"Mmmm…"

Stretching her limbs lazily, Laine groaned tiredly when her arms collided heartily with a pliable surface.  Growling slightly, she shifted into a more comfortable position, bringing up her arms to block the sunlight from her vision.  Sighing at the fact that her movement had eased sleep from her body, Laine lay motionless and let her ears assess her surroundings.  From somewhere near the back of the room she could detect a faint ticking noise.  Her face scrunched up in concentration.  Dallas didn't own a clock…

          Senses sharpening, Laine bit her lip and held her breath.  Oh, what had she gone and done?  Her mind was still too foggy to think, though it was more because of a hangover than because of sleep.  Had she drunk herself senseless and then been picked up by some stranger?  Damn it!  That clock was so unnerving.  Not only did it serve to remind Laine that she wasn't with Dally and further frustrate her hangover, but it made her feel a prickling sensation of regret.  She knew she did absurd things when she was drunk—but, oh…what had happened?

Fully awake and ready to murder the ticking clock, Laine paused at detecting a breathing pattern different from her own.  Stiffening, she realized her earlier perturb had distracted her from it, but now it was clear as day.  Again, she tried to recall if she had gone someplace the day before; anything that might give her a clue as to who she was with.  Drawing in a sharp breath, Laine felt a wave of nausea strike her as she sought to sit up.  Bad idea…  Deciding it would be better if she first opened her eyes, Laine blinked her left eye open and let it widen in surprise.

"Tim?" she whispered unconsciously, his name slipping from her lips before she had a chance to stop herself.  At the mention of his name, the boy beside her shifted and drew in a slow breath.  Not Tim, Laine thought desperately, begging her mind to remember the night before.  A sudden sense of anxiety flooded into her.  No, no, no, no…not with Tim…

Pressing her eyes shut, Laine willed herself to recall what had happened.  She drew a blank.  Perfect, she thought, I just had to go do what Dallas thought I would.  Breathing ragged and unsteady, Laine hesitantly opened her eyes and settled them on Tim.

The boy was topless, chest rising and falling leisurely, and his curly hair was thoroughly tousled.  Laine smiled slightly.  Tim looked so different when he didn't spread heavy amounts of grease on his hair.  Looked more vulnerable, he did.  Suddenly Laine frowned.  She remembered waking up next to Dally.  His hair was the same; minus the grease, of course.  She smirked at how ruffled his hair tended to become and at how aggravated the tow-headed youth became because of it. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, Laine reached out and, with featherlike precision, fingered one of Tim's curls.  She wondered how that hair would feel balled up in her fists--how a single strand would wrap uninhibitedly around her fingers.  Emboldened, Laine groped more brazen curls around her hands, smiling at the ticking sensation the coiling strands provoked.  Suddenly, Laine remembered the night before; she recalled having wondered about Tim's cheeks and the tired stubble that grew there.  Hesitantly at first, Laine ran the tips of her fingers along the plane of Tim's jaw and to the tip of his chin.  She had been right, the tiny hairs that grew there were still soft and supple.  Feelings oddly comforted by the feel of the boy's cheeks against her fingers, Laine spread open her palm, cradling Tim's cheek in it.  At that touch, the boy stirred, breath hitching at the notion of being caressed by another.  Meanwhile, Laine remained frozen in her place, relaxing only when Tim pressed his face willingly into her palm. 

Sighing, Laine quietly slid of the couch she had been sharing with Tim, and glanced around quickly for her shirt.  She found it strewn a couple of feet from the kitchen.  Aside from lacking her shirt, Laine had awakened pretty much dressed.  Though, that to her meant nothing; she had been with guys intimately before without having to shed a single article of clothing.  While buttoning her shirt, Laine raised an eyebrow at the number of beer bottles that lay scattered throughout the Shepard kitchen.  She knew she hadn't drank all of the bottles there, so Laine figured Tim had had his fair share as well.  Laine smirked.  They must have been ridiculously drunk the night before. 

          Padding silently back into the room where Tim was, Laine slipped her feet into her boots and fingered the leather of her jacket as she put it on.  All the while her eyes were on Tim's sleeping form.  Bye…

          Just as she turned to leave, Tim's voice pierced through the abound silence.  "Leavin'?"

          Wincing at having been caught, Laine turned to face Tim, a smirk forming on her lips out of sheer habit.  "Ain't that what it looks like?"

          Ignoring her sassy comments, Tim advanced on the young girl and stopped dead in his tracks at spying the frightened look that crossed her eyes.  He cocked his head absently to the side.  She didn't remember? 

          While Tim pondered at Laine's actions, she let her eyes travel down past him abdomen and alight on the cotton boxers he wore.  He was still dressed.  Laine closed her eyes and let out a relieved sigh.  Her fears might have been confirmed had he been lacking that one article of clothing. 

          "Doll?"

          Tim interrupted her thoughts.  Laine glanced up curiously, eyes devoid of any particular emotion. 

          "You all right?"

          Laine nodded.  Then shifted uncomfortably.  "Why am I here?" she suddenly asked, thoughts voiced before she realized it. 

          Tim's eyes narrowed.  Why was she here?

          "Ya came over last night.  Ain't you remember nothin', doll?"

          Laine shook her head no.  "I drank too much.  I ain't do nothin' stupid, did I, Shepard?  'Cause I do stupid things when I ain't sober… "

At that, the man smiled.  Shaking his head slightly, Tim forced a smile on his lips, "You ain't do nothin', doll—just fell asleep…"

Bolstered by his words, Laine nodded, then smiled genuinely.  "Thanks, Shepard."

Then, she disappeared. 

Meanwhile, Tim remained where he was, smile fading after her departure.  "Ain't do nothin'," he continued, shaking his head and glancing down at feet as a wistful smile appeared on his lips.  Eyebrows drawn together, he brought his gaze back to where she had been moments earlier.  "Nothin' but be with me…"

( * * * )

Dally walked wearily through the slightly chilly streets of Tulsa kicking any object that crossed his path.  Although he was still moody over what had happened the day before, his overall fury had dissipated into a glumness that made him appear like a dejected child.

He knew he had been stupid, treating Laine as if she were only an object of release.  Still, his very male counterpart reminded him that he had necessities, and because of the night before, those necessities hadn't been taken care of.  That not only hurt his maleness but bruised his ego.  Why hadn't she wanted to be with him the previous night?   Who cared if something had happened, he would have fathered a child if his prodding resulted in a baby…

At that, Dally scoffed.  He knew that thought was against his better judgment; he would never admit to being the father of a child, even if he were sure he was the parent.  In that respect, he was nothing like the rest of the gang, who he was sure, would.  He would sooner convince himself that the baby belonged to another man than believe that he was the father. 

          "Damn," Dally cursed, blaming Laine for his dreary thoughts.  To make matters worse, when he had stormed out of the Curtis household, hell-bent on getting laid and not giving much of a damn over Laine, he had found that he just couldn't.  A hot and uncomfortable blush drifted over his roguish cheeks as he remembered the gorgeous broad that had sat in his lap the entire night, and finally stalked off at being called Laine and being unable to properly arouse him.

          Growling dangerously, Dally tried to summon up a mental picture of the girl only to come up with nothing.  Rolling his eyes and biting his lower lip so hard it bled, Dally balled his fists.  He had never been unable to be with a girl.  It was all her fault…

          Dallas was so deep in thought over Laine, that when two arms clamped down over his shoulders, he jerked violently.  Rumbling laughter erupted from the two that had greeted him. 

          "Glory, Dally!"  Sodapop grinned, "Ain't gotta be so scared of us…we ain't no Socs."

          "Yea," Steve continued the jest, "only us poor, poverty-stricken Greasers."

          As Steve teased Dally, Soda studied the boy from the corner of an eye.  He knew what had happened the day before; or, at least, had a pretty good idea.  And, from the looks of things, although Dally's mood had lightened up, he was still ticked. 

          "So, Dal—watcha doin' up so early?"

          Dallas turned absently towards Soda.  Early? 

          "What time is it?" he asked.

          Soda and Steve exchanged curious glances.  "Well," Steve began, adjusting his DX work-shirt, "Me and Soda's just goin' to work—so it's 'round six." 

Dally sighed uncharacteristically.  Yet another tally to the obscenities Laine did to his persona: made him wake early.  Absently, Dally fingered the ring that was around his pinky.  Why had she thrown the ring at him?

"Look—Dal…you ain't look so good."

Dally turned towards Steve, face neutral, "Where's Johnnycake?" he asked.

"School…Glory, Dallas—what's wrong?"

That was Soda, and his tone had been more than mildly concerned.  He had never seen the rough youth being anything but angry, impish, playful, or violent.  Somehow, Dally's attitude reminded him of himself—reminded him of how he had felt when Sandy had left.

"Ain't nothin' wrong," Dally muttered, indolent smirk making its way onto his lips.  Lazily stretching, he pushed thoughts of Laine to the back of his mind and enjoyed the presence of two of his fellow gang-members.  True, he normally would have preferred being alone or being with Tim to their presence, but that didn't mean that he didn't appreciate the fact that they were there. 

"So, Stevie," Dally smirked, "I heard Evie had fun last night…"

( * * * )