A/N: Once again I am chopping a chapter in half. Sorry for the short chapter, but this much and a couple more pages have been written for a while, but not quite finished, and it's been a little busy here. So after this, there will be at least two more chapters. Thanks for reading, and to all those who reviewed chapter 16, I will be replying to your reviews as soon as I can. For now, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter! – Liz


Darry's POV

Shadows, some of men and some of unknown origin, backed into the even deeper shadows of the run-down buildings as I passed by. Maybe they thought I was an undercover cop, or maybe they had just learned to be wary of anyone they couldn't overpower. At any rate, nobody bothered me as I quickly made my way toward Vic's apartment building.

The front door of the building was propped open with a wadded-up newspaper. How did these people expect to stay safe if they did things like that? Ironically, they needed locks on the doors to protect themselves from each other. What kind of shape is mankind in that we've become our own predator?

I tossed the newspaper inside the doorway and pulled the door closed so it locked behind me. The place Vic shared with his mom was on the fourth floor. I took the steps two-at-a-time. It was just as well I was in a hurry; the stairway smelled like a putrid mix of alcohol and vomit. My fist landed loud and hard on the flaking paint of the door, knocking a couple more brown pieces off and exposing the light green beneath.

The door opened a crack; when Vic saw that it was me he shut the door and unlatched the chain. "What'd I tell you about opening the door before asking who it is?" I reprimanded as he backed into the living room. "One kick and I could have ripped that chain right off the…what the hell? I thought you said you weren't hurt!" There were dark crimson stains covering the front of his t-shirt.

Vic glanced down distractedly. "Huh? Oh. No, I'm not. Come in here."

I followed him the rest of the way in. In the dim light it took me a minute to realize that his mom was lying on the couch. As I moved closer I saw the bloodied towel pressed against her head. "What happened?"

"She fell on the way up, I guess. That's what the guy said, anyway. He helped me get her in." Vic had the exhausted appearance of someone who is tired, but not from lack of sleep. "Then he left. He was drunk, too, just not as bad as her. I couldn't…I can't stop the bleeding. I didn't know who else to call. If I called an ambulance, they'd do a report at the hospital, and I just…" He looked up at me, and then away as the tears welled up. "I can't do this," he whispered.

"Okay, it's alright." I moved the towel to take a better look at the wound. Vic's mom moaned and tried to roll over, blissfully unaware of what was happening around her. "Looks like it could use a few stitches, but she'll be okay. And I think I know who I can call."

"She told me she was getting help, going to those meetings." Vic took a sip of the juice I'd dug out of the refrigerator for him. "I believed her. I mean, I guess I didn't, but I did. I wanted to." He looked up at me with eyes that were even older than they had been three months earlier. "She's my Mom, Darry. Why couldn't she do this?"

Damn good question. I sat down next to him. "Vic, I know this doesn't help, but it isn't because of you. Maybe she did try, but you weren't the reason she couldn't do it. She was."

He nodded and took a shaky breath. "I know. I wish she could have, though. I didn't wanna have to…I don't want to have to leave her. But I just can't do this anymore. I'm sorry." Vic leaned forward, head in his hands, and didn't bother trying to stop himself from crying. He deserved the chance to let it out, so I put my hand on his back and waited. A couple minutes later he leaned back and wiped his eyes. "Thanks."

"Sure." I glanced over at his mother when she groaned and rolled onto her side. What would I have done if my mother had been like that? I couldn't even imagine. My mother had been beautiful and perfect. I didn't always think so when she was alive, but death filters our memories, and we are left with either the best or the worst of someone after they're gone. I remembered my mother making me do things when I was a kid that made me think she was mean, but even by the time I was a teenager with two little brothers I understood her motivations. We always came first. Everything she did was in our best interest. Vic, his mom never had to raise him; from the time he could talk and understand her vulnerabilities, he was raising her.

"Darry, I need to tell you something."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door before we got to what Vic needed to tell me. I'll get it," I told him. "Hello, come on in," I said, opening the door and standing back.

"Hi, Darry. I wasn't sure if I was at the right address or not." His expression was one of both disgust and pity, but from what Pony had told me he'd seen all this before, so it was no shock for him. He did some volunteering in some of the worst areas of the city.

"She's in here." I led him into the living room, where he dropped a black bag onto the floor next to Vic's mom.

"Okay…is she drunk?" He looked back to Vic, who nodded. "Looks like a few stitches should do it. Just need some more light, so maybe drag that lamp over here. I really don't usually do things like this…" He stopped and looked toward me. I don't think I even changed my expression; just looking at me was enough for him to remember how much he owed us, how much he owed Ponyboy. I didn't need to say a word for him to see his own sins mirrored in my eyes – the park, the fountain, my little brother choking and gasping for air…

"Thanks, Randy," I told him. "I appreciate it."

Randy did a quick and decent job of patching up Vic's mom before shaking my hand, then Vic's, and then heading out of there like a kid running from the cemetery on Halloween.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," Vic offered. "I usually make it at night, in case…" He stopped himself. No need to waste his breath, he knew that I knew what he was driving at. In case she had a bad night; in case she fell off the wagon; in case she turned back into the person he already knew she was. I went into the kitchen, found a chipped mug, and poured some of the murky brown liquid in.

"Feel like talking now?" I asked when Vic came in and leaned on the counter next to me. I didn't feel the need to point out what would happen next. He already knew, he had known when he called me. He was just trying to make it easier on his mom.

"Darry," he started, but stopped, like he didn't know how to tell me. So I waited. I'd wait all night if I had to. "Darry," he finally went on, "that day at the courthouse, when I met with the judge…he let me decide. He told me it was up to me if I wanted to come and live with her again."

Vic hung his head and waited for me to…I don't know. Maybe he thought I would get angry, or be surprised, or leave, even, based on the rest of the "dependable" people in his life. I wasn't surprised, though. I mean, I was surprised that the judge had put the ball in Vic's court, but I wasn't surprised at Vic's decision. I guess he didn't know that, by the way he was standing there waiting for the end of the world to happen right there in his kitchen. "Vic, she's your mother. You gave her a chance. It didn't work. It's okay to let go now. It's okay to move on with your life. You got your answer; you can't take care of her anymore."

He gazed up at me with guilt and shame in his eyes. "What will Pony say?" was all he asked.

"Vic, Pony loves you. He'll understand. Kid, you did not betray anyone, if that's what you're thinking." Vic looked away from me. "Hey, don't do that. You think I'm just being nice? When have you known me to make something up just to make someone else feel better?"

He smiled, a tired smile, and shook his head. "Okay. So what now?"

I reached over to the phone on the wall and handed Vic the receiver. "Call your dad."

Melissa's POV

"It's good to see you, Melissa."

"Hi, Dr. Gilman. I think it's time for the babies to come." He looks a lot like Sylvester Stallone. I wonder why he wants me to call him Dr. Gilman? Maybe it has something to do with him being an actor.

"Good. I guess the page on the calendar turned?" He smiled at me, what a nice smile.

"Is that how I'm supposed to know? I thought I was supposed to go by my due date." Maybe I should have come in a few weeks ago. Will they be too big now, I wonder?

"Just lie on this table. We don't have any beds right now."

I lay down on the Formica tabletop. I thought it was supposed to hurt more than this. I hope Pony gets here soon, but he's at a party or something. He'll come when dinner is over. I think he was making chicken. "Is it almost over?"

Dr. Gilman/Sly Stallone glances down. "Here comes the first one!"

I wonder if it's okay that we're having these babies in somebody's kitchen?

"Here it is," he says, placing a gray furry creature on my chest. "It's a squirrel!"

"A squirrel?" I feel so disappointed. I was really hoping for a baby! The squirrel looks at me and makes a chattering noise. How am I supposed to dress it in all of the little outfits I have? I'll have to keep it in a cage. And Pony can't stand squirrels, we had one in our attic last fall that chewed everything up and took two weeks to catch. I know I'll love it and take care of it because I'm its mother, but I wish it had been a baby. I hope Pony lets me bring it into the house.

"Melissa?"

Oh good, Pony's here. "Sorry it's a squirrel," I tell him.

"Squirrel?" he repeats. "Melissa, listen. I need to go over to Vic's. Are you awake?"

"Huh?" I open my eyes. "Vic's?"

"Yeah. What the heck were you dreaming about?" Pony looked at me with mild concern.

I waved my hand. "Forget it. Weird dream. I had a squirrel instead of a baby."

"Well, let's hope neither of them is a squirrel. They'll chew their way right out of that crib the first night." He smiled at me, and I started laughing like an idiot. A squirrel. I swear, sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind. In another couple of months, I probably will be. Until then, I'll just keep getting up three or four times a night to go to the bathroom, and hope that in the next dream I don't give birth to an elephant.

Pony's POV

The three of us sat up all night, talking. It took me a while to convince Vic that I wasn't mad at him, which surprised me. To be honest, I had never thought about the fact that Vic might still feel some loyalty to his mom, but remembering Johnny and how much it bothered him when his parents never asked about him while we were in Windrixville, I wasn't surprised. Maybe what threw me off was the idea of Vic acknowledging that he needed anyone. I hated that his mom had let him down again; I wasn't sure what it would take to make him believe that he was worth anyone's affection, if his own mother couldn't even pull it together for him.

With encouragement and over the span of about three hours Vic had, among other things, told us about Ray. Ray, the cop – protector of the peace, guardian of citizens, etc. etc. Ray, Vic's mom's old boyfriend; Ray, supplier of heroin. He was a crooked, sick, controlling person who I hesitate to even call a man. Within those three hours we learned about the abuse – no beatings, that would be too obvious. There were the mind games, and the threats, and the pain-infliction methods that didn't leave scars. And there was the closet, the reason that Vic kept all of his things in drawers at our house and irritated Melissa to no end by always forgetting to put his jacket in the hall closet. That was the confession that took the longest, and was the most painful – memories of being bound with duct tape and cowering in that locked closet, wondering when someone would open the door, knowing that he was at the mercy of someone who had control over not only him, but his mother. No food, nothing to drink, no bathroom, and none of his teachers ever read between the lines when he told them in the morning that the dog ate his homework. It wasn't any wonder he was out on the streets at the age of nine, I'm not sure I ever would have gone back. But his mom was there, and he had to protect her. For the first time, hearing about Ray, I had a vague understanding of why she had dumped Vic and run. It was probably the most selfless thing she had ever done for him.

"Ummmm…" Vic's mother stretched and wiped her arm across her bloodshot eyes just as the sun was lightening the Eastern sky. She gazed at us in a groggy haze. "What's goin' on? We got company?" None of us spoke, and within a few seconds she had woken up enough to realize what our presence, combined with the look on her son's face, meant. "Aw, honey, look…everyone was going out, that's all. Jeff got engaged, so we went out, you know, to celebrate. Jeff? Yeah, that's his name. Jeff. He works in the mailroom."

"Mom…"

"No, really, it was just this once, I promise." Her voice was almost gaining a pleading edge.

"Vic," Darry said, "you look like hell. Go take a shower."

Vic looked at Darry for an instant like he was going to argue, but then nodded, took one more look at his mom, and left the room.

Neither of us needed to say anything, she knew what was happening. I've always hated seeing girls cry. She sat up, put her head in her hands, and sobbed.

"Jean," Darry said quietly, "you have to let him go. He gave you a chance, now let him go. Let him have the chance you know you want him to have."

"The chance you know he deserves," I added.

"Oh, God, I just…" she looked up at us, makeup smearing across her wet face, and let out another sniffling sob. "I love him so much. Why can't I do anything right? I can't lose him. I can't…" Jean put her hands back over her face.

"You didn't lose him, Jean," I told her. As much as I hated that she had failed him, he was still a part of her, and she, him. Nothing I ever said or did would break that connection. All I could do was try to make it easier for him. "If you were going to lose Vic, it would have happened already. He never would have come back to you. Look at me." She wiped her eyes across her sleeve again and looked to where I had come to sit on the coffee table across from her. "You need to take care of you. And you need to let someone else take care of Vic. You can't do it alone. Okay? You need more help. And you will not be alone, your son will never let that happen. But if you love him, you need to tell him it's okay to go. Do you understand?"

Jean nodded. "Okay. Yeah…okay."

That night, Vic came back to live with us, and the next day he went with me when I took his mom to a rehab center. We went back to the judge on Monday, and by the following Friday, although I knew he would never be completely ours, Vic's last name was Curtis, and our family was almost complete.

Or at least, that's what I thought back then. But that's another story altogether.


Thanks for reading!