Title: If Only I'd Been Sober...
Fandom: Outsiders. Although I only borrowed a character and some names. It could work as original too if I changed Dallas's name.
Characters: Dallas, unamed girl who is really Aubrey but can be whoever you want her to be, really. Also: Ponyboy a tiny little bit & the mention of Darry & Soda.
Genre: Romance (a tiny bit), drama...kind of.
Rating: PG
Category: One shot.
Word Count: 1731. I'm doing better!
Warnings: Blood, vomit, nothing too hardcore.
Summary: He's drunk. She's sober. He's in the mood, she's sleepy. But he's hurt, and she's sorry.

This takes place sometime during the course of Battle Scars, insert it wherever you want. I know I've left this stuff alone for a while but this is something I found a few days ago that I apparently wrote last year for my writing LiveJournal which you should all check out to make me happy. Anyway, I wanted to upload it but didn't want to make a new story out of it. So here it is at the end of The Heartbreaking Slence of Forever. Please review because it means the world to me )

"Get off of me" she said, sharply. Her voice was a little icy, like she'd had it sitting in the cooler with her beer earlier. He just smirked, moving less than an inch away from her body. She rolled her eyes and put the keys in the door again, hoping that maybe she could get him in the house before any huge confrontations.

Dallas was drunk, very drunk. He had been drinking for two days, and probably wouldn't have quit yet if she hadn't gone to Buck's with the sole purpose of finding him. "Jesus Christ, can you not stay sober for one day out of your life? Just one day?" she was asking him, but her voice was so irritatingly quiet that only she could hear what she was saying. Finally the door gave in and she switched on a light before pulling on his jacket, and forcing him into the living room.

"Christ, turn it off," he mumbled, shoving his hand up to protect his eyes. She didn't listen though, she was being mean again. She ushered him over to the couch, where the light wasn't as bright and she motioned for him to get to bed.

"Don't try and pull anything Dallas, keep away from me, I'm not in the mood to play games," her voice was harsh, he had moved close to her again. She turned around to throw her jacket onto the chair near the TV, but she missed when something touched her thigh. "Goddammit Dallas, keep your hands to yourself!" she shouted. He smirked again, putting his hands in the air in mock obedience. "Take off your shirt and your shoes and go to bed."

Dallas didn't say anything, just continued to smirk. She grabbed the bottom of his shirt roughly, not touching his skin intentionally, so she wouldn't give him any ideas, and pulled it over his head. While she was concentrating on not touching him he moved close again, this time actually getting his lips almost to her jaw line, but she realized what he was doing and she turned so quickly that their cheeks barely brushed. "Go to sleep," she urged. He just looked at her, smirking still. He was encouraged by his almost-victory. It was pretty apparent that he would not lie down without some manhandling. She had two choices: she could risk touching him, skin to skin, and push him onto the couch; or she could leave him standing there and take the risk of him following her to her room. She figured the easiest way to end it would be to get him onto the couch and make it to her room and lock the door. She reached out her hands, a bit shakily and put her hands on his stomach. It was then that she realized how hot his skin was, almost burning her at the slightest touch. She pulled back slightly, but her hands remained on his stomach. He seemed to wince, maybe her hands were freezing him. "What's wrong with you?" her voice was high and unnatural sounding.

"Nothing, nothing, fought with some guy at the Dingo a couple of days ago. Got me across the back with a busted bottle, I'll be ok," he insisted, but he was no longer moving toward her. She pulled her hands off of him, and walked around so she could get a look at his back. She didn't like what she saw. She was no good at telling if it was infected in the dim light, but she knew it didn't look too good, and it was still bleeding.

"Jesus fucking christ, Dallas," she muttered, and she took his arm, gently this time and began to lead him down the hall to her room. She laid him out on the bed on his stomach and left to get some bandages and some iodine.

When she got back at first she wasn't sure if he was asleep or not, but when she touched the wound he winced sharply, and she knew he was awake. It was a bad cut, diagonal across his back, from the top right to the bottom left. She rubbed the iodine on it with a piece of an old shirt, and bandaged it up as well as she could. She looked at him laying there, and felt a tiny bit of pity creep into her heart for him. After all, he was drunk, sick, and hurt, and he couldn't help it if he was a guy and he liked to do things that guys liked to do. Plus, he seemed, figuratively, to be cooled down a little, so she decided to allow him to sleep in her bed.

It was very uncomfortable at first. She stayed at the far left, and Dallas stuck to the far right. She could barely breathe from the closeness of it all. So many months, and she was finally getting what she always wanted, Dallas so close to her, Dallas feeling even the slightest bit vulnerable, willing to let her touch him...but in her fantasies it meant something else, and she'd always put a lot by dreams.

When she woke up two hours later, Dallas was shivering so hard he was rattling the pictures on the walls. She thanked the lord that Darry & Soda weren't home, because she knew what they would think about the walls shaking and Dallas in bed with her. "Dallas?" her voice was weak, she sounded scared even to herself.

"Mmmm..." he murmured.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm so cold," he shuddered. She touched his skin, it was so hot to the touch that she had to pull back.

"Dallas, you're burning up," she insisted. He shook violently. The sweat was pouring off of him in small streams.

"No...cold," he insisted again.

"Ok, let me get up and get you some blankets," she assured him, moving to get out from under the covers but he grabbed her arm.

"Don't. I'll freeze to death if you get up."

"I'll be right back, we've got some in the hall closet, it won't be that long, you'll be fine."

"I'll freeze," he insisted again. She shook her head, her long hair bouncing all around her shoulders. She laid back down in the bed, and moved closer to him so that one arm rested on his chest, and one rested slightly above the cut on his back. Her forehead pressed agains his, and his sweat soaked through her clothes. This time he barely even had the strength to try anything. One arm did linger too long on the small of her back, but she didn't bother reprimanding him for it. The other hand was tangled in her hair, and his breathing was labored. Neither said anything, whether it was her discomfort or his pain, or if they were both too afraid to do something to end their moment, it kept going on.

She was surprised the next time she woke up, she barely even remembered falling asleep. All she remembered was Dallas, Dallas being so close...she looked down to check her clothes were still on, they were and she sighed in relief. If she was going to do anything she might regret, she might as well remember it. Something else was bothering her though, Dallas wasn't in the bed. She stood up shakily, heading down the hall where a pool of light was flooding the floor around the bathroom. She walked in without knocking to find Dallas unconcious beside the bathtub, and the smell of vomit making her almost sick. "Dallas!" she shrieked, panicking, "Dallas!" he didn't move and she ran to the kitchen to dial 911. She hurriedly filled them in on the barest amount of details she could muster, and ran back to the bathroom. At that time, Ponyboy had heard all of the excitement and he was awake, following her into the bathroom. He looked like he was about to be sick when he walked in the bathroom and smelled the vomit, and saw Dallas lying there in sweat, and blood. When the ambulance came, she followed in her car with Ponyboy riding shotgun. Neither of the two said a word the whole way there.

Dallas woke up with a jolt, having no idea where he was at all. Light filtered weakly through the heavy blinds covering the windows, and he could hear machines beeping. He could barely move, he was in so much pain. He groaned as he lifted his arm, feeling the wound on his back stretching and sending a wave of pain throughout his whole body. Something moved on the other side of the room but he was too tired to try and see what it was. He didn't have to though, because she moved to his side.

"You awake?" she asked, her voice sounding a little bit muffled, like she'd gotten no sleep.

"Yeah," he answered, his mouth so dry he could barely utter the sylable. She reached on the nightstand and got a glass of ice chips, she picked up with a spoon and held it out for him to see. He nodded. She placed it in his mouth, and he waited for it to melt before he tried to talk again. "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad, they said it was lucky I called when I did or I might've found you dead this morning," she was wringing her hands, and looking pretty nervous. He laughed bitterly.

"Not too much of a loss." She didn't say anything, but she avoided his gaze.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" she was trying to be noncholant about it, like she didn't really give a rat's ass if he remembered or not. He could tell she wanted him to remember.

"Naw," he lied, patting around his bed for some cigarettes, "what happened that I should remember?"

"Nothing, just wondering if you did," her voice seemed a little disappointed, but she was trying to hide it.

"You got a weed?"

"Sure, but you're not getting one. You're in the hospital for a reason." 'Goody-two-shoes' he sulked.

"I could be dying and you're not going to let me have a cigarette?" he grouched. She nodded. He had the odd feeling she was paying him back for not remembering. It didn't mean anything though, it wouldn't have happened if he'd been sober, and not in so much pain. It never would've happened.