake, Ash started tugging the rest of her gear out, pads and helmet, strapping them on with moves that were all too practiced. “From ice hockey to wall climbing to roller derby. You don’t go for normal stuff, do you, love?” There was no accusation in her words, just amusement in those dark eyes, and she flashed Sam a smile as she straightened once more, helmet in her lap. “And yeah, I play. I was in a league back home, and thought I’d try for the one here. Gets my mind off things. Get some feelings out so they don’t bottle up and make a mess of my life, you know?” And as though in response to those words, something lit up on her face for a moment, and reaching back behind her neck, she unclasped the necklace she wore, dropping it without another word in a pocket in the duffle.
Sam listened attentively to the lesson, and she kept glancing at the rink while Ash talked, trying to get her bearings before going out there and getting her ass kicked. Yeah, ok, this shit sounded doable. "Yeah. I get it," she said, distracted as she watched the girl with the stars on her helmet going around in circles. "Are there rules against hitting too hard?" she asked, deadpan until she turned to look back at Ash, and a troublemaking grin warming up her features after that. When Ash asked about normal stuff, Sam considered giving her a bullshit line. But this was about getting better, right? And it wasn't like Ash knew anyone she did. "Yeah, no, normally I like to jump off shit and ride coasters and work high up on scaffolding. But I can't do that right now, so I'm trying this instead," she admitted, another shrug of her shoulders. "Just going through some shit." Her smile caught again, coming back. "I grew up with one older sister, but she's more of a fucking guy than the guys are," she admitted, her vowels going thick Jersey the longer she talked at a clip. "A league?" she asked. "People actually make money with this shit?" she asked, because leagues made her think of football and sponsorships and things like that. As for using this to get her mind off things, that sounded familiar, and it got Sam to her feet on the skates. "Yeah, I'm hoping it turns shit off for me for a little while," she admitted.
The question about hitting too hard had Ash smirking, reaching out to give one of Sam’s braids a tug as she got to her own feet, strapping her helmet on and securing it beneath her chin. “Hit too hard and they’ll blow the whistle on you, or you’ll just get back what you dish out. And they hit hard sometimes.” Not that she doubted that Sam could take it; the girl seemed tough, not one to take shit without handing it back in equal portions, and that was something Ash could get behind. “And I do know about going through shit. But doing this? You don’t have time to think about whatever’s bothering you, and at the end of the day, you’re bone tired and aching in places you didn’t know you could hurt, and you just sleep and it feels fucking fantastic.” Watching as Sam got up to her own feet, Ash pushed off backwards and onto the rink, lifting her brows at the other woman. “Most of us do it for fun. League makes some off ticket sales. Back home, it went towards uniforms. Charity. I think there are some that take it home though. I’m not in it for that, though.” The rink was large, plenty of room to work, and most of the people there were splitting off in their own groups. Ash was heading towards one end of the large rink that was largely unoccupied, gesturing for Sam to follow. “Let me just say, it it doesn’t turn it off, you’re not trying working hard enough at it.” A wink and Ash turned abruptly, putting one skate in front of the other, the long lines of muscle in her legs stretching with each move, speed behind it. “Show me what you got, love. Can you catch me?” It was a challenge, a dare, and it came with bright brown eyes and an infectious smile.
Sam managed to catch herself before that tug to her braid made her wince away. She managed to stay perfectly fucking still and, fuck, did that feel good for a change. She reached for her own beat-down helmet a second later, and she tugged on the strap while Ash explained the penalties for hitting too hard. "This game sounds fucking perfect," she admitted, probably giving a fair deal away with that, but she didn't really care. Everyone else knew her shit, right? And she could get used to being bone tired at the end of the day again. That was one of the things she loved best about her job; working a big construction site and carrying a MIG around all day, that shit was exhausting. She was used to getting home sweaty and sore, and she was used to crashing hard after a cold shower to get the heat off. She needed a replacement for that, and maybe this could be it for awhile. She watched the other girl stretch, and she eyed the rink. "I've been sick recently, so I might tire out quicker than normal. No holding it against me," she added, making it competitive, instead of throwing herself any kind of pity party. At her best, she had no doubt that she could keep up with the other girl. Now? Maybe not so much. But she was going to fucking try, that was for sure. Helmet secured, she skated toward the edge of the rink on steady legs. Sure, her bones still ached, but she was getting used to that, and maybe the burning in her muscles would chase it away. "Is talking allowed while I beat the shit out of you, or no?" she asked, all grin and gapped teeth. Yeah, ok, so her shrink had been right about coming to this place. She hated when that woman was right.
“Perfect is putting it quite mildly, love.” Ash couldn’t help but laugh as she got used to the feeling of the skates on her feet again, muscle memory kicking in as she did some lazy laps in that quarter of the rink, stretching her arms, neck, all the while listening to Sam talk. “Wouldn’t think of holding it against you. Get you out here enough, get you moving, and then we won’t have to worry about none of that, yes?” She gave Sam a good look as the girl got on the rink, knees steady, not looking as though her feet were going to go out from underneath her anytime soon. It was a good sign.
“Talk all you like, ‘least as long as you have breath to do it. And who said you were going to be beating any shit out of me? You’d have to catch me first if you want to do that, and I don’t plan on letting that happen.” There was that grin again as she turned around, skating backwards, hands on her hips. “But if you’re going to keep yappin’...” Ash trailed off with a laugh, and then the game was on. Long strides to build up some speed, her plait trailing behind her, hours old and already starting to fall from its braid.
Sam took advantage of those few seconds where Ash did her lazy laps, using the time to get used to the cheap rental skates. They didn't fit just right, and she had to stop to tighten the laces, clumsy fingers making it take longer than it should have. The elbow pads needed tightening next, because the things were used by guys more often than not. It took a few minutes for her to test the rink herself with lazy circles that sped up. "I get a pass for sucking. Blame the skates," she said, testing a turn and figuring out that the shitty things weren't going to hold up like her pro ones did. But that didn't matter. She just wanted to push herself, and she could do that on crap gear. But she wasn't out of breath yet, and that meant it was time to quit bullshitting. When Ash trailed off with a laugh, Sam cursed and set out after her. And oh, yeah, the skates fucking sucked, but she made up for it by taunting and cutting corners on laps. Growing up with brothers meant cheating, and she wondered if leg swipes were allowed, along with the elbowing, but she needed to get close enough for that, and she wasn't there yet. Maybe she could get a hand around one of those braids of loosening brown hair. "How'd you get into this?" she called out, voice loud and accent-thick.
Her laps were lazy and wide, watching as Sam adjusted the borrowed gear, patient as could be until Sam was back on her feet and letting the rink pass by under her skates. As hard as Ash could be at times, that softness that Matthew had helped her learn hadn’t entirely escaped with his death. It was still there, coming out in moments of patience and quiet, moments that could stretch out for some time without assistance. But the moment Sam was moving, skates on the floor and finding her place behind her, Ash poured herself into the familiar motions. Some days, she felt more at home on the rink than she did in her boots, and today was no different. She might have been thousands of miles from Edinburgh, but this still felt the same. “You want the version for polite company or the truth?” Ash called out behind her, taking the corner tight, leaning into it to keep her speed at maximum.
"Do I look like polite company to you?" Sam called back. She was cheap jeans and an even cheaper shirt, harsh language and a body that had obviously gone too skinny along the way. "I'm not exactly the queen of Elizabeth, New Jersey, baby." She sounded better than she had off the rink, calmer, even though her breath was coming in quick pants now, making it obvious that she was going to be winded really fucking fast. She'd be lucky to manage ten minutes out on the rink at the pace she was setting, at least this first time out. That thought made her smile, because it meant she planned on doing this again. Her doctors had cautioned her about doing too much, and the stitches under the gloves burned, but she felt better than she had in a fucking month.
Ash could hear the heavy breath coming from behind her, but there was no coddling coming, no worry, because women were stronger than most men gave them credit for, and clearly, Sam had things she needed to get out of her system. She’d know when enough was enough, and besides, Ash wasn’t there to hold back herself. She kept a hard pace, enjoying the feel of her self-made breeze against her face, cooling the sweat that wanted to bead up on her forehead, on her chest, the way her lungs pulled in air, her heart beat to keep up with everything. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, love,” Ash called back to her, gaze straight ahead as she let her body move and her mouth talk. “Lost my husband a couple years ago. Girlfriends got worried I was spending too much time holed up in our flat. They found the adverts, dragged me out to see, and next thing you know, I was trying out for the league. Gave me something else to think about, you know? And it’s helped. Helped out a lot.”
Someone else might have commented that Ash was young to be married, but Sam knew better. She thought the girl might be a little older than her, but not much, and even that didn't matter. "That fucking sucks. Sorry, baby," she said, without trying to make it better. She couldn't imagine losing someone she loved, and the way Ash said it, well, Sam was pretty fucking sure Ash's marriage hadn't been like her own. She stopped a few seconds later, but she didn't hobble and limp off the rink. Instead, she crouched down to get her second wind, elbows on her knees and laughing aloud when she almost lost her balance and almost fell on her ass. "I bet it's still not enough though," she said with plain, blunt candor. No uplifting speeches from her, not when it came to this. She nodded her head toward the girl that was still moving on the skates, a jerk of head. "Your accent is still really fucking thick. You're new here?" Because she sounded new here.
A one-shouldered shrug was her response, because what more could you say about it. It did suck. And people were sorry. But nothing would make it better but time. Ash wasn’t looking for something to take it all away, something to drown herself in. She just needed something to get her mind off of it so that those wounds could close up and heal. When Sam came to a stop, Ash slowed as well, turning tight and coming to a stop in front of Sam, dropping down to a crouch with fingertips pressed against the floor to help keep her balance. “No, it’s not enough. But I make do. What else can you do, right?” The corner of her mouth turned up for a moment, giving a nod of her head in response to the question. “Off the plane a few days ago, actually. Thought I’d try some new scenery, see if that helps out. You been in the area long?”
Sam watched the finger balancing trick and tucked it in her back pocket for next time. She couldn't manage it now, but next time. "Since last year? January. It feels like so much fucking longer though," she admitted. As for making do, she got that too. "And, yeah, sometimes shit hurts, but that doesn't mean I want to forget," she admitted. It had nothing to do with anyone dying, but it had everything to do with her own shit, with what had ended her up here, in this rink, with this girl. "It's a long way to come for scenery, but I came all the way across the country. No ocean, but still far," she added, smiling at the admission. It felt so fucking strange to have a normal conversation with someone she'd just met, but it felt good too. She looked toward the other skaters. "That makes me wish I was back at 100 percent," she admitted, standing again. She was wobblier this time, an indication that getting a second wind probably wasn't going to cut it today. But it was a start, yeah? That was what mattered.
“You start forgetting,” Ash began, her eyes straying towards the ceiling and the visible beams, the corner of her mouth chewed on for a moment as she thought this through, “and you won’t know where you came from. How you got here. And that’s important, isn’t it?” Because there were days when she wanted to hide away in her room, all the curtains and blinds shut tight, disappearing into the shadows while the rest of the world passed her by. But she knew that wasn’t how things worked, tempting as it was. Dragging her gaze back to Sam, she gifted her with another grin, a flash of white teeth. “Well, not just the scenery, but the desert is a big change from Scotland. So is the weather. Looks like we’re both far from home.” Following Sam’s gaze to the other girls that were doing their rounds in the rink, Ash gave a hard nod of her chin. “You keep it up, and you’ll get there.” Moments behind Sam, Ash was on her feet again, taking in the wobbly knees, the unsteadiness in the girl’s stance. “But it takes time. And anytime you want to practice, let me know. I won’t go easy on you just because I like you, mind you.” It came with a wink, a tease, and she started back towards the exit of the rink, to the bench where they had left their stuff. “Can I treat you to dinner? I’m dying for something other than room service, and I hope that if you’ve lived here that long, you might know of something good.”
"I think remembering is more important for me," Sam said plainly. She leaned back against the wall. "If I don't want to end up back where I was, them remembering is important. Maybe it won't be someday." She grinned, gap-toothed youth and earnestness. "And, god, do I fucking hope that's the case." But, yeah, she understood. She was here because her shrink wanted her to get out, wasn't she? If she was left to her own devices, she would hide beneath her blankets all day and wait for Neil to call her or something. And how fucking pathetic was that? No, she was done with pathetic. It wasn't who she was, and she couldn't fucking stand it. Look at Ash? She was still standing after something catastrophic, yeah? Who the fuck would have thought she would end up with a role model on roller skates?
And then that role model was winking, and that was definitely a teasing look. Months ago, Sam would have lured the hot chick on skates into the bathroom, found out just how good her balance was on those wheels; there was nothing like seducing a straight girl to make her buzz. But she had no fucking clue if she was in a relationship or not just then. She didn't think she was, but she wasn't actually fucking sure. And, yeah, none of that changed the fact that she looked Ash up and down as she skated away. Because sex and love? So not the same fucking thing. She followed a second later, legs still wobbly, but a little stronger after the rest.
"Give me your number," she told Ash once she got close, rental skates screeching as she turned them to stop herself thisclose to the girl. Yeah, ok, dinner might be a good thing. "I'll call you. You can pay."
“Then find something that makes you remember what happened, whatever it was,” because as curious as she might have been, she wasn’t about to ask this girl who was practically a stranger to open whatever baggage she was carrying and spread it all out for examination. If Sam wanted to tell her, she would. If not, then that was good as well. “But make it something you can tuck away and get out of sight once in awhile. You stare at it too much, and you stop seeing it. It either keeps hurting or it starts becoming numb. Reminders are good. Rubbing your face in it is bad.” Or at least that’s how it was for her and Matthew’s death. It was why the ring was on a chain, his old shirt in her luggage. Reminders that she could pull out, rub on her face, but tuck away when things were too much. “But whatever works best for you and your situation,” Ash added on as an afterthought. “You’ll get there, in time. I’m sure of it.”
Up until the sound of Sam’s voice, Ash had had her back to the other woman, but the voice had her turning around, raised eyebrows, a ready smile on her lips. And then Sam was real close, close enough that she could smell the other woman’s shampoo, and in response to Sam’s closeness, Ash didn’t retreat. “Is that how it works around here?” she asked, sweet as pie, the Scottish accent thick on her lips with that smile. Turning back around, that messed braid flying away from her back for a moment, Ash bent to her duffle to pull out that shiny black iPhone that she had gotten in the mail. It wasn’t from Neil like she had thought, but that didn’t mean she was going to toss it in her knicker drawer and forget about it. “Of course I’ve a number,” she said, turning back towards her, fingers poised over that smooth glass screen, expectant in her gaze.
"Yeah," Sam replied, because the logic was good. She couldn't dwell on the bad shit that had happened; she'd ended up with a fucking habit from doing that. But she couldn't forget either. Reminders are good. Yeah, maybe that was it. It didn't help with Neil, who was still there all the fucking time, and she knew only talking that shit through would help with that. But she was as scared of talking as she was of losing her shit around him. But she'd agreed that she would hit the man up, and she would, because the last thing she needed was Lin calling her a coward. And, yeah, so maybe she wanted to check up on him, weak as that fucking was.
And Sam hadn't been expecting Ash to stay so close. Ok, maybe less straight girl and more bicurious. "That's how it works around here," she replied, her grin going warmer. The only thing that tripped her up was that fucking accent, and she could just sense another fucking therapy entry brewing.
Dear fucking therapy diary, that cute chick at the rink? I think she would let me go down on her, but she still sounds Scottish, godfuckingdammit. This is fucking Nevada. Why are all the Scots in fucking Nevada??
But Sam just watched while Ash pulled out the phone, and she pulled out her own white iPhone a second later. It was Gwen's, but she used the thing for everything these days. She snapped a picture of Ash to go along with the contact number, and then she rattled off her own number, while waiting for Ash's digits.
A flash of her smile when Sam snapped a photo, and then Ash was doing the same thing, rattling off her digits before snapping a picture of Sam to go in her own phone, catching that grin and holding it captive on her phone. “I’ll have to make note of that,” she commented, tucking the phone into her hip pocket, fingers then going to work at divesting herself of her helmet, letting it dangle from her fingertips before she finally pushed off and let her wheels take her a few more feet away from Sam, a distance that was more comfortable. “List of how things work in Vegas, as told by Sam.” She laughed then, shaking her head in amusement before she dropped down onto the bench once more, legs stretched out in front of her like before. “You’re going to come out with me again, aren’t you?” she asked, tilting her head up towards the still-standing Sam. “Because I’ll be awfully disappointed if this was a one-time thing.”
Sam tucked her own phone away, and then she tugged at the strap holding the helmet in place with fingers that didn't respond just right. But she managed it, and the thick gloves came off next, the fingerless grey gloves staying behind in their place. "That would be the most X-rated fucking list of rules," she joked, sitting her ass down on the bench to work on the knee and elbow pads. "Yeah, I think this was better than ice hockey or rock climbing. I'm a real fucking sucker for rock climbing, though, when I feel better. I like heights," she admitted honestly. "But I'm going to kick your ass around this rink eventually, just give me time. And I'll call about dinner," she promised, holding out a hand for Ash to shake, now that the gloves were gone. She knew her fingers wouldn't do her any favors, with their weakness, but there wasn't any point starting a friendship off by hiding shit, right? "Thanks, baby," she added, a little quieter, more earnestly. "I really fucking needed today."
“Next time you go climbing, let me know. I haven’t done that since University, but I’d love to dig my fingers back into it.” The rest of her gear was pulled off piece by piece, tucked back into the home of her duffle bag, and only when both she and Sam were clean of it all did she turn back towards the other woman. Ash gave a glance to the extended hand before closing her own around her fingers, and if she noticed the weakness, nothing about it flickered across her face in response. “I’m going to hold you to that,” Ash promised her, giving her another one of those grins. “And if you need any more of those days, you let me know. You have my number. I don’t work right now, so I’m available. Day and night.”
"I will," Sam said of the rock climbing. Admittedly, she'd done more falling than climbing this time around. "I've been trying to get my boyf-" She caught herself, and she paused. "My friend to go do the canyon with me," she admitted, her face lighting up with the prospect of being that high up without a net. Sam noticed the callouses on Ash's fingers then, much like her own metalwork calloused hands, and it made her smile. "Yeah, ok, if I disappear, you call and verbally kick my ass," she said. She didn't think she'd need the reminder, though. She let go of the other girl's hand, and she rolled her skates against the ground, figuring she'd wait until Ash was gone to start the painstaking process of fucking with the laces. It was therapy all by itself, getting the things loose, but it didn't seem as daunting as it had when the day started.
The promise of rock climbing tucked in her pocket, Ash made quick work of her skates, knotting the laces together and hauling them over her shoulder, feet slipped back into the calf-high boots, hauling herself back up her feet moments later. There was something about Sam’s behavior that spoke of wanting to be alone, and Ash wasn’t about to press upon that. “Take care of yourself, love. I’m looking forward to dinner.” And those were honest words. Reaching down to give a playful tug to one of Sam’s braids again, Ash flashed her a grin before disappearing out the door nearby, footfalls left in her wake.