A/N: Wow-wee! Chapter 25 and still going strong!
Did everyone read the gift fic for all you wonderful reviewers who helped get me to 100 reviews? Hmm...I didn't see xSpazzyx18(xXxSarahxXx) on the review board...GO READ IT EVERYONE!
Thanks to all the reviewers:
TNPD: Thanks. You should get your liscense, it's freeing really. I can drive myself to work now and the book store and other places...I liked the interaction between Spin and her parentals as well. I liked writing it. I already had planned how they'd react...for 20 something chapters I was holding that moment in...you can imagine how the ending is bubbling in my tummy.
RavenForever: Yes. I am evil. Which will become more evident with each passing chapter. And yes. Smoking is bad. But Randall lives a horrible existence. Let him have a cigarette every now and then. And no. I personally never saw all the Ashleys getting themselves in screwed up marriages. They're too smart and have too much respect for themselves, which a lot of fanfic writers do tend to overlook.
RT: All good things must come to an end. But your reviews are good things that should never come to an end! I will accept your reason for now, but the sniffles still remain.
DarkAngelGuadianLight: I understand...school's a pain. But please...please...keep up with reviews, I miss when my reviewers don't send word.
mischeif-maker: YAY! Another awesomely lengthy review. A detective? A psychiatrist? I'm a writer. And a good writer is all of those things. Your compliments are overwhelming and sooooo greatly appreciated. I'm glad you like my chacterizations of everyone. As to TJ, no one likes a hero that's perfect at everything. And it's nice that someone else was so overcome with joy when TJ said those words, it wasn't just me. And yes, I do watch anime, I love anime, I live anime, I can spend hours just watching anime. It's a surprise I'm not surfing the anime section as opposed to the Recess section, a huge surprise I ain't posting Gundam Wing fics, because those are my favs. I did glance over one of your fanfics once, it was well written, but I'm not hugely versed in Yu Yu Hakusho, and I am really stuck on writing my fic. I gotta finish it before I go bonkers. I may write a review...someday, so keep your eyes peeled.
Sarah (because it's easier to type): You're forgiven, so long as you keep up with your loyal reviews. That's an interesting form of OCD. Personally, I think everyone has a slight case of OCD, simply things that become habit. I know I got a lot of things...though, they're mostly paranoia type things. Err...that made no sense.
A follow-up to my little Finster/Mrs.Dettwieler connection game. Do you know what strikes me? You all know (I'm taking a huge assumption here) that Katie Segall is the voice behind Mrs. Flo Spinelli. Now, is it just me, or has anyone ever noticed how Flo looks a great deal like Peggy Bundy, the role that Katie Segall is perhaps most well known for? Like Peggy, Flo wears skin tight clothing, spandex high-waters, and high-heels (though not as high as Peggy's). Her hair is also done up the same, though Flo has brown hair and Peggy had red. Flo also wears a headband, which was sometimes seen in Peggy's hair. She kind of looks like a diluted Peggy Bundy. Am I crazy, or has anyone else ever seen this connection?
Music recs...hm....Crystal Village by Pete Yorn, Here is Gone by The Goo Goo Dolls (again?), and...hmm....and Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton. Or, In Bloom by Nirvana.
Oi....just thought you'd all want to know what an idiot I am. I forgot one of the characters...glad I caught it! Yup yup...I know one of you guys would have caught it, my money was on RavenForever, but I caught it first!
That's all folks...ENJOY!
Chapter 25: Sweet Memories and Facing Facts: part 2
Theresa led her husband through the maternity ward to the nursery. In the few hours she'd been in the hospital she already had the layout memorized. Her husband whimpered slightly and she squeezed his hand, reminding him that she was there. Gus had been silent since he'd revealed the information of his capture. He seemed almost...almost afraid. Yet satisfied at the same time. He'd shared what he'd had to, he'd passed the message on in a way, and no longer was he burdened with this harrowing knowledge.
Theresa felt the recognizable tug at her arm as her husband stopped dead in his tracks. She turned, gave him a questioning look.
"What's the matter, Gus?" she asked, fear edging in her voice. He wasn't breaking down again was he? Those memories weren't too much for him, were they?
"I'm sorry," Gus mumbled, "I can't."
"Can't what, sweetheart?" Theresa asked, wrapping her arms around him.
"I can't see my child," he explained.
"Because of your glasses?" Theresa attempted, not certain what he was getting at.
"No," Gus swallowed back choking tears, "Because of...because it's me..." He buried his head against her shoulder, "Theresa," he cried, "I'm not good enough for this child! I'm not good enough for you!"
"Gus...you are..."
"No," he interrupted, tears splashing against her skin, "The perfect soldier," he half-laughed the words, "That's what I was supposed to be. The good little soldier." He pulled from his wife's arms, "I can't even protect my wife as she gives birth to my child."
"Gus...that wasn't your fault," Theresa argued, a ping of hurt entering her heart. She hadn't been thinking of how he might have felt, going on about how 'if Randall hadn't been there' and how 'great Randall was'. It hadn't occurred to her that maybe her loving husband would have preferred it had been him there and the thought of not having been there wasn't going over well with him.
"My father was a commanding officer in the military and I was supposed to follow in his footsteps," Gus choked, jabbing a finger to his chest, "I couldn't even get into the military because I'm blind as a bat! And I'm too afraid to get laser surgery, but we probably couldn't afford it anyways because I put all our finances into a failing diner that I couldn't stand to see shut down because of how much it meant to my childhood! I failed my father, I failed you, and more importantly, I failed that child sleeping in that room."
"Gus," Theresa whispered, realizing that this was a great deal larger scale than the fact he wasn't there when she gave birth to their child.
"And I failed the gang..." he sobbed, "I couldn't keep them together. You saw them all in there...still...they still can't even face each other."
"Gus, it was never your responsibility," Theresa soothed, brushing away tears flooding her own eyes, "I love you, Gus, and none of that matters to me. You never failed me; you always took care of me. We'll manage, we always do. And Kelso's isn't failing, you know that it's been doing better ever since you invested in it and started working there."
"Theresa...I wanted things to be alright again...I wanted...I wanted the gang together again..." he ran the back of his hand across his eyes, "But nothings working the way it should be. Everyone's falling apart, and now TJ and Spinelli...it's like...like our friendship never existed."
"Gus, shut up and listen to me," Theresa commanded, straightening and glowering up at the young man she loved, "You have done so much in your life, you need to stop looking back on the things you never did, or could never do! Keeping the gang together was never your responsibility. They fell apart because they couldn't keep it together. Gus..." she slipped her hand around his neck, "Gus, you have never let me down, never disappointed me. And...there is a child behind those doors right over there who you helped create, and who I know you will never let down." She took his hand, and he nodded slowly, the words sinking in.
"But...Theresa..."
"No, Gus," she hushed him, "Now...now it is time you met your little girl." She led him through the swinging white doors, smiling in greeting towards the nurse. Gus could make out the small forms moving sluggishly in the cribs, he felt his wife stop in front of one of the cribs, a child wearing pink lay before him. "Griswold, Girl," she read the placard to him, taking his hands to encompass the child.
"Mrs. Griswold," a man called to Theresa, entering the maternity ward.
"Dr. Meyer," Theresa greeted, smiling to him as he handed a plastic case over.
"This came from the optometrist's department down stairs. I sent for your husband's prescription when he came in," he explained as Theresa slipped familiar black-rimmed glasses from the case.
"Sweetie," Theresa whispered, touching Gus's shoulder and handing him the glasses. He pushed them on, the child in his arms coming into clear focus. "Gus...?" Theresa said after a moment of silence.
"I thought it was the outfit, but she's all pink," Gus replied and Theresa smiled, kissing his cheek. The baby was beautiful, small, with her mother's eyes and father's nose and round face. She was so small and soft and warm, and Gus lifted her up kissing her gently and grinning. She smelled sweet as well.
-0-0-0-0-
Ashley Q. handed the bottle of water over to Ashley T. and picked up a hairbrush.
"You don't have to," Ashley T. told her, taking a sip of the water as Ashley Q. ran the brush through her knotted brown locks. "I must look a wreck," she whispered, running a hand subconsciously along her burn scars, "I guess I should get used to it."
"You look beautiful, Ashley T., as always," Ashley Q. reassured her, "You shouldn't worry." She swatted Ashley T.'s hands away from her face, "Even if your husband does mind, he wouldn't leave you over scars would he?"
"Ricky's blind," Ashley T. whispered, her hands trembling violently atop the white hospital blanket. Ashley Q. paused in her working through her friend's hair, shocked. She hadn't met Richard Blathers simply because Ashley T. had never introduced him to any of the Ashleys. A fear entered her heart.
"You're ashamed of him?" she questioned. Could Ashley T. be that shallow?
"No," came the quavering response, "He's ashamed of himself. He sees with his fingers," she ran her hands along her face again, "What'll he see now?"
"You never talk about Ricky," Ashley Q. mumbled, attempting to change the subject. She couldn't really tell Ashley T. how her husband would react because she didn't know him. "I'm surprised you're telling me now."
"So am I," Ashley T. shrugged, folding the blanket with her hands, "I don't like to..."
"Why?" Ashley Q. asked, "I mean, so he's blind. What's the worse that could mean? He can't, like, compliment us on our nicely accessorized outfits? We're your best friends."
"Because..." Ashley T. swallowed hard, choking on sobs, "I didn't want you...I didn't want any of you to ruin it..."
"Ruin it?" it was hard not to hide the hurt in Ashley Q.'s voice.
"He's a professor of history," Ashley T. snapped, "He wears white socks with black suits, vertical stripes with horizontal ones," tears were streaming down her cheeks now, "He wears cotton with polyester! He's not a guy any of you would date! Ashley A. married Sergio the Italian super model hunk; Ashley B. married Donald the flyboy from L.A. streets, and you. You married Christopher Masters, business CEO and once coveted as the most desirable bachelor. But I married the blind Professor Richard Blathers. Maybe...maybe I did it because I never thought I could ever compare with my best friends. I had to marry a man who could never see the competition..." she felt tears streaming down her cheeks, "He used to tell me how smooth my face was...that he loved that...and now? Now do you think he'll tell me that?"
"That doesn't matter," Ashley Q. tried once again, but it was no use. Ashley T. was lost in her sobs, shriveled up inside herself and Ashley Q. didn't even believe her own words. She lifted herself up, running her hand through her hair, looking to the ceiling desperately for answers, "I'm going to get food," she finally told Ashley T. before rising and leaving the room, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips and making her way down the hall to where she was almost certain a vending machine lie. She was surprised to find a familiar face there.
Francis stood in front of the vending machine, cursing softly under his breath as his dollar bill was once again rejected. He glanced up when he heard the chink of change falling into the machine, following the arm to Ashley Q.'s frowning face.
"What did you want?" she asked.
"The chips," he muttered, shoving the dollar bill into her hand to which she declined.
"On me," she pushed the buttons, and clinked her own change into the machine, glancing over the selection, "Don't you have anywhere else to go? The hospital's really not a popular hangout for healthy people."
"No, for your information, I don't," Francis snapped, accepting the chips from her, "I keep checking the news for an update on the road conditions. I would love to get out of this place," he sighed, shaking his head, "But it's no good. How is it possible for every road out of town to be blocked at the same time?" Ashley Q. shrugged deciding on the granola bar.
"Why the rush to go?" she asked, glancing at him curiously.
"Well, as much as I'd love to stay in a town unknowingly harboring a killer that wants me amongst everyone else I know dead, I have things to do," Francis spat, staring blankly at the chips in his hands, "Besides," he sighed, slumping into a nearby chair, "With TJ and all of them at each others throats, we really are screwed."
"We can, like, come up with a plan ourselves," Ashley Q. shrugged, sitting in the chair next to him, "It's not like we're incompetent or something."
"You got a plan?" Francis asked, the very idea striking him as humorous. Sure, the Ashleys were smart and always coming up with something conniving, but they were more suited for shady underhanded things, rather than the plans they were accustomed to TJ coming up with. The Ashleys planned things that benefited only them, while TJ made plans that benefited everyone. Not to mention the Ashleys' plans had a way of failing, while TJ's plans never let anyone down when it mattered.
"No," she muttered, pushing her hair behind her ears, "It's just, like, so ridiculous that we always rely on them. We're smart, aren't we?"
"Yeah," Francis slumped down in his chair, leaning hard into the plush back of the seat, "But none of us are leaders. Dettwieler was a natural born leader..."
"Ashley A..."
"Would be a tyrant in pink," Francis shook his head, "It's no use. I'm leaving first chance I get and there's really no reason for me to stay anyways."
"What about your parents?"
"They moved back to Jersey two years ago."
"Jersey?"
"Oh," Francis shifted slightly in his seat, "That's where I'm from, originally. Moved here when I was in second grade."
"I didn't know that," Ashley Q. unwrapped her bar, taking a bite of it.
"You never asked. In case you forgot, you never talked to me, especially after what happened with Mary Anna," Francis shrugged, "But why would a powder puff like yourself talk to a hustler like me?"
"Is that how you think of me?" Ashley Q. demanded, "A powder puff? I suppose if I'd been more like Spinelli..."
"You like Spinelli?"
"Yeah. You don't think I could be tough? What's it take? A few threats, a bad attitude! Maybe I should start wearing men's clothing and tear holes in my jeans," Ashley Q. snorted, "You think she's so great, maybe she is to have so many guys care so much about her when I can't even get my own husband..." She stopped, turned away.
"It's not about how she looks or how tough she acts," Francis shook his head, staring intensely at the young woman beside him, "You could never be like Spinelli, because there's only one of her. You'll never understand...you can't be like her...she's just..."
"Explain it to me." Francis paused, looked to his hands, to his feet, back up to Ashley Q.'s face. He'd never talked about Spinelli or the way he felt about her with anyone. It would be too hard to find the words, and it wasn't his place to talk about Spinelli that way. But...but then there was something inside of him, a feeling inside of him. He needed to talk about it.
"I don't know how to explain it..." he said, rubbing the back of his head distractedly, "She's just...remember in fourth grade we'd play dodge ball. She'd get this glint in her eye, and everyone knew, everyone just knew what that look meant."
"Get out of her way unless you want a ball imprinted on your face?"
"Yeah," Francis chuckled, "That's Spinelli. Sometimes...while everyone else has changed...I mean, hell, I have a feeling Randall doesn't even know how to rat people out anymore, and TJ can't make a plan to save his own ass, Gretchen's a total bitch...and you're talking to me. But Spinelli? Sometimes she still gets that glint in her eye, and a smirk on her lips, and she...you just know that she will cream whatever idiot thinks to get in her way."
"And that's what you like about her?"
"No, well, it's part of it," Francis looked up, "I like that she doesn't lose herself, no matter what she does. She knows who she is and no one can take that..."
"Confidence?" Ashley Q. sighed, "That's not an uncommon trait in women."
"Yeah...I guess it helps that she rolls out of bed and looks completely gorgeous," Francis joked, laughing slightly, "Sorry. I mean; she's just easy to talk to. She doesn't play games. If you offend her, she lets you know. She doesn't hold grudges, she just pummels the hell out of you."
"Humph," Ashley Q. pulled herself to her feet, throwing away nearly half the granola bar, "And you like that about her?"
"You haven't seen her smile," Francis closed his eyes, "You haven't seen her really smile. She's straightforward, knows what she wants and goes out and takes it. Some people find that attractive."
"And some people find that distasteful," Ashley Q. muttered.
"What do you have against her?" Francis demanded.
"Why are you in love with her?" Ashley Q. shot back. Francis winced.
"I never said I was in love with her," he attempted, but the words faltered, "I care about her, she's a good kid."
"I don't have anything against her," Ashley Q. sighed, "But it's hard...I'm so used to getting on her case. It's easier that way. As easy as it is to brush you off as a nobody, to comment on Gretchen's style, or lack there of, in clothing, even to...straighten my make-up or flip my hair when a good-looking guy walks by. It's a force of habit." She rubbed her face with her hands, and sat cradling her head, "She's wearing a mask and you, like everyone else, don't see through it."
"What? What is that supposed to mean?" Ashley Q. met his eyes, smiling softly.
"She's not as strong as she pretends. She's breaking inside...slipping. We all are." They both started when the familiar ringing of Francis's cell phone filled the sedate hallway. He pulled it from his pocket, stared oddly at the screen.
"Speak of the devil," Francis muttered, pressing the answer button and lifting the phone to his ear.
-0-0-0-0-
Gretchen tapped her computer tower, glowering at the glowing screen and slapping Mikey's outstretched hand that reached to touch one of her many abandoned inventions. She honestly couldn't let him alone, one eye constantly following the lumbering young man as he gawked at the several mechanical contraptions scattered throughout the basement.
"What are you looking for?" Mikey asked.
"Well, I thought I could recreate the message through the indentations left from the pressure of the pen," Gretchen answered, "But there's little chance of it, seeing as how it was wet which warped the paper. Now I'm looking for trace elements of pen markings." Gretchen clapped her hands together, pushing away from the desk, and swiveling back to the monitor that was now clacking and popping up several windows, "Obsolete my on, baby, you never let me down before. Though I sure wish I had Galileo with me, he's at the lab."
"How long do you suppose it'll take?" Mikey asked. Plumping into a seat beside Gretchen.
"No idea. It could take five minutes to analyze, it could take all day. Even then, there's no guarantee that we'll have a message," she answered, tapping the keyboard, "But it's a start. I also want to run a search for this Brenda...and I think the best start is through Mary Anna. So I'm running the name."
"What're the chances that'll pull something up?" Mikey questioned.
"Slim...but it's worth a try. If all else fails we could always call Randall and see if he can use his connections with the government," Gretchen smiled at the computer screen, "Good...it's picking up the ink. There's very small traces...it wasn't all washed away...probably because the message was so old..."
"Words within words..."
"What?" Gretchen turned to Mikey curiously, "What did you say?"
"That's something that Gus said, isn't it? I was just thinking...maybe we were looking at the messages wrong...well, before. We were looking at Gus's wrong, right? His led us to the boathouse, which was where he and then TJ were being held. What about the other messages? Maybe they're all clues as to what's going to happen to us."
"I...I don't know Mikey," Gretchen shrugged then turned her attention back to the computer, "It's too long a shot. It could mean anything. Hmm...I'm not getting any hits on the name Mary Anna, but I am getting a few on the name James. Huh? Freud James? Wasn't that the name of Mary Anna's father?"
"Yeah, I think so," Mikey sat up, perking to attention, "That's odd..."
"Huh?" Both squinted at the computer screen, "He was a doll maker?" Gretchen clicked the link and the window poured text and images out of the screen. "He's retired now, but he was once revered as the greatest porcelain doll maker. He painted the dolls, did the hair, made the clothing. His first one was named Maryland, after his wife." Gretchen frowned at the screen, "He had one daughter. But this isn't right..." Gretchen scratched her neck, "It says her name was..." They jumped, the phone breaking into a frantic ring. "Oh, jeez..."
Gretchen left the computer in search of her phone, digging through the mess that was her basement lab. "I should really clean up down here," she muttered, finally finding the beige cord that led her to the phone. She pulled it to her ear, "Hello?" She looked to Mikey, "It's Spinelli," she whispered in explanation before turning her attention back to the young woman on the line, "Yeah? I guess...are you sure? Yeah, because we've got something to share with you as well. Alright, see you then." She hung the phone up.
"What was that about?" Mikey asked, noticing the confusion stricken across Gretchen's face.
"I don't know...she said to meet us at the Dettwieler residence," Gretchen shrugged, "I thought her and TJ weren't on very good terms."
"Ah, perhaps our lovebirds have reunited?"
"I don't know, but this sounds promising, almost as though we're getting somewhere."
-0-0-0-0-
Vince jogged from his house, not bothering to tell his parents where he was going. When he found them at the front counter in the office, he'd wanted to run, not confront them. They were busy threatening the secretary and questioning her capabilities and competency if she hadn't even been able to keep track of the patients walking through the hospital doors. It wasn't the secretary's fault really, she'd been flooded with people and it was hard enough boarding the crowd let alone keeping track of the names of everyone passing through the doors. Vince and the others had slipped in without even really needing to be catalogued, as they didn't need any actual medical treatment. He felt badly that his parents had no idea where he was, but they were overreacting, weren't they? He was an adult after all.
It was a surprise, nearly ramming into Spinelli as she walked down the street, and Vince didn't know whether to apologize or keep running, only faster. The temperature outside had drastically fallen and Spinelli was bundled tightly in a large leather coat, baggy jeans, an oversized sweater, and large boots that clanked as she walked. She looked swallowed in her clothes, and so much smaller. Vince had to admit, she'd had her more attractive days. She was riddled with scars and bruises and her bottom lip was swollen with a deep red slash. Her eyes appeared to have sunken in and she had large dark bags beneath them. She couldn't even muster a grimace for Vince and that worried him.
"You all right?" he began, the words were simple enough, but just getting them out seemed torture. He'd been doing a lot of thinking over the past several hours, and each moment that past deepened the anger he felt at himself and even slightly towards her. Part of him knew from the very beginning that he'd be rejected, but part of him was so angry that she hadn't even thought of his proposal. Now he was just angry that he'd seemed to push TJ and Spinelli away from one another and Spinelli blamed him almost completely.
"I'm fine," she muttered, wrapping her arms about herself and giving a cough that didn't prove to reassure Vince.
"Can we talk?" Vince asked sheepishly. He was surprised that the words made it out, that he could manage them. So much had been going through his mind and he was almost certain that speaking with Spinelli would clear everything up.
"I've got things to..." Spinelli started, then eyed him suspiciously, "This doesn't end with you kissing me again, right?" Vince nodded. "Fine. But we have to walk while we talk." She strutted forward and Vince had no choice but to follow.
"Where are we going?" he inquired, trying to keep up.
"5270 Seventh Street," she replied, "What did you want to talk about?"
"Um...well, that kiss," Vince nearly choked the word out and Spinelli flinched.
"What's there to talk about?"
"Well, I kissed you. I think there's a great deal to talk about. I mean...don't you think we should talk about it?"
"It happened, it's over."
"Well, it's not going to disappear."
"Like Mary Anna." Vince shook his head. That was an odd thing to throw in his face.
"Spinelli," he spoke up again, trying to figure out his emotions and feelings about all of this. What did he want to say? What was there to say? "I'm sorry." The words came out before he had time to understand why he felt the need to say them. And it seemed to open a floodgate; "I worked myself into a corner. I don't take back what I said; I meant it...well, most of it. I do love you Spinelli...at least, the old you. I wanted you to be the same, Spinelli, the same girl I used to know, so that I could be the same Vince."
"But I'm not the same," Spinelli muttered, somewhat angrily and a bit distractedly.
"I know that," Vince snapped, "And I know that..." he struggled with the words. It wasn't that he couldn't figure out what to say, he knew what he had to say now, it was saying it that was difficult, "I need you...I need all of you...even TJ. Maybe especially TJ." His voice cracked, tears brimming his eyes and Spinelli paused glancing up at him, her own eyes still red from all the crying she had done, "I don't know. I got to stop blaming him for everything, for my life, which I ruined not him."
"And you reached this conclusion all on your own?" Spinelli questioned a slight snidely, but still managing to sound interested.
"Gretchen and I got in a fight," Vince shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm in Spinelli's voice, "A lot of the things she said made sense. I've been looking for someone inside of you Spinelli, because I thought maybe...maybe it would help me find the person inside of me that I lost."
"You're crazy," Spinelli finally said, after a moment's deliberation, "You've lost it. There's no person inside of me, and there's no one inside of you that I can help you find." Vince rolled his eyes.
"I'm not crazy," Vince sighed, shaking his head, "I'm talking about...don't you want to get back to who you were? I'm not so jaded that I completely missed it. Spinelli, you've changed a lot more than you're letting on."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Spinelli spat, hastening her step. Vince grabbed her arm, pulled her to a halt.
"You're just like all of us Spinelli. You can't keep going like you are. So, tell me something..."
"What?" she whispered.
"Can you...can you even look at yourself in the mirror?" Spinelli ripped her arm from Vince's grasp, continuing walking. She stopped, turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It's hard enough, Vince," she crumbled, "Dealing with everything the way it is. TJ...my parents...Mary Anna..." she shook her head, running her finger tips along the edge of her eyelashes, "Crying used to be for babies according to me," she mumbled, "Now I can't seem to stop."
"Spinelli," Vince stepped forward, not certain what it was he wanted to do.
"Do I hate myself? Is that what you want to know? My parents...they won't even look at me straight now, ever since I told them about TJ and me. And Teej...he hates himself, and I can't change that or make him see how much I love him. Maybe I'm not...maybe I'm not strong enough, or tough enough, or...good enough." Vince wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug, which, to his surprise, she didn't object to.
"I'm responsible for what happened, between TJ and you," he admitted, swallowing back the lump growing in his throat.
"No," she argued, "You're not. Not completely...what happened between us...it's been happening a long time." She pulled away, continuing down the sidewalk, "Go to TJ's house," she called over her shoulder, "I have things to take care of, but I'll be there in a little while."
"But..."
"Just go," she snapped. Vince nodded, his brow furrowed in concern and bafflement. Why was she sending him to TJ's house? They hadn't made up, had they?
-0-0-0-0-
Gretchen couldn't even begin to explain the surprise when Gus opened the door to the Dettwieler residence and greeted her and Mikey. He directed them to the den. They took seats across the couch and sat in silence for a time. Gus only rose to get the door when it was knocked upon once again. He returned with Vince.
"Why are we here?" Vince asked upon seeing the others. They looked amongst themselves, then Gretchen and Mikey narrowed in on Gus.
"I was only first to arrive," he said defensively before they could begin questioning, "I have no idea why we're here. Spinelli called at the hospital and..." he grimaced, obviously reminded of the events that happened there. No one commented on it. "I was shocked she wanted us to meet here..."
"Yeah, she called us too," Gretchen said, pointing between Mikey and herself, "Did her and TJ make up?"
"No," Vince said, shaking his head, "I don't think they did. I met her outside...we...talked," he met Gretchen's eyes, holding them for only a moment, before she turned away.
"So, we're all together again," Gus started, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, "Who could that be?" He lifted himself up, making his way to the door and returning with Francis and the four Ashleys.
"Spinelli was cryptic at best when she called," Francis began, "Why are we here?'
"Already discussed that," Mikey told them, "No idea." Another knock at the door, and the entire group followed Gus to answer it. They found Randall standing there, shooting about awkward glances.
"Huh," Gus chuckled slightly, cynically, "So, we're all here. Now where's our gracious hostess?" Another knock and Gus squinted his eyes in confusion, doing a quick mental count, "Who else would be coming here?" Again, everyone followed him to the door and he opened it, finding two young men, dark skinned. One dressed in a nice mauve suit, and one dressed in large trousers with dirt stained knees and a tie. They stood away from one another, avoiding eye contact.
"Sam...Dave?" Gretchen recognized, and the group moved allowing the two in. They began to shut the door, only for someone else to push it open. A tall lanky young man dressed in a pinstriped button down shirt and polyester brown pants. He pushed up the black rimmed, square glasses on his nose and ran a hand over his greased back brown hair.
"Menlo," Randall stated his own recognition of this newcomer, and went to rummaging through his trench coat for...something. No one in the room missed the slight view they all received of a shiny metal object shoved into a leather holster strapped to his side. He seemed unable to find what he was looking for and met all their gazes, "What?"
Just as they closed the door, once more a knock arose and once more Gus opened the door. A young man stood before them with black hair and a disarming glower; an unlit cigarette rest on his lips, and he wore a casual black suit.
"Butch," Gus murmured, eyeing the pale man before him and backing up to let him in.
"So, we're all here now," Gretchen sighed, shaking her head, and looking about the room, "All the conspirators. How? How..." she looked to Sam and Dave, then to Menlo, "I thought you were all adamant in not coming."
"Where's Spinelli?" a voice came from the top of the stairs and all eyes trailed up to find TJ sitting painfully looking down at all of them. He was wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and held in his hands his red cap. To be honest, he looked like hell.
"I'm here," a voice spoke up, Spinelli pulling herself through the door despite the heavy traffic in the small front way. Standing amongst the group, she was perhaps the only one refusing to look at TJ.
"That was real clever, Dettwieler," Menlo spat, "Sending Spinelli to round us all up," he gave Spinelli a wary look, rubbing his arm gingerly, "Did she have to be so rough?"
"TJ, you should be in bed," Gretchen said, making to walk up the stairs, "You're in no condition..."
"No," TJ told her, "I'll be fine. Some things are more important."
"I get it now," Spinelli mumbled from her position by the door, "You knew they wouldn't listen, no matter what you or anyone said. But they'd 'listen' to me...or my fists."
"Sorry," TJ muttered, "I knew if anyone could get them all here, it was you."
"So, as everyone keeps saying, we're all here," Menlo spoke up, "Now what?"
END A/N: I been watching the marathon on SciFi for Farscape, perhaps the greatest science fiction show ever created. But anyways, my brain is fried. How do I get into a mindset to write, you may wonder, I turn on some good music (Limp Bizkit, Greenday, Offspring, Nirvana; you get the picture) and I CRANK THE VOLUME UP AND SING ALONG. Sometimes I dance too. You didn't need to know all that, but I figured I'd tell you because, like I said, my brain is fried. Sometimes I like to walk naked through my house when I'm alone too. HA! That was joke, kind of. Caryl-lee, I noticed you found my fanfic. If you read this part, CALL ME so I can yell...er...speak with you. GRIN!
AH.....now we're getting somewhere in the story. Can you feel it? FEEL WHAT?!? Why, the CLIMAX of course. Um...I have to work tonight...well, in a couple hours actually, and my whole body feels like it was dragged through the pouring rain in mud and slammed against a boulder a few painful times to dry it off. crap. Enough bitching from the peanut gallery.
IF, and not only, IF you read all of that up there, I'm sorry. Please REVIEW. YOU'RE ALL REALLY PRETTY, so please, REVIEW!
And, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
Thank you for reading. Your input is necesary for me to continue writing this. Well, kind of. I do need motivation afterall. I could threaten you all. If I do not recieve ten reviews for this chapter I will discontinue this story and LAUGH! For none of you will ever know the ending. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! ...ahem...but will I do it? That is the question. Or, more like, can you risk it?
Adieu, adieu, without further ado, adieu. AHAHAHA! My brain is fried!
Since I am reposting this...sorry for the threats, my brain really was fried.