A/N: First of all, I'm posting chapter 10 in much the same format I did chapter 4 (in two posts), though it's still all one chapter. I've decided to do this for two main reasons: 1) It's getting long, 2) I haven't posted in awhile and I thought I'd give you guys something to read to end my dry spell. Second of all, for some odd reason, the stories I've posted prior to the recent ff site's update are not showing me the reviews that have been posted...um...post the ff site's update. I know for a fact that there are two reviews for the last chapter that have recently been submitted that I have been unable to view; which ticks me off. I've e-mailed the ff site's technical support for answers...but...uh...they haven't gotten back to me. Yup, just had to explain that.

Thanks to the reviewers: (Especially those two reviewers who's reviews I can't see, don't want them to feel forgotten)

TNPD: I'm glad you approved of the religion-thing, I wasn't really sure how people would take it...but then, I shouldn't have been worried.

Soul-of-Camida: Thanks for your outstanding appraisel of my work. You rock, much, with your lengthy reviews, and exuberance. Mmm...I don't know if TJ will ever make up with the Spinellis. It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?

RavenForever: Props to you for singing the rest of that song! 11:30...huh...that's funny, I probably wrote most of it at 11:30 at night. Yeah, I liked the car thing.

ChellyBurger: Speaking of exuberance...hehe...poor TJ...hmmm...1984? Orwell, right? Never read it, but that sounds interesting...but then, we have to look at what the "truth" is. Maybe what we remember is the "truth", because we percieve...ooo...too much...I am not pulling out that Kant/Plato/Hummings crap that I'm supposed to be learning in philosophy class! Hmm...YAY KITTIES!

DAGL: Stop what? wuf...wuf...hehehehe...

In order to determine the truth, one must first disregard all preconcieved notions of what is "truth", so as to search out the truth without any preordained boundaries placed upon your mind...ENJOY!

Chapter 10: Don't Tread On These Buds

Vince tightened the heavy coat around himself, frowning at the front counter of the hospital. It was busy in there, the woman behind the counter was working rapidly; answering phones, greeting patients as they entered, getting things signed. Vince had never seen such a mess. He made his way forward and was nearly bowled over when a woman rushed past, her child clutched in her arms.

"What is this?" the woman cried, jerking her child's arm over the counter for the secretary to see.

"I…well…I don't know, ma'am but it looks like a simple rash to me," the secretary sputtered.

"A rash? A rash? It's all red, and dried out, and he won't stop scratching it!" the woman screeched, "And you're telling me this is a rash? What if he has the chicken pox, or small pox! Oh god, what if he has small pox. I've heard they've had recent cases of the strain…"

"Ma'am, if you'll please sit down, I can have a doctor take a look at it soon, but I assure you, it's probably nothing more than a rash," the secretary clucked. The woman "harrumphed" and made her way to the waiting room, a clipboard with several papers and a pen in her hands. Vince stepped forward cautiously, smiling down at the secretary almost sympathetically.

"Hi," he greeted.

"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly, happy to be dealing with a less than exuberant person.

"I'm here to see…um…Gretchen Grundler," he told her.

"Dr. Grundler? Do you have an appointment?"

"Oh, no, I'm not a patient," Vince coughed slightly, clearing his throat, "I'm a friend." The secretary gave him a once over, smiled approvingly, and nodded.

"Dr. Grundler is with a patient right now," the secretary told him, "But I can tell her you're here and she'll…"

"Could you tell her it's important," Vince mumbled. The secretary raised an eyebrow reproachfully. She obviously didn't approve of his seeming attitude that he should trump Gretchen's patients.

"Who should I tell her is here?"

"Tell her it's Vince, and the gang needs her."

"The gang?"

"She'll understand." The secretary looked doubtful, but swiveled, lifting her phone and quickly paging Gretchen.

"Dr. G," the secretary said, "There's a man here who says he has something important to discuss with you. Says his name is Vince, and that…erm…that gang needs you? Dr. G? Dr. G? Hello?" The other end of the line was dead, and the door down the hall slammed open, a redheaded woman rushing down the hall to the lobby, a balding man staring out the door after her. The people in the waiting room looked up, startled, and the secretary turned slightly, all of them taken aback by her haste presence. She was in front of Vince at once, her face splotched red, her eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling.

"It's TJ isn't it? Is he okay? What's going on?" she demanded.

"Calm down, Gretchen," Vince chuckled, somewhat nervously, "It's not TJ."

"Mikey, then? Oh god, please tell me he's not in the hospital again!"

"No, it's Gus," Vince mumbled. Gretchen frowned, her brow furrowed together.

"Gus?"

"He's been discharged," Vince explained, "Medical discharge. I just…I thought it would be best if we all went down there. He's not taking the news well. Mikey's already over there, and TJ…I figured we could pick TJ up on the way over."

"I have patients," Gretchen began, glancing around the room. The woman with the child rushed over, shoving her way in front of Vince.

"Dr. Grundler," the woman cried, practically shoving her child's arm into Gretchen's face, "What is this?"

"Ma'am, you have to sit in there and wait," Gretchen told her, glancing apologetically to Vince.

"Well, he came after me," the woman snapped, "What is wrong with my child's arm?" Vince shook his head, turning to leave.

"Vince, wait, please," Gretchen pleaded, turning to the woman and narrowing her eyes, "It's a rash, ma'am. Just sprinkle some baby powder on and…"

"I want you to take blood tests, to investigate this, to give me an answer without a reasonable doubt," the woman screeched, "I want to know exactly what is causing this, and I want it gone in…"

"Gretchen, I'm going," Vince sighed, "With everything that's been going on…you're a doctor now, I get it. I mean, I can leave in the middle of a game, and Mikey can cancel a press conference, but you have patients. I understand. I'll see you."

"Why are you trying to make me feel guilty about my career choice," Gretchen demanded, enraged by his comment.

"I'm not, I'm just saying I understand," Vince argued, "If you feel guilty, it's not my fault. I'll explain to Gus…but what would you have done, huh, if it had been TJ? Or if it had been Mikey? You still couldn't have left your patients. It's like with Spinelli…"

"I can't believe you would bring that up," Gretchen hissed, glancing around nervously. They had the attention of everyone in the lobby. "You know I was in the OR when I found out about her…I couldn't leave that patient lying open on the table!"

"And even after the operation was done," Vince spat, "You helped three more patients, that weren't lying open on the table. I had to drag you out of there."

"So what are you trying to accuse me of? Are you insinuating that I consider my patients to be more important than the rest of the gang?"

"No, but that sure as hell is the picture I'm getting here! She was dead, and you couldn't get your ass out of the clinic! You didn't even cry until we got to TJ's house, and even then, I think maybe it was because he was upset more so than you were," Vince shouted.

"I can't believe you," Gretchen whispered roughly, "I lost my best friend that day…how dare you accuse me of…I'm sorry if I have a job that's a little more important than hitting a ball around, but I can't just drop everything when one of my friends has a little emergency and needs support!"

"No, I'm sorry," Vince muttered, shaking his head, and stepping back towards the exit, "I'm really sorry. I mean, what are you expecting to be an emergency I should come get you for? Let's see, Gus getting discharged is a little childish, I suppose; minor to say the least. So what if it's the one thing he worked his entire life towards. You're right; it's a little, tiny emergency. No big deal. Now, Spinelli's death didn't seem to be a great emergency either, did it? Because you still had to help the patients, they were still more important, weren't they? You're right, the patients are more important than your closest friend, the best friend you've had since kindergarten, dying. What constitutes as an emergency, Gretch? What do you want Gus to do, huh? Kill himself? No, wait; you're waiting for TJ to do that, aren't you? Tell you what; I'll come get you when TJ has killed himself. Maybe that'll be a slight bit more important than helping the patients, because Lord knows you're the only doctor on staff in this hospital." He stepped out of the sliding doors, nearly colliding with a couple on their ways in, tersely apologizing and disappearing.

Gretchen looked around briefly at the people staring intently at her. She chewed her lower lip, aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks, trembling. What did Vince want her to do? She couldn't honestly just leave the hospital. She had patients waiting for her to treat them, and talk to them, and see them. She made her way out the door following Vince. The conversation wasn't over. He may have decided to end it, but it was not over.

Vince had stopped in the parking garage, leaned against a pillar, silently berating himself.

"What is my problem?" he whispered, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. The past few weeks had been hell. Mikey's intervention. TJ finding out…Vince was afraid of what he'd find at that house when he got there. He hadn't spoken to TJ since that day at the Blumberg estate.

"Hey," Gretchen was making her way over, she still looked angry, but her eyes had clouded over with concern, "What's with you? You can't be understanding about my career? I save lives, Vince, it doesn't mean I'm placing them above you guys, it's just…"

"What if it was me?" Vince questioned, "What if something I'd worked my entire life for was gone, just like that? Would the patients still be more important, or would you be by my side?" Gretchen looked away, wetting her lips.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Vince. You're here for Gus…"

"I'm out, Gretch. I'm off the team. I've been flaking lately, trying to hold the gang together, trying to be there for everyone…and…I've been missing practices, screwing up my pitches…I walked out on a game today, Gretch, coach told me if I left then I was benched for the season and that was it. My career's over, because I had to be there for Gus, and I thought, maybe you would have the same kind of dedication…or at the very least, you could act like you did."

"I'm sorry, Vince, I didn't know," Gretchen whispered, "I do care…but…I can't deal with this forever, Vince. I want my life to be normal and the only way I can think of to be normal is to just keep treating the patients," she leaned next to him, their shoulders barely touching, "TJ, Mikey, and now Gus, their lives are ruined because of this. And you…I don't want to let my life be ruined too…but…" her voice caught, choking on the sob struggling to escape, "It's not fair of you to accuse me of caring more about my patients than the gang. I'm trying so hard to keep my life from spinning out of control and…and…"

"If we don't stick together, Gretch, then the world will spin out of control. I'm going to go see Gus, come with me," Vince said determinedly. Gretchen nodded solemnly.

"Let me just tell Sandy at the counter, and see if Dr. Holmestead will cover for me."

-0-0-

TJ lay on the floor of his living room, staring up at the ceiling. There was a time when he would lay there with his wife, talking, while the television that they were supposed to be watching buzzed in the background. He would tell her a joke he'd heard that day, and she'd pretend to think he were being immature, rolling her eyes, and muffling the laughter that wanted to escape from inside her. She'd curl her fingers in his shirt, and whisper ridiculous things in his ear, trailing kisses along his cheek and jaw line. Sometimes they'd lay silent, holding hands, fingers entwined. She'd break the momentary reverie, saying that she loved him, as though it needed to be said, and he would smile. He frowned now.

It was lonely on the floor.

There was a knock at the front door. TJ sighed, closing his eyes. They'd go away, they always do. It was the third time that day someone had come calling at his doorstep. He was beginning to wonder why he'd suddenly become so popular, not that he cared either way. The knock came again and he rolled on his side, trying to erase the image of his wife lying next to him, he could almost see her there, almost feel her next to him. It was painful. A knock, again, sharper this time.

"Go away," he muttered. There was silence. He listened to his own soft breathing for a moment, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He used to watch her sleep, his head laying against her breast, listening to her heart beat as her chest rose and fell. He'd study her face, not that he didn't already have every inch, every curve, every contour memorized. She looked different when she slept. Her lips, the corners, would naturally curl up into a small smile as she dreamed. She looked vulnerable, delicate, simple, and beautiful. But, then, she always looked beautiful.

There was shuffling at the door, and TJ fell back again, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Go away," he moaned again. He heard the door opening as people shifted through the entryway and moved into the living room.

"Teej?" He didn't bother looking. He didn't need to look to know that the owner of that voice was Vince. Just as he didn't need to look to know that the person with Vince, who was fidgeting slightly, was none other than Gretchen. "What are you doing on the floor, man?" Vince asked. There was a hitch in his voice, and TJ knew that meant something was wrong.

"What happened now?" TJ mumbled, "You recently find out my wife got a dog while she was in San Diego and it died in the plane crash too?"

"You sure know how to welcome guests, man," Vince muttered, "Get up, we have to go see Gus."

"What for?"

"He received a medical discharge, didn't he call you?" TJ pulled himself up into a sitting position, blinking around the room, and looking to his phone. The cord was strewn along the ground, pointing almost threateningly at him.

"I unplugged it," he explained, "It wouldn't stop ringing." Vince rolled his eyes, extending a hand to help TJ up. "I can't go see Gus. I prefer being here."

"TJ, Gus needs us, can we please…"

"I need to be alone," TJ mumbled, ignoring the hand, "I need to…" he looked around the room, a bit disoriented, "I should clean."

"TJ, are you alright?" Gretchen whispered carefully.

"No," TJ muttered, pulling himself to his feet, and looking around with a weary glower, "I went to see the Spinellis." It was odd, the way Gretchen and Vince simultaneously drew in their breaths.

"For?" Gretchen asked.

"I'm not certain, but I think I was just going to check if they still hated me. They do, if you're wondering," TJ said, then, "Oh, and a new revelation, they think she died because I'm Jewish."

"That can't be true," Gretchen whispered, "You must be wrong. They can't think that."

"Oh…but they can. And they do." TJ made his way into the kitchen. Gretchen and Vince watched as he left, disappearing from sight.

"This isn't good," Gretchen whispered, "He's reverting back to his 'safe' lifestyle."

"What do you mean?"

"He unplugged his phone, he's refusing to leave the house, we find him lying on the floor doing nothing," Gretchen explained, "He wouldn't answer the door. It's like those three years after…he's only recently just left the house. He was making progress…and now…what with finding out she was pregnant, and then going to speak with her parents…we have to take him with us to Gus's place, no matter what."

"Are you sure? Maybe you're overreacting."

"Vince," Gretchen sighed, "This is his safe place, his cocoon. He locks himself in here, and he doesn't have to face the outside world, doesn't have to face the fact that she's really gone. He shuts out the world, surrounds himself with pictures of her, and her things, and their things, and pretends she might come back. We have to take him out of here, before he shuts himself up completely, again."

-0-0-

Mikey opened the front door of Gus's apartment, frowning solemnly out at the firm faces of the rest of the gang. Vince stood in front, meeting Mikey's eyes with a nod of acknowledgement. Gretchen stood beside him, studying the ground. TJ was in the background, looking slightly dejected and jaded. His noncommittal interest in the people around him all but indicated his utter disgust in being there, more so than any of the others.

"Who's there?" came a slur from the apartment.

"He's been drinking," Mikey whispered, looking weary and on edge. He needed to get out of there; it was obvious, away from the scent of alcohol. "I'm going to a press conference, I can't push it back any longer. I was hoping…well, I wanted you guys to be there, but Gus needs you. Will you…will you guys watch channel 8 at ten o'clock tonight?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Mikey," Vince nodded. They exchanged a quick embrace, as Vince made his way into the apartment, and Mikey threw his arms around Gretchen.

Gus was slumped on the couch, a bottle of vermouth in his hand, remote control in the other. He looked at a complete loss, his eyes glazed over, a slight bit of drool making its way down his lower lip. His clothes were rumpled and he was watching the television, which was all snowflakes.

"I hate this show," Vince commented, slapping Gus's knee gently, before taking a seat next to him and examining the bottle, "You know, you're not supposed to drink this stuff straight up." Gus rolled his head to look at Vince.

"Erm…"

The door shut, and Gretchen slipped to the couch on the other side of Gus, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. TJ leaned against the closed door, his arms crossed in front of his chest, scowling at Gretchen and Vince. They'd practically had to drag him from his house, shoving him in the car. He'd begged, pleaded, and demanded they leave him, to no avail.

"How are you doing, buddy?" Vince asked, trying to hide the dire concern in his voice as he peered into Gus's plaster face. Gus ran his tongue over his chapped lips, raising the bottle to his mouth and taking a long drawl, before lowering it again and gasping, sputtering, coughing.

"I'm fine…" he mumbled, "Just fine…crazy…yup…crazy. Didn't have anything to drink…went to the store, bought plenty to drink. You want a drink?" He pushed the bottle towards Vince.

"No thanks, man," Vince said, staring disgustedly at the clear liquid. He hated liquor, knowing it ruined Mikey's life, and from the looks of things, stood to ruin Gus's as well.

"They're laughing at me…" Gus went on, tears fluttering along his lashes, "Ha, ha…stupid kid, thinks he's a little soldier…he's a soldier alright, a little toy soldier…"

"Gus, that's not true. Nobody is laughing at you," Gretchen assured him silently, slipping her arm over his shoulder, "You received a medical discharge, there's nothing wrong with that."

"Nope…" he muttered, "Nothing wrong with being crazy…so long as they don't tell you to your face, 'hey, you crazy, man'. Nothing wrong with that…"

"It's not a Section 8, Gus," Vince argued, "You'll find something else, you're life's not over."

"I saw the picture go," Gus whispered, half-sobbing, "It broke…and it was my fault…my father said…he said, 'do me proud, private', and…and now…he's not proud. Not proud, huh, dad?"

"I don't doubt your father is proud of you," Gretchen said, "You've achieved everything he wanted you to, and so much more."

"And threw it all away…blown away, dust in the wind…bye-bye," Gus chuckled cynically, sipping more from the bottle, "And still, there's nothing."

"You are crazy, Gus," TJ spoke up, his voice shaky yet determined, "You think it matters. You think he cares. He's dead, what does he care. You're hardly alive yourself. You keep living for him…I keep living for her…we might as well just turn over and die. We lose what's important, and then we lose everything else. It's like pouring salt in the wound. They don't care, why should we?"

"They gave us this…these lives," Gus whispered, "You're right, they're dead, and they can't care anymore, so we have to care for them. You may be dead inside, TJ, and she's disappointed in you, because of it. She cared a great deal…and you have to care for her…but you're not doing a very good job. I couldn't care for both of them…I couldn't…I can't keep going…it's not fair…"

"No," TJ muttered, "It's not fair, and it's never going to be fair. Get over it."

"Like you're getting over it?" Gus snapped.

"They say time heals all wounds. They're wrong. As time goes on everything hurts more. It's like…like…like I didn't lose her all at one, like I'm losing her a little each day. I am dead inside, Gus, but you aren't. So you lost your job, big fucking deal. They didn't rip your heart out and leave this void behind; they simply took something you worked for. Work for something else now, get out of the goddamned house, maybe fall in love, get married, make children, get a dead-end job that sucks the soul from your body little by little each time you clock in at the beginning of the day. That's life. It's not fair. But it's all you got, the one guarantee you're given. You're going to live a miserable existence while you die a slow painful death.

"I can afford to lock myself away from life, because I am dead. My body just doesn't know it yet. I don't want the ghosts, my house, the four walls that surround me as I play dead. I need them. I thought she taught you to be strong. I thought she taught you all to be strong, because maybe she knew she wasn't going to be here for you guys. If she's disappointed in anyone, it's all of you. She must have known that I could never learn to be strong enough to lose her. But I loved her. She was my wife. What's your guys' excuse?"

-0-0-0-0---------------August 1997-----------------0-0-0-0-

Gus shrunk against the tile wall of the boys' room. As far as first days of school went, his was a major pain. Eighth grade. Eighth graders were the top of the middle school chain. Wasn't he supposed to be picking on the younger kids, waltzing through the halls like top dog, and exerting his seniority? Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of camaraderie between eighth graders? Weren't they all supposed to be connected in a way, knowingly acknowledging one another as being on the same level? Isn't that how it's supposed to work?

No. Not for Gus. Apparently the rules didn't apply to him. Bullies still followed him wherever he went, still sneered down at him. Bullies like James Adder. It seemed that somehow, bullies chose their targets the first day of school, those they would torment for some reason or another, for the entire year. Maybe they drew names from a hat. That must be it, Gus decided, they drew names from a hat and his was the lucky name James Adder drew.

"What's going on, worm breath," James had said the moment Gus walked through the double doors of the school. Gus was alone; his father had dropped him off early that morning. The rest of the gang would be waiting in front of the library, their designated meeting place. When James had spoken, Gus wasn't certain whom the larger young man was speaking to. Certainly Gus wasn't this 'worm breath', certainly James was zeroing in on some younger less fortunate seventh grader. He was wrong, of course, and knew it immediately when James stepped in his path.

"How's it going?" Gus had attempted to greet his new obstacle nonchalantly.

"Not well," James answered slyly, "My fist just ran into a little geek's pus face." Without so much as a decent warning, James flung his fist through the air, catching the side of Gus's jaw, and sending the smaller young man sprawling.

"Hey," Gus cried out, "What did I do to deserve that?" Though he immediately regretted it.

"A lot of things," James had sneered, grabbing Gus's collar and pulling their faces mere inches from one another, "But my favorite reason is probably simply because you exist." Gus could only cower, attempting to press himself against the lockers, wishing he could shrink from existence.

"Hey, asshole," came an unpleasant jeer. James turned, and Gus felt his insides sink. He knew that voice all too well. "Drop the kid, and I won't have to hurt you." Spinelli stood before them, hands on her hips. The small group of students that had gathered around in hopes of seeing a poor schmuck get creamed had opened up, allowing the young woman passage.

"Oh, I'm so scared of a little girl," James chuckled mockingly. He'd never met Spinelli before, and while her reputation preceded her, he didn't recognize her face. The other kids, most of whom did know Spinelli, gasped slightly, backing away in fear of the short young woman's fiery temper. She clenched her hands into tight balls, her lip curling up into a sneer.

"What did you just call me?" she demanded.

"Get lost," James muttered, turning his attention back to Gus. It was quite fearsome, when Spinelli grabbed James's jacket and threw him back first against the wall of lockers. He was shaken, obviously, and confused. How dare this little girl as he called her jostle him like so.

"I asked what you just called me, you pubescent punk-ass piece of shit," Spinelli spat, her eyes alight with rage. It was one thing to pick on one of her friends, but an entirely different story to disregard her altogether.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" James cried scathingly, straightening menacingly.

"Oh, did I not introduce myself? Name's Spinelli, what's yours, turd face?" James paled slightly. Yes, Spinelli's reputation definitely preceded her.

"Spinelli? Ashley Spinelli?" There was the sound of knuckles cracking as Spinelli tightened her fist. James backed up, pressing himself against the locker a position Gus had recently found himself in. "Look, we have no problem here, I'm on my way. Gone, like this, see…" he squirmed his way through the crowd, turning back to glower at Gus momentarily. "I'll be back, when your little girlfriend isn't around."

Of course, that had been in the morning. Things had gone downhill from there for Gus, slowly transgressing from bad to worse. He received snickers of mockery as he made his way down the halls from class to class. Loser Griswold, not only did he get the crap beat out of him by James Adder, but he had to have a girl stick up for him. Even those who knew it was Spinelli, and knew she was the toughest kid in school, still laughed at him. It didn't matter how tough she was; she was still a girl. And James did exact his revenge that day. Again, and again, and again. Tripping Gus in the hallways, throwing things at him during class, running into him and making him drop his lunch, pouring something gooey and sticky in his locker, and so many other things Gus couldn't begin to list. It was finally between fifth and sixth period that Gus hid away in the bathroom, slumping against the tile wall and frowning at the rows of urinals and sinks.

"I'm a nerd," Gus told the gray blue walls, "And a wuss to boot."

-0-0-

TJ balanced his pencil on the desktop, staring disinterestedly up at the chalkboard. He narrowed his eyes to study the back of the head of the girl in front of him. She was a brunette, her hair pulled into a sweeping ponytail. The end would swish along his desk whenever she moved her head. She'd lean forward, to take notes or write something down, then slump back in her chair and listen intently as the teacher talked. There was a mole, on the back of her neck, creeping along almost to her right shoulder. TJ sighed, leaning back into his chair, and looking around the room.

Spinelli sat in the far corner. That's where TJ's eyes came to rest. She was supporting her cheek in her hand, her elbow propped up on the desk. Her eyes were half-open, her pencil dragging along the paper in front of her, drawing circles within circles. She'd let her hair down that day, probably too lazy to tie it up that morning. It looked like she'd showered the night before. She was letting her bangs grow out, so they were in the transitional period of growth in which they weren't as long as the rest of her hair, but they weren't short enough to be bangs anymore. She was wearing a brown t-shirt; it was fairly loose, long, coming down to her hips. Faded, old, probably belonged to one of her older brothers in a time long forgot. She lived for accessories those days, anything black, preferably studded or with spikes. Rings lined her fingers, sterling silver, and she was proudly displaying the fourth hole she'd gotten in her right ear. She only had three in the other. She'd been afraid to get her ears pierced the first time. TJ had gone with her. He had held her hand, as the gun clicked an earring through the marrow of her lobe. She enjoyed it, obviously.

TJ sighed slightly. The boy next to Spinelli was busy drawing on her hand. TJ didn't know the boy's name, yet, but Spinelli evidently knew him already. They talked in light whispers when they'd saw one another in class, but the tardy bell had rung before TJ could join them. It bothered TJ, how informal this boy was acting around her. He didn't know why, though. It shouldn't bother him, should it? Maybe it should. Spinelli's his friend, not that boy's. TJ frowned. How pathetic did that sound?

Spinelli stirred slightly, noticing TJ. They met eyes and she smiled lightly. TJ flushed, biting his tongue until the taste of blood filled his mouth, and turning back to the front. The bell rang, and the class returned to wakefulness, flooding the doorway. Spinelli waved good-bye to the boy, lifting her backpack. TJ waited as she joined him, grinning and showing the doodle-work on her hand.

"He asked me to go with him to the Welcome Back Dance," she said.

"Oh?" TJ returned, trying to sound as happy as she did, "What did you say?"

"I told him sure," she piped, and TJ felt an odd stinging in his chest. What was wrong with him? "He's a cool guy. He's gonna be a professional skater."

"Is that even a job?" TJ clamped his mouth shut, immediately regretting the snide comment. Spinelli occupied herself with the straps of her backpack, frowning at her boots.

"I like him. Is that alright with you?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it," TJ argued, "Can we hurry up and get out of this place? I'm starving. Is it just me, or does the cafeteria food get less and less edible every year?"

"They're slowly getting us used to eating crappier and crappier food, so that eventually they'll be feeding us cardboard boxes slathered in gravy. It lacks nutritional value, but hey, it's cheaper," Spinelli laughed, and TJ grinned, slipping his arm over her shoulders.

"This year really whomps," he told her, and she nodded agreement, "Sharing lockers because of overcrowding in the school? And worse, assigned locker buddies! How'm I supposed to share my locker with someone I hardly know?"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Spinelli conceded, "I may want to put personal things in there."

"And the ridiculous dress codes they're implementing?"

"Hey, at least we're out of this joint before they start enforcing school uniforms. Next year's rabble have the pleasure of dealing with that shit."

"Not to mention, I only have two classes with you."

"Yeah," Spinelli fell silent, staring somberly at the floor tile passing beneath their feet, "And we hardly see the other guys. Vince has to have that weird schedule worked around his sports; Gretch and Gus are taking all those advanced classes, and Mikey with his art and drama stuff. How we supposed to keep the gang together, if the gang's not…well…together?"

"Don't worry about it, Spin," TJ reassured her, "Our friendship's been through rougher times. This is nothing compared to that little mishap in fourth grade, when…for some odd reason, my good, close friends decided I needed to choose one of them above the others as my best friend."

"I wonder where they got that crazy idea in their heads…" Spinelli chuckled sheepishly, "That one of them had to be number one in your book?" Then she eyed him coyly, "Out of curiosity, though, who would you say is your best friend?" TJ rolled his eyes.

"Oh, definitely you," he droned sarcastically, receiving a restrained but painful jab in the ribs. He winced, groaning slightly, as they came upon the rest of the gang standing around the front doorway of the school. Vince was talking, undoubtedly about his day, as Mikey and Gretchen listened intently, nodding, smiling, and laughing in the appropriate places.

"Hey, where's Gus?" TJ questioned, looking around. He was nowhere in sight.

"I figured he was coming with you guys," Vince said, shrugging, "His last class was down the same hall as yours, wasn't it?"

"Didn't see him," TJ shrugged.

"Shall we look for him?" Gretchen asked.

"I'll go, you guys stay here in case he comes," Spinelli volunteered, rolling her eyes as she headed back down the hall.

"I'll come with you," Mikey offered, following before she could protest. The remaining three stood around at the entryway looking to one another.

"So…" Vince started, "How was your day?"

Spinelli marched down the hall, lips pursed, and glowering down any student that so much as looked at her funny. Mikey had to jog to catch up to her, reaching her out of breath. He gripped her shoulder for support, gasping for air.

"You walk fast," he proclaimed, finally straightening and attempting to keep up with her determined strut.

"I want out of this place, and I'm pounding Gus when I see him for keeping me longer than I'd like," Spinelli spat. She paused, stopping at the classroom that Gus had the last period. It was empty already. She sighed, leaning against the door and looking to Mikey. "Where to now?"

"Maybe he stopped at the restroom?" Mikey suggested, and they both turned to look at the bathrooms across the hall. Spinelli sighed, motioning Mikey forward.

"I can't go in there," she said. Mikey nodded, moving across the hallway into the boys' restroom. Spinelli rolled her eyes, taking up position by the water fountains. It wasn't long before Mikey came back out, Gus in tow, giving a half-hearted smile to Spinelli. "What's with you?" she asked.

"Nothing," Gus shrugged, "Had a bad day. But it's over now, huh?"

"Yeah, can we blow this Popsicle stand already?" They walked together down the hall to where the others were standing, waiting. They greeted Gus whole-heartedly, and a full smile finally made its way across his face.

They left the school together, agreeing that shakes at Kelso's was a great way to celebrate the end of the first day. They sat at a booth, greeting the old man Kelso pleasantly.

"Ah, my favorite customers," he smiled, "What'll it be, let me guess; three chocolate shakes, a sundae, and two root beer floats?"

"Thanks, Mr. Kelso," they piped, and he nodded, disappearing into the back to prepare their order.

"What's with you, Gus?" TJ asked, "You've been acting weird since we left school?" It was true. The young man had been silent, walking with lowered eyes the entire way, failing to laugh at the numerous jokes and anecdotes his friends had been exchanging.

"I told you it was nothing," Gus mumbled.

"Not thinking about that bully this morning, are 'ya?" Spinelli inquired, and Gus frowned at the table.

"What bully?" Vince demanded.

"Just some jerk," Spinelli shrugged, "He was nothing. Ran off with his tail between his legs when I showed up."

"Yeah, when you showed up," Gus muttered angrily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spinelli asked, "You wanted me to let him cream you, that it?"

"I…no…well…"

"Here we are," Kelso announced, interrupting their conversation as he laid their orders out appropriately, "Sundae for Spinelli, chocolate shake for Vince, Mikey, TJ, and a root beer float for Gretchen and Gus. Enjoy kids."

"Thanks, Mr. Kelso," they all mumbled once more, and he smiled, nodding in acknowledgement as he slipped behind the counter, greeting another group of customers entering, chattering excitedly. The gang sipped at their individual desserts in silence.

"So…um…Gretchen, Gus, how are those advanced classes treating you?" TJ asked, attempting to break the awkward quiet.

"It's fascinating," Gretchen chirped, "I mean, certainly we won't be going over quantum mechanics any time soon, but my fellow classmates make for good physics debates."

"Which, undoubtedly, you always win," Mikey commented. Spinelli narrowed her eyes at Gus who was focusing his attention on stirring up his root beer float, trying to avoid her stare.

"You're really mad at me for stepping in?" Spinelli snapped, and Gus pushed his float away, pushing himself out of the booth.

"I have to go home, I have homework," he said.

"No, wait, I want to know," Spinelli argued, "Are you mad at me for stepping in?"

"Yes, I am," Gus spat finally, "You happy now?" He turned abrubtly, slamming the front door of Kelso's open and storming out. Spinelli slumped, pushing away her sundae in frustration, and pulling herself from the booth.

"That's gratitude for you," she muttered, "You stick up for a kid...bah!" She went on as she walked out the door. TJ frowned as Mikey took the abandoned desserts, eagerly eating them as well as finishing off his own shake.

"What's up with Gus?" Vince questioned, shaking his head, "It's never bothered him before when Spinelli's defended him."

"I think we should look at the circumstances," Gretchen spoke up, "A bully, first thing in the morning, Gus is surrounded by fellow peers. It's obvious. His masculinity has been challenged."

"What are you talking about?" Vince cried.

"Gus is upset because he had to have a girl stand up for him," Mikey clarified, slurping up the last of the root beer float.

"But it's Spinelli," TJ argued.

"Yes, but she is still a girl," Mikey argued.

"I don't get it," Vince muttered, "Spinelli has always stuck up for Gus, and he's always been more than happy with her help."

"But the circumstances of this case are different," Gretchen put in, "What with recent changes in both of our good friends. Gus's growth spurt, and hormonal alterations. Spinelli's…well…her own little growth…" TJ rolled his eyes. They'd all gotten used to puberty. The entire gang had pretty much gone through the embarrassing stage.

"How does that change things?" TJ demanded, "It shouldn't change anything."

"How would you feel if Spinelli came to your rescue in front of a group of students and a malicious bully?" Gretchen retorted. TJ shrugged. To be honest, he had never found himself in a position that required rescuing on any outside party's part. If he got into a situation, he was more than capable of getting himself out; whether with his more than persuasive words, or his fairly good fighting ability.

"Glad I had her in my corner?" TJ attempted, with a sheepish grin, Gretchen shook her head, "Look, in case you hadn't noticed, Spinelli bullies the bullies. She's an impressive fighter with a mean right hook, and everyone knows she's the toughest kid in school. So Gus needed a girl to stick up for him, at least it wasn't…well…you." Gretchen raised her eyebrow sharply.

"Take it back, TJ, take it back," Vince whispered harshly in his ear. Gretchen bolted to her feet with a great 'humph', and left as well.

"This is turning out to be a really cruddy after school hang out party," TJ commented, as Mikey took Gretchen's half-eaten root beer float.

"I'm sure that could have gone better, TJ," Mikey said, "Ah, dear friends, a new school year welcomed with new conflicts. Do not fear; all will be well again."

-0-0-

Gus quietly shut the door behind him as he entered his house. He could hear his mother in the kitchen humming along with the radio as she probably prepared dinner. From the sounds of things, his father was in the drawing room watching television, an old black and white film, most likely playing some chess.

"Private, is that you?" the old man called, and Gus perked up slightly.

"Yes, sir." Gus placed his shoes by the front door, moving upstairs to his room, which was spick and span. He strapped his backpack on his desk chair, and opened it up, pulling out his homework for the evening. It was his father's idea that Gus take advanced placement classes, though Gus was not particularly good at schoolwork. His door opened slightly, his father peering in.

"How was school?" Gus sighed. His father would see the unpleasant bruise on his cheek at dinner, anyways; he figured he might as well get it over with. Straightening, Gus turned to face his father, eyes on the floor. There was a heavy sigh, as the captain moved into the room. "Bullies, again?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Son, take a seat," Captain Griswold said and Gus obeyed, plopping into his desk chair, his eyes focused completely on the brown carpet of his room. His father knelt slightly, hand placed gently on his son's shoulder. "Throughout life you will always be faced with bullies, in some form or another. Until you learn to stand up to your bullies, they will haunt you forever."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Gus sighed.

"Permission granted."

"Standing up to bullies means nothing when they're pummeling you into nothing more than a pile of fleshy muck."

"You know how I feel about fighting," Captain Griswold drew in his breath.

"The better man is not measured by the size of his strength, rather the size of his honor," Gus answered.

"And…?"

"And…the battle is not won by the greater fighter, but rather the greater strategist."

"Right, then, I have the fullest confidence you can handle a bully, private," the captain said, lifting himself to his feet, "Now, get your homework done, and tomorrow at school, when that bully approaches you, do me proud."

"I'll try, sir…" Gus mumbled, "Um…dad?"

"Yes, son."

"Nothing, never mind." Captain Griswold nodded, patting his son's shoulder a last time before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Gus sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the math homework laid out in front of him. He sighed, moving to his closet and opening the door where a full-length mirror was attached. Another sigh escaped his lips.

Gus was thin, gangly. He was tall, never putting on the bulky muscle his father had. He was a better runner than weight lifter. He ran his hand over his clean crew cut, and pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, tracing his fingers over the primly pressed collar of his favorite green button down shirt, shoving his hands into his dry cleaned slacks, tapping his shined black loafers on the floor.

"Hell," he muttered, "I'd bully me." Gus chewed his upper lip unhappily. If Captain Griswold knew that Spinelli, a girl, had to stick up for Gus…what would the captain think of his son then? "Greater fighter? Greater strategist? I'm neither." He looked to his phone, sitting quietly on his desk. He moved over to it, lifting the receiver and quickly dialed one of the five numbers he remembered by heart. It rang several times before someone picked up, "Hello…yeah…it's me…I know, I'm sorry. I just…will you meet me at the park at eight? Please?"

-0-0-

Gretchen stood nervously on tiptoe outside of her parents' room trying to listen in as they spoke. She'd received a higher education recommendation once again from the middle school. They were interested in sending her to a special school for highly intellectual youths. Gretchen didn't want to go, but her parents were the deciding factor in the matter. She'd debated her standing in the issue, using a PowerPoint presentation and several poster board displays, and now her fate rested in her parents' hands.

It was nerve wracking, to say the least. Gretchen had received these kinds of offers before, quickly dismissing them as utter nonsense. She would never want to leave her friends behind in any way; it would be too painful. But now…now the curriculum at school was beginning to deter from the things she'd like to be learning. It was less than she wanted, never quite feeding to full consumption the knowledge bug in her brain. She craved more learning, more information, more…so much more than her current educational facility could give.

"But I don't want to leave," Gretchen cried aloud, quickly stifling her voice with a heavy hand clamped over her mouth. Her friends, her good friends that she loved and cherished, could never be admitted into the academics she would be. They were, as much as she loathed admitting it, too average. Gretchen startled in surprise when the door to her parents' room opened and her father peered out.

"Gretchen, we wish to speak to you," Mr. Grundler said. Gretchen nodded, entering the room as her father took a seat in one of the cozy chairs set up, the other one occupied by her mother. She stood before them, theirs to send wherever their whims decided.

"We've come to a conclusion," Mrs. Grundler announced, and Gretchen caught her breath, "We have analyzed the data, and reviewed the information given."

"We've deduced that this Premier Nobel Institution is a fine facility, more than capable of providing a well rounded education to a ponderous mind such as your own." Gretchen lowered her eyes, chewing her lower lip.

"However," Mrs. Grundler interjected, and Gretchen peeked up at them, "We've also deduced that our prodigy offspring is much too lacking in the necessary maturity levels to handle such an institution."

"I don't understand," Gretchen stammered, a quiver in her voice.

"We've decided you're not old enough," Mr. Grundler explained. Gretchen nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to go to that school, so why was she so hurt?

"Thanks mom, dad," Gretchen mumbled, leaving the room and entering her own. She closed the door securely behind her, glancing over the chemistry set-up she had on her desktop, the new high-speed computer her parents had bought her for her birthday, the multitude of various world-changing experiments she'd completed that year and had yet to file in the laboratory in the basement. There was also a vanity mirror above her dresser that caught her eye. She frowned, turning to glower at her profile and pulling her shirt tightly about her undefined body.

Spinelli was developing nicely, much to the pleasure of any passing male who happened to gaze upon her. Gretchen, however, had not changed much since her elementary school years. She was still straight as a pole, and showed no growth of any sort in the chest area. It was embarrassing. If she didn't change at all, her parents were always going to see her as a little girl. She would never be old enough in their eyes, or anyone else's.

A girl. Gretchen's frown deepened. She was wearing a blue cotton dress, less childish than the one from her youth. Her hair was a lone braid down her back; she'd gotten bangs that puffed uncertainly around her forehead. Maybe that's what TJ meant. Spinelli was a woman, or close enough, and Gretchen was a girl. A little girl. Who'd want Gretchen in their corner? How could her parents send their precious little prodigy offspring away to some spectacular school, when no one would even want her stepping up to a bully for them?

-0-0-

Spinelli stood grumpily, tightening her jacket over her shoulders. She glanced at her watch, seethed slightly, and fidgeted, kicking at the sidewalk. She saw the huddled form making its way up the sidewalk, and scowled.

"You're late," she snarled, and the boy looked up, sighing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What did you want anyways, Gus? It's late." He nodded, frowning at the grass and the empty park.

"I'm sorry about what I said," he told her, "I know I apologized on the phone."

"But you meant it, what you said at Kelso's, I mean."

"I guess," Gus whispered, "I was more mad at myself than you."

"That what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Gus walked to the park bench, taking a seat, and blowing into his chilled hands. Spinelli stood standoffish, grimly watching him. "I want you to teach me how to fight."

"What?" Spinelli shook her head, "No way, man, no way."

"Come on, please," Gus pleaded.

"I did the teaching kids to fight thing, remember? Didn't end well, especially not for me," Spinelli protested.

"I'm not asking you to teach me some wrestling moves. You heard James this morning, he's going to keep at me, and he won't be the last bully too. I need to learn to stand up for myself."

"Jeez, Gus…" Spinelli muttered, slumping next to him on the bench, "I should've let that guy cream you this morning, maybe he would have knocked some sense into your thick skull."

"And what's the point of keeping him from pounding me, huh? You're not always going to be there to fight my battles. You know that. My father…he wants me to stick up for myself…I don't want to have a girl…er…no matter how strong and…um…pretty? Yeah, pretty, she is, sticking up for me." Spinelli narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know I'm going to regret this later…but…okay. I'll teach you how to fight."

"Great!" Gus exclaimed. They were silent.

"I got asked to the Welcome Back Dance," Spinelli said.

"Really?"

"I don't know if I really want to go with the guy, though…" Spinelli looked up to the sky, "He's nice, I like him. I'm excited, I guess. But still…there are things…"

"Like TJ?" Spinelli turned a glower on Gus.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gus gulped, loosening his collar.

"You have to admit…you two are really close…and…I mean…I would think that…" Spinelli shook her head and Gus fell silent. She punched his shoulder, and he winced, groaning softly.

"Lesson number one, don't piss off the girl teaching you to scrap."

"Got it." Gus moaned.

"Tomorrow, after school," Spinelli said, lifting herself off the bench and beginning down the street homeward.

"But what about tomorrow at school?" Gus demanded, "Can't you teach me something now?"

"Yeah, run."

END A/N: I'll finish the chapter soon as I can...oi...my mind's on my new Rocket Power fic (yes, for those of you who don't know, yet, I wrote a Rocket Power fic.).

I'm soooooo bummed that I can't see those reviews, I hope I'm not hindered in viewing my reviews for this chapter. That would totally bum me out, then I'd have to write the "support" staff and curse at them...then I'll probably get kicked from the site, and never be able to finish my stories.

OH, yeah! I got the Recess: Miracle on Third Street DVD (which was really good, despite what the reviewers on Amazon may say) Anyways, in the last episode, (Yes Mikey, Santa Does Shave) TJ was dressed as a menorah in the Non-dominational Winter Pageant! But then, I'm not sure if that means anything, because TJ was talking about Santa Claus with the others, and I don't know many Jews that...uh...believe in Santa. Does anyone else think that its odd, that the school was putting on this non-demonational pageant, but the entire episode was very...hm...Christian? Just pondering. Santa is, after all, a pagan stolen figure of the Christian religion (not to mention Christmas is supposed to have some connection with Jesus, which (most) Jews don't recognize as a prophet (let's not talk about the Jew for Jesus people...)).ooooookay, now we're getting into religious conversation here, and I'm not sure I would like to be a part of that. I don't doubt I could trump most of you in it (knowledge wise), anyways.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and REVIEW! Even if I can't see them, it'll e-mail them to me, and those I can see!

REVIEW!

Thanks for Reading.