A/N: Okay, this chapter took it's time getting up...but I got it up so there! I feel I should explain the title of the chapter, because it did take me a good deal of time to come up with and it doesn't seem to fit. Basically, ice cream, coffee and laughter are the three best cures for misery. In this chapter, we get to see a few of Spinelli's own insecurities about her relationship with TJ and a little insight on the mysterious letters.

Thanks to all my reviewers for your wonderfulness. xXsSarahxXx, thanks for showing up again on my reviews, that rocks of you. I don't know if I'd go so far as saying my fanfic is one of the best...but you can say that as much as you want...it flatters me so. And so you all know, I'm going to be changing the rating to "R", because I feel a few of the things that will be coming up are not suited for pg-13 anymore.

Now...I feel like I'm forgetting something...but anyways, read on and enjoy.

Chapter 7: Ice Cream, Coffee, and Laughter

Stupid jerks. Spinelli walked along the street, kicking at the gravel, the hot sun beating down on her. She pulled her hair up off her neck with her hand, glaring scathingly at the ground. She was so going to hurt TJ when he got home. How could he put her through that? She stopped, touching her cheek. It was damp. She'd thought it was sweat at first, but her mind reeled in realization as she slammed her fist into the wall out of frustration, splitting her knuckle open. Tears. She should have known. Only TJ could make her cry. It must be his gift, Spinelli thought bitterly, watching the blood gush out down her hand. She slumped on the curb, burying her head in her knees and trying to stop the tears from flooding down her cheeks. Gretchen had gone too far with that crap about how she was hardly a girl.

Spinelli couldn't help it. Being tomboyish, being tough, being...herself. She wasn't girly, and that was just how it was. TJ didn't mind -- did he? No. She snapped her head up. TJ loved her. Now if only he were here to tell her that. She leaned back to look at the sky, grimacing as she put her weight on her sore hand, blood still streaming to the ground. Maybe he felt obligated to be with her, since they'd been together for so long, and because she'd supported him through everything he'd done. College, writing, the magazine (despite her detest for it and its treatment of TJ), and most importantly, his choice to leave their small hometown as soon as possible. Maybe TJ really did want someone more feminine, more beautiful and sexy. Maybe he wanted someone who would wear lovely gowns, get dressed up, curl her hair, powder on make-up, slap him softly when they fought instead of punching him in the gut. Someone like Mary Anna James.

Spinelli closed her eyes. Mary Anna James. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. Sometimes, she could forget completely what happened. Forget that perfect face, forget that haunting doll, and forget that she ever had a life outside of New York. But then, something would happen to remind her, pull her back to the reality of who she was. Pretty little Mary Anna James, she could take TJ by the hand, walk briskly down the hall beside him, could tell him what she thought without reluctance or doubt. Could make TJ blush with a smile. The personification of what a girl should be. Carrying around a doll, delicate and prim. TJ was too young then, too much like a little boy, but now? Would he want to be with Mary Anna James if she was around and showed that kind of interest in him now? Spinelli chewed her lower lip in frustration. Was she glad that Mary Anna James was dead? She opened her eyes and her vision was filled with Vince's face staring down at her.

"Spinelli?" He questioned. She jumped to her feet, nearly colliding with him and made to run off when he grabbed her arm. "Wait, I want to talk."

"Like hell..." she snapped, "What makes you think I want to talk to you?" But she stopped struggling against him, staring him down. He had a strong hold.

"Well," Vince started, "I didn't ask if you wanted to talk."

"Very persuasive argument, LaSalle," Spinelli spat.

"I just want to know, who's fault do you think it is?" he asked, "Just answer me."

"Let go of my arm, Vince," she sneered.

"Not until you say it. No one is around, Spinelli. No one's going to hear, just me," Vince said, "I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me who you think is to blame for Mary Anna. Tell me. No one will know but me and you."

"Why is it so important to you?" she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I don't know. I just need to hear you say it," he answered.

"Why is it so goddamned important to you, LaSalle?" she screamed. He lowered his eyes, shrugging. "You want me to say I blame TJ, don't you," she questioned, "Right?" He was silent. She tugged her arm from his grasp.

"I want to know why you're on his side," Vince said quietly.

"It's my duty," she said derisively, "What with being his girlfriend and all." He locked his eyes with hers, holding her with his intense gaze.

"You were on my side once," he whispered, "I don't see why you're not still on my side. How could your feelings change so much?"

"They didn't have far to change," she growled, "I'd had a crush on, TJ even back then. But I guess you didn't know that...even Gretchen didn't know." Vince looked away, moving away and rubbing the back of his head.

"I'd have thought that...what with the circumstances...you blamed TJ before," he stuttered, trying to convince her of - of something.

"I'm gone," she muttered, turning to walk away. He grabbed her arm again, spinning her to face him with a tight clench.

"No," he commanded, "Not until you say it."

"You're treading dangerous ground," Spinelli warned, tightening her hand into a fist, "If you think I'm gonna turn on Teej you got another thing coming."

"Then tell me something," Vince hissed, "If he loves and cares for you so much, why isn't he here with you? Why isn't he here to make you feel better? Why isn't he here comforting you? Why didn't he chase you out of the store?" Vince didn't have the time to react as Spinelli's fist sailed into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air.

"'Cause he's apparently smarter than you," she whispered in his ear. Vince released her arm and she turned, walking away.

"It's his fault, Spinelli," Vince gasped, calling after her, "You know it is. You do still blame him. You can't fool me, Spinelli, I know you better than that."

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli sighed. She didn't want to go back to the Dettwielers' House; they would ask her too many questions. Where's TJ? Why'd you walk home? Are you two fighting again? And then, Mrs. Dettwieler's hopeful face as she asks, "Are you two breaking up?" Spinelli stopped at the convenience store, making her way in. She could buy some ice cream what with still being pretty upset. She found her way to the frozen foods section with no trouble. She was surprised she still remembered the layout of the store and that it hadn't changed much from when she was younger. She hadn't been in it for nearly five years. But then again, it really didn't surprise her. This was where her parent's and her had run into Miss Finster, landing Spinelli a weekend at the wiry old woman's home. This was where her mother would send her on errands when she first got her drivers' license, not that the store wasn't within walking distance. This was where TJ had come, while Spinelli waited anxiously outside, on Prom night looking to buy a condom only to discover the checkout boy was Lawson and chickening out. They had ended up playing board games all night with his older sister Becky at her apartment.

Spinelli scanned the ice cream selection. Black cherry? No, not good enough for being upset, more for anger. Vanilla? Too bland, more of a celebration treat, not the right flavor for misery. Chocolate? Not enough, but close. Double chocolate mint? Too mint-y, which would be just right if she were depressed over being fat or ugly. Triple chocolate with chocolate chunks? Perfect. She reached into the freezer and pulled the pint-sized carton out. Now all she needed was a plastic spoon and she'd be set.

"You, like, have so much potential," Spinelli heard a squeal as four young women walked into the frozen foods section. Accordingly, Spinelli froze. Unmistakable was the only word she could conjure up to describe the women. The one talking had a brown bob cut and was wearing a blue sundress. She was addressing a tall blonde wearing sunglasses, jeans, and deep pink lipstick. They were followed by a short thin black woman wearing a yellow tank top and baggy jeans and a voluptuous dark skinned woman clutching a green purse that matched her pantsuit. The Ashleys were in town?

"I know," was the reply. Spinelli turned, covering her face and slipping out of the aisle, the women too preoccupied with chatting to notice her. As she rounded the corner, she glanced over her shoulder, and bumped into someone.

"Would you watch where you're going?" a young man snapped, holding a cell phone to his ear and talking rapidly. She looked the man up and down. Hair slicked back, nice suit, brown trench coat.

"Frankie?" she questioned.

"Huh...what? Could you hold on a moment?" the man said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand and looking at the young woman in front of him grasping her pint of ice cream and staring confused at him. "Who...Ashley?" Before she could react he threw his arms about her. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Been in town four hours and haven't seen anyone I knew."

"What are you doing here?" Spinelli asked, struggling from his grasp.

"Investigating a piece of merchandise. I'm a buyer and seller of rare, unique, antique relics," he explained, "My seller, however, says they won't be able to show me the piece for another few days. Can you believe that?"

"I'm...trying..." Spinelli gaped at him. They'd been close in middle school; before she'd made amends with TJ and started dating him she had needed someone to rely on. He was there for her. Francis glanced at the ice cream in her hands and frowned.

"What's the matter?" he questioned, meeting her eyes. Spinelli shrugged, picking at the wrapper on the ice cream. "Triple chocolate with chocolate chunks...that bad, huh?" He lifted the cell phone back up to his ear, "I'll call you back, something important just came up," he said to the person on the other end then hung up the phone and stuffed it in his coat. He slipped an arm over Spinelli's shoulders, "Let's talk over coffee."

"You know I hate coffee," Spinelli mumbled.

"Yeah, but I live for the stuff," he said, leading her to the registrar, "I got it," he told her, pulling out his wallet and paying for her ice cream.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Hey, what are friends for?"

"Got me," she shrugged.

-0-0-0-0-

"This is quite unusual," Gretchen said, slumped over the brown envelopes laid out on the booth table at Kelso's. There were four in all, exactly the same in shape, size, and color. Gretchen picked the first one up, opening it and dumping the contents on the table. "Why's it ripped up?" she questioned, looking at TJ who stood leaning over the brown envelopes.

"It came that way. Wasn't yours?" he answered.

"No," she replied, and then looked at Mikey and Gus who were sitting a good distance away from one another at the bar, "Well?"

"Mine wasn't ripped up either," Gus spoke up.

"And neither was mine." Mikey said. It only took Gretchen a few seconds to piece the message together and then she met TJ's eyes once more.

"This was addressed to Spinelli," she told him, not sure if he knew that.

"Yeah, I know. It was stuck between the pages of one of her magazines. What does it mean?"

"Didn't you get one?" she asked. He shook his head, confused. Mikey raised his eyebrow at that and Gus straightened on his stool.

"You didn't receive a mysterious letter? You do understand how suspicious that seems..." Mikey said from his place at the bar. His eyes bore into the back of TJ's head. TJ stood up, turning to face Mikey and Gus, then glancing back down at Gretchen who stared at him skeptically.

"You think I have something to do with these letters?" he demanded, "I didn't send them, if that's what you're all getting at. Look...Spinelli got one of those things, so it's the same as if I got one as far as I'm concerned." TJ argued.

"I really can't believe that you two are together," Gus commented, cradling his head in his hand, "I mean...it's odd is all."

"How's that?" TJ demanded, running his hand through his hair, "You don't think a guy like me could get a girl like her?"

"That's not what I meant," Gus replied flustered, "I just...you two didn't seem like...I don't know what I meant."

"You don't seem the right pair," Mikey finally said, "I always thought that Vince..."

"What about Vince?" TJ snapped, "What? Because Vince is better looking than me? Because he's richer? Because he set out to do everything he'd planned? You think he would be better with Spinelli?"

"Would you stop yelling so we can get back to the matter at hand?" Gretchen cried, "These letters seem far more important to me than TJ and Spinelli's relationship."

"You're right, Gretchen," Gus muttered.

"What can you figure out, Gretchen?" TJ sighed.

"They're all written in crude childish handwriting. But they're not done in the same hand. None of them are," she said, having laid out the other messages on top of their respective envelopes. "I mean...Mikey's is written by a left-handed person for instance."

"How odd..." Mikey whispered, "I'm left-handed."

"Hm..." Gretchen hummed, "Connection or coincidence? Perhaps their messages will give us...hm...now that's odd...the format is different for Spinelli's. For instance, a 'he' is mentioned, whereas, the other three letters never mention another person. And it directly addresses Spinelli as well. Let's see...'Gretchen knows all but the truth'...'Mikey is innocent as love'...'Gus will never win the debate'..."

"What does Spinelli's say?" Gus asked. Gretchen raised her eyes to look at TJ who studied the four messages.

"Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you," he recited from memory. There came a sound from outside, startling the four youths. Another noise, similar but closer caused them to turn their heads. Another, the sound of something soft hitting Kelso's windowpane aroused them to investigate. TJ was the first to the door followed by Gus who was incredibly angry.

"It's probably kids, they keep coming around and throwing garbage at the businesses along this street," he said, pushing his way outside and feeling something squish beneath his foot. He glanced down and backed away, sickened. "It's a dead bird." The companions stared out at the several dead pigeons and sparrows lying in the streets and sidewalks. Other people from the nearby businesses were glancing out as well, murmuring amongst themselves. More birds kept falling, flying into light poles and the brick walls. Some simply drove themselves into the ground, breaking their necks on impact or worse.

"This must be because of those magnetic disturbances," Gretchen said finally ducking back into Kelso's her face milk white with green tinge at her cheeks.

"Magnets are causing the birds to act crazy?" Gus questioned ecstatically.

"The odd energy currents must be throwing off their natural navigational abilities," Gretchen explained, "Though I don't claim to know anything about birds, I do know that magnetic waves can affect wildlife as well as people around or close to the activity."

"What's causing the disturbances?" TJ asked, watching the carnage outside with unemotional disinterest.

"That's what I came here to find out," Gretchen answered, "But I got a little distracted..." She looked pointedly at the booth table where the messages lay. She narrowed her eyes, watching liquid drip to the ground. "Oh shit," she said, rushing to the booth where her drink had apparently been knocked over. She went to save the messages first, though the brown envelopes were already a little damp. Gus came over to help clean it up, bringing napkins from behind the counter.

"So sad," Mikey commented, eyeing the pathetic massacre outside one last time before turning away, "Such a waste of life."

"It's going to rain," TJ told them, noting the gray clouds gathering in the sky and the wet gravel smell in the air, "I guess that's good. It'll clean up the mess." He glanced at the clock. "I have to go. Spinelli and me are having dinner with her parents," he said, suddenly aware of the time and how long they'd been there, "Call me if you figure anything out."

"Okay..." Gretchen answered watching TJ rush out the door to his rented car, barely avoiding a bird spiraling down to its death as he drove off.

"It sort of feels like old times, doesn't it," Gus said reminiscently.

"Yeah, if old times involved animosity between all of us, a fire that killed a little girl, odd letters in brown envelopes, and dead birds," Gretchen scowled sarcastically.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli sat licking her spoon covered in chocolaty goodness with Francis sitting across from her, a foam cup of steaming coffee in front of him and a spoon of his own in his hand. They'd found a small café that they assumed must have opened up in the past two, three years, because neither of them seemed to recognize it. They'd chosen a secluded booth, even though the shop was almost empty anyways.

"So Gretchen, Gus, Vince, and Mikey are back in town too, huh?" Francis said, after taking in the story of the recent events Spinelli had told him, "And you and Dettwieler are still together?"

"Yeah...we've been living in New York, sharing an apartment," Spinelli answered.

"And he tricked you into meeting the old gang at Kelso's," Francis nodded, dipping his spoon into the ice cream and shoveling a good helping into his mouth.

"I'm not even really angry about him tricking me anymore," Spinelli said, "I'm just mad that...I don't know."

"They were being jerks, huh?"

"Huge jerks," she confirmed, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

"And since when did Gretchen grow a bitch backbone?" Francis said between bites, "She not the same soft spoken girl I used to know?"

"None of us are the same kids you used to know, Frankie," Spinelli sighed. She bent down, leaning forward and dropping her voice to a whisper, "We talked about...we talked about...it...you know...what happened." Francis's mouth dropped and he set his spoon down.

"You mean..." Spinelli nodded. "But what about the...you know...the pact?"

"We overruled the pact," Spinelli shrugged, "Frankie, you never told me what you thought...about what happened."

"I didn't think about what happened, that's what," Frankie answered, taking a sip of his coffee, "I forgot about it, like we were supposed to do."

"You can't tell me you completely forced it from your mind. That you've never thought about it, not even once, for a slight second since then," Spinelli said, eyeing him with skepticism.

"Well, sure I've thought about it. I wake up late at night with nightmares because of it. But I don't waste precious long moments of my life thinking about it. There's nothing we can do...it was an accident. We honestly felt that it was an innocent prank. We never thought that something like that would...could happen," Francis said, taking another sip of his coffee, "That's why you guys stopped being friends, isn't it? Because you couldn't decide whose fault it was? Well, let me let you in on something...it's no one's fault, really. That's what the problem is, you guys can't seem to comprehend that it was no one's fault. Somebody has to be to blame, right? Wrong."

"Frankie..."

"No, Ashley. Stop looking for someone to blame. It's over," he told her, "You guys need to start respecting the pact." They fell silent. Spinelli looked thoughtfully at her ice cream that was half melted now and Frankie swished his coffee gently in his hand. Finally he spoke again, "So tell me what's been going on with you and Dettwieler. You've been together a long time, he ever gonna pop the question?" It took Spinelli a moment to realize what question he was talking about.

"I don't know," Spinelli answered, "We haven't really talked about that."

"Why not?" Francis eyed her strangely, "Don't you want to marry him?" Spinelli furrowed her brow, biting her bottom lip.

"I've never thought about it before..." she said, genuinely unsure, "I just figured I'd always be with TJ..."

"Oh...but wouldn't it be nice, being able to introduce yourself as Mrs. Dettwieler, or Mrs. Spinelli-Dettwieler?" Francis inquired, smiling softly, "Or being able to introduce him as your husband?"

"I don't know..." she shrugged, digging in the ice cream in search of a chunk of chocolate. She hadn't honestly thought about it. It was just another un-girly thing about her. She wasn't thinking too much about getting married and having a litter of children. Did TJ think about marriage? Did TJ want her to think about marriage? Wasn't she supposed to look dreamily at wedding dresses in stores and practice writing her name with his last name attached?

"Ashley? Hey, earth to Ashley Spinelli," Francis called her back from her musings and self-doubts.

"What?"

"I was just saying, if he burst in here right now and asked you to marry him would you say yes?" Francis questioned, "It's the only way to really know...you know...if you're actually into getting married. So would you? Say yes, I mean?"

"I...I..." Spinelli glanced out the window, trying to picture TJ running down the sidewalk, bursting through the door, throwing himself on one knee and asking her -- Ashley Spinelli; the tomboy, the tough girl, the cynical bully -- to marry him. She could see him burst into the coffee shop, but not to ask her to marry him. That part seemed -- improbable? Unrealistic? Maybe if she were prettier, more feminine...she tried to imagine herself in a cute skirt and blouse, hair tied up in curls, golden earrings, make-up, lip gloss, nails painted, high heels, the works. That kind of Spinelli...no...that Ashley, TJ would propose to her.

"Well?"

"It's never gonna happen, anyways, Frankie, so just drop the subject, alright," Spinelli whispered snappishly. She turned her gaze out of the window watching the few cars drive by.

"Why's that? Dettwieler not interested in marriage?" Francis pressed. He never had learned to stop pushing at things, which was one of the reasons Spinelli liked him. He was just as determined as her.

"That's not it," Spinelli sighed, "I'm not the kind of girl a guy does that for." Francis raised an eyebrow, then sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"You've no idea how hot you are, huh?" Francis said casually.

"What was that?" Spinelli demanded, readying to strangle her good friend right then and there.

"You're a really attractive woman Spinelli," he explained, not seeming to notice the risk he was taking, or just not caring, "I once had a sort of...you know, thing for you. I used to wonder why a great looking girl like yourself hung out with a chump like me. Then I realized, it's because you're such a wonderful person too. You don't care about the outside appearance of others. Where most girls would take in a guy's looks and decide based solely on that whether they'd give the guy the time of day, you wouldn't. Maybe 'cause consciously you didn't think about it like they did, or because you just didn't realize that what people looked like was supposed to matter. You're sweet on top of being drop dead gorgeous. You're the type of girl that makes people want to do nice things for, just to make you smile. Hell, Spinelli, if Dettwieler don't want to marry you, I'll propose right now." Spinelli raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're making a love confession, Frankie," Spinelli joked.

"No. I respect Dettwieler too much, and, frankly, I respect the fury of your fists too much. The guts that guy must have...I can just imagine you waking up one morning with serious PMS and in one fell comment, it's all over for him," Francis said, laughing. Spinelli let a smile slip across her lips. "Ah-ha! I got you! I got you to smile," Francis cried, grinning triumphantly. They burst into laughter and for a long time just laughed. It felt good. Then finally they were interrupted as Francis's coat exploded with a cell phone ringing and the mirth between the two friends died down. He pulled the phone out, wiping jovial tears from his eyes glancing at the screen. "I have to take this," he told her, "Sorry."

"That's okay, I have to go anyways," Spinelli said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I'm having dinner with my folks," she explained, slipping out of the café chair and tossing her melted ice cream into a nearby trashcan. She kissed Francis on the cheek as she passed by while he talked on the phone, waving at her as she left.

Spinelli made her way down the street. The Dettwieler's residence was a few blocks over, so it wouldn't take her long to make her way back to their house. She hoped TJ was there already; he was much better at coming up with lies than she was. She knew he wouldn't tell his parents the truth; that Spinelli just stormed out on him. He wouldn't want to deal with all the questions. The town had darkened over, gray clouds flooding the sky. A dry wind had picked up and the streets were oddly empty for that time of day. She wrapped her arms about her body, walking by a car parked on the side of the road, the only car in sight. The windows were too tinted to see in, but she figured it was empty anyways. With her back to the car, she didn't see the headlights turn on, but she did hear the engine rev. She turned her head, eyes widening as the car drove at her. She barely dodged as the car raced by, brushing against her and knocking her to the ground. She could feel the air rush by as the car drove on, disappearing as it turned the corner farther down the street. Normally she would have screamed some obscenity after the vehicle, but something about the incident had her...frightened?

Spinelli pulled herself into a sitting position, steadying her breathing and taking an estimate of the damage. She'd scraped her elbow to hell, her back was sore now, and her ankle felt as though she may have twisted it. "Damn," she cursed softly beneath her breath. She had a tournament in a few days and this wasn't good for her. Taking in another deep breath, she pulled herself to her feet, gently testing putting weight on her ankle. It wasn't too bad, not even sprained. She walked the rest of the way to the Dettwieler house limping slightly and gently massaging her back. Silent and wary. She wouldn't tell TJ about the incident. It was nothing. Just a dick driver.

END A/N: Alright...very interesting, no? Eh. Next up, you guessed it, dinner at the Spinelli household. What drama will unravel? What new mysterious will arise? Hm...I'm tired.

Please review. I would love you so much if you did. Bad/good, make it constructive. Just a small blurb so I'll know what you think.

And, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I say that all the time, but I want it drilled into your heads. I'm not perfect, I'm very far from it, in fact. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Thank you for reading.