A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. Unfortunately, frequent trips to the airport to pick up/drop off family members, spinal injuries that prevented typing, and evil teachers who believe in blackmail and will soon be sacked have gotten in my way. I'm on a two week break now, but I have six assignments to do in that time and unfortunately lots of family visiting and stuff, so we're still not good for the once a day updates… you've no idea how much I despise school…
Thank you so much to reviewers! I've missed them in this time! Thanks also to everyone who has me on fav/alert and to anyone still reading… you guys drop me a review too, kay? Seriously though, you're the best.
X X X X
"I sure ain't driving," said Ponyboy wryly as he was pushed in a wheelchair by a nurse towards the doors of the hospital.
"Sure ain't," Soda agreed. "You're ridiculously slow, and I need to be back to work in forty minutes."
They stopped at the doors, and Soda put a protective arm around Pony as he stood up and the nurse took the wheelchair away. "You know, if anyone else besides you had been in that car when I crashed, you'd never let me drive again."
"Don't think you're getting out that easy, Pone," said Soda, smiling as they walked out to the parking lot. "You know, if you had've been doing sixty miles there we wouldn't have crashed. That's why I reckon people shouldn't go below ninety around schools. That way, they spend less time in the area and are less likely to hit a kid."
Pony grinned, but it was a little strained. "You're crazy, Sodapop," he mumbled. "Slow down a bit, would ya?"
Soda apologized and they began to walk at a slower pace. Soda was borrowing Steve's car again, as theirs was in the shop, and he struggled for a few moments trying to jimmy the key exactly as Steve had shown him to open the car. The lock finally gave way, and Pony had to grin as he saw that his older brother had practically built a bed in the back seat, lining it with almost every cushion Mrs Mathews owned and laying a blanket down but folding the corner so Ponyboy could slip right in.
"I thought you might be tired," Soda explained bashfully as he noticed Pony's expression.
Ponyboy just shrugged and climbed in. "It's awful comfy."
"Yeah, I know," said Soda, sitting in the driver's seat. "I tested it."
Pony raised his eyebrows at this and smiled. He really was lucky to have Sodapop. Most people never got the chance to have such a loving family.
X X X X
As Sodapop drove himself back to the hospital after dropping Pony off at home he began to feel excited again. He'd been so thrilled when Jonathan had said he might be onto something. His hope for a normal life was once again at the forefront of his mind, and not even the knowledge that just because he'd made a decent suggestion didn't mean it would turn into anything dampened his spirits. Fool's hope was better than no hope at all.
His heart, which had started to slow down and reassume a regular beat began pumping erratically again. Soda grimaced in annoyance: he was already driving with one hand due to the pain in his left arm, and he didn't want to rub his chest with that arm because it would stretch the stitches. He hadn't used his inhaler in two days, a near record for him, and he wondered when the medication was finally going to leave his system for good. The shaking had already stopped, so it must have already started going. It was more irritating than anything else.
Soda pulled up in the parking lot and took the opportunity to rub his chest hard, which seemed to work for one reason or another. It calmed down as he went into the building, and was beating normally by the time he reached the room in which he worked.
Both Jonathan and Falkens were there now. They stopped talking as he entered, which would have made anyone else suspicious, but Sodapop was a trusting person. He pulled out a chair and sat on it. "Anything you need me to do?"
"We have a few questions for you," Jonathan said. "What you said the other night made sense; breathing and heart rate are controlled by the same part of the brain. You might also know that blood pressure rises during an attack?" He voiced it like a question.
"No," said Soda.
"Well, it rises dramatically. That's also controlled by the medulla oblongata. What about swallowing? Do you swallow a lot during an attack?"
Soda frowned, thinking. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm usually focused on something else." He smiled wryly.
"I thought you'd say that," Jonathan mumbled.
Falkens took over. "I was wondering if we could test you and focus on exactly what happens to your brain during an attack."
Unconsciously, Soda folded his arms and protectively wrapped them around himself. "You ain't gonna need to take blood, are you?"
The other two grinned at the naïveté of the question. "No," said Falkens, "but we might need to actually induce an attack."
Sodapop frowned. "I dunno… isn't that kinda stupid?"
"Normally, yes," admitted Falkens. "We'd do it here, obviously. It would be a controlled environment. Still, you know the risks involved better than I could explain them to you. The benefit is research. Think on it tonight; if you don't want to, that's fine, we can always find someone else."
Soda had a sudden image of himself as a lab rat with a tail and everything. He stifled a giggle. "Sure, I'll think on it."
X X X X
A/N: I have a question to all you American readers. At what age to you take control of your own body? Where I am it's sixteen: I sign my own consent forms and everything, but I know in a lot of fics I've read they show Johnny and Dally and Steve and Soda getting their forms signed by parent/guardian. I'd just like some clarification here.
Please drop me a review: they're greatly motivating, not to mention I do believe they are the FFN form of payment for a story. I'd never set a minimum review count for an update because that's totally dodgy, but I'd still love to hear from you lurkers!
