This is just a random drabble I thought up while reading something that escapes my mind. It's a Bridget story, well actually her daughter, but you get the point. Hope you enjoy.

I don't own anything but my mind. Lucky me.

Spencer was frantic. It had to be down in the basement, that was the only answer. So, she stood from her spot in front of the closet and ran down the hallway, nearly plowing into her dad. "Sorry!" she said over her shoulder, continuing her panicked run through the house. In her hurry, she skidded to a halt in front of the basement door. The family dog Bruiser barked at her once, then followed as she charged down the stairs.

Past the soundproof room containing her drum set, and past the small fridge holding mostly her father's small packs of Corona's and bottles of water for parties she ran, not stopping until she reached the back wall with all the shelves. "Boxes... Boxes," she muttered under her breath, shuffling through the many of them. Randomly, she pulled out one made of cardboard that was literally half her size. After placing it on the concrete below her feet, she plopped down Indian-style and began to dig through the contents.

On top was a layer of her mother's old report cards from high school – all being A's and B's. Underneath that was a layer of letters from her friends, also from high school. It seemed as though everything before high school had been lost. Whatever, Spencer thought, continuing her frantic search. After the letters were pictures ranging from Greece, to her mom kissing an old skull in... Turkey, it said on the back. The young blonde chuckled quietly, for nothing much had changed. Tucking back a few stray hairs behind her ears, she peeled away the photos to the very last pile of papers.

"What the..." she muttered. It was handwritten in blue ink, pretty boldly, might I add. Her eyes flashed over the first page before lifting the stack out of the box, sitting back with her feet out, and pushing it away from her. Bruiser laid down next to her, his head on her foot.

'Dear Eric,

I know what we did was wrong, and I sometimes wish I could take it back... But we can't. What we did on that beach last summer was stupid, and impulsive, and everything you say it was. My friends don't know the whole story, so that makes you the only one I can talk to about it. I really, really, REALLY hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I know for a fact that it was entirely my fault. I pushed when I shouldn't have. One day, I hope I can face you without all the awkwardness that's gonna follow last summer. My feelings for you are 100% true, though. I wasn't faking that. I just... Moved too fast, I guess. Like I've said before "Single-minded to the point of recklessness."

Well, I hope this makes up for what I did. I just want you to know that I'm totally sorry for everything. I hurt so bad, although I'm not sure if it's from guilt, or loneliness. I miss you and I'm soooo sorry.

-Bee'

"What?" Spencer breathed as she read it for the fourth time. After that, she flipped though to the next letter.

'Eric,

I don't blame you if you hate me. Why should I? You have your reputation and your integrity and your dignity... And you must think that I have none of the above. I wish I could prove to you that I do, but I'm not even sure I can look at you without feeling guilty or sad. You can hate my guts, because I'll totally understand. Having your forgiveness would mean the world to me. Please don't read too much into this, but my feelings are real, okay? None of that was a lie. Just impulsive, and stupid, and... You pretty much know the rest, right?

Hope I didn't ruin anything for you. I know I screwed up a whole mess of things for myself. Please, please forgive me for my stupidity. I'm very sorry.

-Bee'

'Dear Eric,

There are at least a thousand ways to say that I'm sorry. I'm just going to say it once, now. I'm REALLY sorry. I hurt you, and I hurt myself. I've definitely learned my lesson for life. I'm embarrassed beyond what you can possibly imagine.

Let me just tell you this: I'm hurting, Eric. It takes a lot for me to say that. I haven't hurt this bad since my mom died. I thought it was my fault, and I still do. Did I tell you about her? Probably, but I'll just repeat myself. I found her laying on the floor of the bathroom, a needle sticking out of her arm. I was the only one home, therefore she was my responsibility to look after. Don't give me the bull that it wasn't. We had the unspoken rule that whoever is home has to watch Mom.

So, now you know. I hope that that might sway you even just a tiny bit to forgive me? I'm so sorry.

-Bee.'

By the time she read the last one, number nine she counted, tears were building in her eyes. With a sniffle and the papers still clutched in her grip, Spencer stood and walked quickly to the stairs, where she charged up them with determination. Once out of the cool confines of the cellar, she began her new search for her mother. Her father had seemed to disappear, as did her mother. Their mutt followed eagerly.

After looking in the den, the living room, and the dining room, Spence ended up in the kitchen to see a note on the white refrigerator. 'Spencer, went to work until ten. Food's on the stove. Mom's asleep upstairs. Love you. - Dad.' Aha! she silently cheered, running out of the room. Like lightning she flew up the stairs to the top floor. On her way down the hard-wood floored hallway, she passed the first three doors, then the fourth, and finally entered the final door at the very far end.

Inside, she found her brilliantly blonde mother reading a book as she leaned against the headboard. She looked concentrated, and Spencer almost thought twice about her confrontation. Almost.

Stopping in the doorway, she held up the pile of letters. "Is it true?" she choked.

Bridget looked up from her reading, starring blankly at her daughter. "So you found out..." she mumbled.

"Damn straight I found out! Is it true, Mom?"

"Which part?"

"All of it!" she exclaimed, exasperatedly.

With a sigh, the elder of the two shut the book with a dull snap! and sat up a little straighter. "Yes, Spence, all of it is completely true."

"Why didn't you tell me? Does Trent know? Does Aunt Carmen? Aunt Lena? Aunt Tibby? Any of them?" She let the first few tears fall, but that only turned out to bring a waterfall.

"Honey, why don't you come sit. Let me give you the whole story," Bee instructed, patting the bed beside her.

She hesitated but took the necessary steps forward to the bed, and sat tentatively on the edge. She shifted a little to be more comfortable, then looked to her mother questioningly.

Another sigh came from the other side. "Carmen, Tibby, and Lena know, and I'm pretty sure Trent knows. That is, which part are we talking about here? Me or your grandma?"

Her daughter shrugged and shook her head.

"Okay, then let's start with your grandma. First thing you've gotta know is that she was sick. Not physically, but, you know, psychologically. She was depressed. Postpartum depression or manic depression, something like that. She would get into these... Episodes where she would just curl up in her bed and cry or sleep or whatever. She wouldn't come out for hours, sometimes days. Perry and I never really understood it, not like Grandma Greta did. She would only let people be around her if they pretended there was nothing wrong, which was why I barely ever saw my grandma. Another thing you've gotta know is that she had Diabetes, hence the needle. She died when I was the only one home, committed suicide, actually," she corrected herself. Spencer nodded, numbly. "I blamed myself for so long, Spencer, you don't even know. It took me years to finally realize that there was nothing I could have done. You don't need to worry about that. Marley loved me and Perry, and I'm sure she would have adored you. Understand?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Now, about me. Let me start with the fact that I loved your dad back then, and nothing's changed since, and that I never sent those letters to him. I was scared and hurting, and that was the only way I could think to vent. Trent knows the jest of the story, but not the full extent of it. Tibby, Lena, and Carmen know now, too. It was, first of all, completely wrong of me to act on such impulses. Second of all, I never want to hear about you doing what I did. I was screwed up..."

From there, Bridget pour her heart out to her only daughter. It was a tough thing to digest for a fourteen year old, but she did surprisingly well, only interrupting once to clarify something. It was a little hard at first for the mother to tell, but after a couple minutes, she got over her past feelings and started to really reflect.

"You and your brother and your dad mean the world to me, Spencer. I love them, and I wouldn't want either of you kids to do the same. What we did was wrong, but we can't change it. We learned our lesson, and hopefully you'll learn from it, too."

"So... Your first time was when you were fifteen?"

"I just gave you about and hour on one single event in my life, and that's all you get from it?" Bee laughed.

"No... I just... Wow, Mom. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, now you do. Don't think too much about it. It happened, and now it's over."

"Can I... Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Her mom smiled. "Sure."