Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Crosby, Stills & Nash own "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes."

Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other

Oh, babe have mercy

Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now

I am not dreaming

July 16, 1969

Ponyboy blinked, not sure if he should be fascinated, or put-off, or both. Why in the heck Ella Mitchell would want to participate in horse racing was beyond his comprehension. And the fact that she wanted him to help her learn was even more horrifying. Okay, so he had an idea why Ella brought this up to him, especially him, and he had a good feeling it had something to do with Dallas. She still wanted to get back at him, floor him with something he would never see coming, as she had so generously put it, but Ponyboy really wasn't sure if any of this was a good idea. Getting back at Dallas Winston was one thing in itself, but teaching Ella how to race was . . . something else. Besides, now that Soda was home for a couple of weeks, Ponyboy wanted to spend as much time with him that he could. Of course, he had went to visit Mary, and the teen had a sneaking suspicion he would be with her for quite some time, not that anyone would blame him.

Soda had only been home for a day and a half, but Ponyboy really felt like it was going too quick, and even though Ella was his friend, he wanted more time with Soda. He knew she would understand, or maybe she would figure out that he would also use that as an excuse to get out of helping her. It's not that he didn't want to see her get a real good jab in Dallas's ego, but . . . he was already helping Dallas, and working with Ella would be too much. When in the hell was he supposed to have any free time for himself? Glory.

"Look, El," he began, and scratched the back of his head, "I don't know if you ought to compete in the Slash." A sigh. He tossed his pen down on his desk, giving up on trying to write altogether. "I mean, it's not that I think you're incapable, but . . . that's an awfully rowdy crowd, and I—"

"No, I understand," she interrupted. "Besides, you'd be in the middle of us, and I reckon I didn't quite think about that." She shook her head. "You're right. Forget it. I don't want Dallas to get pissed at you for helping me, too, because we'd be competing against each other."

The teen nodded. "Did you have anything else in mind?"

And Ella smirked at the question, because of course she did. Just because she agreed with Ponyboy that she shouldn't ask him to train her too didn't mean that somebody else couldn't. She honestly didn't find that to be too big a deal, and it would be the one thing Dallas Winston would never see coming. She had been about to let the entire thing go the other week when he agreed to not open his mouth to Darry about anything that Mary had said, but when she had accidentally found a certain magazine in the glove compartment of his truck, he had to go starting in on her. Well, they had spoken about why she decided to take a job like modeling in the first place, but he always had to add in his degrading comments, and truthfully, Ella just wanted to knock him down a peg . . . or two.

She figured one race would be enough to do it . . . if she was able to win, that is.

"Well, I won't lie to you, but . . . I still want to go through with my original plan," came the earnest response, and when Ponyboy made a face, Ella quickly continued. "It wouldn't involve you, Ponyboy, so you wouldn't have to worry about that."

"Yeah, I get that, but Ella, the Slash—"

"And I told you that I understand that, too," she cut in, and then offered him a small smile. "I think I can handle myself, even though I do appreciate the concern." And then a chuckle fell from her lips as she shook her head. "I could say I did somewhat of a good job doing so while being on my own, but I guess we know how that really went."

Ponyboy grinned. He still didn't think it was a good idea for Ella to be competing like that, but he knew that he wasn't going to be able to stop her. Ella was stubborn like that, determined . . . always had been, as far as he knew her, but now it was more prominent, and he could tell that her mind was made up. He really didn't get why when it came to Dallas Winston, Ella was always so set on getting even, or doing things that he wouldn't ever imagine her doing just to get her own jab in at him. Well, he did recall how Dallas used to treat her, even when they were together, and even though he himself wasn't a real personal fan of Ella's former job, he had to admit that she was right when it came to Dallas's remarks, and well . . . admittedly, it would be quite comical to see Ella Mitchell knock his name off the charts in one of the pony races.

Still . . .

"You gonna tell him?"

Ella shook her head. "Nope, I'm just gonna let him be surprised."

And the teen's brow quirked at that. "You really think you can beat him?" Despite the question, he had asked with genuine curiosity. Sure, Ella was bold, he would give her that, but horse racing, or even handling a horse, wasn't something she was accustomed to, and that was why Ponyboy was leery about the entire thing. Golly, but if something even so much as spooked the horse, she could be thrown off and injured pretty badly. Ponyboy had seen enough of that to last him a lifetime. Well, he wasn't trying to doubt her capabilities, but it was the principle—she really didn't know much about horses. "I mean, who are you gonna get to help you?"

The young woman bit her lip. "I don't know," she replied. "But I'll find someone . . . hopefully."

It had been so long since Mary had last set her eyes on Soda, but there he stood on her front porch, his expression unreadable as he stared back at her. For a moment, Mary felt like time itself had stopped completely, as if this was the moment she had been waiting for . . . but something didn't feel right about it, or something was missing, and she couldn't fathom it. Neither one of them had said anything to each other, an almost awkward feeling looming overhead, as if either one of them decided to speak first, their words wouldn't make sense, or nothing would come out right.

She had wanted to see him the moment she found out that he would be home Monday night, but she also didn't want to intrude on the family like that, so she told Ponyboy that she would see him when he was ready, especially after what they had all found out had happened. According to Ponyboy, very little was even discussed about it, but truthfully, they all thought it was better that way. Nobody wanted to stir that pot and have it boil over. Things felt off enough as it was, or maybe Mary herself was just now beginning to realize what Ella had meant. Being sober enough to have a full conversation seemed to help with a few things, too, and Mary (with help) was feeling better—not that she had divulged anything about Aunt Vera.

Good Lord.

Still, neither she or Soda had bothered to say anything, but Mary couldn't take it anymore, and even though there was a voice in the very back of her head telling her to stop, she ignored it and approached him, her arms instantly wrapping around his waist. To her own surprise, he hugged her back tightly, and she could feel his palms pressing into the sides of her arms from how closely he had pulled her into him, her head against his chest as he held them together. Mary would be lying if she said that she hadn't waited for this, her body seeming to relax against his. Though something still remained off about the entire thing, Mary did her best to shove those particular thoughts aside, and just be happy for the fact that Soda was alright, that he was there with her, that she was in his arms . . . and for a moment, or two, everything felt okay, like she was able to breathe after being stuck under water for so long.

"I've missed you so much," she said, her voice feathery as she broke the silence. Soda's only response was to hold her tighter, if that was even possible, his chin pressing against the side of her head. "So much," she repeated, and her fingers seemed to curl around the back of his shirt unintentionally, as though she were gripping him to make sure that he was real and wouldn't dissipate into thin air right before her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here now."

And finally, after what seemed like a long time, Soda eventually pulled back a bit. "I've missed you, too, Mary." And that was the truth, he thought. He had missed her. She looked so different to him, though, her body somehow smaller, her face thinned out, hair longer than he had ever seen it. There was a paleness to her skin where it used to be golden brown, and in her eyes was a tired and distant expression, one he knew all too well. "I missed you more than anything."

Part of him had been so afraid to touch her, though, afraid that she would crumble right there on the ground—he never imagined he could see her looking so fragile. Mary had always been delicate, soft to the touch, and by golly did he miss running his hands over her skin, but something was different about her, something was off. He knew that her aunt had died from food poisoning, he had read her letter, but some part of him . . . was afraid to respond, and that had been the last letter he'd received from her. Two before that he hadn't answered, and deep down, he felt guilty about it. Even holding her felt wrong to him, because he was guilty for blowing her off, guilty for . . .

"I wish I could spend every day with you," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "But I'm happy for this moment . . . just seeing you." She pulled him back in again. "I was so scared, Soda . . . when I found out about—"

"Don't," he interjected, his palms stretching out across her back. "Please don't, Mary."

And there it was, the rest of the guilt and shame clawing back up and plunging him down into a dark oasis, drowning him. Oh, Mary. She was too good, too good for him, he reckoned, and she always had been. He knew that she loved him more than anything, sacrificed for him more than any other girl ever had . . . and because of that, he was afraid, so fucking afraid of her feelings. Oh, he loved her, he loved her more than he could fathom . . . but something was holding him back, something in his mind and in his heart that seemed to penetrate through any other emotion. He thought that if not responding to Mary or blowing her off, she would simply forget him, only she hadn't. Instead, she grew more worried, and somehow—if it were even possible—more in love with him. He could see it in her eyes, despite the forlorn and weary look she adorned, could feel it in the way she held him, and it was in her voice, the gentleness that somehow clung to him like a safety blanket.

It felt distant to him, like it wasn't right, like he shouldn't be treated with such complex delicacy. Mary was like a foreign dream that kept coming back to haunt him in the night, remind him of the emotions and humanity that he'd otherwise been forced to forget, and just to be back in her presence, to feel her against him in reality again, brought a cloud of shame over his head.

He didn't deserve her love.

"Okay," she breathed, and nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" And then she shook her head, before glancing up at him. "I've just missed you so much, Soda, and now . . . you being here feels almost surreal to me."

There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much that she wanted to discuss with him and share with him, and there were so many questions she wanted to ask. There was a part of her that wanted to ask why he never responded to her, if there was something that she had done, but she figured now wasn't the appropriate time to do so. She wasn't sure why, but she could feel a division between the two of them, and perhaps she had been feeling it for a while, only ignoring it so it wouldn't seem so real. But now that she and Soda were together, standing in the presence of each other, it was very real. The emotions were still there, the feelings that Mary had been so acutely aware of, but there was a pull in the opposite direction, and she was very much aware of it now—and it scared her.

Perhaps it was the very obvious fact that, even though their feelings were the same, they themselves were not, and that knowledge alone was something that Mary wasn't yet ready to face. For her, as she had once relayed to Ella Mitchell, things hadn't changed, her surroundings hadn't, but she had, and now seeing Soda only proved that he, too, had changed so much. It was a stark realization for the girl, an eye-opener, to be able to finally understand what everyone else had been saying. Time had changed things, time had moved everyone else forward while she had stayed put in her own world waiting for Soda to come home . . . waiting for things to pick up where they had left off . . . and she hadn't bothered to consider the consequences.

Soda took a step back, letting her go altogether. "I know what you mean," he replied, but offered her a half smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "It feels strange even being here."

"So everyone keeps saying," she chuckled, and reached out to take his hand. "You want to come in?"

His hand remained loose in her own. "Sure."

Steve smirked at the picture Evie had sent him. Her hair was shorter than ever, but it suited her, he thought—she looked damn good. Apparently, she had done it the very same day she had written him, the same day she had come up with the idea, because on the back of the picture was a short note that simply stated that she decided to go through with it after all, compliments of Ella. Steve shook his head at the thought alone, remembering a time when Evie was the one beautifying Ella—that girl really had a head of hair . . . or something.

Still, receiving a letter from Evie was usually the highlight of Steve's day, the picture merely being an extra bonus. He'd only been gone a month, but it felt like yesterday when he was with Evie, the smell of her perfume still heavy in his mind. He remembered Albie Lars just then, and considered his words of marrying Evie. He had thought about it before . . . several times, in fact, but he just wasn't sure if it would be the right time, or an appropriate time anyway. There was too much going on, and the next time he even planned on going back home was around the holidays, if he could get leave. Fortunately, for him, he wasn't set to be deployed anywhere, instead getting a job with mechanics at the base he was currently staying at. Steve wouldn't lie . . . he was more than fucking happy to oblige those orders, not ever wanting to leave the country again . . . or at least, not for a good long while.

But he thought about Evie, wondered what married life would be like. She was all set on taking over her mother's business, her dream to become a beautician now more prominent than ever. There would be a lot to think about, and truthfully, Steve really didn't want to get married and leave Evie all by her lonesome. He was aware that many guys did it, got married and enlisted, or got married while out on leave, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He had already considered many things that could happen to Evie if . . . something happened to him . . . and he didn't want that for her. It made him nearly feel fucking sick to even imagine something happening to him after he'd married Evie, and her becoming a widow before she was even twenty one or two years old.

No, he didn't want that for her, wouldn't want it for her.

He could wait, he thought. Glory, but he only had . . . a little over a year and a half before he was out of there, before the government no longer owned his ass. And if he made it, he was going to marry her, he was going to marry Evelyn Lisa Martin. The more Steve thought about it, the happier he became, and though he would never directly admit it, he envisioned a future with her, imagined them living together with her owning her own salon, him opening up an auto shop . . . and hell, maybe they'd have kids or something. Well, that wasn't exactly something that Steve wanted to think about just then, but a future with Evie was something he desperately wanted, and at that particular moment, it was something for him to cling to. Maybe he would come home in December for Christmas with a ring, ask her old man for his blessing and propose to her . . . and they could get married when he was officially out. For the moment, it sounded like an awfully great idea.

"Randle." The dark-haired man looked up as one of the sergeants poked his head into his room—he couldn't have been much older than him. "This came for you. Must've gotten mixed up or something, because it was delivered down the hall to Murphy."

When Steve took the letter and read the return, his jaw nearly dropped. He tore the envelope open in one fluid motion, being as careful as he could to not rip the paper inside. His eyes raked over the words only seconds later, and if he had been holding his breath, a deep sigh of relief fell from his lips as he took a seat on the lower bunk, his body seeming to relax for the first time in weeks. Soda was okay, he was going home for a couple of weeks. The letter went on to explain a few other things, and Steve swore that he was going to get on his knees and pray to the good Lord above that night for saving his friend, for bringing him home.

He wasn't even aware that his own eyes were brimming with tears.

Dallas would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised to see the likes of Ella Mitchell at the ranch, but what further stunned him was seeing her riding Shar, one of the ponies he and Buck purchased a few weeks back. When he had questioned Joe, Buck's cousin and caretaker, he had merely said that Ella had stopped by and asked if she could take one of the horses for a ride. Joe was easygoing, and he had vaguely remembered Ella from a few years ago—and from the times she had stopped by to hangout with Ponyboy . . . which hadn't been that much, especially because he was busy working with him, so Ella normally didn't even stay that long when she did stop in. Still, Dallas was more surprised that Joe even remembered who the fuck she was.

He made his way over to the pen where she brought Shar into an easy walk, a smile on her face as she reached down forward to gently rub the side of his face. Dallas recalled the few times when they were together how he would take her out riding with him . . . and he certainly remembered the very first time she had mounted a horse—she had been scared out of her mind, afraid that he would let her fall and then run her over afterward. Dope. But seeing her there now felt strange to him, as if he was living in a time between the past and the present, or as though he were simply imagining it. The past seemed both distant and like it was beginning to mingle with the current time, and it unnerved him. He didn't like to think about shit like that, didn't like to get too deep into things, but ever since he had returned to Tulsa, it felt as though he were being sucked straight into a time that had ended long ago, a time which no longer existed . . . and seeing Ella Mitchell only contributed to those feelings.

Ella spotted him only seconds later, and directed Shar over to the opening where he stood, a glint in her stark blue eyes. It was obvious that she was happy, relaxed, and studying her right then told the blond that she was, in fact, content with herself. Perhaps she hadn't taken a decent road while living in New York, as she had relayed to him that night they had gotten stuck in the storm together, but something about not staying on the right path had taken her on a new course entirely—and she was happy about it, because it brought her out, brought her a confidence that had otherwise been buried deep inside of her, too afraid to be awakened. Dallas could see that very clearly now, see the difference in the girl he once knew, and thought that he still might at one point, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

"You gonna stand there gawking all day?"

His gaze turned in her direction, and he found himself looking up at her as he smirked. "Well, what can I say, huh? That's a mighty fine lookin' horse you got there."

"Sure is," Ella agreed, side-stepping his remark. "Picked him out myself to ride today."

A snort. "I'm surprised you even remember how to ride."

But the young woman only smiled on, completely ignoring the fact that he was trying to get under her skin and irritate her. She wasn't having any of it, and even though some part of her wanted to get her own jab in at him, she continued to play it cool. Ella knew that would only irk him quicker, but she didn't mind at all, instead waiting to see how long it would take him to catch on.

"You know what they say," she began, and shrugged ever so little. "It's like riding a bicycle, once you learn, you never forget."

Dallas felt his tongue slither across his top front teeth as the side of his lips curled up. He watched her sit up straight, his eyes moving over her form. Yeah, he thought, she had definitely filled out nicely, nicer than what he thought she would anyway.

He moved so that he was standing on the second bar, coming face to face with her. "You even know how to ride a bicycle, dollface?"

Ella's brow quirked, and to his surprise, she moved closer to him, her breath fanning his face. "I know how to ride a lot of things," she said lowly, eyes slitting ever so little.

For a second, Dallas really thought that she was about to close the gap between them, but before he could respond, or even come up with something to say back to her, she took off around the pen, the jolt enough to sway him back a bit, a cloud of dirt left behind in her wake. Glory, but she had been so close to him, so close that the smell of her gum caused his lips to tingle, her perfume drifting into his nostrils and her body heat enough to warm his own skin. She was something else, he thought, something else entirely, and he wasn't sure what to make of her.

Damn.

Ever since Soda had come home from Mary's, he had been acting more distant than he had when he first got in, and Ponyboy had picked up on it immediately. He was sure that Darry had, too, but he hadn't bothered to say anything about it, or probably didn't think it was a good idea. Honestly, Ponyboy didn't expect Soda to be the same, and there was a part of him that found that terrifying. Soda really hadn't said so much as a few words to either him or Darry, so when he announced earlier that morning that he was going to see Mary, Ponyboy felt both relief and worry. Well, it wasn't worry for either Soda or Mary, but . . . as though something wasn't right, or wasn't sitting right with the situation. Nobody dared to ask Soda questions about what had happened to him in Vietnam—he would talk if he wanted to, as Darry put it, plain and simple.

Ponyboy was concerned, though. He couldn't help himself, even though he had prepared himself for all of it, or at least he thought he had. With everything that had occurred, Ponyboy didn't know what to honestly make of a lot of things. Soda was his brother—same as Darry—but there had always been a bond between the two of them that was unshakable, and when something was wrong, Ponyboy could always sense it, and this time was no different. It was like Soda always knew when Ponyboy was upset, or in trouble, or when he was lying, and he would always confront him and somehow get the truth out of him without hardly having to try. The teen never had that closeness with Darry, even though they had grown much, much closer over the course of two years, which he was more than thankful for. But still, something else was bothering Soda, and Ponyboy had a good mind that it had something to do with Mary DeVaney.

He didn't want to directly ask, assuming that Soda would simply figure things out on his own, but in all seriousness, he also didn't want to pry.

Soda had been quiet and reserved since he'd gotten home, didn't laugh or crack jokes, didn't hardly smile . . . If Ponyboy had to describe him, he would say that he was practically stone cold, a description he had once used for Darry. He never thought he would describe Soda as such . . . always seeing him as high on life and cheerful, but now, he was the complete opposite.

And part of him was afraid of what the answers would be if he worked up enough nerve to even ask.

But he figured making some small talk wouldn't hurt. "How's Mary?" he tried, hoping he didn't sound too direct, or curious.

Soda's eyes moved toward him, a blank expression in them. "She's alright. Spent most of the time doing some catching up."

The teen nodded. "Well, that's good." And then he moved so that he could sit in the recliner, turning his body so that he could face him. "You have any plans for tomorrow?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

And that answer actually surprised Ponyboy, mostly because he expected him to reply that he and Mary were going to do something. It had been . . . a long time since the two of them had seen each other, and he knew how upset Mary had been when she found out that he was missing. Yeah, he thought, there was something off with Soda, but he wasn't going to ask, he wouldn't dare. There was something more to Soda, something lingering and pooling in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of Ponyboy's neck stand up, a deadened look to him that he wasn't used to. It was obvious that he was on edge, even though he looked completely calm. His eyes shifted at every sound, his fingers twitched at his side, as if he were ready to—

Ponyboy shook his head, forgetting his thoughts. "You want to do something?" he asked, even though he felt strange. Maybe it would do them both some good. "I'm helping Dallas with the ponies at Buck's in the morning, if you want to come . . ." Soda had always loved horses, and he and Dallas spoke that lingo, so Ponyboy figured it might be a good idea to ask him to come along.

To his surprise, Soda nodded, and a barely noticeable smile touched his lips. "Sure, Ponyboy."

And even though he felt a little better, he didn't feel overly relieved.

Can I tell it like it is? (Help me I'm sufferin')

Listen to me baby

It's my heart that's a sufferin', it's a dyin' (Help me I'm dyin')

And that's what I have to lose (To lose)

And there's chapter ten! Can y'all believe it?

Thank you for reading! :3