A/N: Okay, I just noticed something I didn't like about chapter 1, damn. Too late now...oh yeah, this is chapter 2. Um...this is also just foundation for the story, it does get the plot rolling though.

Chapter 2: The Unassuming Letter

TJ had started writing in the 8th grade, discovering he actually enjoyed creating stories, but he was far too self-conscious about his skill to share with anyone, including Spinelli. It wasn't until his Junior year in high school, when a teacher told him how fantastic a piece he turned in for an assignment was that he embraced his skill. The teacher got him involved in creative writing clubs and journalism, though a bit late in his academic career. He found he really enjoyed it. He got involved with a literature magazine, High Society, partway through his college years, submitting stories for publication freelance. After he graduated, High Society offered him a permanent job writing articles for them. The work was difficult, the deadlines ridiculous, and he wasn't always guaranteed a published piece in the magazine. Not to mention, he wasn't writing freelance anymore, which meant they gave him his prompt and he had to write from it. He decided personally that he wasn't going to be writing for the magazine long. Once he figured out what he really wanted to do with himself, or got a book published, he would leave High Society magazine behind. However, that didn't look like it would be soon.

Spinelli had actually accomplished more than TJ, being successful in everything she'd chosen to do in life. Which was a lot. Kickboxing wasn't even the half of it. She'd discovered a passion for art, especially painting, in the 7th grade and was now attending a prominent Art Institute there in New York on a full scholarship. She had, of course, taken up kickboxing at twelve, as well as continued her dance lessons throughout high school, which helped her at all the sports she drove to excel at; track, volleyball (she was pretty good for her height), gymnastics, softball, basketball, even fighting for a position on the previously all boys' football and wrestling teams in high school. Though, for being a jock, she wasn't very popular in high school, what with being something of a bully and tomboy. However, even though several girls had confessed crushes to the ever-loved class clown TJ, and he'd endured mocking from most of the boys, he only ever wanted to date Spinelli, and besides, she didn't want to be popular, so she succeeded at that as well. She'd participated in illegal boxing matches, which she fessed up to TJ when he finally confronted her about the bruises and injuries that were mysteriously appearing all over her body. At seventeen she raced motorcycles underground. She'd taken up the drums that same year, picking up on it quickly (an instrument you have to hit, go figure) and joined a band with some dropouts she met clubbing, illegally of course, called the Spunk Punk Girls. They split up due to creative differences. Spinelli thought they'd perform better if she threatened them...they didn't. Though they'd been pretty well liked at the clubs all over town before they broke up, and rumor had it that the Spunk Punk Girls had tried to continue on without Spinelli and failed miserably. But she left them behind as though she chose to leave them of her own accord.

After high school, she went to an aerial academy, attempting to follow her childhood dream of becoming an ace fighter pilot, but after receiving her pilot's license, she was accepted into her current school and given space at a popular gallery for her work, quickly forgetting about her flying dream. That's when they moved to New York. TJ had graduated top of his class at Stanford in a common four years after transferring there at age twenty from the community college of their hometown, and Spinelli had followed him all through his college years. He felt it was only right that he do the same for her. So he transferred to the High Society magazine main headquarters in New York and followed her for a change. When they first came to New York, Spinelli worked as a mechanic having extensive knowledge on the subject thanks to her brothers, and was even offered a partnership with a young man she worked with planning on opening his own shop. She turned him down though, not interested in running a business and not in the right financial position for it. She even got interested in acting for a short period of time, gaining the role of Juliet in a community theatre performance of 'Romeo and Juliet'. She relinquished the role however, not only when she realized how many lines there were, but also when she discovered the kissing scene that she wanted no part of. Her exact words were "these lips are TJ's." After changing her job several times, from mechanic, to bartender, to security guard, to window washer, to finally becoming a waitress at a middle-class diner where she made good money on tips. She had grown a lot, but her attitude stayed pretty much the same.

TJ dressed casually in jeans and a white button down shirt, red and white sneakers on his feet. He'd ditched his red hat somewhere in Junior High when he was no longer allowed to wear it to school. He'd thought he was nothing without the usual cap back then. I still have Spinelli, he would remind himself. And that would bring him back from any depression he would sink into.

TJ made his way into the kitchen where he found Spinelli bent over a magazine eating a piece of toast slathered in butter and covered in sugar. There was a picture of a motorcycle above the article she was reading; a few crumbs and sugar particles dusted the pages. TJ recognized the magazine immediately.

"Biker's Weekly? I thought you gave up on bikes when you sold She-Devil," TJ commented, pouring himself a glass of milk.

"She-Devil," Spinelli said faintly, looking up foggy-eyed, "God, I miss that hog."

"Well, I don't miss you racing on it," TJ mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

"Huh?" Spinelli snapped back to attention, offering TJ a bite of her toast, to which he declined. "I never gave up motorcycles. It's in my blood. My gramps, Nicolas, owns a bike shop in Los Angeles. He custom builds them. Vitto's working for him now."

"I thought your grandpa didn't like your family," TJ said. She frowned at him, finishing her toast and wiping her hands off over the sink.

"Correction, he doesn't like my dad, and he didn't like us before because we were spawns of my dad. But he's old, and he needs someone to take over the shop when he kicks the bucket. Meaning, he needs to get close to his grandkids," Spinelli explained, taking TJ's drink from him and gulping half of it down. He thought of saying something about that, but changed his mind, opening the fridge and refilling the glass. "Besides, racings in my blood too. My grams won that dog sled race and my Aunt Charlotte races cars in Philly along with my cousins Tony and Rob. Is that what you're wearing today?"

"Yeah, why?" TJ replied, a bit defensively.

"You look nice is all," Spinalli snapped, "What's been up with you today? All morning you've been jumping down my throat. Wake up, Spinelli! Who's Jocko? You might as well just accuse me of cheating on you and call me a whore and be done with that. I mean, jeez, TJ, who spit in your cereal?"

TJ sighed. He hadn't realized he'd been so verbally abusive that day. He put the glass down, moving next to Spinelli by the counter, leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"I'll come see your tournament," he finally said.

"You don't have to, Teej," she told him, "I know you're busy."

"I want to. The wonderful thing about my job is I can do it anytime, anywhere, so long as I meet my deadline," he replied, laying his head against her shoulder and nuzzling her neck, "I'm sorry. I've been on edge lately is all," he whispered in her ear. It wasn't true, but he was sorry.

"I guess my temper doesn't help," she mumbled.

"I love your temper," TJ said, grinning now, turning around to face her, their foreheads brushing, his hands resting on her hips.

"And that I'm always so busy," she murmured as he kissed her.

"I love that you do so much," he said against her lips.

"And that I have to spar with a boy."

"I love that you're going to kick that guy's ass." He could feel her smile without having to look. "Do you forgive me?" he asked, kissing her again on the cheek and the neck and the forehead and the ear.

"I forgive you, Teej," she whispered, giggling slightly, returning his kisses. "Just don't do it again, or I'll be forced to hurt you."

"I can't promise that," TJ said, "But I can promise that I'll always be sorry and never intentionally jump down your throat."

"I'll accept that," she replied. They kissed again. "Oh, the mail came," Spinelli said suddenly, "There's a letter from your mom." TJ pulled away, looking down at Spinelli with a raised eyebrow.

"Mentioning my mom mid-kiss? What a way to kill the mood," he said unhappily, "Where is it?"

"I'll go get it." Spinelli said as she made her way out of the kitchen, leaving for their makeshift living room.

TJ waited for her, flipping through the magazine she left behind. That's where he found it. He didn't notice it at first; a simple, small, brown envelope pressed firmly between two pages, so flat that it seemed to take up no space at all. TJ practically had to peel it off of page 163 and he held it observantly in his hand, flipping it over.

"What's that?" Spinelli asked, returning with a blue letter, stamps littered over the front along with the handwriting of TJ's mother, grasped in her hand and glancing over his shoulder.

"Don't know, I found it in this magazine of yours," TJ replied, handing it over to her, "I guess it's for you. Maybe something from the magazine, an advertisement most likely." She set the letter from TJ's mom down on the counter, and opened the brown envelope, looking inside; she frowned and tipped it upside down over the counter. A small white sheet slipped from it, fluttering to the ground aimlessly. Spinelli bent to pick it up, getting a closer look. It was a small torn piece of lined paper, wide ruled, and it appeared to have been ripped from a spiral notebook as part of it was frayed. Spinelli flipped it over. There was writing on it in crayon, but only part of the message was there, the rest seemed to have been ripped off when the page was torn.

"-elli, - will - find you," Spinelli read, showing it to TJ.

"What's that supposed to mean?" TJ asked, "E-L-L-I, like the last letters of your name..."

"Weird," Spinelli muttered. They sat in silence, brows furrowed, staring at the message until the phone rang to break them from their concentration.

"I'm getting it," TJ told Spinelli, making his way into the living room and lifting the phone to his ear. "Hello."

"Dettwieler? This is Chief," a gruff man said. Like TJ had to be told who it was. Chief was the editor of High Society. TJ's boss and a real jerk. From what TJ told her about him, Spinelli hated Chief, even as she'd never met him.

"Oh...hey..." TJ said nervously.

"Why aren't you in yet?"

"I was...well...I was on my way." TJ replied, searching for a good excuse, "But there was an emergency."

"Really. Well, cry me a river. Is any immediate family dead?"

"Well, no, sir, but I..."

"Then get your ass in here. You have fifteen minutes." There was a click and the dial tone followed shortly. TJ hung up the phone, glancing up to find Spinelli standing in the doorway watching him. He forced a smile.

"Was that your boss?" she asked. TJ nodded, heading for the door. She flexed her arm, small muscles bulging, and forming a fist with her hand. "Want me to teach him a lesson?"

"No, Spinelli. I have to get going," he slipped his jacket on before turning to look at her, sighing. She nodded, her face filled with obvious concern. She was still holding the brown envelope and the torn sheet of paper, "You going to be okay?" He asked. She shrugged. He made his way over to her, brushing his lips against hers.

"I'll be fine, Teej. I'll be going to class soon anyhow. I'll see you," she said. He turned to leave and she grabbed his sleeve. He looked at her quizzically. "I'm sorry about your arm." He smiled at her, kissing her again, softly.

"I deserved it," he said, brushing a strand of hair from Spinelli's eyes. "Bye. Love you." He left out the door, leaving Spinelli.

"Love you, too," she said as the door closed. She flipped the piece of paper in her fingers again then tossed the envelope on to the end table, causing several more torn pieces of paper to spill out. She stared at it a moment before walking over to examine them.

TJ walked into the magazine headquarters and straight to Chief's office, nodding at those who greeted him as he passed, smiling pleasantly. It was only after he flashed Clara, Chief's secretary, a smile and slipped in the door did his cheerfulness fade. He looked at Chief, the bulbous balding man before him. Chief was frowning, he always frowned, and sweating, he always sweated.

"Boss," TJ greeted.

"You're late and you're dropping that story," was the reply. TJ's bottom lip trembled slightly at the implications of that statement.

"But, sir, I've been working on that story for a week now. I can't possibly write another story in time for the deadline," TJ protested, boldly. Chief liked TJ honestly. The boy had guts, the only one willing to stand up to Chief. When TJ first started working for the main office of High Society magazine, Chief refused to publish anything he wrote, sticking him on simple typing jobs and turning him into a personal messenger boy for all the other writers in the building. TJ had been, in Chief's eyes, an inexperienced, fresh-out-of-college, spineless, sniveling kid, and Chief didn't want to put up with someone like that. But by the second week, TJ got fed up and brought in a piece that he demanded Chief look over and decide then and there if he wanted TJ working on the magazine. And of course, an uneasily impressed man, Chief was impressed. He looked over the piece and published it, to TJ's surprise when he received a copy of the magazine with his article in it.

"Winchell wants something else," Chief shrugged. Amanda Winchell was the owner of the High Society magazine and TJ couldn't argue with her orders. He sighed.

"What's the prompt?" he asked, defeated.

"Small town. Friendship. Something heartwarming," Chief replied grumpily. "Crap like that." TJ frowned. He didn't like the idea, it was nothing like the stories he wrote or the mood he wrote with.

"Can't you give this to someone else?" TJ asked.

"Nope. Winchell specifically said you were to write this piece," was the reply.

"What about the other piece I've been working on. It's in the third draft already, what do I do with it?" TJ demanded. Chief shrugged.

"Put it in your portfolio," was the snide answer.

"Can I at least have a deadline extension?" TJ cried.

"I thought you wanted to be a writer," Chief yelled, "But it looks like I was wrong. Tell you what, you have that piece on my desk on time, and you can keep your job. Now get out of my office!" It took a great deal of willpower to keep TJ from slamming the door shut behind him. He knew Chief wouldn't fire him, he was Winchell's personal favorite, but this was infuriating. TJ shook his head, glaring at his shoes angrily.

"That rough?" Clara asked. TJ looked up at her. She was smiling at him, brushing her blond curls behind her ear.

"Rough? No. Why would it be rough? I have to completely throw out the piece I've been working on for the past, but its no big deal," TJ replied sarcastically, kicking at the garbage can.

"I'm sorry, Ted," she said. TJ smiled slightly. He'd started going by Ted in high school. If Spinelli could change her opinion on her name, so could he. His family and Spinelli were the only ones that still called him TJ. He liked it that way.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Can you believe I still have to have my article in at the same time? One and half weeks to completely re-write an article. Small town? Close friends? How the hell does Winchell come up with this junk?" TJ complained.

"I know. You can't really find any of that kind of thing in a big city like this," Clara conceded, they fell silent. "Um...Ted...."

"Yeah, Clara," TJ mumbled.

"Um...are you hungry? My lunch break is soon. Maybe I could help you brainstorm for the article. Two heads are better than one," Clara suggested. TJ considered it for a moment. He didn't really want to go home. The commute to and from work took almost forty minutes alone, so he knew that Jocko would be there when he got back, in his apartment, sparring with Spinelli, his girlfriend. Rolling around on a mat with her, getting all sweaty and hot together. That wasn't on his list of things he wanted to see at that moment. And Clara was a nice girl. He didn't have long conversations with her often, just small chitchat. He could have lunch with her, a bit of friendly chitchat; he kind of needed that at that moment. But then, Spinelli would be left alone with Jocko in their apartment. He didn't want that. Ah...decisions, decisions.

The phone rang before TJ could make up his mind. Clara sighed, smiling at him wearily.

"Back to work," she said. TJ paced in front of the desk, mulling over the situation as she spoke into the phone, "High Society Magazine, Main office..." He was somewhat hungry, but he didn't brainstorm well in that kind of environment. A slight touch on his arm shook him from his thoughts. "Ted, it's someone named Spinelli for you. Do you want me to tell her you've left for lunch?" Clara looked almost hopeful. TJ raised an eyebrow. Spinelli never called him when he was at his workplace. She didn't even have the number. She must have had to dig through TJ's things for Chief's number.

"No," TJ replied, "I'll take it." He took the phone from Clara, who seemed almost - unhappy - as she brushed her hand against his in the exchange. TJ ignored it, turning to lean against Clara's desk and saying into the phone "Spinelli?"

"Hey Teej..." came the answer. TJ smiled slightly. There couldn't be anything wrong, she sounded fine.

"What's up?"

"Just wondering if you're coming home," she mumbled. TJ frowned. Something wasn't right. She seemed uncertain, distracted. Why would she call just to check on TJ's plans for after he left his workplace?

"What's wrong?" he asked, chewing the inside of his cheek in concern. "You okay? You're not hurt are you? Was it Jocko? Is he there?"

"Calm down, Teej," Spinelli laughed nervously, "I'm alright. And no, Jocko isn't here yet. I just...well I...when'll you be home?"

"Spinelli, where are you?" TJ questioned, glancing at the clock, "Shouldn't you be in class now?"

"I e-mailed my teacher," she answered guiltily.

"Spinelli, that's five times this month," he scolded her, though the anxiety never leaving his tone. He glanced over at Clara who was paying close attention to him while trying to feign disinterest. He turned from her, dropping his voice. His conversation for none of her business. "Tell me honestly, Spin, you sure you're okay." The other end of the line went quiet. Spinelli never could lie to him.

"There was more in that envelope, Teej. I just...I guess I'm kind of...well...I'm scared." Those two words were all TJ needed to make his decision. Spinelli being scared was something serious as it is, and actually admitting to her fear took that to a whole other level. TJ usually needed Spinelli to calm him down, squeezing his hand and nuzzling his ear when they watched horror flicks or went into Haunted Houses at Halloween.

"I'll be right there," TJ said, handing the phone back to Clara.

"I guess this means we won't be going to lunch together," Clara said, biting her lower lip childishly.

"Maybe some other time," TJ called over his shoulder, bolting out of the building. He raced the whole way home. It still took a great deal of time, and when he arrived at the apartment door he thrust it open and shouted, "Spinelli?"

"I'm here, Teej." She was sitting on the couch in their makeshift living room. She'd changed for the day, her hair brushed out and pulled into a quick and messy ponytail, most of her baby hairs having fallen from the tie and into her face. She'd dressed in old baggy jeans, nearly three sizes too large for her, with rips at the knees, and a white tank top with a red flannel button down shirt pulled over it, left undone. The shirt once belonged to one of her brothers and was huge on her. She had her knee pulled up to her chest and was staring at the table in front of her. TJ crossed the room, shutting the door softly behind him, and came to stand in front of Spinelli, touching his hand gently to the side of her face and kneeling down to be eye level with her.

"You okay?" he asked. She moved forward, thrusting her arms about his neck and burying her head into his shoulder.

"Am now," she whispered. "There were more pieces in the envelope. I can't believe I didn't check...that I didn't find them." She pulled away, pointing to the table where the pieces lay assembled together. "I ignored them at first...leaving them there, scattered about and went about the things I needed to do...but I got curious and it was bugging me. I put 'em together and...well...read 'em, Teej."

It was only the bottom half of the paper, only part of the message, but TJ understood why it had spooked Spinelli. The crayon letters were childish scribbles, crude to say the least, but the message was haunting.

"-Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you --. What's that supposed to mean?" TJ demanded of the note, then looked back at Spinelli, picking at the fray in her pants at the knee.

"How'm I supposed to know," she snapped, never meeting his eyes. It disturbed her, more than TJ could even begin to imagine. TJ scooped up the scraps of paper, pouring them back into the brown envelope, which lay on the table nearby. TJ then sat next to Spinelli, slipping an arm over her shoulders.

"It's probably just one of your friends playing a prank on you," TJ sighed, searching for an explanation, but doubting the reason he concluded himself, "Janie most likely. She's into this whole mystery, horror, cryptic crap, isn't she?"

"I don't know," Spinelli replied, lying her head against TJ's chest, "It's just...odd is all."

"I'll be here is you need me. I won't let anything happen to you," TJ told her, kissing the top of her head. She smelled nice, TJ noted, she always smelled nice.

"Damn straight you won't," she snapped and TJ grinned, chuckling slightly.

"It's just a prank. A really stupid, dumb prank," he reassured her, and silently himself. They sat like that in silence for a length of time.

"What'd your boss say?" Spinelli finally asked.

"I have to restart the article. Direct orders from Winchell," he answered, watching as she fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. She looked so innocent. He loved how she could look that way.

"That bitch. Didn't you work on that paper for weeks?" Spinelli said, sitting up angrily, "They can't treat you like that, Teej. You're the best damn writer in that mag. The only one who's work I read anyhow." Her eyes flared, "They're taking advantage of you, always have. Ever since you started working for them. They tell you what to write and give you a ridiculous amount of time to write it in. You should go back to just submitting your work freelance."

"And forget about steady pay?" he questioned, "I make good money working there. I'll admit, it's not really what I want to do either, writing short stupid articles for a mildly popular magazine, but it's the best way to get my work noticed."

"You can make just as good money elsewhere and get just as much attention. You'd have reasonable deadlines too, creative freedom, no one to change the article plot last minute on you. All you have to do is put your resume out there and your portfolio," she argued. There came a knock at that door and TJ jumped up to answer it, eager to end the conversation before he found himself lying to her. Telling her how great he thought his job was, how he liked working there, how his boss and him had a mutual understanding. Or even snapping at her that it was none of her business after they'd just made up. He reached the door and opened it to find a tall, handsome young man standing before him. This man was well-built, obvious bulging muscle beneath the tight black shirt he wore. Dark hair falling into darker eyes. Smooth complexion with a deep even tan. TJ already didn't like him.

"Ashley here?" the man asked, a thick New York accent.

"Jocko," Spinelli greeted, coming up behind TJ, "Is it already three o'clock? I'm not even dressed for our workout."

"This is Jocko?" TJ asked incredulously, looking the handsome man up and down unhappily.

"Yes, I am," Jocko answered, "Who are you?"

"This is TJ," Spinelli answered, donning the role of introducer, "Teej, this is Jocko, my sparring partner at the gym."

"So this is TJ?" Jocko asked, staring disbelievingly and disapprovingly at the short, wimpy, unimpressive youth standing beside Spinelli.

"Yeah, this is TJ," TJ snapped, "Why?"

"I'm sorry," Jocko apologized, sounding not at all sorry, "I expected someone...hmm...someone taller...less puny...a man - not a boy," Jocko chuckled, "We have to talk later so that you can tell me how a lump like yourself attained such a marvelous woman as Ashley."

"Lump? I'll show you lump," TJ grumbled, stepping forward menacingly toward the laughing Jocko. But Spinelli moved between them quickly, stopping what was most likely going to end up being the pummeling of her beloved boyfriend.

"Teej, me and Jocko are going to my workout room to - you know - beat the shit out of each other," TJ didn't miss the subtle hint in Spinelli's voice at the mention their spar, but the dark haired man apparently did, placing a hand on Spinelli's shoulder in a friendly manner with no idea how much he was going to be hurting later. "Don't you have an article to start working on?" she continued.

"Fine, fine," TJ muttered, then stepped forward, snaking a hand into the small of Spinelli's back and pulling her forward into a deep kiss before releasing her and eyeing Jocko triumphantly.

"Oh, Ashley," Jocko spoke up, seeming not to notice the passionate lip lock. "You may want to know that the upcoming tournament is out of town. Here, I wrote the location down" Jocko fumbled in his pocket producing a piece of paper and showing the scribble on it to Spinelli. Her eyes went wide as she stared in shock at that town name written down. TJ stood beside her watching on curiously.

"Hey, Teej," Spinelli said distractedly, "You still want to go to my tournament?"

"If you really want me there," TJ gulped, his stomach flipping unpleasantly at the thought of seeing the matches. Spinelli looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I do. 'Cause I don't wanna go home alone," she told him, tilting the paper so that TJ could see the name of the town written on it.

END A/N: Hopefully you're picking up on the many conflicts in TJ and Spinelli's relationship. And, I hope that nobody minds that I made TJ a writer, I thought it sort of fit, seeing as how he is pretty creative, what with all the plans he made in the series. One again, please review, and read the story too, that helps. What you think matters to me.

Oh, and please excuse any grammatical or typing errors. Thanks.