A/N: I'm glad everyone is liking this story so much. Now, I know that some of you are waiting for the next chapter of WSL, but to be honest, I have to sort out the next chapter, and I've already got an outline of all the chapter for this story written down. I know, I should have done that with WSL, but I didn't, so oh well. That's why I think this story is better than WSL, but a lot of people might not agree.

Another thing that I forgot to mention. When I did the time line, I started it as if they'd been in fourth grade in the year 1992, so as to suit my needs. I know that a lot of people go by 1995, as that was the year the series came out, but I didn't want to, so...so...so there. OH. And the flashbacks aren't going in chronological order, just so you aren't reading it and thinking "But what happened after..." YUP.

Thanks to my reviewers (I apologize that I couldn't give a more personal thanks last chapter, but I had like five minutes to get to work so I'll make up for that here):

TNPD: I'm sorry you missed that game on TV, but thank you for your compliments and tears. As my aim was to make you cry, I think of it as having done my job sufficiently.

xXxSarahxXx: YAY! You read this story. Yeah, TJ has some great friends, and I hope you keep that in mind throughout this story, because we're going to travel in rough territory, and his friends may forget to be great later on.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: It's okay. JUST DON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN! j/k. I accept that you have a life outside of my story....kind of...

RavenForever: Rootbeer, out the nose? Um....yeah, I liked how the parents reacted as well, but, TJ and Spinelli didn't exactly make the wisest choice in the world. I can think of thousands of ways to make a happy ending out of this, but then again, I am crazy. Party on, Rave girl.

Stacey: THAT'S WHERE I STARTED CRYING TOO! Okay, yes, I admit it, I cried while writing this story. SO WHAT! I can be emotionally involved in my story as well. I'm so glad you like my story. I hope I don't dissapoint in the sadness department. And yeah, the way TJ is grieving is...I mean, to be expected. I believe it was stated that they loved each other their entire lives. THANKS.

Angels624 (who didn't review chapter 2, yet hint, hint): An angst gal, huh? Well buckle in and enjoy the trip...and I hope that this meets your angsty requisites.

It must have been cold there in my shadow...ENJOY.

Chapter 3: Tending a Garden of Misery

Gretchen strummed her fingers along the tabletop of her desk, staring impatiently at the door of her office. She sighed, pausing to examine her hand. She had been trying to grow her nails out long, but had an unfortunate and unbreakable habit of biting them. There was salmon colored nail polish painted along them, chipping and faded. She glanced at the clock, and sighed again. Eleven-fifteen at night, she'd been working eighteen hours straight, having had an onslaught of patients that day. She was constantly rushing from the ER to the OR to her office to the examining room, back to the ER, racing to the OR, nearly passing out on her way back to the ER again, and then her five o'clock got there and she was late and the high profile patient, a wealthy debutant gave her quite an earful. Do you think I have all the time in the world? I can't sit here waiting for an hour only to spend fifteen trying to tell you about every little ache and pain I've been having, so that you can rush me out of here to be on time for your next patient. When I set an appointment for five, you damn well better be here at five, unless you don't want my money, not withstanding the yearly five thousand dollar donation I give to this clinic. And with a great deal of will power, Gretchen was able to hold her tongue.

The office door swung open and Gretchen startled.

"Are you still here, Dr. G?" Millicent, the sweet secretary that worked the front counter piped up, her strawberry blonde head bobbing slightly in surprise.

"Actually, I'm waiting for someone," Gretchen started to explain, but sighed once more, coming to the dreary conclusion that she was most likely being stood-up, "Has anyone called for me?"

"No," Millicent shook her head, she was a little on the hyperactive side, moving her hands, and contorting her face to emphasize her point, "But there is a man standing out here. He's kind of...I don't know how to describe it, but I think you should talk to him. He may be the one you're waiting for." Gretchen sighed, lifting herself from her chair and following Millicent into the waiting room.

The man was, indeed, indescribable. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, a shadowed blue, stared out at the empty waiting room obliquely. He was wearing jeans, which contradicted his nice long sleeve button-up shirt. He had on red tennis shoes, and was tapping one carefully, thoughtlessly. An old leather jacket rested over his shoulders, and he was leaning against the far wall of the waiting room, his arms crossed casually over his chest. Gretchen frowned, making her way over to him.

"TJ? What are you doing here?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips delicately. He seemed to break from a trance, glancing around the room, before resting his gaze on her. It had been three years since the accident, but he still looked as lost as he had on that first day.

"Well...I..." he shrugged, "You told me to get out of the house."

"I know what I told you," Gretchen sighed, "But what are you doing here?"

"I had no where else to go," TJ mumbled, "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have...I'll leave." He lifted himself from the wall, making towards the exit, and Gretchen shook her head, feeling the guilt weigh down on her. She placed a hand on his arm.

"Let's go get something to eat," she offered. He perked up slightly, pausing and nodding, "Right. Let me just go talk to Millicent and we'll go." He nodded again, waiting as she crossed the room to the front counter and leaned over it.

"Dr. G.," Millicent greeted.

"I'm going. My friend needs...well, someone. If a Derek calls for me, or comes in...though I doubt he will, tell him...tell him he's late," Gretchen said.

"Alright," the young woman smiled, "That guy's your friend. He's cute. Kind of like, a puppy dog." Gretchen glanced over her shoulder, giving TJ a once over.

"Yeah, I guess he is kind of cute," she agreed.

"He your date?" Gretchen had to fight the urge to break into laughter, allowing only a humorous smile to slide across her face. "What?" Millicent prodded, "He taken?"

"Well, no, I just. TJ and me? Not happening," Gretchen looked back over to TJ, "Why? Are you interested?"

"If I was, would you set me up with him?" Millicent asked, leaning forward to get a better look at TJ. Gretchen felt the smile fade from her lips, and a sinking lump gather in her stomach. It had been three years. Maybe if TJ started dating again, it would help him recover. Right?

"Well..." Gretchen gulped.

"What? Is there something wrong with him?" Millicent pressed, "I mean...like, physically or mentally? I knew it, there's something wrong with him, that's why you won't date him, right? Is he gay?"

"No," Gretchen spoke up, a little louder and a bit more defensively then she'd intended, "I mean," she continued, dropping her voice to a lighter, softer tone, "There's nothing wrong with him. He's actually a great guy...I'll ask him for you. If you're really interested that is."

"You will? Great!" Millicent chirped, "I'll see you then. And Dr. G, don't even let that Derek guy bother you. He was a drag anyways."

"Um...thanks," Gretchen mumbled, turning, "Bye." She frowned at TJ, feeling oddly like she'd just betrayed her best friend.

-0-0-0-0--------December 23, 1995, Annual Grundler Christmas Party--------0-0-0-0-

Spinelli looked miserable standing beside the punchbowl in the middle of the crowd in her wool red and green gingham dress and white stockings. Brenda Lee's sweet voice was spilling through the room singing Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree from the Grundler's old cassette player, and there was a small area in the living room set aside for dancing, which several elderly married couples were obliging. She sighted Gretchen crossing the room in an equally ridiculous attire, a velvet red skirt, and a red sweater with a giant green decorated Christmas tree printed across the front. She was frowning.

"He's here," she muttered, when she was close enough to speak in secrecy.

"Who?" Spinelli demanded, glancing about the room in confusion.

"Billy Foster," Gretchen confided, "You know...him. Mr. I'm-so-smart-and-witty-and-charming-and-cute-and-you'll-never-have-a-chance-with-me-in-a-million-years, that's who."

"Oh," Spinelli chuckled, "He's got a long name."

"Spin..." Gretchen groaned.

"What? I'm sorry but I have more important things to worry about then Mr. Blah-blah-blah. I can't sit down in this dress, and I feel like I sat in a nest of ants! Not to mention these stockings are going up and there's no where for them to go," Spinelli spat in a rough whisper.

"Sorry," Gretchen sighed, "It's just...he's so dreamy and...oh God. What's with me? I know I was excited when my hormones finally kicked in, and I got my first crush on...what was his name?"

"Danny Huckler," Spinelli mumbled distractedly, scratching the back of her calf with her foot. She remembered the name because for two weeks it was all Gretchen seemed to know how to say.

"Yes, Danny. I thought it was quite amusing, a true-life experience of the psychological causes of 'liking', 'loving', and 'crushes'. But to be honest, I can't make my stomach stop twirling whenever I see Billy. I feel nauseous, and woozy, classic signs of several epidemics," Gretchen shook her head, "And I know for certain that this time is different. Dare I say it...? I believe I am in love."

"You said the same thing about Philip, Ronald, Gregory, Jason, Skeenz...still not getting over that one," Spinelli rolled her eyes, "Just go over and talk to the dweeb. I mean you've got things in common, right? You're both kids with unnaturally large vocabularies, for one thing."

"Well...I...I can't leave you here alone!"

"I've been standing here alone for the past half hour while you sat vigilantly watching at the door for what's-his-name! And now, now that he's here, you can't leave me by myself?" Spinelli cried, "Geez, Gretch, get lost, go talk to the guy! Besides, I think I see Vince and Teej, so I'll be fine."

"I...but..."

"JUST GET LOST!" Spinelli screamed, gaining unwarranted glances from nearly everyone in the room. Gretchen blushed furiously, making her way over to where Billy Foster stood awkwardly talking with a short boy with thick glasses, Menlo. He perked up slightly when he saw Gretchen, smiling towards her, and, flushed, she began chatting with him.

Spinelli sighed, taking a glass of punch and weaving through the crowd over to where TJ and Vince, dressed in nicely pressed slacks and dorky seasonal sweaters, sat with a deck of cards. They were trying to appear as though they were playing Go-Fish to the adults, but Spinelli knew better, quickly assessing that the game was poker, five-card stud, deuces wild, and the bet was a gumball minimum. There were a few other boys gathered around them, playing their hands against TJ, the king of bluff. She grinned, pushing her way through the small crowd and placing her free hand on her wool covered, and extremely itchy, hip.

"Deal me in," she commanded, pulling out a small bag of candy, and TJ looked up a bit startled, having been reeling in his recent wins.

"No girls," a boy with a death wish, sitting to the left of TJ hissed. In a moment, Spinelli had the boy dragged to his feet by the collar of his shirt, and was gritting her teeth, a fist raised slightly, her drink having been shoved off into a bystander's hands.

"It's alright," TJ told him, "It's Spinelli." He passed her the deck of cards as she released what was going to be another name on her victim's list, "Newcomer deals."

"Easy pickings," the boy muttered to his friends, slipping back down to the ground, a tad disgruntled, and eyeing Spinelli's candy stash eagerly. Nearly an hour later, Spinelli and TJ were the only one's left in the game, staring one another down. And the small group of onlookers had grown rather large, into a huddled crowd of awe-faced kids.

"You know you can't lie to me, Spinelli," TJ grinned, glancing confidently at his hand, then back up to meet his opponent's dark eyes, "I know you too well."

"And I know that I've been hording this candy for a long time, and I'll be awfully angry if I lose it," was the smirking reply.

"Is that a threat?"

"You know me well enough to know the answer to that." TJ gulped, looking as though he were seriously considering folding. Vince lowered himself to TJ's level, whispering something in his ear, and gaining a nod. "Let's end this then, because I just received news that there's a buffet of dinner being laid out and Gretchen's mom makes the best candied yams I've ever tasted."

"All or nothing?"

"Yup." They pushed they're respectably large heaps of candy into the middle, and laid their cards down.

"Two of a kind?" Spinelli raised an eyebrow at her opponent, as the crowd gave groans of disapproval, and dispersed, leaving to get plates full of turkey and mashed potato dinner. TJ looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. Spinelli frowned at him, "TJ, you're a better player than that. My threats get to you?"

"Hey, you win, fair and square," he snapped, then, tapping the table, lifted himself up and headed for the food, calling idly over his shoulder, "Better hurry, Spin, chances are the white meat ain't lasting." Spinelli frowned at the candy stacked high in front of her and saw Gretchen from the corner of her eye walking with Billy Foster to the kitchen; both smiling, and laughing, and chatting it up. Well, at least someone actually won that night.

-0-0-

Somewhere around ten, ten-thirty, Gretchen watched with discontent as Vince examined the best way to open the gift she'd given him. It was wrapped in shining silver and green paper, precisely cut and evenly taped up, as were all the gifts she'd passed out. It was getting late in the night, and the whole group of party-goers had gathered around the giant Grundler Christmas tree, and were busy exchanging gifts. It was tradition. The Grundler family would open family given gifts on Christmas morning, but they used the party as a way of giving out the gifts bought for friends. But the gang, Gretchen, TJ, Spinelli, Vince, Mikey, and Gus had snuck off to the side away from the crowd of rambunctious gift-exchangers, for their own private exchanging.

Gretchen had always gone first, as it was their tradition to take turns passing out their gifts and watching one another open the presents. They went in alphabetical order, which, in their childish logic, made Gretchen first. She'd always been nervous, as she wasn't the richest of the group, and usually couldn't afford the gifts she wanted to give to her friends. They're parents always helped them purchase fancy toys for Christmas presents, but her parents wanted to instill a sense of responsibility in her, and that included, buying presents with her own finances.

Vince had been the first to get his present from Gretchen, as it was on the top of the pile. He worked his nails beneath the tape, pulling it back carefully, slowly, so as not to rip the paper.

"Just tear the damn thing open already!" Spinelli finally cried out in anxious exasperation, "I want my present!"

"This is a delicate procedure," Vince argued, "Need I remind you of the collectors' card incident." They all fell silent in reminiscent hush of the time when Vince, in his eagerness to open a birthday present from his parents, ripped part of the present right in half, a signed card from Vince's favorite baseball player. Gretchen threw her hands up in despair as Spinelli clacked her tongue in impatience nearly five minutes later while Vince still worked at his present.

"I know it's a break in tradition but..." Gretchen started.

"No," TJ commanded, "The next present can only be passed out after Vince has finished opening his. If you pass out another present, we won't be able to share in the excitement when Vince discovers what he's gotten."

"Yes," Mikey conceded, "Traditions are what separate us from the animals."

"I thought that was the unwritten code of the kids," Gus whimpered.

"That too," Mikey nodded solemnly.

"Though..." TJ mumbled, glowering as Vince lifted one of the tabs to finally reveal the writing on the packaging.

"Oh, awesome, Gretch," Vince whooped, "Kicking, Pitching, Running, and Throwing the Professional Way...I've heard great things about this book. Thanks." Gretchen blushed slightly.

"You didn't get us all books again this year, didja, Gretch?" Spinelli groaned, receiving a scolding glare from TJ. "I'm not complaining!" They moved along, Gus eagerly opening his gift, the new G.I. action tank.

"Where'd you get this?" he exclaimed, "It was sold out everywhere!"

"I have connections," Gretchen shrugged humbly.

"A new set of composition journals!" Mikey cried out with glee, thrusting his arms around the small form of Gretchen, "I needed some. I'll cherish these always." Gus went next, passing out his presents, then Spinelli, TJ, and Vince. The music started up again, and Billy Foster appeared, kneeling and offering Gretchen a dance, which she eagerly accepted. Vince too found a dance partner, and Mikey slipped off in search of a girl, one Vicky Mendelssohn, that he had been crushing on for some time. Gus sighed, leaning against the wall and looking at his new possessions with settled content.

"It truly is a holly jolly Christmas," Gus sighed.

"Yup," Spinelli had to agree, "Turkey, candy, and hordes of gifts. Now that's what Christmas is all about."

"What about all that stuff about good will towards men, and...I don't know...junk like that?" TJ asked, looking out at the dance floor with disinterest.

"Hun..." Spinelli shrugged.

"Soldier," Mr. Griswold called from across the room, "Front and center." Gus smiled, scampering to his feet.

"My dad wants me to pack my gifts away in the car," he explained before gathering his things in his arms and running towards his father eagerly. Spinelli sighed, eyeing TJ as he lifted himself up, shuffling his belongings together as well and heading for the front door.

"Hey, Teej," she called after him, making her way over to where he stood, paused in the doorway.

"What's up?" he asked, shifting his things in his arms.

"Um...I was thinking...about that candy...I can't eat it all by myself," she shrugged, "I was gonna give part of it to the rest of the gang anyways...so...um..."

"No, that's alright, you won it fair and square," TJ mumbled, setting his things down on the nearby in-table, "Besides, mom wants me to cut back on my sweets anyhow."

"Aww...look who's under the mistletoe everyone," came an exuberant squeal that could only be attributed to Mrs. Dettwieler. In unison, TJ and Spinelli rolled their eyes upward to stare at that foreboding plant dangling above their heads, and then turned to look miserably at the crowd of people staring anxiously at them.

"Oh man..." TJ muttered.

"You know what that means," Flo Spinelli cried from where she stood, a martini glass balanced in her hand, "Pucker up, Pookie."

"Oh man..." Spinelli muttered.

"What should we do?" TJ asked.

"Screw tradition?" Spinelli shrugged.

"No, you heard what Mikey said about tradition. It looks like there's no way out of this," TJ said, rubbing the back of his head, his cheeks an interesting shade of red.

"No way out, huh?" Spinelli inquired rhetorically before her fist connected with TJ's stomach. A gasp resounded through the room.

"Oh, TJ," Mrs. Dettwieler clucked, rushing forward to her son, who had bent somewhat, his arms clutching the injured area. Spinelli promptly turned on her heel, lightly snorting 'humph' as she marched away and TJ couldn't help but smile slightly through the anguishing pain as he watched from the corner of his eye her retreating form, while the crowd broke into awkward laughter.

"She's a real spitfire, that one," Grandpa Grundler noted, laughing hysterically, and chewing on the end of his unlit cigar, "You'll have your hands full, boy." TJ grimaced, managing to give the old man a slight grin.

-0-0-

Gretchen paced her room, where Spinelli had taken refuge on the bed. The latter having dug through her good friend's closet, finding something more practical to wear, and changing, was busy thumbing through a magazine while Gretchen shook her head, wearing a hole in the soft white carpet that lined the room.

"Billy Foster, Spinelli," she exclaimed, "Tonight has been so surreal. I was talking and chatting and dancing with Billy Foster, and you punched TJ in the gut!"

"Thrilling," Spinelli muttered sarcastically, attempting to match her skin tone with that of the models in the magazine in an effort to decide which colors suited her best. "Do you think I look good in green?"

"Spin," Gretchen started, then sighing, fell to the bed, "You can pull of most any color except maybe pink and white. Now, back to you punching TJ." Spinelli looked up, met her friend's eyes.

"Okay, I punched TJ," she told her.

"And?"

"End of story." Gretchen moaned exasperated.

"But why?" she cried, "Why did you punch TJ?" Spinelli looked thoughtful a moment, before shrugging.

"It was all I could think of to do. I'm like a black widow, I strike when cornered!"

"You could have kissed him you know, it's no big deal," Gretchen said, tossing the magazine to the floor, "It's not like you haven't kissed him before in front of an audience."

"Sheesh, Gretch, that time didn't include the parents. You know, the ones out to embarrass their kids to the fullest of their ability?" Spinelli shook her head, "I mean, come on...who's the most platonic friend you have...Vince! If it were you and Vince under that mistletoe with all those people staring at you like that, what would you have done?" Gretchen was silent a moment.

"Died of embarrassment," she finally admitted, then her eyes lighting up, "But if it were Billy Foster..." Spinelli rolled her eyes, her head falling to the pillow at the end of the bed.

"You still wouldn't do it," she argued.

"Oh, but I wouldn't need to do anything! Can you imagine...his lips pressed against mine in an intimate exchanging of bodily fluids."

"Oh jeez, Gretch," Spinelli groaned, "I think I'm gonna throw up. If that's what you call a romantic way of describing a kiss then...ugh!" They looked at one another before breaking into fits of giggles, and Gretchen fell beside her friend.

"What if Billy asks me to go...I don't know...steady I believe the term is," Gretchen inquired, staring up at her ceiling.

"Don't get your hopes up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just...he seems real flaky is all," Spinelli turned on her side, her back to Gretchen, her voice was a careful whisper, "Joe Lyndon asked me to go steady."

"Did he?" Gretchen mumbled, hardly able to keep the jealousy from her voice. Joe Lyndon was a 'skater' by clique definition. He was attractive, an eighth grader, and had the most irresistible pout, so of course, Gretchen was envious, "What did you say?"

"I told him sure, why not."

"So you guys are an item now," Gretchen said, a little more tersely then she'd meant to be.

"For as long as we decide to be, yeah."

"That's cool."

"Hun..." They lay in silence that way, looking in their opposite directions, uncertain what to say to the other. It was a unique tense moment, one they'd never encountered in their friendship before. "Gretchen."

"Yeah."

"You're my best friend."

"And you mine."

"I can beat Billy Foster up for you if he doesn't ask you to go steady."

"That's alright. I'm not holding my breath or anything." Gretchen pulled herself up into a sitting position, straining her ears. She sighed, "The music's dying down, the party's ending. You're parents are probably looking for you."

"Maybe they'll let me stay the night if I tell them how exhausting jabbing TJ was and that I can't move from this spot," Spinelli murmured. Gretchen chuckled, slapping her friend's thigh.

"Get up, get up," she prompted, on her own feet once more. Spinelli groaned, pulling herself up, and blinking at the room.

"Ah man," she muttered, gathering her discarded dress and stockings and trudging to the door.

"Tis' the season to be jolly..." Gretchen reminded her, slinking an arm over the shorter girl's shoulders.

"Tis' the season mom drinks lots of eggnog."

-0-0-

TJ stood on the porch staring out at the many departing families. His parents had volunteered to help clean up, they always did. It was a time where him and Gretchen were shoved out the door to play in the snow whilst their parents chatted. He heard the door open, and glanced over his shoulder, spying Gretchen and Spinelli on their ways out, laughing heartily, arms slung about each other. He turned back to the snow covered scenery before him.

Spinelli stopped and Gretchen gave her a questioning look when she raised a finger to her lips. With careful steps she silently moved forward to stand next to the unsuspecting TJ, close enough to hear his soft breathing, and looked out at the white wonderland before them.

"Teej..." she whispered, and he turned to look at her. In a swift movement, she brushed her lips against his, then tore down the porch leaving him stunned, his face an elegant shade of red, his eyes large ovals, trailing after her. "Merry Christmas," she called over her shoulder before running to catch up with her parents who stood waiting patiently down the street staring up at a particular house's winter decorations.

Gretchen smiled, stepping beside TJ.

"Merry Christmas, TJ," Gretchen whispered, "Did you get what you wanted?" He grinned, turning back towards the house.

"I guess I did," he mused, "Merry Christmas, Gretchen."

-0-0-0-0---------------------Present Time--------------------0-0-0-0-

Gretchen leaned back in the booth she shared with TJ, licking the cherry from her margarita, and glancing at her dismayed friend who sat picking at his fries, holding his beer like it were a life source, even if he hadn't drunken so much as a sip from it. For the past hour Gretchen had attempted conversing with him, but he seemed only capable of responding with a grunt or an incomprehensible mumble. So she settled into talking about the hospital, her day, and more specifically, Millicent.

"I don't know where I'd be without her there," Gretchen was saying, "None of the doctors would. When she's not there, everything just falls apart. It's a real mess. She's really sweet, too. For nine hours straight I worked, with no break, nothing, and she comes into my office with a cup of coffee and a snack for me that I didn't even ask for. Not to mention," Gretchen leaned forward, forcing a sly smile, "She's single."

"Do you know what today is?" TJ asked quietly, the first complete sentence he'd spoken that evening.

"Friday...no wait," Gretchen glanced at her watch, "Saturday. Why?" He straightened slightly, pushing away the basket of fries, and finally taking a drink of his beer.

"It was a Saturday when Spinelli first tried to make me pancakes. She knew I liked them, but she...she was never good at cooking," he smiled sadly at the bottle in his hand, "So I took over, and ever since then, every Saturday I would make pancakes for us." He sighed, slumping back in the booth. Gretchen took a long draught from her margarita, before eating her cherry and narrowing in on TJ.

"I was thinking," she continued, "Millicent is single, and you're single. Well...she's interested."

"I'm not single..." he started to protest, but frowned, the concept formulating in his mind, "Oh." Gretchen felt that familiar lump in her stomach give a small lurch.

"TJ...I think it would good, if you went out with her...Millicent that is," Gretchen said, turning her margarita glass distractedly, "I know you'll like her. She's very outgoing, does whatever she wants, a lot like..." the name caught in her throat.

"Like Spinelli," TJ suggested quietly.

"Yeah..." Gretchen studied her red slush of a drink, "TJ, it's been three years."

"I know how long it's been."

"Life keeps going. Time moves forward, and things aren't the same as they were. Going on a date with Millicent isn't going to hurt anything. She's not going to expect anything; it's not a serious commitment. You just, need to get back in the saddle, so to speak," Gretchen told him, focusing completely on her glass.

"Gretchen, I don't..."

"Will you do this, please?" Gretchen pleaded, lifting her eyes to meet his own. Those blue eyes that had been so soft and light and cheerful once now clouded over with pain and indistinguishable swirls of misery and sadness, "For me?" TJ sighed, looking to the table as though searching for an answer or something to say.

"Fine," he muttered, "Alright. I'll do it." And there was that feeling again, sinking in Gretchen, that she'd just betrayed her best friend.

END A/N: I loved the sweet innocence of that kiss Spinelli snuck from TJ, and then how she runs away...it just chokes me up...so cute...I'm kind of infatuated with this story, as I've never written anything like this before.

Yeah, three years passed since the death, because that's when the story really takes place; three years after the accident. But if you want to know what happened in those three years, don't worry, it'll be talked about later in the story.

Erm...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, REVIEW!

THANKS FOR READING, I'll see you on the flip side.