A/N: Okay, I have ten minutes to get this posted and go brush my teeth. This is chapter ten. There's a slight warning, Spinelli has a little fight with her brother and tends to use more vulgar words around him.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, again. xXxSarahxXx, TheNextPoliticalDynasty, and Momo-chan.

Enjoy.

Chapter 10: Exchanging Words

Gus awoke to the sound of dripping. His head hurt and he couldn't see anything because his glasses were gone, though it didn't matter anyways as the place he was in was dark. From what he could tell, he was near water. He could smell it, but whether that was due to the rain or that he was actually near a body of water, he didn't know. There was something warm and sticky on his neck and trickling down his cheek. His hands were tied up above him to a wooden beam with rope, his feet barely touching the ground beneath him.

"Hello?" he called, "Is anyone out there?" There was no answer. He could make out colors, but no definite shapes. "Gretchen?" He called, hoping that maybe, at the very least, she was there with him. Still, no answer came. He could hear a sound, somewhere. "Hello?" he called, his voice quivering with fear. "I wish I had my glasses..." he muttered, "I wish the guys were here with me." He felt motion, something nearby him, warm air blowing against his cheek, and the light childish laughter of a young girl.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli stood on the porch at the side of her parents' house. The white painted door was all that stood between her and entering. She was drenched and the rain still continued to pour. But she didn't notice it. We're not right for each other. That's what TJ had said. They weren't right for each other. Vince was perfect for her. That door led to a separate room from the rest of the house. Her brother's living space. She sniffled, wiping at her nose before knocking gently. Tears mingling with raindrops. It wasn't too terribly late at night Joey was still awake. She knew he was. The door opened a crack, the older man looking out into the night.

"Ashley? What are you doing here?" Joey demanded, looking his younger sister up and down before pulling back the door and tugging her in. "You're soaked," he scolded. His room was almost like a small apartment. There was a bathroom off to the side that only he could access and a door that led into the kitchen. His bed and floor were covered with discarded clothes, magazines, there was even a plate with a moldy, half-eaten sandwich laying a top it. Spinelli's room had once looked the same. Joey disappeared, returning shortly with a towel and some clothes. "I think they're clean," he said, handing them over to her. She accepted, making her way into the bathroom, shivering to the bone. She hadn't realized it was so cold. She hadn't cared.

"I had to talk to you..." she mumbled, changing into the oversized jeans and sweater. She rung out her hair in the sink and stepped out of the bathroom again, facing her brother.

"About what?" Joey asked, staring in concern for his sister. She looked a wreck. Her hair in knots, her face pale, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes, like empty voids.

"TJ."

Joey turned, overcome with anger and frustration. He should have known that that little butterball jerk had something to do with the way his sister was acting and how she looked.

"What'd he do to you?" Joey demanded, "I'll ring his fucking neck."

"What did you do to him?" Spinelli spat back at her brother, and he finally caught her threatening glare. "Or better yet, what did you say to him?"

"Look...he doesn't deserve you. He's a little rat, Ashley. You need someone who'll be good for you. Someone who won't force you to do bad things, won't force you to go against what you were taught in this house, what mom and dad taught you," Joey argued.

"I do fine rebelling on my own without TJ. In fact, he's never encouraged me to go against what I was taught, he's convinced me in the past more often than not to do the right thing," Spinelli cried, "I've always gone against what they taught me on my own. It's just how I am. Now what did you tell him?"

"Will you keep it down, you'll wake up mom and dad."

"I don't give a fuck if I wake up mom and dad! Let 'em wake up! I hope they wake up and hear every little fucking thing I have to say," Spinelli screamed, "Tell me what the hell you told him!"

"What do you think I told him?" Joey snarled, "I told him that he's a fucking bastard. A snake tailed, scum bag, perverted little shit. I told him the truth, that he wasn't important enough for you to share with our parents. I told him what I thought, that Weiss was..."

"I don't want Weiss, I want TJ," Spinelli shouted stubbornly, balling her hands into tight fists, "You had no right..."

"I had every right," Joey snapped, "I'm you older brother, Ashley. I want what's good for you. I want to protect you from creeps like him."

"You're so full of crap," Spinelli muttered, "You didn't think he was a creep before you knew we were dating. Why is he one now?"

"Because he weaseled his way in, that's why. I thought I had help, someone else watching your back and keeping you safe, with Vitto gone I needed someone else's help. I was wrong. He became one of the guys I had to protect you from," Joey yelled.

"You don't have to protect me from anyone! I can handle myself, I always could! But I guess it doesn't matter anymore now..." Spinelli's voice cracked, new tears streaming down her face. "He broke up with me..." She slipped to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks and desperate sobs escaping her throat. "Because of what you said...because of Vince..." She buried her face in her arms, crying. Joey was taken aback having never seen his little sister cry before, he bent to comfort her, but she wrenched away, turning her tear-filled eyes on him, raging with the fire that burned within her. Her voice was steady, loathing, "I hate you. I won't forgive you for this. I can't." She buried her face again and he pulled away, not sure what to say or do. "This is your fault..." she sobbed silently, "...and Vince's...and mine...he broke up with me, Joey...he broke up with me...we're over...he broke up with me...oh god, Joey..." Joey moved forward, wrapping his arms around his younger sister hesitantly, taking her into his embrace and rocking her gently. She'd said she hated him and those words stung more than anything else she'd said that night. His baby sister who he loved more than life itself, who he would defend to the death, who he would shoot down the moon for, hated him.

Joey considered killing TJ. Wasn't it TJ's fault that Joey's sweet innocent little sister was crying so hard? Wasn't it TJ's fault that his sister was in so much pain? Didn't TJ take Joey's baby sister away to begin with? But he couldn't kill TJ. He'd just make him pay a little.

-0-0-0-0-

The storm outside had finally died down but the gang was still gathered around the table at Kelso's, or what was left of the gang.

"Gus's is gone," Gretchen stated again. She'd repeated the same thing for the past three hours, but no matter how many times she said it, she couldn't figure out what it meant. "And Vince's is gone." They'd rewritten the messages on a napkin so they wouldn't forget them, thinking that there was some hidden clue in the words. Some hint as to who'd sent them, as to who'd written them, as to what the hell was going on. They had searched for Gus but found nothing more than a wooden block by the side of the street with a smear of red on it. They hoped that it wasn't connected to Gus's mysterious disappearance.

"Gus will never win the debate...what debate? Was he going to participate in a debate sometime soon?" Mikey asked.

"Perhaps we should examine the meaning of the word debate, or the different meanings it can take," Gretchen suggested, "Debate could also suggest a question, something to ponder upon."

"Or an argument," TJ put in, staring blankly at the table, "A fight." He glanced at Vince then back down at the table.

"That would seem more suitable considering our current relationship situation," Gretchen said, "You're thinking of an intellectual conversation, a deliberation about a certain topic or question, Mikey, usually ordained as a speech contest between skilled orators."

"He's not participating in one of those?" Mikey asked.

"Not that we know of," Gretchen sighed.

"Maybe it's talking about the fight we're all having," Vince spoke up. He'd been silent ever since the fight with TJ, thinking about the things TJ had said as well as about Spinelli. "Gus wanted us all to sort out our problems," Vince continued, "Maybe it's just saying that it's no use. He won't succeed in getting us all to forgive one another."

"That makes sense," Gretchen agreed, and then pointing to the napkin where Vince's message was written down, "Then what does this mean? Vince will lose the game."

"Maybe it's talking about my basketball game in a few days," Vince shrugged, "I don't know."

"That's not what his message said," TJ spoke up, "It said 'Vince is going to lose the game.' If we're trying to find a hidden message in the wording, then we need to get it correct." Gretchen scribbled out the message and re-wrote the correct one.

"Alright, Vince is going to lose the game," Gretchen read off.

"That just makes it sound more like it's talking about my basketball game," Vince cried, exasperated. "Why are we looking at the words, the message is not going to make sense, no matter what!" He picked up one of the envelopes, scattering the pieces of paper that were Spineill's message and throwing the envelope across the table. It only caused another slip of paper to flutter out, falling softly to the ground. Gretchen bent, picking it up.

"I thought I emptied that envelope," Gretchen said, shocked. It was another small torn piece of paper. She held it up for the boys to see. There were only two words scribbled on it. 'Too late.'

"I really don't like the sounds of that," Mikey mumbled. There was a crack outside, the sound of thunder in the distance that caused the gang to jump. Gretchen glanced at the clock then stood up, gathering the papers and envelopes.

"I have to go," she told them, "I completely forgot the reason I came back to this godforsaken town." She made her way to the door, looking over her shoulder and saying, "I think that, even if we don't want to admit it, this has something to do with everybody whose name was on that pact being in town. I suggest you call them and find out if any of them received a mysterious brown envelope as well."

"That sounds like an idea," TJ nodded.

"I also suggest you start with Menlo. He's the only one we have a definite number for. The school. If you contact him, he may have information of how to get a hold of everyone else," Gretchen opened the door calling to them one last time before she left, "Don't mention Mary Anna."

"I have to get to basketball practice," Vince said, making his way to the door as well. TJ met his eyes, both staring at one another, cold and dark. There was a warning written in TJ's glare. Don't go looking for Spinelli.

"Theodore and I will call Menlo," Mikey seethed, obviously not happy with everyone bailing. Gus was missing, wasn't that important? Vince nodded, leaving as well. Finally, it was only Mikey and TJ once more. They were silent for a long time, Mikey tapping the tabletop and TJ laying his head down, it hurt after Spinelli had punched him. Mikey looked at the young man, the angry look in his eyes softening. The words TJ had said rang clear in his head. Even after everything they'd been through, TJ still thought of his friends first. Or his former friends as they were now. TJ had wanted someone to be there for them, because he couldn't be. Someone to keep the gang together, something that had always been TJ's job, but couldn't be anymore as far as TJ was concerned.

"I wasn't good enough," Mikey sighed finally. TJ glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Mikey took this as a cue to continue. "I wasn't strong enough. I guess I was too foolhardy, not trusting enough." He laughed slightly, sadly, "I wasn't you."

"Lucky..." TJ mumbled, his voice muffled by his arms.

"It didn't make me lucky, TJ!" Mikey snapped, tears forming in the large young man's eyes. It hurt him so much to see the once confident; red capped young man to look so broken. Mikey had imagined TJ as an evil boy satisfied with what he'd done, but now that image was shattering, not holding up against the deadened man before him. The truth was so hard to see; yet it was right there in front of him. TJ hadn't been evil, he had been caring, his thoughts still for his friends and their well-being. The truth hurt so much, because the lies didn't include this shell of a man that was once the cocky TJ Dettwieler Mikey had known, admired, and truly loved, "I couldn't keep us together...if it had been you..."

"Yeah, a great job I did of keeping us together!" TJ shouted, lifting his head and turning an angry glare on Mikey, "The one girl I ever loved...the only girl that ever existed to me...I even succeeded in pushing her away! You're lucky you're not me. I screw everything up. I made her cry, Mikey...I hurt her..." TJ buried his head in his arms again, breathing softly, silently.

Mikey lifted a hand, moving it reluctantly towards TJ, but pulled it back again. Everything he'd thought he'd known, everything he'd decided about this young man before him was changing again. He wasn't evil...he was sad, pathetic, and in a great deal of pain. Mikey shook his head, feeling a knot form in his throat. This young man before him, TJ, blamed himself for everything that had happened. And when he'd needed his friends most, to bring back the kind, caring, and cheerful boy, they turned on him and only confirmed what he thought. That he was to blame. Mikey looked at his hand. He'd failed. He wasn't the good soul he imagined himself to be. If his friends had been wrong, he had been wrong as well. This hand, Mikey knew, could heal age-old wounds...if he could just reach forward, reach out to this pained young man...no, this old friend. He let his hand fall forward, touching TJ's shoulder and massaging gently. The touch seemed foreign to TJ and he lifted his head slightly looking quizzically at the larger young man.

"I don't blame you, TJ," Mikey managed to force out, "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I failed you." The words brought confused tears to TJ's eyes, his lips forming the word 'why', but the word itself never escaping his throat. "I wasn't a very good friend, TJ," Mikey continued, tears streaming down his own cheeks, he met TJ's eyes with a sincere and intense gaze, "Will you give me another chance?"

"You don't get it, Mikey," TJ whispered, sobbing slightly, "I don't deserve your friendship. I'm a bad person. I'm a murderer."

"No, TJ," Mikey soothed, "If what happened to Mary Anna can be called murder, then we are all murderers. And murderers are more than capable of being friends with murderers; otherwise they would be very lonely. But we are not murderers, TJ, we are imprudent children. You said that I should have been the one to guide the others after it happened. But I would have led them astray as I went astray. Can we please be friends again, and set right what was wronged long ago? I want to be on the right path again." TJ stared for a long time at the man before him. Tall, still slightly bulky, with messy blonde hair and blue eyes, that were hardened over time before, but now softened giving him the same look he'd held in his youth. TJ nodded. It was all he could ask for at that moment. A friend. Mikey took the smaller man into a hug, comforting and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," TJ whispered, as Mikey released him from the embrace. "I've been hard to deal with for a long time."

"I understand TJ. I'll forgive you if you can forgive me," Mikey laughed, patting TJ's shoulder. TJ stared at the large hand for a time, unsure what to say or do. "TJ," Mikey started, "It's Spinelli, isn't it?" TJ nodded. "I think you better tell me what's been happening with you two," Mikey said, "From the beginning." TJ nodded again. It was a long story. He'd been with Spinelli for a long time. And it was a hard story to tell. But TJ knew he could tell it to Mikey, because Mikey was his friend.

"We started dating at the end of 6th grade..." TJ began, his voice trembling as he recalled the past events that had been his life with Spinelli. He told of his doubts, about himself and his relationship with Spinelli. He told of his failures, in his career and his life in general. He told of Spinelli's gym buddies and friends in New York, not leaving out Jocko's surprised shock that this "lump" TJ was dating the stunning Ashley Spinelli. He told of the lies he was always telling Spinelli, about how he loved his job, how his life was perfect, how he was fine. He told of Vince and the kiss that was shared with Spinelli. He told of how beautiful Spinelli was, how perfect and sweet, and how hideous and repugnant he was. He told of Spinelli's brother and family, and how he wasn't important enough for her to tell her parents about. He told of how he dealt with the underlying knowledge that he was to blame for the death of a little girl, by burying it deep down in his heart and letting it fester. He told of how he was afraid that Spinelli would hate him if she ever figured out that Mary Anna really was his fault. And he told of how he feared Spinelli did hate him, or at least, didn't love him as much as she claimed to, that she only felt an obligation to stay by his side. When he was finished telling the story, Mikey only stared silently, somewhat understanding the part he'd played in feeding TJ's doubts and uncertain of what to say. He couldn't completely comprehend the feelings that TJ had. He'd never been so deeply in love with someone. TJ buried his head in his arms again.

"Do you understand now?" TJ murmured.

"No," Mikey retorted, "I can't understand. You expect her to hate you, when once you couldn't understand why one young boy simply didn't like you."

"It's easy, Mikey," TJ chuckled morbidly, "I didn't hate myself back then."

"TJ..."

"What? I can't hate myself? Were you not there? Did you not see Spinelli's face?"

"I'm trying to help you," Mikey started.

"I don't want to be helped, Mikey. I want to hate myself, because I need to," TJ shrugged, "I can't hate Spinelli...I could never hate her...no matter what she did. I can be mad at her, but I'll always love her more than anything. I already hate Vince; I don't think I can hate him more than I do...and I don't want to. I have to hate myself."

"No, you don't, TJ," Mikey attempted, but faltered. He didn't know how to help the guy. He patted his shoulder again before standing up and heading behind the counter of Kelso's. "I'll call Menlo. I think I saw a phone book back here."

-0-0-0-0-

Gus could hear the wind outside. He knew he was in a building, that much he could tell, and that he wasn't alone. But no matter how he called out, no matter how he cried, pleaded, talked, there came no answer. He could tell, most definitely, that he was by water. The rain had stopped some time ago, he couldn't hear it anymore. But he could hear the echo accompanied with water. He recalled the lake, secluded in Third Street Park. There was an old boathouse that no one used anymore. Could that be where he was? He could hear water dripping around him, the squick, squick was driving him crazy. And the giggling...that random, occasional giggling.

"Please..." Gus whimpered, "I know you're there...what do you want from me?" A slight laugh. "Say something..." he cried. He could feel someone move behind him, cold metal press against his cheek, and the crack of a flame burning next to his cheek. The heat was intense, scathing, eating into his flesh. Sweat dribbled down from his forehead, mingling with partially realized tears. "If you want to kill me, just do it," he stuttered, mustering his courage. He didn't want to die. He was married, something he hadn't told the gang, and his wife was pregnant. He hadn't known how to tell them. He'd brought his family back to the small town, remembering all the good qualities it had held. He'd wanted his baby to have a nice place to grow up. So it could go to Third Street Elementary and have adventures there like he had.

The pain was unbearable, pressed against Gus's cheek. The skin began to boil, reddening from the heat. Finally, the flame flickered and died. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself elsewhere, anywhere.

"Please..." he begged, "What do you want with me?" His companion in the darkness moved away, he could hear her, for the laughter suggested a young girl, cross the room. There was shuffling, and a scratchy sound filled the room, followed by music. An old folk tune that Gus didn't recognize. It had to be a record playing. Gus struggled against his bonds. Someone was singing along with the music, but he could barely hear their voice over the acoustics squealing from the record. His cheek was stinging, still boiling even though the flame was gone. He could hear rapid motion near and around him. He supposed that his company was dancing.

The girl came back up beside Gus, standing in front of him. He couldn't make out her face, but he could feel locks of hairbrush against his face, and he caught the scent of her body. He smelled like smoldering.

"They'll come for you," he could barely hear the whisper. It was so soft, so silent, that he couldn't even tell the gender or if he recognized it. A rough hand lifted his shirt, pressing a steel bar against his exposed flesh. The bar was almost like fire itself, scorching and welding his skin. He cried out, unable to hold in the pain, squirming beneath the hot grasp of the metal rod, his bonds holding him securely in place. The bar was pulled away, but it continued to burn. His shirt fell down, pressing against the injured flesh and increasing the pain. He gasped. "Question is, will you be here when they come?" Gus didn't like the sounds of that. He felt the girl walk away from him.

Gus attempted to undo his bonds, but it was useless. He was stuck. He knew who she meant by 'they'. The gang. They would come for him, because they always did what was right. And saving him was right. At least, that was how they would see it. He just wished they would hurry and come. He worried about Kelso's too. When he'd returned to the town, the first place he'd gone was to see old man Kelso. But Kelso was in a tight position. His business was struggling to survive, what with bigger shopping areas and restaurants coming to the town, things were difficult. Gus had agreed to go into business with Kelso, putting in an investment. He worked alongside Kelso to keep the store running, but the old man had been ill lately. Gus agreed to take over the shop and watch it until the man was better. When the gang came into town, he shut the store down that afternoon so they could talk. But who would lock up Kelso's that night, and who would open it in the morning? If no one was there, the store would shut down and lose much needed business.

Gus sighed, giving up and hanging his head down. His wife, Teresa, would be worried. She had a doctor's appointment the next morning that Gus was supposed to take her to. No, he told himself. He couldn't give up. He had to get out of this situation. He had to get back to his wife. He had to get back to his child. He had to make the gang see how ridiculous their hate for each other was. He heard the door scrape open, "You're not the one I want. There's someone else I want to suffer so much more than you," the girl said, before shutting the door again. She was gone. His heart leapt into his throat at that. If he wasn't the one she wanted, who was? Was she going to get the one she really wanted?

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey found the number for Menlo's house with ease. He was going to try the school, but TJ pointed out that it was probably closed by then. On the fifth ring, someone answered.

"Mmph..." came a voice through the line, "Hello?" Menlo's voice was unmistakable, still sharp and snooty, though a bit on the tired side.

"Menlo?" Mikey questioned though, still not certain if the man on the other end really was the small, well-dressed fourth grader he'd once known.

"Yes? If this is another telemarketer, I shall have the police trace this line and apprehend you," Menlo snapped.

"This isn't a telemarketer," Mikey said softly, "They'll be no need for any of that. This is Mikey...Mikey Blumberg." The other end was silent. "Menlo? Are you still there?"

"Yes," Menlo replied quietly, "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I know what time it is...but we have to talk. It's important," Mikey replied, glancing at TJ who was still sitting at the table, head lying down, only partially listening to Mikey.

"About?"

"Well...I..." Mikey hadn't really planned on what he was going to say. He couldn't just outright ask Menlo about the letters, could he?

"Blumberg, need I remind you that we were never actually friends, and, with that fact in mind, we really wouldn't have any touching reunions or long, drawn out conversations to catch up on each others lives. Now, if you don't mind, I have to work early in the morning so..." TJ took the phone from Mikey, who hadn't even noticed the young man make his way over.

"Menlo, shut up. We're calling to ask about an odd brown envelope with a cryptic message inside. Did you get one, or not?" TJ asked coldly.

"Ah...who is this?" Menlo asked.

"Dettwieler." Silence on Menlo's part again.

"I did."

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli awoke wrapped in covers, lying on a lumpy bed. She was still in her brother's room, still wearing his large garments. She glanced at the clock, groggily. It was late, almost two in the morning and her brother was nowhere to be seen. She stumbled from the bed, making her way to the bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror she sighed. She looked like hell. Her eyes were red, puffy, her lips cracked and chapped. Her hair was a mess of tangles, sticking up in places and falling about her face. She turned the faucet on, splashing water on her face. She looked back in the mirror, her face soaked and dripping wet. Maybe she could talk to TJ. She could always talk to him before. She touched her damp lips. Vince had kissed her. She had been kissed by Vince. It hadn't been horrible. She dried her face, new tears threatening to form. It hadn't been TJ.

Why was TJ acting like this? Why did he turn on her like this? Spinelli walked out of the bathroom. Where was Joey? She looked about the room. There was a phone on the nightstand. She wondered if she could call Francis. He always knew what to say. There was a piece of paper next to the phone on the nightstand. Her name was written at the top. Spinelli picked it up, recognizing her brother's chicken scratch right away.

"Ashley, I'm going to take care of things. Joey...." Spinelli read aloud. Take care of what things?

END A/N: I chose Mikey to be the first to break the ice because he's such an open-minded character I thought he would be quicker to rethink his judgement than the others.

Please review, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading.