A/N: Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit...I have to go to work...oh shit...real quick...
THANKS TO MY REVIEWERS: xXxSarah, Momo-chan (missed ya), TNPD, and RavenForever(don't ruin it for others). Oh, and mischeif-maker, new reviewer. I can't believe you are reading and reviewing it all right now, but when you reach this chapter, thanks!
Well...chapter 20...I've been writing for a month and I'm on chapter 20...ENJOY!
Chapter 20: From Hell and Back But Never Safe
Francis sat back in the chair, and Vince was hovering over him. Both eyed Ashley A. with curiosity. Neither was making sense of the things she was saying. Fires, broken dolls, swimming...none of it seemed coherent. Ashley Q. rest with her back against a bed watching Ashley A. with mild interest. Her gaze kept shifting to the blood stained sheets and the picture that Francis was holding. Ashley A. finally finished, turning from them and sighing.
"I don't understand any of it," she told them, "And he just...he stopped talking after that."
"He said nothing else?" Francis pressed. Ashley A. shook her head. "Great."
"What did he mean, that TJ knew who it was? That TJ had known all along?" Vince questioned, speaking up for the first time since Ashley A. had arrived in the room. Francis had been full of questions, but Vince just stood by taking in the things Ashley A. had to say.
"I don't know," Ashley A. shrugged, "But you'd think TJ would have told us if he knew what was going on."
"Do you think Ashley T. is dead?" Ashley Q. whispered, her eyes focused on one particular bloodstain, a piece of feather stuck to the sheet with the sticky red gunk. Some of it had dried already, a sickly purplish black. Everyone fell silent for a moment. "I mean," Ashley Q. went on, "That's what the picture suggests."
"We can't assume anything," Francis assured her, and then muttering under his breath, "I'm surprised you're not crying about getting bloodstains on your blouse."
"What if Ashley T. is dead?" Ashley Q. continued, "She, like, has a family. Her husband...her son...who'll tell them what happened? How would we explain it to them?"
"Ashley T. is not dead, Ashley Q. Stop talking like that," Ashley A. snapped.
"What if she is?" Ashley Q. croaked, "What if...what if...we all die?"
"We're not going to die," Francis sighed.
"Really? Says the man that was nearly stabbed to death!" Ashley Q. cried, "None of us are safe. Gus said so himself. Nothing can save us! We can't be saved. We'll all fall victim to this...this..." She buried her head muttering, "This is Spinelli's fault."
"How's this Spinelli's fault?" Vince demanded. Ashley Q. looked up at him pathetically, tears streaming down her face, smearing her make-up.
"She was supposed to act like Spinelli...not some little girl...if she'd have acted like Spinelli...if she'd of acted the way she was supposed to...if you'd all acted the way you were supposed to..." Ashley Q. trailed off, closing her eyes, "None of this would be happening."
"She's lost it," Vince stated simply.
"Have I?" Ashley Q. screamed, turning on him, "None of this ever happened when we were ourselves! Everything has to be the way it was...everything..." Ashley A. came up beside her friend, slipping an arm over her shoulders, whispering in her ear, hushing her.
"It's all right...everything is all right..."
"Nothings all right...nothings right..." Ashley Q. sobbed, burying her face in Ashley A.'s shoulder. Francis looked to Vince.
"Part of me thinks she's just doing that to make me feel bad," he said. Vince smirked slightly, sadly. The door to the room slammed open and Ashley B. stood there looking around the room. Her hair was a mess, matted to her head with sweat. She was covered in scars and cuts.
"It's Gus," she said, "The ceiling...it , and there's a fire! He's still in the room..."
-0-0-0-0-
It didn't take long for the helicopter to arrive, and in mere moments, everyone at the library was loaded in and ready to go to the hospital. There were three more paramedics in the copter, and Phil started talking with them immediately. Spinelli could see two body bags in the corner, gently laid out, and in the shape of a man and a woman. She stared at that for a long time. When Theresa had awoken she'd told them the first man was Ashley A.'s driver, Bruce, and they already knew the second body belonged to the librarian. She glanced to the other side of the copter, across from her, where TJ lay. He seemed so small, so fragile, almost made of glass. There were machines hooked up to him, monitoring his vitals and doing a number of other jobs that Spinelli knew nothing about. She was afraid to go near him. Everything had seemed to fade when he was in danger, everything that had happened, him breaking up with her, their fighting. But now, now it all rushed back to her and she couldn't stand the overwhelming emotions that came with being near him.
Spinelli looked over to Theresa, holding the baby in her arms, smiling every so often at the paramedics telling her that the baby was beautiful. She looked beautiful herself, her forehead drenched in sweat, her hair limp, her face glowing. She was so tired and so full of life. She'd given the world this tiny perfect creation. Theresa beamed over at Randall every now and then relaying the story of how he'd taken over things so brilliantly, and taken care of her. She commented that he'd have been a great doctor. Spinelli noted how Randall seemed to fold miserably inside himself at these praises, but she didn't want to say anything. Randall had changed in ways that Spinelli wasn't sure she was ready to deal with at the moment. She turned her gaze to Mikey who sat by her side.
Mikey was himself again, it seemed. He was caring and loving and full of poetic energy. He grinned at everything in the world, cherished every moment, and called those around him "friend" again. It was hard to believe that just the very other day he was hardened by a traumatic event that scarred his childhood, hard to imagine that he was once dead to the wonders of the world. Now he cried for joy at small happenings, sang praises to the beauty of life, and nourished the waning positive atmosphere in the helicopter.
Gretchen looked worse for wear. She had woken up when the paramedics were moving her. Now on the helicopter they were flushing her lungs. She held a plastic mask to her face, breathing into it and staring blankly in Spinelli's direction. Spinelli hadn't noticed the changes that had come over Gretchen in the years of their separation. Her hair was short, tied back, and still red. She had short bangs that were pressed to her forehead from sweat. Her hair itself was stringy with grease and smoke. She had a smudge of ash on her cheek, which was still covered in freckles. She'd grown taller, lanky, but her body hadn't filled out. She was still thin but no longer awkward. Her eyes were fixated on Spinelli, which didn't make the smaller woman feel very comfortable. Those eyes were harsh and cold, unfeeling it seemed, like a predator that had just found its prey.
"Who's Clara?" Gretchen finally asked. Spinelli looked away, towards TJ. She'd told them all what he'd said, she'd had to. Everyone's attention seemed to be on her now.
"I don't know," Spinelli shrugged, her voice a slight whisper, sad and melancholy, "I've never heard the name before."
"Maybe she's TJ's girlfriend," Randall joked silently. Spinelli shot him a look of death. Randall gulped, realizing what that look meant, "Oh...never mind."
"You're arguably the closest person to TJ," Gretchen started.
"Arguably?" Spinelli interjected, sounding slightly peeved. Gretchen shrugged, looking away.
"Maybe this Clara is closer..." Spinelli narrowed her eyes at Gretchen.
"Tell me something, Grundler. Do you honestly think that since we're adults, I'm above pummeling you into nothing more than a bloody pile of mush?"
"I honestly don't think of you as an adult," Gretchen snarled.
"What's with them?" Randall asked fretfully to Mikey. Mikey smiled sadly.
"Their friendship's bonds have broken, they suffer from loath that..."
"Can it, Mikey," Spinelli snapped, "I don't suffer from anything except having to deal with that bitch over there. Gretchen, you don't know shit about TJ and my relationship..."
"Might I put in, you're no longer existing relationship," Gretchen interrupted.
"You bitch," Spinelli spat, making a move towards Gretchen with clenched fists. Mikey grabbed her arms though, holding her in place. Gretchen didn't flinch, just staring dully at Spinelli.
"Hey," Phil interrupted, "Will you two stop it! I don't know what the heck is up with the both of you, and frankly, I don't care. We have two injured parties on this chopper, which includes you Gretchen, and two in questionable condition. If you don't mind, I'd like to get to the hospital in one piece."
"Whatever," Spinelli muttered, falling back and eyeing Gretchen angrily, "Just tell that bitch to mind her mouth, and her own damn business."
"Um..." Phil looked to Gretchen, "You heard her..."
"So long as you tell the feral beast over there to keep her volatile PMSing to a minimum," Gretchen spat.
"Uh..." Phil looked to Spinelli.
"Yeah, well why don't you tell Grundler to shove it up her..."
"...mm...Spin..." Spinelli fell silent, looking to TJ and chewing her lower lip. She turned her back to everyone, burying her face.
"Dammit, Teej..." she whispered, "Why are you doing this to me?"
"He's lost a lot of blood," Phil explained to them, "And I'm worried about the possibility of hypothermia...that and pneumonia. Who knows how long he was in the water. And I don't doubt he has a concussion." Those words seemed to remind Spinelli of her own condition. She leaned heavily against the side of the helicopter, pressing the cold of the metal into her skin, overcome with a wave of nausea, she was slipping. Mikey glanced at her with concern, catching her before she fell to the floor. He raised an eyebrow.
"Spinelli, you're burning up," he said, "You're really sick."
"I'm fine," she mumbled. Phil came to her side, took her temperature quickly.
"He's right, Spinelli, you shouldn't even be up. Your temperature is at 102," Phil told her, and then looking to Mikey, "Lay her down."
"Maybe a certain stubborn person shouldn't have spent the past day running around in the rain," Gretchen muttered, but the crack in her voice betrayed her feelings of worry.
"I said I'm fine!" Spinelli snapped, but she couldn't find the energy to protest as Mikey forced her to lay down.
"What were you thinking? You knew you were sick," Mikey accused.
"I know...it's just..." she glanced at TJ, "What does it matter?" she whispered, "I've got nothing..."
"Spinelli, TJ loves you," Mikey assured her, "I know. He loves you more than anything and he has been beating himself up ever since..."
"Yeah, he loves me a great deal," she shot back, "And he's been showing it real well since we got here. I especially loved the part where he broke up with me and accused me of cheating..." She gripped her head. It was pounding in her skull, so painful.
"Don't get her too excited," Phil cautioned, "She needs to calm down, to rest."
"We're landing," the pilot called back to his passengers, "Hey, it looks like there's a fire." Mikey rushed to the front with the pilot, looking out at the hospital below them. It was true. There appeared to be thick black smoke rising from the hospital. Beneath the cloud of ash, Mikey could see small spikes of orange and red. It didn't appear to be a large fire, and rescue workers were already fighting the flames.
"I hope everyone's alright..." Mikey murmured.
-0-0-0-0-
Vince was the first one to the fire, followed by Ashley A., then Ashley B. and then Ashley Q. helping Francis, who didn't look too happy with that situation. Of course, as Ashley Q. had reminded him minutes earlier, he could have been left behind all together what with the condition he was in. Firefighters were already there; putting the flames out, but the fire was still burning, licking up the sides of the walls, scorching the floor, and heating the air.
"Gus!" Vince cried, throwing an arm up to shield his eyes from the intense temperature, "Gus! Oh god...Gus!" There seemed no hope.
"Gus!" Ashley A. cried by Vince's side.
"Where is he?" Francis called, out of breath.
"I don't know," Vince mumbled, "I don't know. I can't find him...he's nowhere."
"Vince," the voice was meager, small, and so quiet. Vince spun around, his eyes falling on the helpless form, crumpled against the once white wall. Broken. Like a formless rag doll he seemed, spread out across the floor, scorched and burned, battered and bruised. Vince walked over, slowly, falling on his knees beside the young man.
"Gus?"
"I'm looking..." Gus whispered, "Looking...for...for something?"
"It's okay, Gus," Vince told him, patting his shoulder gently, "I'll help you find it."
"Thanks..."
"Oh my god," Ashley A. whispered, "Ashley T."
Vince turned to look at the blonde woman, then followed to where she was pointing. As the flames were extinguished the form became more visible. The young woman, brunette curls falling about green clad shoulders, became more vivid. She was dressed in different clothes, what appeared mock-ups of her childhood wardrobe. Her hair was carefully curled, each one held in its place, neatly and tenderly folded. She seemed out of place, so clean and untouched in the wreckage the flames had caused. Vince's eyes trailed down. Down to the ground that Ashley T. was sitting upon, down to the pool of blood beneath her. Ashley A. rushed forward, dodging the firefighters that attempted to grab her, followed by Ashley B. and Ashley Q., who were each stopped before they too could reach the broken form of their good friend. Ashley A. bent, tears streaming down her cheeks, touching Ashley T.'s face softly. Her hand fell on a piece of paper lying on Ashley T.'s lap. She lifted it, her bottom lip trembling as she read what it said. Her eyes lit up, her face livid with anger. Shakily, she lifted herself up, spinning about the room, looking all around.
"If she's not what you wanted, than what do you want? What the hell do you want from us?" she screamed to no one in particular. The firefighters ignored her for the most part, only four pairs of eyes followed the blonde woman.
"Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine," Gus began singing, his voice silent, just above a hushed whisper, shaking, cracking, "You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine..." He stopped, licking his dried lips, cracked and bloody. "Broken doll," he chuckled, as though it were all a joke, "Wrong one." Ashley B. turned on him.
"What do you know about this?" she demanded, "Why? Why did this happen? Why are they doing this? Who's doing this?"
"No," Gus said simply. Ashley B. came down on him, grabbing his collar, shaking him violently.
"What does it mean? Why won't you answer me?"
"Ashley B.," Vince spoke up, grabbing her shoulders, stopping her, "Let him go. He doesn't know what he's saying."
Nurses and hospital staff was running about now, what with the fire put out. They brought in gurneys, and some stopped to take Gus and Ashley T. away on the rolling beds. There were only a few patients caught in the fire, though no one could explain how the fire was started or Ashley T.'s presence in that area. They left behind Vince, Francis, and the three Ashleys, staring blankly at the chaos around them. Vince came up to Ashley A.'s side and took the piece of paper from her shaking hands.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What?" Francis asked, perking to attention and turning to the taller man, "Sorry for what?"
"That's what it say," Vince explained, "It says 'I'm sorry I broke the wrong doll'."
"Gus said..." Ashley Q. murmured, "He knows something."
"He just doesn't know what that is," Francis chuckled morbidly.
"That's not funny," Ashley Q. snapped at him. Francis shook his head, walking away from the mess. Vince looked back to the room.
"A helicopter's coming in with some more patients," he overheard one of the nurses saying, "From the library. There are five patients and two bodies for the morgue." Five patients, Vince wondered, and two bodies. He didn't like the sounds of that.
"Mikey's back," he announced to the others. They just glanced at him and moved out of the burned hallway. They were on their ways to the front of the hospital; no one needed to say anything to decide that.
Mikey was the first to come in, rushing beside a gurney pushing a young man.
"I don't think he's allergic to any medications," Mikey was saying, "He broke his collarbone when he was in the fourth grade, is that important? I don't know if he's taking any medication..."
"TJ?" Vince muttered, catching sight of the unconscious figure.
"He isn't," came a voice from behind them, answering the question for Mikey. A young woman, the owner of the voice, followed after them more slowly and unsteadily, fighting against paramedics pushing a gurney and insisting she lay on it. Two more young women followed, Gretchen on foot and Theresa clutching a small bundle on another gurney. Then a young man walked in seeming uncertain as to where to go or what to do. So he stopped watching as the new arrivals were pushed down another hallway.
"Randall," Francis identified the young man and, with Vince following, approached him. Randall looked at them bewildered.
"What?" he demanded.
"Where are they taking them?" Vince asked, looking after the retreating paramedics and his friends.
"TJ's going to the ER, Spinelli's going to somewhere she can shower, then get drugged up, Gretchen's going with her, and Theresa's headed for the maternity ward with her daughter," he explained, then, almost as an afterthought, "It's been a long time."
"For some of us, not long enough," Vince muttered, "I'm going to see..." he looked torn a moment, confused, "Spinelli," he finally said.
"Well, I'm going to see TJ," Francis shrugged, already guessing what was eating at the other man, "I'm difinately sure they won't let you in while Spinelli's cleaning up, but you could always come with me."
"Fine, whatever," Vince followed Francis.
"We're going to find out what happened with Gus and Ashley T., meet us back here in a half-hour?" Ashley A. called after them.
"Yeah," Francis nodded.
Randall watched them all leave, then crossed to the lobby taking a seat. He slumped into the cushion, staring blankly at his hands. Forgotten. He was finally forgotten.
"Thank god," he breathed. He stared at those hands, amazed. He'd guided a child from its mother's womb with those hands that night. He'd helped bring life into the world. Randall sunk his face into those hands. What was one compared to the so many he'd used them to take?
-0-0-0-0-
It seemed as though hours passed before Spinelli was able to slip from her hospital room down the hall to where she knew TJ was being held. She knew, because Mikey had come in to tell her. She could see him through the thick glass, it was all that separated her from him and it seemed like miles. He was hooked up to several more machines, beeping and humming and doing god knew what. He was breathing softly, his chest rising and falling. She touched the glass pane gently, her hand pressed against the smooth window. They'd bandaged him up, taken their x-rays and ran their tests. Now he was there, lying in that bed, unmoving.
"Ashley?" she heard a whisper behind her. She turned. Francis was sitting in a chair, shifting slightly, and looking up at her. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she nodded, but she was lying. Francis couldn't tell, but TJ would have called her on it in a minute. She smirked at that thought, sniffling slightly. She felt woozy still.
"He woke up," Francis informed her, nodding toward the glass, "Asked for you."
"Is he alright?"
"Broken ribs, mild concussion...don't give me that look," Francis raised an eyebrow at her, she looked overwhelmed with grief, "He could be worse. Hell, from what Mikey tells me, he could be dead."
"Don't remind me," she groaned.
"Ashley...go in, go see him," Francis urged her.
"I can't," she muttered, falling into the seat beside him, "I just...I can't."
"Why?" Francis asked. He sounded tired.
"He broke up with me, Frankie. How can I go in there and see him feeling this way? Why is he doing this to me?"
"I don't know. I don't think he's doing it to hurt you."
"Then why?"
"Look...I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what he's thinking, what was going through his head when he broke up with you." Francis sighed, slipping an arm over her shoulders, "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. Maybe...whatever there is to be said, Dettwieler can say it better than anyone."
"You have any idea how momentous this is?" Spinelli asked, looking her friend in the eyes, "You have nothing to say. You always have something to say." Francis smiled, somewhat sadly.
"Sorry, I guess I'm not on my game today," he mumbled, brushing the hair from her face. She looked away, staring blankly at her shoes. They were silent a long time. Finally, Francis leaned back laying his head against the wall, chuckling.
"What?" Spinelli asked curiously, "What's so funny?"
"You know you messed up my favorite shirt right?" he told her, still laughing slightly.
"Sorry," she muttered, "I needed something to wear."
"I guess it looked better on you anyways," he snickered, "I've never really had a girl wearing my clothes before." She shrugged, glancing up at the window. "Bet you always wear Dettwieler's clothes now."
"Yeah," she smiled, "He jokes that he should just buy me the same stuff he gets so I don't have to steal his stuff but...that's not why I wear 'em..."
"Why is it?" Francis asked, glancing at her. She looked...sweet.
"You'll laugh, Frankie. It's too girly."
"Yeah, I probably will," he grinned at her, "But is that so bad?" She shook her head.
"I guess not if it's you," she replied.
"Then tell me."
"They smell like him," she mumbled, blushing, "It I wasn't with him...they'd remind me of him." She looked at Francis expectantly. "You're not gonna laugh?" He seemed quiet, a bit stunned.
"No," he told her, shifting in his chair, "My clothes smell like me?"
"Yeah, but they were more sort of a necessity..." Spinelli started, but trailed off, covering her mouth, "I mean...well, they reminded me of you. There for me...you know." She looked away again, both silent. "Sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For choosing TJ." Francis glanced at her, sighing.
"You love him," he said, "It was what you wanted."
"But I know it wasn't what you wanted. I'm sorry," Spinelli bit her lower lip, chewing it thoughtfully.
"I wanted you to be happy, Ashley," Francis reassured her, "It hurt...yeah, but I knew that Dettwieler was the only one who could make you as happy as I wanted you to be. I admit, I had the biggest crush on you back then, but...you know, I'm not going to be taking Vince's kamikaze path. I like to think I'm smarter then that, getting myself in a situation where the only way out is heartbreak."
"Vince," Spinelli snorted, "Can you believe him?"
"Yes, I can," Francis told her honestly, "He cares about you, a lot. I don't think he loves you to the extreme that he thinks he does, but everybody's so emotional right now. Everything seems so much more at stake."
"Then you understand, right, that Vince and TJ's relationship...that it's my fault?" Spinelli pressed, "They were the best of friends. He used to wake me up, TJ that is; in the middle of the night...he'd be sitting alone in the corner staring at nothing. He never made any friends in New York, not one. He had acquaintances, sure, but no one he could laugh and talk with. He wouldn't talk to me about it...but I knew, that it was Vince. For the longest time I hated Vince for that, for what he'd done to TJ, turning on him, treating him like dirt. But in truth, it was all my fault. I should have hated myself all along, not Vince."
"Ashley, Vince had no way of knowing back then that you and TJ had hooked up," Francis attempted to soothe her.
"No...he did..." Spinelli choked, "Back then...before...Vince called me. He wanted me to hang out...or something...I told him I couldn't. I told him I was going out with TJ. He was so mad...I didn't understand why then, but the very idea that I was going to be anywhere near TJ seemed to make him so angry. He hung up on me, I didn't even have time to explain..." She broke into a desperate sob, "I'm sorry..."
"Look at me," Francis commanded her, lifting her face gently, "It's not your fault, Ashley. They made their own damn decisions. The only thing you're guilty of is falling in love and following your own heart. The problem with Vince was he didn't seem to realize that you are capable of controlling what happens in your own life. And you do so quite...how should I say this...forcefully?"
"Was?" Spinelli questioned.
"I think ol' Frankie is starting to get through to him with the uh...hustler charm," Francis grinned at her, kissing her forehead, "Anything else troubling you?"
"Yeah," Spinelli smiled, "What hustler charm?"
"Shut up," Francis frowned at her mock hurt. She glanced at the window again, though from her angle could undoubtedly see nothing. Francis frowned, patting her hand gently and standing, "Go see him, Ashley." She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I thought we discussed this," she said.
"Well I guess I didn't catch the 'no' in that conversation," Francis told her, looking away down the hall, "He needs you right now, Ashley," she opened her mouth to protest, "Spinelli," he snapped, turning determinedly to her, "Get in there and face him. Unless you're a coward. You nearly lost him today and it would have killed you, knowing you hadn't talked things out with him, but you were given a second chance. See, door, second chance? Get your ass in there, and tell him how much you love him, now!" He grabbed her, pulling her towards the door.
"Frankie..." she mumbled. He stopped and they met eyes; hers filled with confused rage and his... unreadable.
"Go," he whispered softly, "Before it's gone. Before you lose that chance. I did once and I keep regretting it." She reached forward, touched the doorknob gently and pushed the door open. It was so light, but her arms felt so weak and the door seemed so heavy. She didn't glance back as she slipped into the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Francis stared at that door for a long time.
"Does she know?" a voice whispered behind him. He spun, Ashley Q. standing before him. He hadn't realized she'd snuck up on them.
"Know what?" he demanded.
"How much you love her." Francis was silent. His chest hurt, and he was struggling with tears...his eyes had been dry just five seconds ago. He turned away.
"I have a few calls to make," he spat, before marching away. Why did it always feel as though she was ripping his heart out? Why couldn't he be selfish just once? Why was he always giving her away? Why was he always giving her to him? Francis smiled slightly, desolately. Because he did love her. He loved her just enough to know he couldn't have her.
-0-0-0-0-
Spinelli stared at the motionless form for a long time. He seemed so helpless there, and so beautiful. He was unconscious, resting; there was nothing she could do. What did Francis hope to accomplish shoving her in there? She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she could almost hear it. Her breath came in sharp, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Why was she crying? Why was she always crying? Ever since they'd arrived back in town she'd been crying. It was because of TJ. He kept making her cry. She clutched her stomach, staring dizzily at the young man she knew so well, and it seemed not at all. She'd always felt so connected to him, but now, staring down at him, she felt as though she couldn't even touch him.
"Why, Teej?" she whispered, so quietly she couldn't even hear herself. "Why are you doing this?" It was no use. Why was she even there? She turned, making her way for the door to leave.
"Spin..." She turned. He was looking at her through half-opened eyes, watching her movements.
"Hey..." she struggled to say. It came as nothing more than a choked sob. He laid back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
"I thought I was dead," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, then added softly, "Maybe I should be."
"Don't say that," Spinelli mumbled.
"I wouldn't hurt you..."
"If you died?" Spinelli stepped forward, touching the foot of the hospital bed. He was avoiding her, not wanting to meet her eyes. Something was wrong; something was eating at him.
"You know...you know I don't mean to hurt you," he went on, "We have to talk...I have...a lot to tell you...I just...can't."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"Then don't."
"I have to. I have to tell you," TJ closed his eyes, tears escaping, "I just want you to know...I just want to make sure we're clear, I love you...I love you so much...and I don't want you to forgive me."
"Teej..." Spinelli started.
"No. Just listen...listen to everything...and know that I'm sorry, and I don't expect you to forgive me, nor do I feel I deserve it."
"I'm listening," Spinelli whispered, chewing her bottom lip, her nervous habit.
"Spinelli," TJ started, "I'm so sorry..."
END A/N: Hoped you enjoyed. Um...er...can't talk now, maybe next chapter. Um, keep in mind that although a name's been revealed, it answers nothing. Everything's gonna get a lot more confusing. I think you should read back over the story and look at how unsimilar all the attacks have been, think it over. uh...
please REVIEW, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
Thanks for reading, until we meet again.