A/N: After all that waiting, the sequel to One Night Stand is up. Okay, so you didn't have to wait so long...but hey, it's here. Didn't have time to proofread, so there may be a buttload of errors and mistakes and crappy sentence structure, so please beware. This one is rated "PG-13", nothing bad...maybe a few words, nothing you wouldn't hear on cable tv (that's not saying much...)

Thanks for reviewing.

TNPD: Glad you approved of Spinelli's decision. This one's for you.

RavenForever: You gotta get something right once in your life.

xXxSarahxXx: hehe...that's all I have to say.

Summary: While Spinelli tries not to regret the decisions she's made un unexpected visitor shows up on her doorstep one rainy night. Partial credit to TNPD, I didn't take your whole idea about the child, but I don't think I was going to have a child in the story originally.

Now that the calm before the storm has passed...ENJOY!

One Rainy Night

Spinelli lay down in the darkness of her room. For a short time it would be her sanctuary while her husband, Jack, watched over their son. She closed her eyes, pressing the ice pack to her bruised cheek. A punishment from her loving husband for her failures as a wife. She didn't cry. She never cried. She was stronger than she let him believe. She would never cry. She would just try harder to be perfect for him. He was, after all, the perfect husband. Wasn't he?

Jack spent long hours at work. He was a businessman, a corporate CEO. He made more than enough money to care for his family, way beyond the means Spinelli had been raised in. Sometimes he would whisk his wife away to some romantic dinner, or her and their son on a family vacation. They'd always have fun, laugh and smile, and everything would be fine. And, of course, he had the decency to tell her when she was doing something wrong, and to punish her if she got out of hand. That's why he'd hit her. Because she'd done something wrong, disappointed him once again.

Spinelli closed her eyes. It was her fault. Jack was right. He was always right. It wasn't that he didn't apologize afterwards. He always apologized, telling her maybe if she tried harder then he wouldn't get so mad at her and hurt her; that he would lose control. She looked across the room into the vanity mirror pushed to the far wall. Her reflection frowned back at her. She had bags beneath her eyes, mascara and eye shadow carefully applied now smeared and faded. Her hair, once set in careful curls that had taken her hours that morning to do was now nothing more than a knotted mess. The bruise forming on her perfectly powdered cheek reminded her of a childhood spent roughhousing that she'd forced from her mind long ago. She smiled slightly at the thought.

Ashley Spinelli, the toughest kid at Third Street Elementary. No one messed with her and her Madame Fist. She was the muscle behind her friends, the enforcer. The protector. When she walked the playground, the smaller kids knew they were safe from the larger bullies. When she had raised her fists others would cower in fear, apologize for any grievances they may have caused, and scamper off with their tails between their legs. She had been looked up to, admired. Almost a hero, along with her friends, protecting recess for everyone. She frowned. But who protected her now? She looked away, eyes downcast. She didn't protecting, she reminded herself quickly. Her husband protected her. He loved her, and she loved him. I know that I love you, Spinelli. I always have.

No. Spinelli squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she always think of him during these brief and troubled moments? Why did he always come to her when she had these bouts of doubt? She was married to the man of her dreams. She was happy with the life she'd chosen. Her husband worked hard to make her life easy. They lived together in a beautiful mansion in Beverly Hills. They had the opportunity to offer the best education to their son. They lived in a great neighborhood, with friendly neighbors and plenty of children around for their son to play with. She was happy. She had to be happy there. If she wasn't happy there, then where would she be happy? Nowhere, because nowhere was as perfect as the home and city she lived in. You can never go home again. So she had to try harder. She had to be the perfect wife.

Spinelli glanced up as her door slowly opened. She clutched tighter to the ice pack, grimacing. She didn't want to face Jack, not at that moment. She wasn't ready, she hadn't composed herself, gathered her emotions. Every time he did this to her it got harder to control her instincts, to hold back, to keep that little girl inside at bay; the little girl that told her to fight back, to defend herself. She couldn't swing her furious fists at Jack. She loved him and she knew that she deserved the beatings, because she'd failed again.

"Mummy..." a little voice whispered in the dark as a small figure stepped into the room. She smiled slightly. It was only her son. She could see him in the light from the hallway. He was only three years old, but he was a fast learner, so intelligent. He was beautiful, with fine black curls and those large blue eyes staring curiously and adventurously at the world. And light freckles dabbled across his cheeks. His hair was, of course, from her, his mother; but the face was undoubtedly the father's. No, not Jack. Because she could look at that small child and know the truth, that Jack wasn't the father. No, the father was another man that Spinelli had loved, her first love. Jack didn't know. She couldn't tell him, not of that night that she'd spent with another man. Not of the boy she had loved that came to her again and took her virginity that she willingly gave to him. It was his to take.

"Teddy, mommy wants to be alone right now," Spinelli whispered to the little boy standing in the doorway. He looked to her, confused, his lip in a pout that reminded her so painfully of his father. What should we name him, we haven't really thought about it? I have. I want to name him Theodore. Theodore Jerome.

"Sweetheart?" Jack's voice floated into the room, he stepped into the doorway, peeking in on her, "Um...are we going to have dinner?" Spinelli turned away from him. How could he think of his stomach at that moment? She felt a soft form climb on her, trying to work his way into her lap. She smiled, brushed the hair from her son's forehead.

"Will you go pick something up?" she dared to ask, glancing up at him slightly.

"Pizza!" Teddy cried from her lap.

"No, baby, your father doesn't like pizza," she whispered to him, "Maybe some other time."

"It's not that I don't like pizza," Jack scowled from the doorway, "You know that it gives me heartburn. It's not that late, you can still make something. Besides, it's raining outside."

"I'm tired..." Spinelli started to protest, wrapping her arms about her son, resting her chin atop his head.

"Well so am I. I worked all day, what have you done? The one thing I ask for, to come home to some dinner, I can't have," Jack roared, "Can you please, make something?" The small boy in Spinelli's lap squirmed slightly, breaking into tears.

"Will you not yell in front of Teddy," Spinelli spat at him, trying to calm her son, "It's alright, baby, daddy's just grumpy." But it was no use. Jack crossed the room, attempting to tear the boy from Spinelli's arms.

"Hand him over, you're just making it worse," he snarled.

"You're making it worse!" Spinelli snapped, "He's my son!" She didn't react when the hand swept across her cheek, or cry out from the sting. They sat in silence, Jack's hand still poised from the motion, Teddy crying, and Spinelli unmoving, staring out the window at the raindrops trailing down the glass pane, leaving wet tracks behind.

"I'm sorry," Jack said immediately. Spinelli didn't answer, her breathing soft. She felt him bend down before her, brush her hair from her face, "I'm really sorry. I don't mean to. You just...and Teddy...I'm angry is all. He's my son, too, Ashley."

"If I tried harder..." Spinelli mumbled, her brow furrowing as she stared out the window, trying to search for some answer, some unseen knowledge or wisdom written on the windowpane, "Would you stop?"

"Yes," he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you. You know that. I love you." He kissed her forehead and she grimaced at the intimate touch. He was her husband. She had made the right choice; she had to believe that. There was no going back.

"I'll make dinner," she told him, setting her son, who'd stopped crying, down on the bed and leaving the room. She tried to remain calm, unclench her jaw, and loosen the tension in her arms and back. Cooking would keep her sedate, it would make everything better. She'd make a good dinner, something simple and delicious. One of the meals her mother had taught her to cook perhaps. Her mother. Spinelli smiled. She hadn't spoken to her mother in awhile, or any of her family for that matter. Ever since they'd moved out of California. Jack didn't like her to make too many calls. He accused her family of not liking him, of being prejudiced to him because he wasn't Italian and he wasn't or their faith. Spinelli knew it wasn't true, that her mother had liked Jack in the beginning, but wasn't happy with the way he seemed to control Spinelli's life; despite how Spinelli has attempted to persuade her to think otherwise. I'm happy with Jack. He wants what's best for me. He takes care of me. He loves me. You don't understand. He works hard.

I love you, Spinelli. I always have. Don't think of him now, she begged herself. Don't think of him now. Think of anything, anyone, just not him. Jack. Think of Jack. She tried to remember their honeymoon; it had been their first time together. He'd thought she was a virgin, but she wasn't anymore. She'd been with someone the night before they wed. Spinelli bit her lower lip, chewing it gently as she shuffled through the cupboards looking for something to cook. Jack hadn't been the same. He had been rough, passionate, like an animal, knowing what he wanted and taking it as such. He hadn't known where to touch her, where to be gentle and where to be strong. He hadn't known where she was ticklish, and where she was most delicate. He had wanted to take her body, not to explore. Not like...no. She wouldn't think of him.

Spinelli threw a bag of frozen carrots on the counter and watched as Teddy ran into the living room. Jack was probably still in their room. She touched her cheek tenderly, the bruise already formed, tried to remember what had caused him to explode earlier that day when he first arrived home. Humming. She'd been humming, doing yard work. There was no one else to do it. Slut. The word still stung, more so than the discolored mark on her face. Are you showing off for every guy in the neighborhood? She'd been wearing shorts, a tank top; it had been hot that day. Julie had been inside with Teddy, watching him and her own children. Spinelli had seized the rare opportunity to get some work done around the house. Jack had come home early, another rare event. She'd been covered in sweat, dirty, her skin slightly colored from working in the sun. She was trying to start the lawnmower, to cut the grass. It was long overdue. Who said you could touch my tools? Why did you go in my garage and touch my things? She hadn't thought that there would be a problem.

It made sense now to Spinelli, why he'd been so mad. If Jack had touched her clean clothes that she still needed to fold, or messed with Teddy's diaper bag, she'd have been mad. She'd wanted to make the house look appropriate when he came home, always having been independent before, but she hadn't thought things through, hadn't anticipated that those were his things and the garage was his domain. It was his own private place where he could work on odd projects, work with his hands. It was where he could feel like a man. And her clothes, she hadn't realized the way it might have appeared to the other men living on their street. Jack was only looking out for her. That was it. Though, It wasn't as though she owned a lot of clothes to do yard work in. Jack liked her to clothe herself in fancy skirts and slinky black dresses. He was usually the deciding factor on what she bought to wear. And he didn't want her to have to do hard labor, just the housework and taking care of Teddy. The clothes she had for work were for house wear, not to go outside in. At least, that was what Jack had to clarify for her when he came home. It was lucky that Julie was there though; able to take Teddy out with her own children while Jack "dealt" with Spinelli.

Spinelli sorted through the items she'd laid out on the counter. She had never been much of a cook before. She enjoyed cooking, but it wasn't something she had seen herself doing every night for the rest of her life. She shuddered watching her husband enter the room again. He had changed from his work clothes into something simple, a t-shirt and jeans. She smiled. She had known someone who lived in a white t-shirt, jeans, and a red baseball cap.

"Mummy," Teddy called from the living room, "Señor Fusion is on!" Spinelli frowned slightly at the counter. She always watched that particular cartoon with her son, it was tradition, but tonight was going to be different. Her little mistake had thrown things off.

"I know, baby, but I have to cook dinner," she replied, trying to sound cheerful. She didn't want to miss the show. Somehow, it reminded her of better times. Spinelli shook her head. What was she thinking? Her life was perfect. These were the better times. Weren't they? Yes, they were. They had to be.

"I don't want him watching that cartoon anyways," Jack spoke up from beside her, leaning on the counter. How had he snuck up beside her like that?

"It's his favorite," Spinelli argued gently, not wanting to arouse her husband's anger yet again.

"I don't like it. A boy should have real heroes, like sports stars or firefighters, not fictional cartoon characters. I don't want him to be some comic book junkie when he's thirty years old, still living in the basement."

"And somehow you think that at three years old, watching a little cartoon show will have that affect on him?" Spinelli demanded haughtily. How could Jack insult Fusion like that? She flinched slightly as Jack's fist slammed on the counter.

"I don't want him watching that show, and that's the end of it," Jack snapped, then turning from her and heading to the living room he called over his shoulder, "Besides, there's a game on."

Spinelli shook her head, trying to control the overcoming rage as she sliced up some tomatoes to cook up. All she really knew how to cook was Italian food and it gave Jack heartburn. She was trying to branch out into different genres, but she couldn't help dribbling a little olive oil over the potatoes to make them a little more flavorful and golden brown, or crushing a bit of oregano into a pot of soup. It was habit. And it was what she liked. She heard Teddy break into cries of turmoil and surmised that "daddy" must have changed the channel. Shaking her head again, Spinelli concentrated on the food she was preparing. She would cook up some potatoes, carrots, and a bit of chicken. She closed her eyes, reminiscently.

"There ain't no chimp like Beanie McChimp..." she chuckled to herself. Mr. Monk Monk, Kelso's, Old Rusty, and yes, Senor Fusion; those were the pieces that made up her childhood. She glanced her son making his way into the kitchen from the corner of her eye and smiled slightly. Teddy came up to her knees, hugging them.

"Mummy, daddy changed the channel," he whispered up to her as though it were a secret.

"I know sweetie," she told him, "Do you want to watch mommy?" He nodded, running off to take a seat at the table. Spinelli sighed, beginning to hum, glancing up to Teddy every now and then, smiling as he watched her eagerly. She stopped when she heard Jack in the other room turn up the television and give a shout of anger.

"That was a bad call!" he screamed at the television. Spinelli sighed, dumping the carrots into a bowl and sticking them in the microwave.

"I wish Senor Fusion would come and rescue you mummy," Teddy said from the table. She glanced at him.

"Rescue me from what, baby?" He shrugged, his eyes trailing towards the living room. Spinelli looked to the counter, rearranging the chicken on a baking sheet. "Daddy just works really hard, baby, and he needs things quiet and the way he likes them so that he can relax." Teddy didn't look too sure about that. He jumped slightly when thunder crashed outside, his eyes wide, looking around.

"He's not my daddy," Teddy said simply. Spinelli stopped, looking up at the small boy.

"Who told you that?" she demanded.

"Deanne," he answered. Deanne was Julie's four-year-old daughter. She repeated everything her mother said.

"Teddy..."

"Sweetheart?" Spinelli looked to the entryway where Jack stood, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her with a deep intensity.

"I..." she started, looking between the two.

"Deanne is Julie's little girl, isn't she?" Jack went on, crossing into the kitchen to the refrigerator.

"Yes...she...talks a lot," Spinelli mumbled, fumbling with the pan in front of her, "And Teddy," she looked meaningfully at her son, "Shouldn't listen to the things she says." Teddy shrugged, looking to the table.

"You know, it's funny. Julie and I were talking about the past, and I mentioned that you never seem to have any old friends come around. I have a lot of childhood friends, and you never seem to even mention anyone from your childhood. But then, she started talking about a young man you bumped into the day before our wedding, someone from when you were a child. How come you've never mentioned him to me before?" Jack pressed, leaning against the counter, so close to Spinelli that she could feel his warm breath against her ear.

"I...um..." Spinelli stumbled for something to say when the doorbell rang. She held in the sigh of relief, slipping away from her husband's inquiring stare, "I'll get that."

Spinelli made her way to the front door, calmed her breathing, and slowly opened it. And there, standing in the rain was the last person she'd ever expected to see, staring up at her, drenched from head to toe. Her mouth parted slightly, her eyes wide. For a long time they stood staring at one another in silence. She couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to express the emotions churning in her stomach. She had sworn she never wanted to see him again, that she never would, and yet...there he stood, before her, and something inside her broke. It felt as though something blocked her throat, a great lump, and she wished that she too were standing in the rain so that this soaked man couldn't see the tears welling in her eyes.

"Who's at the door?" Jack called. She could sense him walking towards her. But that man on the doorstep refused to move, refused to speak, refused to disappear no matter how many times she squeezed her eyes shut and willed him away. Perhaps her heart just wasn't in it. She felt guilty beneath that intense gaze, naked and standing with all her lies laid bare. She felt as though, if this man asked her to do anything, if he asked her to fly, she would do it, she would sprout wings and leave the ground. Simply because he asked her to.

Jack took the door, opening it wider so that he could step in and see to the outside. He looked at the man standing on their porch, then to his wife, tears trailing down her cheeks, both people standing, staring, utterly speechless. Jack felt like an impartial bystander, unable to effect what transpired before him. And he felt as though there was something deep between the two in front of him, a strong connection that he couldn't touch. Needless to say, Jack did not like feeling that way.

"Who the hell are you?" Jack demanded of the young man. But he failed in gaining that man's attention that seemed focused on Jack's wife, "Hey, I'm talking to you. Get off my front yard or I'm calling the police," Jack turned to make his way to the phone.

"Say something..." the young man finally spoke up, his voice just above a whisper, sounding almost as though he were pleading with the young woman that stood before him. Jack paused, turning back, "Say anything...say something to me, Spinelli." It was as though he touched upon a magic word, speaking her name, Spinelli broke, her face contorting with years of sadness and misery, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now.

"What are you doing here, Teej?" she demanded, her voice choked with a sob.

"I came for you," he stated unhesitatingly with unwavering confidence. That bothered Jack, who stared down with boiling rage at the young man, who was, of course, none other than TJ Dettwieler.

"I'm married, Teej," Spinelli told him, her already bothered make-up trailing down her cheeks.

"I know. Great deal of decency you had telling me you were engaged and getting married that following morning," TJ scoffed. Spinelli looked away, she knew what morning he was talking about.

"I didn't want it to end," she explained, struggling with her words, "I wanted it to be like old times. But it's over TJ. I'm married."

"Not to me, I noticed," he put in. Spinelli bit her lower lip, chewing on it. She could see his eyes studying her, trailing to her cheek where the fresh bruise was, displayed for all to see. She raised her hand to cover it, ashamed.

"I have obligations, TJ," she whispered, unable to meet those eyes, "I have a family to take care of. It doesn't work that way. You know that. It wasn't some fairytale, it was a...it was all I wanted, and that was it."

"I don't believe you," TJ told her, stepping up towards the door, "Did he do this to you?" TJ glanced a glowering eye at Jack, his hand brushing against her cheek. She shied away. TJ shook his head, frowning, "The Spinelli I knew..."

"I'm not the Spinelli you knew," she cried, "You're looking for someone who isn't here, Teej, go look somewhere else."

"I don't believe that, either," TJ pressed on, "She's in there. I can see her. She knows what she wants and this isn't it," TJ motioned to the house.

"You're wrong, Teej," Spinelli said, trying to regain composure, "You can't be here."

"Why? Because you know that I love you?" he demanded, coming close to her, his face inches away from her own, his breath caressing her neck, "Because you know that you love me?" Jack's arm shot out, pushing TJ away. The taller man shoved his way past Spinelli, out into the rain. He'd had enough.

"I don't know who you are, but I want you to leave," Jack snarled.

"Jack, don't..." Spinelli begged. He fixed a glare on her, jabbing a finger through the empty air.

"Get back in the damn house," he shouted, and then turned back to TJ, "I want you off my property." But TJ's eyes were locked with Spinelli's.

"I spent three years looking for you Spinelli, and trying to get the courage to come here and find you," he told her, ignoring Jack who grabbed onto his collar, dragging him down from the porch to the sidewalk, "I came here to take you back, back where you belong. Back home. Back with the gang. Back...with me."

"Teej..."

"The Spinelli I knew would never let a jerk like this lay a hand on her," TJ called up to her, "And the Spinelli I knew always knew that I was by her side, and that I'd back her up no matter what. I'm not accepting an apology unless you come with it. She's in there, the old Spinelli; you just have to let her out. It doesn't matter if this jerk doesn't like who she is and how she acts..." TJ grinned slightly at the woman standing by the door staring down at him bewildered and heartbroken. That grin, that boyish grin that deceived his mischievous ways, "Because I love her." Spinelli ducked back in the house, seeing her husband's fist sinking into TJ's stomach as he doubled over in pain, her hand covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

How could he do this to her? How could TJ just show up on her doorstep like this and ruin her already fragile homestead? How could he say those things and seem so perfect? How could he smile at her like that? How could he? She had to force him from her mind. She didn't belong back there, she didn't belong with him; she had decided that those few years ago. She'd decided that one night that she was supposed to be with Jack, no matter what it took, no matter how she had to change to please him.

"Mummy...?" Teddy whispered from down the hall, staring at her with those same intense eyes that TJ had. But then, Jack didn't love her. Jack loved who he could make her into.

Spinelli felt that familiar violent form slink into the house, slamming the door shut, felt his hand tighten around her wrist, bruising her already battered skin, twisting her violently to face him. Forcing her to face his frowning, disapproving face.

"That him?" he demanded.

"Who?" she retorted.

"I wasn't aware I married such a whore," Jack roared. Spinelli saw from the corner of her eye Teddy sink into a corner, watching with wide eyes the scene before him. She trained her eyes on her husband, staring him down, unshaken. I'm tired. Spinelli smirked at him. I'm tired of waiting. Her hand by her side clenched into a fist. It had been so long since she'd held her hand that way. It felt good.

"Is that so, Jack?" Spinelli questioned rhetorically, her eyes rolling up to meet his, "Maybe I'm not the woman you thought you married at all."

"You stupid bitch," he hissed, raising his hand to strike her. But she was faster, her fist connecting with ease across his face, knocking him back. She felt the bruises forming on her knuckles, such gratifying pain. He looked at her, confusion evident on his face, as well as balled up rage. "Ashley?"

"It's Spinelli," she hissed, "And you won't ever touch me again."

"Mummy..." Teddy ran to her, wrapping his arms about her legs. Jack narrowed his eyes at the little boy, realization crossing his face as Spinelli bent to pick up her son. It had once occurred to him how little Teddy looked like his side of the family, though there were traits that were most obviously not from Spinelli. Spinelli smiled. So he knows now, the truth.

"Mommy doesn't need Senor Fusion to rescue her," Spinelli whispered to Teddy, kissing him gently, "She could have rescued herself all along, she just didn't know it. Let's go." She grabbed a coat hanging by the door, flinging her yellow slicker over her son and opening the front door, slipping her shoes on and running out across the wet grass through the sprinkling rain.

"Get back her," Jack called from the door, screaming after her, "You're my wife. Even if the little brat isn't my son, that doesn't change that you're my wife!"

"You're wrong Jack," Spinelli shouted back at him, "You didn't marry me, you married who you wanted me to be. And I've come to a conclusion, I can't be her!" She raced down the path, looking down the street both ways and seeing the dark figure. She looked to her son, clutching tightly to her chest. "I'm sorry, Teddy," she whispered to him, "If only for you, I should have left that man long ago. I made a mistake."

"You did?" he asked so innocently.

"Yes, but I'm going to try and fix it now," Spinelli told him, "Do you forgive me?"

The little boy looked thoughtful a moment, then nodded. She smiled, kissing his forehead, turning on her heel and running down the street, holding tightly to her son. "Teej..." she called, "TJ! TJ Dettwieler!" She saw the figure stop, turning slowly. Spinelli broke into a full jog, the water beneath her feet splashing up on her bare legs, the rain impairing her vision. She could see him clearly now, standing, staring at her, frowning slightly, clutching his stomach. She slowed down, stopping just in front of him, panting.

"Forget to tell me something?" he asked sarcastically, "I got the part where you were married...I think I got the part where you had obligations...and then the whole thing where..."

"Shut up, Teej," Spinelli told him, trying to catch her breath, "I'm sorry." TJ raised an eyebrow at that. "I was...I was...afraid. I'm so sorry."

"You know that's not what I want to hear," TJ said, a trace of a smile slipping across his face.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, "If I'm sorry isn't enough then what is? I mean, what do you want me to do? Scream it? Declare that I made the hugest mistake ever, tell everyone that I love you?" A grin spread across his face. She eyed him, a smile making its way onto her lips, "I love you," she whispered.

"Getting there," he prodded.

"I LOVE TJ DETTWIELER!" she cried, grinning broadly, "That good enough for you?"

"I don't know..." TJ shrugged, jokingly, "I don't think they heard you over there in China clearly enough, maybe you should try again."

"Now you're pushing it," Spinelli laughed. Teddy chose that moment to pull back the yellow slicker and TJ looked the small child over, the smile giving way to twisted confusion. He held eyes with the small young boy who shared such similar features with him.

"Who's this?" TJ asked, glancing up at Spinelli with the hint that he already somewhat knew. She smiled, sheepishly.

"This would be...um...TJ jr.," Spinelli explained, tightening her clutch on the small boy, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." TJ nodded.

"Tell me now."

"This is our son, Teej," she whispered, she brushed the hair from her son's forehead, turning her attention to him, "Teddy, this is your father."

"Teddy?" TJ questioned.

"Theodore...his name is Theodore...Theodore Jerome, after you," she explained. She wasn't certain how TJ would handle it. For three years she'd hid the fact he'd had a son from him.

"Do you like Senor Fusion?" Teddy demanded. TJ could hardly hold in the laughter, a smile returning to his face. "'Cause that's what we're watching every night at five."

"Regular chip off the ol' block, eh, Teej?" Spinelli chuckled nervously. She saw TJ pull something from his back pocket, a suspicious folded red cloth.

"Truth is, Teddy," he said with a grin, straightening out his faithful old baseball cap and slipping it on Teddy's head, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Teej..." Spinelli started, but he looked up at her, that same devilish grin slipping into place. He touched Spinelli's cheek and pulled her into a gentle kiss, one she had yearned for, for nearly three years.

"I love you too, Spinelli," he breathed against her lips, "Let's go home."

END A/N: So what'd you think? Good enough to REVIEW? Did it give you all some much needed closure to One Night Stand?

PLEASE review.

Thanks for reading, and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Next time: A one-shot that's...not about TJ and Spinelli? What? What the hell is that crap? It's not crap? Oh, you don't know if it is yet. Okay. Whatever.