Ashleigh is sitting on the couch with her legs tucked up beneath her skirt, watching C-SPAN with the remote control's head tapping lightly and rhythmically against her chin. She is not really paying attention; dull background noise, background visuals, nothing she'll have to care particularly that she's turned out to be ignoring. The sound of Oliver's keys in the front door alerts her to his arrival. She turns off the television and clasps her hands primly in her lap.

Plastic grocery bags crinkle in his hands as he trundles through into the kitchen; she watches out of the corner of her eye as he lines vegetables (broccoli, eggplant, onion, tomatoes) in a very precise row on the wooden cutting board. Then he heads out from behind the partition and into the living room proper, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark brown suit.

Already worried, clever boy, Oliver asks, "Honey?"

"Good evening, Oliver." Ashleigh acknowledges him with a dip of her head, and turns her hand over to indicate the other side of the couch. "Take a seat."

Oliver hesitates. "Ash, is something wrong?"

Ashleigh waits, her palm still out towards the other side of the couch. Taking the hint, Oliver sits down across from her.

She tilts her chin up, golden ringlets tumbling around her face, and regards him with something unpleasantly hard glittering in her vivid blue eyes. "Do you remember how you told me that you'd like it very much if, when I am angry at you for one reason or another, I told you that I was and exactly why so that we could speak about it like reasonable adults?" Ashleigh's words are clipped, brisk, shaded sweetness over the inherent bitter tang, like sugared lemon.

Oliver looks at her with the air of a man who finds himself abruptly trapped and, furthermore, firmly secured to the railroad tracks. "I, uh -- yes?"

Ashleigh smiles. "I am very angry with you, Oliver," she informs him briskly. "And now, as per your request, I am going to tell you exactly why."

Oliver gives her a hunted look. "Okay?"

Ashleigh's smile fades. She watches him for a silent, somber moment. Then she says, "You had sex with Sal Harper."

Oliver does not seem to have words.

Ashleigh prompts, "Didn't you?"

Oliver swallows. He shifts uncomfortable against his corner of the couch. He ducks his head, fingers tangling through the thick blackness of his hair.

Ashleigh waits.

He says, "It didn't mean anything."

Ashleigh laughs. The sound bears no trace of silvered chimes; no sweet soprano birdsong. It is hollow. It is cold. She says: "Can you tell me why that was the wrong answer, please?"

"Uhm. Because," and he falters. Of course he falters; Ashleigh does not expect him to have an answer for that.

"We'll leave that aside for now," Ashleigh assures him with the feathered touch of false kindness. Her hands are still clasped very tightly in her lap. "You have wronged me twice. The first, I have already stated. Can you guess the second?"

This step in the dance Oliver knows. "I didn't tell you about it. But, listen, Ashleigh--"

"If it didn't mean anything, you would have told me about it; an accident, perhaps. Just a little slip of the prick." The vulgarity of the word on her tongue jars him, the snide sweetness of her tone; he blinks worriedly at her. "It meant something. This woman, this -- harlot. Did she tempt you, Oliver, with her wily charms? Did you fall victim to an evil seductress? Did she sing a siren's song?"

"Ashleigh--"

"Answer the question."

"No."

Ashleigh smiles, tilting her head at him. "No?"

Oliver has, Lord bless us, the spine to bristle. He glares at her. "Damn it, Ash. I'm responsible for my own bad judgment."

"Not responsible enough to face the music. I had to hear it from -- never mind how I heard it," Ashleigh says, holding up two fingers against the dawning realization in Oliver's eyes.

"You spoke to Percy, didn't you?" Oliver starts trying to sidetrack anyway, damn the man.

Ashleigh regards him coldly. "I'll speak to whoever I like. For now, I am /speaking/ to /you/."

Oliver wilts, just a little. "I wish you wouldn't have," he says.

"Fine. We can discuss your brother later, if you want." Ashleigh takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then says, "Are you still in love with her?"

Oliver blinks at her. "With -- with Sal?"

Ashleigh's voice is as tight as her posture, straight-backed and stiff against the couch. "Yes."

Oliver looks at her, dark eyes grave. "I'm not."

Ashleigh returns his glance, her eyes full of silent skepticism.

"Look, I won't deny I loved her once. Or that there's not still -- something," Oliver says. "But Ash ... she's not what I want anymore. Not what I need. That's you. It's always you."

He reaches for her hand. She pulls it away.

"Me," Ashleigh says. Her voice trembles with rage. "Sweet Ashleigh. Kind Ashleigh. Gentle Ashleigh. Soft," she spits the word in a harsh snarl, "tender, understanding, forgiving, /easily manipulated/ Ashleigh." She glares at him, blue eyes wet with fury that can't express itself any other way.

Oliver says, soft as snow, "No -- no, Ashleigh."

Ashleigh demands, "/No/?"

"Mad as hell Ashleigh, too," Oliver says. He offers a tentative smile. "Leave me if you want to, Ash, but -- don't ever think I only loved you for being -- You were /always/ strong." He swallows. "Stronger than me, Ash."

Ashleigh trembles. She reaches out to take his dropped hand in both of hers and squeezes it, tightly, denied words by the constriction in her throat.

She breathes in, jaggedly, clutching at his hand, her nails shivering into his skin as she wrenches herself back towards some semblance of control.

Finally, she says: "I'm not leaving you, Oliver."

The hope that rekindles in his ashen face is heartaching.

Ashleigh continues, "But we're postponing the wedding and getting couples' counselling."

Oliver looks for a moment as though he's about to protest. She raises her eyebrows at him and stares him down. He nods.

"Couples' counselling," he agrees.

She leans forward and kisses the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to go wash my face," she says, and unfolds from her perch at the corner of the couch to hide herself in the bathroom for awhile.