Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders, borrowing is fun though.

December 24, 1963

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," Warren said as he sat down at his kitchen table, across from you. "It's Shepard, right?"

Your hands remained in your lap; unseen by everyone in the room, wringing them nervously together there came the questions that you had asked yourself for the eighty-eighth time since knocking on the door, and yes you were keeping track. Why the fuck were you going to the guy whose house you barged into and took a shit load of money, while Ben beat him to a pulp as his kid brother and sister watched? Why were you going to the leader of the rival gang? Since when were you this stupid?

And for the eighty-eighth time you convinced yourself it was just the nerves and the possibility of dying that made you ask those questions—that's all. Although you had the right to be nervous, aside from Warren, who was no doubt armed, there were two guys standing behind you at the door and two more behind Warren. All of which could give Darrel Curtis a run for his money. The nerves didn't show though, you made sure of that… unless there was someone underneath the kitchen table.

"You know what they say… the enemy of my enemy," you said, staring straight back at him. A grin spread across Warren's face as he leaned back into the wooden chair. You knew exactly what you were doing there and because of that there was enough confidence in you to not curl up in the fetal position and curl under the table.

Warren wanted the same thing you did therefore he was the only person there was to go to. Jesus, you didn't even have anyone to bring with you; it was too risky to trust anyone at this point. Not knowing where people's loyalties lie left you alone—for now at least. It wasn't as if you didn't trust Marty or Dallas either, you knew they had your back. But Marty wanted nothing to with gangs so you weren't about to involve him and Dallas tended talk a lot when he was drunk enough. The rest of the Crawford gang was either too scared to stand up to their leader or was loyal enough to have you killed before the words left your mouth.

Eighty-nine, you count as the questions run through your head again.

"So you're my friend now?" he asked, grin still plastered on his face. It almost made you want to smack it off—almost. Giving him a shrug and watched as the two guys behind him gave each other a glance as if they felt sorry for you. "Or have you realized you joined the wrong gang?"

"I can't help where my house lies on your precious map," you snapped. It was true, if there was a choice Crawford wasn't your first. There were territory lines all across the East Side of Tulsa and there was no way in hell someone would pick up a hood that sat in the middle of Crawford territory. You bit your tongue and hoped that it wasn't enough to get you killed but relaxed as he let out a laugh.

"You got balls Shepard, that's why I ain't gonna to kill you," he said, giving you the feeling it wasn't the only reason. "What is it exactly that you want?"

"I want—I want Wayne Crawford gone," you said bluntly. There was no use in dragging it out any further. The quicker you could be out of here the better. You weren't sure about the guys at the door but the two behind Warren shifted uncomfortably. Apparently Wayne had that effect on people. Warren let out another laugh.

"And how do you suppose that's going to happen little Shepard? I suppose you want my help?" he asked before shaking his head.

"Let's get one thing straight, I don't trust you so even when you say you want your precious leader dead, what's to stop you from telling him I want the same? You think I'm going to get involved with a plot to kill one of the most ruthless people in Tulsa because a kid shows up on my doorstep and asks me to? I ain't no patsy, Shepard."

Apparently he watched the news too, which is more credit then the rest of the guys in the room got, from the looks on their faces they didn't get the expression even though it was all that was talked about for the past month. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you sat there not knowing what to do next.

"If you want him dead, you'll just have to do it yourself," he said motioning for the guy on his right. He handed Warren a gun that he placed in the middle of the table. Staring at the gun and back up at Warren, you had never shot a gun before let alone killed anyone. It wasn't particularly fair seeing as he wanted Wayne dead just as badly as you did.

"Go on then, take it," he said. This made you realize Warren was as manipulative as Wayne—just not as subtle. Taking the gun in your hand, you gave Warren another look. Ninety times. Ninety-one—

"All you have to do is point and shoot… simple," he assured before you got up to leave, gun in hand. Yeah… real fucking simple.

You couldn't help that you were getting the short end of the stick. If this idea went to complete shit, you'd be dead and Warren would be fucking peachy. If it worked he'd be laughing. Maybe you just had to sit on the whole thing for a while, after all killing someone was sort of a big deal.

"Oh and Shepard—Merry Christmas."

XXX

December 25, 1963

Christmas. You don't remember ever liking it. Our Mom tried her best to make is special but it had never been something worth looking forward to. But this year was different.

It was the first Christmas with Roger, joy to the fucking world. He was trying to impress the family, so when Angela and Curly woke up that morning there were more presents under the tree then all your Christmas's combined. He didn't get anything for you—not that you cared; you figured he must have already known there was no way to win you over. He knew you hated him and therefore already hated you by default. In the end you didn't care though, at least Curly and Angela were happy and having the best Christmas imaginable, that's all that really mattered.

It was Roger's Christmas with Kelly and you were pretty relieved when she walked through the door Christmas night. You were so sick of Roger's fake laugh, half the time it sounded as if he was going to hack up a lung.

Kelly was wearing something straight out of the movies; it was a red dress, one of those fancy dresses rich women wore to holiday functions. If you ever had to describe what Christmas looked like, it'd be her in that dress. After the polite hellos and Merry Christmas's she let Angela take her into the living room where she was able to show her all the toys she'd open that morning.

"Timothy, bring the turkey to the table," Mom said as she started bringing over the other food dishes. Getting up from your new seat at the kitchen table you picked up the turkey from the top of the stove and put it in the middle of the table. Mom gave you a smile and patted your shoulder.

When everyone sat down to eat it was all scratching forks and clanking dishes. The silence wasn't that bad, it could be worse—Roger could be talking. It was Kelly that seemed to be uncomfortable with it. She ate slowly and had barely anything on her plate; her eyes darted between her father and her food, you caught her eye before she cleared her throat and smiled.

"I brought presents," she said quietly to Angela and Curly, they both smiled at her, which had actually brought a smile to your face for the first time in a long time. It was nice to have Kelly around, especially because Mom never seemed to be. She had started babysitting both of them when you weren't home on the odd weekend, Curly and Angela adored her, and it definitely made it easier to accept the fact she was now a part of the family just by the way they looked at her.

"Why'd you do that?" Roger said gruffly. Kelly looked up at her father with a look that could kill mixed with a hint of shock. Roger started grumbling under his breath, inaudible words that probably weren't the most pleasant things for a father to being saying to his daughter.

"Well," Kelly said plainly as she smoothed out her dress on her lap. Her look had gone from daggers to indifference pretty quickly. "I figured my new brothers and sister should get something for having to deal with someone like you for the rest of their lives."

Roger had gotten up so fast that his chair had fell backwards when he got up. Before anyone could do anything he was ripping Kelly out of her chair by her arm with a grip of death and pulling her out the backdoor in the kitchen. As soon as he was outside he was yelling so incredibly loud you were sure he could be heard at the Curtis house.

"Timothy, don't," your mother warned as you started to get up from the table. Glancing at her and back to the kitchen window, you were out the door when Roger raised his grimy hand to Kelly. He had hit her so hard that she fell on the snow-covered porch. Without thinking you grabbed the back of his ugly green knit sweater and surprisingly jerked his fat ass away from your stepsister. You pushed him again when he tried to make his way past you.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he roared, poking one of his fat fingers into your chest. He was winding up to hit you when you violently pushed his hand away when your mother's hand found his shoulder. He continued to glare and you, it was obvious he wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of you.

"Maybe you should drive Kelly home, Timothy," your Mom said from behind Roger. Not breaking eye contact, you glared back at him and swore you saw some fear.

"If you ever touch anyone in this house ever again, I swear to fucking God I will kill you," you told him, ignoring your mother's gasp. He smirked at you before turning around, slamming the door behind him. The fucker could go demolish the rest of dinner and die of a fucking heart attack that would be the best Christmas gift of all.

Turning around, you helped Kelly off the porch handing her your coat, trying your best to ignore the tears streaming down her face. Crying was something foreign to you; even Angela hardly shed a tear. She wiped at the side of her face that wasn't already starting to swell and followed you to the driveway.

The drive was relatively quiet up until you pulled up to her house. She thanked you, for probably more then just the ride home; she sat there for a while before you turned to look at her.

"I got you something," she said before pulling a small box out of her bag. You looked at it and then back up at her. Maybe this was why you didn't care for Christmas; opening gifts was awkward… especially when you had nothing to give them back.

"Just take it Tim," she said, seeming to know you were about to reject it. "It's nothing special but I really had no clue what else to get you," she said happily as you reluctantly took the box from her.

It was a Zippo lighter, the nicest one you had ever seen anyway. Your initials were monogrammed on the front of it- she must have asked your mom what your middle name was. It was definitely the nicest thing anyone had ever gotten you.

After letting out a barely audible thank you, an ear-to-ear grin found her face. You were just glad she could put two and two together and figured you really did like it.

"I… didn't get you anything," you told her, all the money that was made doing Wayne's dirty work was spent on Angela and Curly, the guilt felt like it was caught in your throat. If you had known she was going to get you something, you would have returned the favour. She waved her hand at you, as if what you were suggesting was completely ludicrous.

"There's always next year," she smiled. "You wouldn't happen to have napkin in here? If my grandfather sees my mascara down my face he'll probably dust off his shotgun and hunt down Roger."

Her tone suggested she was kidding but her eyes were dead serious. You motioned to the glove box with instant regret and before you could stop her from opening it, the gun Warren had given you yesterday pretty much fell into her lap. Snatching it from her before she could pick it up. She stared at you, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Are you in-"

"It's nothing," you interrupted her, shoving the gun back into the glove box. "You should go."

"Tim, if you're in trouble…" Before you could interrupt her again she punched you in the arm, demanding that you shut up and listen to her.

"If you're in trouble and I can help in any way, all you have to do is knock on my door," she smiled again and turned to her house and pointed out the window. "It's that red door right there."

You gave her a nod to make her happy enough to inside but not before wishing you a Merry Christmas while demanding that you be careful.

Some women thought they could fix everything and it was better to pretend to agree then to tell them there wasn't much they could do at all. You were beginning to think that was just the way Kelly was, she genuinely thought she could at least help in some way.

You figured it wasn't so bad having someone like that in your life.

XXX

A/N: I know it's been a while but there it is. The timing seemed to work out though; I hope it was worth the wait! Please point out any mistakes; I am currently without my wonderful beta which might reduce me to begging someone to fill the position *hint, hint*