A/N: Ahhhhh! I'm back! Oh my god! I bet you all thought this one would never, ever, ever, get updated again! But I told you, I told everybody, that it would. You just had to have faith! But, you know, don't get too excited though...I don't know when the next update will be. It could be next week, it could be seven and a half more months from now. I'm soooooo sorry it took so long, you guys. But you can all thank one song. Wonderwall by Oasis. After listening to it on repeat like a bazillion times, I was totally in the mood to write for this fic again!

Okay, thanks for the reviews guys: (do I have any of my loyal reviewers left, I wonder...)

iluvdanbyrd, SteffieWitter96, xSarah, DarkAngelGaudianLight, BleedingGrey, TNPD, ChellyBurger, Sarah (again), and Madame Fist! You guys all rock. Don't be too harsh on Rocket Power. If it weren't for RP, I probably wouldn't have been writing fanfics at all. I need a change of scenery every now and then. I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry that it took me so long to get back to this one, but I always knew I would.

Anyways...SORRY! I mean...ENJOY!

Chapter 10: Don't Tread on These Buds

TJ frowned at the school as he locked his bike up, Vince coming to stand beside him. Spinelli was in the distance, walking up the steps already, the boy who'd asked her to the dance, Gary as she'd divulged his name to be, was beside her. They were talking it looked like.

"You know, she was supposed to wait for me this morning," TJ muttered grumpily, leaving the bike and hitching his backpack up on his shoulder. Vince shrugged.

"Do you think he's gonna ask her to go steady?" he asked. TJ paused momentarily, curiously enough, his heart giving a heavy thud against his chest at that notion.

"Why you asking me? I don't know," he muttered.

"I figured she'd have told you something," Vince said with another shrug, "She didn't mention it?"

"No, alright. Can we just drop the subject?"

"Wow, you seem a little touchy today. What's the matter?"

"Nothing." TJ sighed, crossing his arms haggardly over his chest, and continuing up towards the school in silence.

"Have you guys seen Gus?" Gretchen greeted them at the door. TJ looked up, shrugging, nodding to Mikey and scowling briefly at Spinelli. She returned the stare a bit confusedly.

"No," Vince answered, "Was I supposed to have?"

"He's always here promptly at six-forty, but it's already six-fifty-three and he's nowhere in sight," Gretchen told them, eyeing her wristwatch as she spoke, "He's never late."

"That bully better not be giving him trouble again," Spinelli snarled, clenching her fists tightly.

"Be calm, dear friend," Mikey spoke up, "Remember what happened yesterday. Gus must choose to fight his own battles, or not to fight at all."

"Yeah, whatever," Spinelli muttered, "I gotta go." She turned quickly, making her way down the hall towards her classroom. The others watched silently, before Vince broke the silence.

"Poor Gus, having such a hard time. You'd think things would get better for him eventually."

"He's a tough kid," TJ commented, "He'll be okay."

-0-0-

Spinelli sat on the swing of the park eyeing Gus warily as he made his way up the path. He promptly threw his book bag to the grass and heaved a heavy sigh, falling to the ground beside it. Sweat dampened his brow and he looked worse for wear.

"Sorry I'm late," he finally gasped, "Had to run all the way here too…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Spinelli said, jumping to her feet, "You want me to teach you how to fight you shouldn't be keeping me waiting. Get up." Gus sighed again, hefting himself to a lax sitting position, catching his breath, and then pulling himself completely up.

"What's first, ma'am?" he asked in a cordial militant tone. Spinelli looked thoughtful, before smiling and then punching his arm. He cried out, keeling within himself and clutching the now bruised flesh. "What did you do that for?"

"This is your lesson," Spinelli replied, "You have to learn how to take a hit."

"That's ridiculous! I came here to learn how to fight, not how to get beat up! Obviously, I already know how to do that!" Gus howled, and Spinelli shook her head, placing her hands on her hips.

"Look, you ain't gonna be doing a great deal of fighting if your opponent takes you down with one swing, got that? Growing up, my brothers took me out every chance they had. I endured hits, kicks, slams, jerks, shoves, tosses, and a whole mess of other things. There ain't no guy at school can hit me hard enough to take me down." Gus frowned, still rubbing his arm gingerly, unconvinced. Spinelli shrugged, slumping back on the swing and kicking into the air, "There's no way you'll get out of every fight you're in without taking at least one hit. You need to learn to bear the pain. No pain, no gain."

"Alright, and how do you propose we teach me this?" Gus demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Spinelli halted, a coy smirk playing along her lips.

"Well…ever since Vitto picked up the rest of his things, I have been in need of a new punching bag." Gus groaned inwardly.

"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" he whimpered, "You're going to beat me up at the park everyday?"

"No."

"Oh…good."

"We can't do it at the park, too many people. My ma and pop work all day, we'll do it at my house. Come on." Spinelli lead the way, Gus following hesitantly behind. It wasn't far to the Spinelli household, but Gus made it a lengthy trip with his trudging steps. He was none too eager to make it to the place where he'd be beaten.

Standing in the living room, Gus hovered in the middle of the floor as Spinelli encircled him with a studious stare. She was making a note of every obviously vulnerable part of his body; with a well-trained eye she examined his muscles, deciding where to strike as an opponent would strike, what areas would more than likely knock Gus out easier than others. He was shaking, visibly, and that only encouraged her to continue. There was a bully inside of Spinelli, one she was afraid of, that would rear its ugly head at opportunities like this one. She was simply thankful her heart was stronger than the bully within.

"You do sit-ups in the morning, don't you?" she finally questioned. Gus nodded.

"I wake promptly at five," he answered, "I do a set of twenty sit-ups, fifty jumping jacks, and ten push-ups. My father says that you have to have a routine…"

"That's fascinating," Spinelli interrupted, sounding as though it really weren't, "I want you to do fifty sit-ups every morning, one hundred and fifty jumping jacks, and fifty push-ups. Got that?"

"Uh…do you do this?"

"I don't have to, I know how to fight. And I pump iron with my brothers."

"Figures…"

"Hey, do you want my help or not? The first thing to fighting is a well-toned body, you have to be in shape or you'll get winded after the first round," Spinelli spat, and Gus nodded, saluting quickly and mumbling a "yes, ma'am". Spinelli paused from her rounds, "We'll start with padding. Then we'll work our way to taking the padding off."

"Oh, I like the idea of padding," Gus exclaimed, then a slight downcast, "But not so much the idea of taking them off…"

They used pillows, tying them about Gus, and for the rest of the afternoon, Spinelli beat on him. She found it quite refreshing. He spent most of the time cowering.

For the next couple days, this became their routine. And slowly, Gus would use fewer pillows. He became defter at dodging the strikes, but when one did happen to connect, he would brush it off as though it were nothing, even as it stung like hell. Then one day, Spinelli stood in front of him, hands on hips and told him not to pad up.

"Now we begin," she announced. Gus straightened, tossing a particularly battered pillow to the couch. "Make a fist," she told him and he obeyed, holding his clenched hand up flimsily. She frowned. "That's a fist? That's pathetic." She curled her fingertips, cracking knuckles, and lifted her tightly balled hand up for Gus to stare at in awe. It was a powerful weapon, without a doubt. "Now this is a fist." She dropped her arm, and stood tall, her chest puffed out, her chin jutting, "Now, hit me."

"What?" Gus cried in disbelief, "I can't hit you. You're a girl…and a friend, and…and you'll hit me back!"

"No, I won't," she smirked, "I promise. Just hit me." She patted the side of her arm, "Right here, come on." Gus pouted, lifting his weak fist and swinging half-heartedly at the selected area. He missed, brushing recklessly along her forearm, and connecting with her chest. He gulped, staring shame-faced at the place where his hand had come to rest. He only had a moment to realize his mistake before the world went black.

Gus woke up, in what seemed moments later to him. The television was on and Spinelli was settled on the couch, a bag of chips resting against her hip, the clicker in her hand. His head was pounding, particularly sore along his left cheek.

"What happened?" he moaned, glancing out the window to see that it was beginning to get dark, meaning he must have been out a great deal longer then he'd first assumed.

"I broke my promise," Spinelli answered casually, not so much as bothering to glance at him, "Your mom called, you should go home."

"My head hurts…"

"Yeah, that's what happens when it runs into my fist."

"I thought I was getting prepared to take hits like that…"

"Oh, I'm prepping you to take hits from average guys, not from me," Spinelli grinned, sitting up and turning the television off, "Next time maybe you'll watch your hands."

"Next time?" Gus repeated quietly, "I don't know, Spin…I don't really think your technique's working too well…"

"What technique? This is the same way I learned how to fight," Spinelli told him, leaning back and putting her feet up on the table, "'Cept I never had the benefit of beginning with padding."

"Your brothers were pretty harsh on you then, huh?" Gus asked, leaning back and trying to compose himself. He was lightheaded, and the world was spinning.

"No, not really," Spinelli shrugged, "I was harsh back. It was fun. Spinellis don't gather round the family table and play Parcheesi, it was our quality time together."

"I'm glad I'm not a Spinelli," Gus muttered receiving a particularly dangerous glare.

"You're a runner, Gus, and that's good, because you've got a lot of stamina from it. Except, you gain no rep. Why do you think bullies flock to you?"

"Because I'm a bully magnet?"

"No, because you bolt when they first advance, and it excites the predator within them. Bullies are like animals, they live for the hunt. Tomorrow at school, I want you to stand your ground when the first bully you see steps up to you," Spinelli told him, and Gus just gaped.

"But I don't know how to fight…"

"I didn't say you were going to fight," she grinned somewhat impishly, "Don't worry; trust me. I won't let anyone hurt you…too badly."

"Oh, great," Gus mumbled, sinking back to the ground momentarily before lifting himself up.

"Grab a snack in the kitchen, kid, you look like you need energy."

"I need a cold compress…"

-0-0-

TJ looked up a bit startled when the teacher called his name. He was in biology class, and they were getting their partner assignments for the next big project. The teacher was telling him he'd be working with Heather Hargrove. He looked over to where she sat. She smiled at him sheepishly, brushing her brown locks behind her ear. TJ forced a half-smile before turning back to the front of class and pretending to be paying attention.

Heather was a nice girl. She was a little on the prim side, had a small group of friends. She could be quiet, but was mostly loud and always gossiping. TJ didn't notice her much.

"Now, I think you should all meet with your class partners to discuss the project," the teacher announced, and TJ frowned, rolling his eyes before crossing the room to where Heather sat. She was still chatting with her friend beside her, obviously wanting to make him come to her. She looked up when he stopped by her desk.

"Hey," TJ greeted, "We need to talk about the project or whatever."

"Ok," she said, offering a toothy smile, and TJ looked up to the clock. He took a seat in the desk next to hers, "So we have to build our own eco-system?"

"We have to design our own eco-system," TJ corrected, "Which I'm guessing involves a lot of research, and several boring trips to the library." Heather giggled slightly.

"We can be as creative as we want," she told him, "The eco-system doesn't even have to contain real animals and organism, we can make them up, so long as they're aptly described and dependant on the eco-system. The more creative the better, which is awesome, because I am so creative!"

"Oh, good," TJ mumbled, leaning on his elbow. He listened to her chat about her various ideas with disinterest until the bell rang and he practically jumped from his seat. Heather shoved a piece of paper into his hand with numbers written along it. He looked at her questioningly.

"It's my phone number," she explained, then handing him her pen, "Could I have yours? So I can call you about the project?"

"Uh…yeah…sure," TJ muttered, taking the pen and writing his own number down on another piece of paper. He made his way to the classroom door, and turned slightly when he heard Heather and her friends squealing.

"Teej," Spinelli called from the door, her own class having been across the hall. She tapped her foot impatiently, "What was that about?" she questioned, regarding the girls.

"Hell if I know," TJ shrugged, as they made their way to lunch.

They took their usual seat with the rest of the gang. Gus was sitting a bit awkwardly, pressing his cheek tenderly. There was a bright bruise along the peach flesh, a scar over his eyebrow, and he was sitting awkwardly.

"Did you get in another fight?" Mikey inquired as to the injury. Gus smiled somewhat, exchanging a look with Spinelli.

"No. I slipped down the stairs…it was a horrible fall," he murmured, before opening his lunch bag and pulling out his chipped beef on crackers. He watched the others trade their lunches solemnly.

"Hey, Gretch," Vince spoke up, mouthful of sandwich, "What's with your lips? They're all shiny. And when did you go clothes shopping?" The others looked to the flustered redhead. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail as opposed to the usual pigtails. Her lips were glossed, her cheeks and eyelids subtly powdered, and she was wearing a slim baby-tee and a skirt that came down to just above her knees. She sat cross-legged, sandals on her feet. Her toenails had been painted.

"It's nothing," Gretchen mumbled, poking at her Lunchroom Meatloaf Surprise, "My parents took me shopping the other day."

"I thought you'd already done your beginning of the year clothes shopping," Spinelli prodded, "I thought the Grundler household did all the back-to-school shopping three weeks before the first day of classes."

"And Vince is right," TJ pressed, "Your lips are all shiny. Did you get something on them?"

"No," Gretchen snapped, "It's called lip gloss! Sheesh…can I try something new? Am I not allowed to alter my look in any way without receiving twenty questions? They are my lips, I think I have a right to experiment with them!"

"Oh, sorry…" the others murmured, looking admonished to their lunches. Mikey picked up the conversation, talking about something having to do with his drama club, and the others joined in. TJ talked about a plan he had to get them out of their last period, and the others argued about the morality of the plot. When the bell rang, they split in separate directions, smiling and meeting with other peers in their next classes. Gus and Spinelli held back momentarily.

"I did what you said," he told her, gathering his books and bag, "This morning before the first bell rang. The guy threw me in the dumpster. I hurt all over."

"But you stood your ground?"

"Yeah. Until he picked me up, then I wasn't really on the ground anymore anyways," Gus muttered, grimacing as he slung his backpack over his shoulders, "Isn't there an easier way for me to not run away and not get hurt at the same time?"

"Learn to talk your way outta it," Spinelli shrugged, "Learning to fight is nothing, Gus, if you ain't brave. They'll still mess with you, and let's face it, confidence and all that shit is at least eighty percent of what fighting is all about." She turned, leaving him behind staring blankly as her words sunk in.

-0-0-

Gretchen folded her hands neatly in her lap, crossing her legs and tapping her foot. Her glasses slid down her nose and her shirt didn't fit right over her flat chest. She frowned, brushing at her bangs. Warmth permeated her skin as a slick form came to sit beside her.

"You gonna tell me what's up, Gretch?" Spinelli said keenly. Gretchen sighed.

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Well, the make-up, the new clothes, the…"

"Why is everyone so concerned over my change? It's no one's business but my own!"

"The severe attitude," Spinelli muttered, leaning back and stretching her arms over the back of the bench, "Gretch, it's me. You can tell me what's going on, you know that. I may not have Teej's charm, Mikey's sensitivity, Vince's suavity, and Gus's…um…Gus-ness, but you can still talk to me. We're both chicks here."

"Assumedly so," Gretchen replied, then heaving another hefty sigh, "I've just recently felt a need to alter my outwardly appearance into something more feminine."

"What for?" Spinelli questioned, scrunching her nose, confused by the notion of actually wanting to get dressed up.

"Some girls revere the idea of becoming a woman," Gretchen stressed.

"Yeah, but why rush it? You still got plenty of time, huh?"

Gretchen turned away, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She frowned at the cement, tears springing to her eyes with the return of those painful emotions of anger, frustration. She felt like a child and it didn't seem her good friend understood that. But why would she? Everyone already perceived her as a nicely developed young woman. Not a flat chest-ed, preteen bodied, almost there but hasn't quite reached adolescence, little girl.

"So it would seem," Gretchen seethed, standing abruptly and shouldering her pack. She made to storm away, but a hand clenched her wrist.

"Gretch, you're the most intelligent person I know," Spinelli continued through gritted teeth, "So you should know, growing up isn't something you push on yourself. It's something that happens over time. But you gotta wait for it."

"Well, I'm tired of waiting!" Gretchen cried, slumping, whimpering, "The more adult I want to be, the more childish I sound." She turned to Spinelli, tear-eyed, "What's wrong with me? What am I trying to do? I know its ridiculous. I was tempted to stuff my bra this morning, how pathetic does that sound? I'm too embarrassed to change in the girls' locker room with those other girls, already developed or developing. I hate standing next to you…it's so stupid, getting so emotional over all of this…"

"You're telling me," Spinelli muttered, then quickly adding, "No. It's important to you, Gretch, so it's not stupid," she sighed, dragging her friend into a hug, attempting to soothe her, "You know, you're already more adult than any of those girls who all have boobs and shit. And you're lucky, too, you know."

"How's that…?" Gretchen sobbed.

"Well, guys notice me and other girls because we got these boobs and bodies and all that crap; but when a guy notices you, you know that it's not just because you're pretty, but because he likes your personality and your brain," Spinelli explained, chuckling, "And let's be honest, Gretch, it's not like guys haven't noticed you." Gretchen chuckled too, and they broke their embrace. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, running the tip of her finger under her eye, and pulling it back stained black. They laughed, and Spinelli offered up a tissue from her backpack.

"That's the problem with make-up…" she whispered shakily, "It's so hard to keep neat."

"But you look nice," Spinelli commented, waiting as Gretchen cleaned herself up, "Nice and girly, I guess…hey, you'll get there, I think. It's not like it's a race or nothing, Gretch."

"I know it's not a race," Gretchen replied impudently, then smiling wryly, "When did you get so insightful?" Spinelli flushed, looking to the pavement.

"I'm sure this is just a fluke or whatever…" she stammered.

"Or perhaps you're maturing," Gretchen suggested. Spinelli smirked, shoving her playfully as they settled into the bench, comfortably leaning their shoulders against one another.

"So, you gonna keep wearing this crap, or do we get the old Gretchen back?"

"This isn't me," Gretchen mumbled, looking to her hands neatly folded in her lap, "Maybe it'll be me, one day…but it's not me now. So…I guess the answer is…no."

"Good," Spinelli smiled, laying her head on Gretchen's shoulder, "Because I like the old Gretchen, and I think it would be great if we got to keep her for as long as we could."

"I wonder what everyone will think at school, though…"

"Fuck what they think," Spinelli spat, straightening, and leaning back against the bench, "Who cares what they think? All the people who matter think that as long as you're you, all's well."

"Right," Gretchen smiled, "Though I wouldn't use such forceful language, you're right. Why should I care what everyone thinks." They were silent momentarily, "So…I heard you got asked to the Welcome Back Dance."

"Yeah."

"Do I get details voluntarily, or do I have to nag them out of you?"

"I'll talk, I'll talk," Spinelli laughed, "His name's Gary Aster, I met him over Summer hanging out at the bike shop with Vitto. His dad owns the place. He can rebuild an engine in under fifteen minutes. He knows all about bikes, and he's going to be a professional skater."

"Sounds like a dreamboat," Gretchen muttered, a bit sarcastically, and Spinelli scrunched her nose.

"I like him," she sniffed, "He's nice, he's cute…he's…cute…and…oh yeah, did I mention, cute?"

"You sound a little more than infatuated with this guy. You're even using girly words such as 'like' and 'nice' and 'cute'. This must be serious," Gretchen teased, and Spinelli shook her head, "I'm sorry. He sounds like a…a very potential…erm…significant other." Spinelli rolled her eyes.

"He's just taking me to the dance," she growled, "It's not like we're engaged or nothing."

"Alright, alright," Gretchen chuckled, holding her hands in front of herself mock defensively. She let them fall back to her lap, pushing her hair from her face with a swift hand movement, "Do you want to date him…like…going steady."

"Don't know," Spinelli shrugged.

"What do you mean? You either do or you don't."

"It's complicated, alright," Spinelli snapped, slumping, "I don't know if I like him that much. I like him, but I don't know if I like him. I don't really…well…I don't know him that well. I just…don't think…he doesn't get me and stuff. I don't know how to act around him, I don't know where I stand…man, I sound like such a whiny little coward, but I…sheesh…"

"What do you really want in a guy?" Gretchen questioned, brows drawn together. They'd never really talked about it. Spinelli shifted, pursing her lips as she thought.

"I don't know. I really haven't thought about it," she finally said, "I just…always…well…I kind of want a guy that I feel comfortable with. A guy that I can be myself with. Someone who doesn't look at me funny when I do all the things I do…a guy who knows he can't win arm wrestling me, a guy who talks to me not at me…a guy that…I don't know…understands me. A guy I can talk to, that knows everything I'm afraid of and everything I hate and everything I like and…"

"But you really haven't put any thought behind it," Gretchen interrupted teasingly, and Spinelli blushed, "The only guy that you know like that is…well…," she furrowed her brow and shook her head, "Never mind."

"What? Who?" Spinelli perked, "Gretch, answer me…now!"

"Oh, look at the time," Gretchen said, mock seriousness, lifting her watch and staring somewhat cross-eyed at the little hands, "Almost four o'clock, I have to…"

"It's what time?" Spinelli gasped, leaping to her feet, "I'm late! Damn. I gotta go! Later, Gretch!"

"Uh…later," Gretchen watched her friend sprint down the street, confused.

-0-0-

Gus watched silently as Spinelli demonstrated the proper way to rhythmically punch a speed bag. They were at Gus's house that evening, as Spinelli's brother was visiting and her house was occupied. His father had a good weight bench, as well as punching bag/speed bag set up in the garage. Spinelli had been impressed and quickly made short work of turning it into a proper training station. She stepped back from the bag now and motioned for him to try. Tentatively, he jabbed the lightweight sandbag, then grinned, and attempted to recreate the steady motion Spinelli had kept going. For about five seconds, he appeared to have it, until he slipped up and the wildly swinging back hit him heavily in the face. He fell back from the impact and found himself looking up at Spinelli in a daze. She had her hands on her hips and was frowning down at him, before offering a hand, which he took. On his feet once more, Gus tenderly ran a finger over his now bruised nose and sent a dangerous glower the speed bag's way.

"Am I getting any better?" Gus questioned, pouting. Spinelli looked thoughtful a moment, considering all the time, nearly three weeks now, they'd spent training. He was definitely showing an improvement in his ability to take a punch, but throwing one was a different story. He wasn't much of an athlete, or a fighter for that matter. And it was starting to look like he never would be.

"Bullies haven't been bugging you much at school lately. I noticed," she attempted a subject change. It was too early to throw in the towel, she knew, and Gus would be heartbroken if she told him all his hard work didn't seem to be paying off. It was strange, she was usually blunt about those sorts of things, honest to a fault. But the idea of crushing Gus…she couldn't do it. He was too good a friend. Maybe she was getting sentimental. She scoffed at the notion.

"Yeah," Gus smirked, "I guess it's not as fun for them when I don't run, right? Doesn't attract the predator in them."

"Yup," Spinelli grinned, before stretching and swatting at the speed bag a bit distractedly.

"I never figured anything you'd teach me would work," Gus admitted, slumping onto the weight bench and Spinelli raised an eyebrow at him.

"Then why did you ask for my help?"

"Oh no, I meant…besides the actual fighting," Gus explained, "I didn't think just…standing up to them would work…that's it." She paused, staring long and hard at the bag, before sighing and taking a seat next to him.

"At the risk of sounding like an after school movie," she started, taking a deep breath, "It actually does work. I mean, don't get me wrong, it doesn't always work. Look," she leaned back, pressing the palms of her hands into the vinyl cover over the bench, "They think picking on you is…well…fun."

"Gee, is that it? I thought they did it because it brought them a great deal of turmoil," Gus droned sarcastically, then winced as annoyance flickered across Spinelli's face, "Sorry."

"I'm trying to help you here."

"I said sorry!"

"Right," she shifted a bit awkwardly, then looked to a spot on the floor as though half seeing it, "You're a lot tougher than you think, Gus. But you're not a fighter."

"Spin…"

"Why are you doing this, man?" Spinelli demanded, her eyes flashing up to meet his, "This ain't you. Actually wanting to fight. Actually wanting to learn how to fight. I tried to teach you to fight in the fifth grade, remember? You pouted something awful, whined for some reason or the other, and then scampered off to go play with your goddamned GI Joes. What is this really about? You never cared about me fighting the battles for you before…"

The door to the garage opened, and the General Griswold peeked out. Spinelli fell silent, straightening and wiping the damp sweat from her brow. Gus jumped to his feet quickly, saluting his father.

"At ease, private," Mr. Griswold chuckled, and Gus loosened, hands falling to his sides, "What's going on out here?"

"We're just working out, sir," Gus piped.

"Ah," Mr. Griswold nodded, glancing to Spinelli, slumped and peering at the older man, "Miss Ashley," he greeted, "It's a pleasure to have your company. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Nope. My ma's making her special spaghetti tonight, what with Vitto being in town," Spinelli answered, "But thanks for askin', sir."

"Of course," Mr. Griswold replied with a smile, then looking to his son, "How was school?"

"Routine as always, sir," Gus answered.

"No problems then?"

"No, sir."

"Good," Mr. Griswold said, then winking, "I'll leave you two alone, now. And don't forget, we're going over those applications tonight, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, dinner's at eighteen-hundred," Mr. Griswold announced, before letting the door shut and leaving them. Gus sighed, falling back to the bench, and Spinelli stared at him with a perked eyebrow. Her lips were pressed together, and she clacked her tongue a few times to fill the silence.

"What applications?" she finally asked. Gus frowned, leaning forward and running a hand over his head.

"For private academies," Gus answered, "For next year."

"You're going away for school?" Spinelli asked, a little more panicked then she'd meant. She bit her inner cheek, looking back to the hanging punching bags, "Where to?"

"There's a few good choices," Gus mumbled, "My dad wants me to get a head start on my military career." Spinelli pressed her lips together, before slumping forward, leaning against her knees.

"And you?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to go away to school?" she clarified. Gus frowned, before walking towards the speed bag and carefully grasping it between his hands. After a long moment, he licked his lips and drew his brow together.

"I want to go into the military, and if this'll help me, then yeah…it's what I want," he answered solemnly. He didn't sound too convincing. Spinelli shifted uncomfortably, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

"So…your father's pretty hard-up on the macho guy routine, huh?" Spinelli questioned nonchalantly, receiving a contorted glance from Gus.

"My father is a general in the United States of America Army," he told her, sounding almost automated, "He has fought in many battles, been stationed in various dangerous countries, commanded…"

"Alright, alright," Spinelli cried, throwing her hands up, "That's enough! I've heard the spiel before! I get it, I get it!" She lifted herself to her feet, smoothing the wrinkles from her t-shirt and pacing towards the garage door, pausing half-way. "I know that your father wants you to follow in his footsteps, up-hold the family honor, and all that crap. But…well…maybe it's not…well…what you're supposed to be. I know you want to impress your pops, but…you shouldn't have to change yourself to do that." She stepped up to the door, touching the knob and silent as though waiting for a reply, "You're just a kid, Gus," she mumbled, before swinging the door open and heading into the house, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Gus slumped on the weight bench, staring at the door as it quietly closed behind Spinelli's retreating form. His stomach grumbled slightly, but he ignored it. What did Spinelli know, he thought grumpily. Nothing. That was obvious. Her parents didn't care what she did. It was lucky she wasn't a juvenile delinquent, running around and bullying kids, breaking laws, and stirring up trouble. She was a stone's throw from the type of person that James Adder was, as far as Gus could tell.

Gus pulled himself to his feet, making his way to the speed bag and jabbing it slightly. He slowly worked himself into the steady rhythm, watching the bag fling back and forth as he struck it. Following in his father's footsteps, going to a military academy, up-holding his family honor, it was all what he was supposed to be. It was what his father wanted, so it was what he wanted.

Catching the speed bag mid-swing, Gus came to a decision. He had to prove it. Prove it to Spinelli, and anyone else that doubted he could be a "macho" guy. Prove to the world what he was 'supposed to be'.

-0-0-

TJ frowned, leaning his chin on his hand as he tried to listen to Heather talking about her day. The project they'd worked on together had been turned in nearly a week ago, with a stunning B-plus, a welcome rarity for TJ. After that, Heather continued to call him and talk to him in the hallways, even once showing up at his house and asking if he wanted to "hang out". Not being one to hurt feelings, TJ didn't discourage the attention, but he was starting to get annoyed.

"…anyways, Ashley A. said that my shoes were way cute, and I was, like, well, totally, duh, I wouldn't wear them if they weren't! And then…"

TJ made a grunt of acknowledgement, leaning back in his chair as he saw a familiar figure walking down the street. He grinned, ready to hurry Heather off the phone and head down to greet Spinelli when he caught sight of her companion, Gary. He frowned, watching them laughing and chatting. Gary said something, and brushed Spinelli's hair from her face as she grinned and replied and TJ felt his stomach knot.

"Heather," he interrupted the jabbering girl without thinking, "Do you want to go with me to the Welcome Back Dance tomorrow?"

"Uh…what…?" Heather stammered, obviously flabbergasted and having lost place in her story.

"Well?" TJ pressed, "Do you? The dance?"

"Uh…well…I…" she couldn't seem to remember how to speak English, making a few incoherent sounds before finally sputtering a chipper, "Sure."

"Good. I'll pick you up tomorrow at six," TJ went on.

"Ah…alright," Heather replied, and TJ quickly said a good-bye, hanging up the phone. He scooted back, staring out the window as Gary slyly slipped an arm over Spinelli's shoulders and they disappeared down the street from TJ's view.

"I hate that guy," TJ whispered to the empty room. He stood up, pacing back and forth, pounding his fist into the palm of his hand, as adrenaline raced through his veins and his body pumped with energy, "He's such a sleaze ball jerk! Who does he think he is? Huh? Putting his arm around Spinelli? I put my arm around Spinelli! I'm allowed to! She's my friend! But him…who the hell is he? He's so…goddamned…smarmy and…with his 'oh-so-suave-line' I'm going to be a professional skater! That's not a job! How can Spinelli stand to be around that…that…that…dim-witted…narcissistic…lecherous…asshole! God! I hate that guy!"

TJ fell back to his chair, staring disconcertingly at the telephone. He knew it wasn't rational to hate a guy he hadn't even spoken to. But something about Gary made his blood boil. He clenched his hands into tight fists, gritting his teeth. Well, that was fine. Spinelli could go to the dance with that jerk. He was going with Heather Hargrove, and it would be just fine. Because what did he care who Spinelli dated? What did he care?

-0-0-

Gus marched down the hallway with a steady pace. His confidence was overwhelming and people paused to glance at him, trying to discern who he was or what was different about that usually meek young man. He tightened his grasp on his backpack straps and saw Vince standing with Mikey near the lockers, and they made to greet Gus and call him over, but stopped mid-wave. Even they could see that something was strange about the militant strut of their good friend. They recognized that glint in his eyes, recalling it from the first and last time they'd ever seen it, fourth grade after what turned out to be a false fortune telling. They followed him with curious eyes and then their legs propelled them forward.

But Gus didn't notice them. He had only one destination in mind. He spotted Gretchen coming from the bathroom with some of her Science Club friends, but ignored her as she too caught up with Vince and Mikey with question obviously on her lips.

Only when he finally reached the end of the hallway did he stop and face the wall of lockers, and a small group of boys huddled together chatting maliciously. Gus reached forward, tapping the large boy in the front as the others stared oddly at him. The boy turned, startled at first, and then his face contorted to one of sadistic glee.

"Well, if it isn't my good buddy, worm breath."

"How's it going, James," Gus sneered, "I see you and your friends are putting your heads together on this one, but let me help you out a little so you're not scratching your heads all day. You use that little knob to put in your combination, I hope your mommy pinned it to the inside of your sweater this morning, and that opens the locker."

A good group of students had gathered around, and Gus could hear the satisfying gasp from the crowd. He smirked, but it faltered slightly as James tightened a fist.

"Cream him, Adder," one of James's friends muttered, and Gus felt himself shrinking away, but straightened immediately as he saw Spinelli from the corner of his eye, squirming her way through the crowd to see what the commotion was. He wasn't going to need her help in this one. James grabbed Gus by the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward, and Gus met his eyes.

"I'm gonna pound you so hard," James hissed, his putrid breath blasting against Gus's nostrils, "Your grandkids'll feel it."

He raised a fist to strike, but Gus moved faster, jabbing the bigger boy in the mouth. James dropped Gus, clutching his injured orifice and growling, enraged. Gus only had a moment to celebrate his victory, as James attacked, knocking him to the ground, pinning him down and repeatedly punching him in the face and gut. Gus struggled to fight back, to block, but he finally found himself whimpering and holding his hands defensively in front of his bloody face.

"Hey!" a familiar voice cut through the crowd, "Cut it out!"

James slowly relented, and Gus lowered his hands hesitantly, looking out at the crowd. He saw TJ first, standing at the front, hands crossed defiantly over his chest, glowering menacingly down at the larger boy. James pulled himself to his feet, moving so that he stood toe-to-toe with TJ.

"What?" James scoffed, "Do I have to beat the shit out of you too?"

"And me," Vince spoke up, moving behind TJ and clenching his fists.

"Yes, if you want to bully one of us, you'll have to bully all of us," Mikey announced with a flourish, stepping forward, hands on hips.

"Wha…?" James stammered, obviously baffled by these seemingly random heroics.

"Precisely," Gretchen conceded, stepping up next to the boys, "Well spoken, Mikey."

"Thank you, Gretchen."

"Oh jeez," James mocked, finally catching on, "This is just so touching. How sweet. Worm breath's little friends are going to help him out. Great, you can all hold hands and sing while I pound you each into the ground!"

"Oh yeah?" Spinelli muttered, "You and what army?" James glanced behind him, but his friends had faded in with the crowd, eyeing the ground and sheepishly rubbing the back of their necks. He paled considerably.

"If I were you, James," TJ seethed, "I would leave our friend alone from now on. That goes for all you guys. If you want to bully our friend, you'll have to get through us."

James shook his head, muttering, "It wasn't any fun anymore, anyways," as he shoved his way through the gathered crowd.

The bell rang overhead, and a few kids lingered back slightly until Spinelli yelled at them, "show's over, get lost." Gus lay on the ground, groaning, and staring at the ceiling, unable to look at his friends as they gathered around. Gretchen knelt down, gently touching his shoulder and he jerked away, pulling himself up and turning his back on them.

"I didn't need your guys' help," he snapped, and they were all taken aback by the harsh outburst.

"Oh? Because it sure as hell looked as though you needed our help to me. What were we supposed to do? Let you get the crap beat out of you? " Vince demanded, but TJ held a hand up to quiet him.

"Gus, we're your friends," TJ told him, "It doesn't matter if you need our help or not, its there."

"Oh well that's great," Gus drawled bitterly, "But now everybody in the school knows what a wuss I am, so…"

"What makes you a wuss? Having friends?" TJ cried, "How does that make you a wuss? Seems to me that makes you a pretty damn lucky guy."

"Friendship is man's greatest treasure," Mikey solemnly commented.

"Yeah? Is that so?" Gus screeched, reeling on them, "So I can go to my father and tell him, 'oh, it's fine if I can't stand up for myself against bullies at school, because I have my friends!' What kind of soldier would that make me? Huh? If I'm so goddamned dependant on you guys? How'm I supposed to win wars, and fight battles in the name of our country if I can't even fight a bully in the name of…of…myself?"

They fell silent, watching Gus pant, wiping at his bloody nose and sniffing, tears cascading wildly down his blood stained cheeks. His face was splotched with red, and his eyes burned intensely. They lowered their eyes, unable to even look at him. TJ set his jaw, and Spinelli cleared her throat.

"You think your father fights all them battles himself?" Spinelli asked quietly, "If this is who you have to be, then don't go into the army, Gus." She turned on her heel, leaving him behind, and reluctantly the others, one-by-one, followed suit, until Gus sat there on the tiled floor with only TJ staring down at him. TJ extended a hand, but Gus shook his head, so he squatted down beside him instead.

"Gus," TJ began silently, "What were you trying to prove today starting a fight with James Adder like that?"

"You ever think about it, Teej? You're the most well-liked kid in school, Mikey's the friendliest, Vince is the coolest, Spinelli's the toughest, and Gretch is the smartest. Nobody ever picks on any of you," Gus sniffed, "But me? What am I? I'm the loser geek, a nobody. I'm a lamb, TJ, that's all I am to anybody."

"Not to me, Gus," TJ lamented, shaking his head and pulling himself up, "And not to the people that call themselves your friends. To be honest, I would have thought those were the only people who would have mattered. The only people you should want to prove yourself to, the only people you don't need to prove yourself to. Maybe you should think about that, Gus." With that said, TJ left as well, leaving Gus alone in the hallway, lost in his thoughts and misery.

-0-0-

TJ frowned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through his carefully brushed hair. He loosened the collar of his button down shirt and scowled at the brown loafers his mother was forcing him to wear to the dance. He moved from the bathroom into his bedroom, and looked grumpily around at the mess. He glanced at the clock. He would have to go in ten minutes.

He stalked over to the window, glancing in the direction of Spinelli's house, wondering if he'd catch a glance of that dick, Gary, walking down the street to pick her up. He wondered what she would wear to the dance. She wasn't a dress or skirt type of person. Would she wear make-up? Not in a million years, he thought with a smirk. And then, he stopped, eyes falling on the lounging form across his front lawn. He narrowed his eyes and stared confusedly out the window for nearly three minutes, before finally turning away and grabbing his sneakers. Slipping them on, he jogged down the stairs, ignoring his mother calling after him about how, "those aren't the shoes I set out for you to wear". He tried not to move so hastily, so eagerly, pacing himself. He tried to act cool, as he sauntered over, her back to him. He paused, midway, trying to think of what to say.

"Hey, Teej," Spinelli spoke up first, and he startled. She didn't even bother looking at him, lowering her eyes to her lap. She was dressed in jeans, worn with holes ripped in the knees from overuse. And a large, red, plaid, button down shirt obviously having once belonged to one of her brothers hung loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing a white ribbed tank underneath, worn as well and her usual black boots. Her hair was tied up in a pony-tail loosely, uncombed. She did not look ready for a dance.

"Shouldn't you be on your…date," TJ asked hesitantly, biting out the last word, and Spinelli winced.

"Yeah…uh…he canceled," Spinelli murmured, straightening slightly, and TJ felt a pang in his heart. What the hell kind of jerk would cancel on his Spinelli? Well…not his Spinelli…but…yeah… "He had to go hang out with his grandmother in the hospital or something like that." She turned, looking up at TJ, and frowning slightly, "You're all dressed up."

"Uh…yeah…" TJ stuttered, running his hand over the back of his neck and ruffling his collar, "Uh…we…uh…just got back from the synagogue and…yeah…uh…"

He frowned. He just lied to Spinelli. Why was he lying to her? Because she looked like she didn't want to be alone. Because she was sitting on his front lawn, and she looked so lonely and distraught. Because that bastard cancelled on her and TJ hadn't done anything about it. Spinelli smiled half-heartedly and TJ fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

"Mind company?" TJ asked.

"Nope," she answered quietly.

"Um…alright…I'll be right back," TJ told her, and she nodded, as he hurried up the steps to his house. He picked up the hallway phone, quickly dialing Heather's phone number, and tapping his foot as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, is Heather there?" TJ questioned.

"This is her. TJ? Is that you? Are you coming?"

"Uh…" TJ frowned, feeling guilt settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. He glanced out the front door at Spinelli, who had pulled her knees up to her chest, "Actually, something's come up. A family emergency, actually. I'm so sorry. You should still go to the dance though, since you're probably ready and everything. I'm real sorry."

"Yeah, sure," Heather muttered, sounding slightly choked, and TJ felt his stomach lurch at the disappointment in her voice. She wasn't going to go to that dance, he knew. And he doubted she had a friend, like Spinelli did, to keep her company, "I'll talk to you later. I hope everything turns out okay."

"Yeah, thanks. Later."

TJ hung the phone up, taking a deep breath, and walking back out the front door to rejoin Spinelli. He fell on the grass beside her, she smiled his direction and heat rushed to his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be? It was a stupid dance, anyways. If he had to hang with his grandma, he had to hang with his grandma," Spinelli shrugged. TJ nodded, but he could tell that she didn't buy Gary's story for a minute, "Uh…Teej…"

"Yeah, Spin?" TJ straightened, feeling his heart beat quicken. He watched her pluck at the grass, flinging severed shoots away. She seemed fascinated by the blades, unable to meet his eyes.

"I think…this morning…Gus…I think that was my fault."

TJ stared at her in stun. He didn't know what to say, so he waited for her to continue.

"Teej, after the first day of school…after that first fight…he kind of came to me," she finally looked up into TJ's face, "He asked me to teach him how to fight. And I sort of…well…I agreed."

"You what?" TJ croaked. And she flickered her eyes away.

"Well…for the past three weeks I…well…I've been teaching him to fight."

"Spinelli," TJ stammered, "You know better than to teach other kids how to fight. After what happened that one time…"

"This was different, Teej!" Spinelli argued, facing him once more, "I wasn't teaching a bunch of kids to beat each other up, I was just teaching him to defend himself!"

"Yeah, well," TJ muttered, shaking his head, "As against you having taught Gus to fight as I am, what happened this morning wasn't your fault. You didn't tell Gus to go up to James and start a fight…" TJ hesitated, looking slightly bewildered at Spinelli momentarily, "Did you?"

"No way!" Spinelli snapped, but then looking back to the lawn meekly, "I may have implied that he wasn't going to be any good at fighting…"

"You what?"

"Well…" Spinelli winced, looking up at him with a grimace, "I didn't mean for him to take it that I was saying he was a wuss. I wasn't! I swear!"

"Well, in any case," TJ sighed, rolling his eyes, "I still say that it wasn't entirely your fault. Though maybe you could take a piece of the blame. Teaching him to fight! Honestly, Spinelli! And you didn't do a very good job of it either…"

"Hey," Spinelli spat, "It had only been three weeks. And he got that one pretty good hit in, need I remind you."

"Yeah, yeah," TJ chuckled, "I don't think any bullies'll be messing with Gus for awhile."

"It's too bad he didn't win," Spinelli muttered, "I imagine if he did, bullies wouldn't be messing with him ever again."

"Yeah, and if he'd won, he wouldn't be pissed at us," TJ added, frowning at the empty street.

"You think what we said'll sink in with him?" Spinelli questioned, glancing TJ's direction.

"Yeah," TJ nodded, "I think it will. He'll be mad at us for a bit, but Gus really isn't the stubborn type. He's reasonable."

"Yeah," Spinelli sighed, wrapping her arms about her knees. They fell into a respectful silence, "So…" Spinelli started slyly, looking at TJ from the corner of her eyes, "What happened to your date with Heather tonight?"

"What?" TJ gaped, "How did you…?"

"Heather's a bigger gossip than the Ashleys," Spinelli pointed out, "It was all over school by lunch time that you were taking her to the Welcome Back Dance." TJ frowned, brushing at his immaculate pressed slacks, his mind quickly spinning for an excuse.

"Well…uh…she made a comment about how lame she thought Señor Fusion was and that pretty much ended things," TJ mumbled.

"Yup," Spinelli replied, "You don't mess with Fusion." TJ nodded, and they chuckled slightly, falling into another silence. He glanced at her, watching as her shoulders rose and fell unsteadily with her breath. She was putting on a good act of indifference, but the dissapointment was obvious. She'd wanted to go to that dance. For whatever reason, she had wanted more than anything to go to that dance. In a spur of the moment idea, TJ pulled himself to his feet, extending a hand towards Spinelli.

"Whelp," he announced, "Let's dance."

"What?" Spinelli choked out, obviously taken aback, "What are you talking about?"

'Let's dance," TJ repeated, then shrugging, "Look, the way I see it, we were both supposed to go to the Welcome Back Dance, and didn't. At least one of us should get a dance tonight, this way, we both do."

"You want to dance now? Right here? Right in your front lawn? There's not even any music!"

"So," TJ retorted, then grinning his disarming grin, and saying cheekily, "Unless you're scared of what everyone will think?"

Spinelli shook her head at him, looking out at the street long and hard, before taking his hand and letting him help her up. He smirked triumphantly. No one knew how to get to her like he did, and from the look she was giving him, she knew that as well as him. For a moment, they awkwardly debated over where to put their hands, until they settled for placing them on one another's shoulders. They moved slowly, uncertainly, standing about a foot and a half apart and watching their feet to make sure they didn't trample all over one another, cheeks flushed.

"I…uh…" TJ started, his voice quavering, "I'm…uh…sorry your date cancelled." He met her eyes and she pressed her lips together, her eyes shining and her cheeks distinctly tinged pink. How come he'd never noticed before how pretty she looked in the moonlight? "Any guy would be crazy to cancel on you," he blurted out, as a soft smile creased her features. He made to smile back, but quickly caught himself, stammering instead, "Uh…strictly speaking as a…um…friend."

"Of course," Spinelli whispered, "As a friend."

TJ's hands slowly slipped to her waist, coming to rest lightly on her hips, and she didn't seem to complain as she stepped slightly closer, her fingers drawing about his neck. They moved slowly back and forth in the dark night, eyes lowered and cheeks bright red in complete silence. Swaying to their heart beats. She lowered her cheek to his shoulder, and he said nothing as a few silent tears seeped through his shirt. He imagined she was feeling the way…well…Heather was probably feeling at that moment. But his heart wasn't aching for Heather, and Heather wasn't the girl he was holding close in his arms. Heather wasn't the girl he wanted to kiss at that moment. Heather wasn't the girl that was making his body flow with warmth, his mind reel, and his heart pound erratically. Heather wasn't the girl he was possibly falling in love with.

TJ frowned, curling his hands into the small of Spinelli's back. Oh, he was in such trouble.

-0-0-----------------------Present Time----------------------0-0-

Gretchen carefully picked up the remote control from where Gus had abandoned it on the sofa arm. TJ stood stoically in the entryway, not having moved a muscle all night, and Vince sat stiffly on the sofa. Gus had retreated to his room, though he'd expressed no interest in the others leaving. So they'd all sat there. In complete silence, watching the time tick away. Now Gretchen turned the television to the news station, as nobody had been watching the corny sitcom that had droned on in the background of their tense quiet. It had just been the channel Gus had left the television on.

"What are you doing?" Vince asked, his voice sounding somewhat groggy from lack of speaking. Gretchen slipped onto the couch next to him, their shoulders flush.

"Mikey's press conference comes on now. He said he wanted us to watch it," she answered, her voice just above a whisper. TJ straightened slightly, moving to see the television, but still managing to appear disinterested.

"Oh…oh yeah," Vince recalled, pulling himself up so that he could clearly see the screen.

Mikey was stationed behind a podium, lights flashed as photographers took their pictures and people, most likely journalists, were buzzing in the background. His agent stood to his left, his father to his right. The word "live" was printed in bright white at the top of the screen, and a rolling blue banner at the bottom streamed an announcement that the alleged convenience store robber that had shot a clerk that morning was now under custody, that protestors had finally made negotiations with the landscaping company, and that Madonna had declared the dates for her next tour. Mikey's name, 'Michael Blumberg' was written in small, neat print bellow him. He cleared his throat.

"I would like to thank everyone for coming," he started, his voice booming and echoing through the room, reverberating back to him and causing uncalled for static as technicians rushed to turn the microphone down, "I would like to announce," he began again, "That as of tomorrow, I, Michael Blumberg, will be entering St. Rosenthal Rehab Clinic." Gretchen's hand came to her mouth, Vince drew in his breath, and TJ narrowed his eyes at the screen. The back door cracked open slightly and glossy eyes peered out. "I have…" Mikey began slowly, taking a moment to compose himself and let the uproarious journalists calm down, as lights flashed like mad. When they finally fell silent, he started up once more, "For years now, I have been fighting with a drug addiction. This decision was not made lightly…and…I would like to take this moment to clear up those rumors surrounding my recent admission into the hospital. I had overdosed on cocaine," he paused again, taking a deep breath, and blinking away some emotional tears, "I can only say that my addiction is something I am ashamed of. I…" he choked slightly, using his thumb and forefinger to swiftly wipe the tears from his eyes, "I'm just…tired…tired of…" he looked up again, directly into the camera and it was as though he weren't talking to the journalists, to the fans, to the billions of people across the nation watching channel 8 at the moment. But as though he were speaking to the four young adults standing in a grimy apartment watching with bated breath and misty eyes, as though the connection between the five friends ascended that of television, or fame and distance, as though they stood in the same room once more in their own little world as they had been so often in their youth growing up together, "I'm tired of using her as an excuse. I can't blame her anymore for my weaknesses, for my failures and faults. I relied on her too long…I was too dependant on her…and…to be honest, we all were.

"I'm sorry…god…I'm so sorry, for all the pain I've caused all of you. For all the things I've done to hurt the gang…because you know, you know that I love all of you. And I know you all love me, you guys, I really do. And I know, that I need help. God, I need help. Because…because I want to be able to think about her…to remember her…without wanting to curl up inside myself and die. Because…because you were right, Teej. Goddamn, you're always right. I don't want her to be ashamed of me…and I don't want to forget her and everything she stood for. You all love each other too…and you're all strong. She knew that…she really did…you just have to remember that we need each other, we're strong together. We were strong because of her…but…but she was strong because of us. I have to get better…we all have to get better…" he lowered his eyes, tears now flowing freely down his face, "There's an angel looking down on us…and…and I don't want her to be disappointed at what she sees, anymore. I'm going into rehab…for her," he looked up, once more, eyes boring through that camera to the four friends silently staring back, "For all of you," he seem to snap back to the press conference then, breaking the connection, and the four young adults blinked their eyes and lowered their faces, "Thank you." He turned, walking beyond the screen, and his agent stepped forward, ready to take questions. With an unsteady hand, Gretchen raised the remote control, turning the television off. She swallowed hard, and could hear the others breath coming in sharply.

They heard Gus's door creak, and his lithe form entered the room slowly, head hanging and shoulders trembling. He looked up at the others with hollow eyes, face drenched with his tears, and the others looked back unsurprised, realizing that their faces were damp as well.

"It's good," Gretchen spoke up, her voice a high-pitched squeak, "That Mikey's going into rehab…" She trailed off and the others mumbled agreement. Gus stepped towards TJ and they held each other's eyes for a long time.

"I loved her," Gus said steadily, "As much as you, not the same way, but just as much. That's my excuse." TJ nodded slowly.

"I know," he croaked, "It just hurts so much…I can't imagine anyone hurting as much as me…but…I know." He moved forward, embracing Gus like a brother, and reverently Gretchen and Vince moved forward as well to embrace the two young men as well. They stood in a small circle, looking at one another and Gretchen chuckled slightly, running her index finger under her eyes.

"Look at us," she said, "One would doubt we were adults, the way we're acting." The others chuckled slightly as well, until it trailed off into silence.

"I can't believe Mikey's going into rehab," Vince sighed, slumping next to TJ against the door, "What'll we do without him?"

"It won't be for long," Gretchen told them, "He'll have an isolation period, where he won't be allowed visitors, and then we'll be able to come see him. It won't be like…he'll still be there."

"We're all still here," Gus found himself saying, "Thanks for coming over, you guys. I know…I know that no matter what happens, I can always count on all of you. Uh…I don't have much…but are you guys hungry? I'll throw something together, I haven't eaten since I got the…uh…the letter."

The others mumbled, "sure's" and they followed Gus into the kitchen, as he made his way to the refrigerator, but TJ held back by the door. He felt a darkness consume his heart once more, as he watched his friends prepare a quick snack. It was as though he were watching through a window, as though he weren't part of the scene at all. He couldn't help but remind himself, they weren't all still there.

END A/N: I sincerely hope that this super long chapter (because it is super long...like 10000+ words long...) helps make up for my long absence. This is by far one of my least favorite chapter in this story. I still maintain, though, that this is my favorite of all my fanfictions. I'm just not satisfied with Mikey's speech at the end. What did everybody else think? HuH? huh? Inquiring minds wish to know.

I'm so very bummed out. I lost the sheet of paper I had, that I had outlined this entire story out on. I was going to change the ending anyways, but I wasn't going to change it so much from my original ending...so I needed that damn outline...now I got to tear my room apart for it...oi...

Once more, I'M SOOOOOOOOOOO SOOOOORRRRRYYYY! Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and please REVIEW! I lay myself prostrate before you, my cherished and beloved readers/reviewers. Please accept my humblest apologies and leave me a nice REVIEW that I love oh so much!

Thanks for Reading.