A/n: I do not own the Outsiders or the song High and Dry, written by Thom Yorke and performed by Radiohead. A huge thanks to Marauder and the Q for giving me a huge help in editing.

Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever, don't you, boy?
Flying on your motorcycle, watching all the ground beneath you drop.
You'd kill yourself for recognition; kill yourself to never, ever stop.
You broke another mirror; you're turning into something you are not.

Steve stumbled into the dark apartment, groping around for a light. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice reminded him of just how hung over he'd be when morning came around. He swore quietly to himself and clumsily felt his way to the couch in the dim light. Two weeks since he'd last touched any sort of drugs. Until tonight. It had just been sitting there and he'd been dry as a bone for at least a week. What harm could one bottle be?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a mocking voice rang. Oh, buddy, you really thought you could drink just one?

That's the last time he'd go to Buck's alone again.

"Shut up," he murmured.

The voices only kept laughing and Steve briefly wondered if he was going crazy. So what if he was? He laughed bitterly, knowing there was nothing actually stopping him from turning right back to the tar. Back to that instant relaxation -- that amazing rush. Back to the best he'd ever felt. So what was stopping him?

But he knew what it was in the back of his mind.

The mirror, Stevie. Remember what you look like?

That's what was stopping him. The voices were right. Evie was right … he wasn't himself.

Evie … he hadn't seen her since the night she'd walked out. She hadn't called, hadn't visited, and had avoided the shop he was working in. Oh, God … she'd really been serious. And Steve had seriously fucked up. As he thought of this, he rolled over, groaning, and, slowly but surly, an uneasy sleep began to creep over him. He'd regret this in the morning.

XxXxX

The alarm clock rang off in the other room, still managing to feel as if it was right next to him; for a moment he contemplated getting up and throwing it, but his better sense got the best of him. The first thoughts of the morning began to weave in his head. Yesterday was Sunday which meant today was … shit. Monday. That meant he'd have to be at work. Why had Darry insisted on him getting a job? And cleared out all of the liquor in his place?

He rolled off of the sofa and went into his room to turn the alarm off. He really needed a drink. Maybe he'd go to Buck's for a bloody marry later -- of course, not alone, though. He'd learned that the hard way.

He checked the clock before deciding not to skip work today. Eight forty-five. He slowly began to get ready for work, picking up a clean looking shirt and jeans from the pile that covered the floor of his room. It'd be a long day.

At quarter after nine, Steve stepped out of his apartment building and began to dig in his pocket for money for the bus. He had to be at work in fifteen minutes and the bus ride was twenty.

Right on time, the voice told him.

He sighed and got onto the bus.

After what seemed like forever, the bus slowed down and Steve stepped onto the sidewalk, getting out at the corner of Sutton and Post. Down Sutton was a small car parts shop -- the only place in town that would hire Steve without putting thought into his current physical appearance. There were also no mirrors there to remind him of that. Inside the shop a small man stood behind the counter, flipping lazily through a car magazine.

"Hey, Ernie," Steve said climbing over the counter. "When you working 'til?"

Ernie shrugged and Steve got the idea that it wasn't a car magazine he was looking at. He smiled and laughed a little before turning in to the back room. If it was going to be a slow day, maybe he could nap for a little.

Just as he was about to lay down on a row of tires he heard the chiming of the bell at the front of the store.

There goes your rest, Stevie.

Steve walked out of the back room, noticing that Ernie hadn't even looked up. He sighed and wondered how much longer he was on work. Until three, hopefully. Some new kid -- The Cherry was what the voices called him -- was taking hours after school so hopefully he'd taken some for the day. Steve approached the customer and couldn't help but hope today would end soon enough.

XxXxX

Hank Williams. He'd kill Buck one day for making them listen to that shit. And for pity's sake it was the 1970's! Couldn't he put on something tuff like Elvis, or at least more dated? Even The Beatles would have been better than Hank-fucking-Williams.

He sauntered into the bar and took his seat at the end.

Hey, Stevie, what happened to "I'm not gonna go alone"?

He rolled his eyes and smiled. Just one Bloody Marry. He could do this. The waitress -- he thought her name was Susan -- slid the Bloody Mary across the bar's and nodded as he paid. Within a matter of minutes, the glass was empty and Steve found himself wishing for another.

Told ya you couldn't do it, Randle. Nice going'. He groaned.

"Uh, can I have a, uh … beer, please."

The waitress- Susan- raised an eyebrow but nodded. Gosh, she was pretty. "Thanks," he said exchanging his money for the bottle. "You, uh … come here a lot?"

Susan rolled her eyes at the stupidity of his question, but smiled.

"You can say that, I guess. How about you? I've seen you a couple times."

"Only when I'm hung--" he stopped abruptly hearing protests from the next room. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Excuse me." Steve got up and walked into the next room toward some couches.

"This ain't a date, Tommy!" Evie stood on the opposite end of the room, an older man next to her.

"Well, why don't we make it one? You didn't just ask me here to 'talk' did you?" he laughed as if the idea was so unworldly, then made to reach and stroke her cheek.

Bad move.

You gonna let that slob get away with that, Stevie?

Hell, no!

"You've got five seconds to get you hands off of her before I break them." Steve advanced towards Tommy, ready to fight him.

"What are you doing here, Steve?" Evie growled. "And what in God's name is in your hand?"

Steve stopped abruptly, remembering the bottle in his hand. "Shit … Evie, it ain't like that. I've been sober for weeks, I swear."

"Well, you're not anymore, are you? Are you hung over, Steve?"

He laughed a little at that. Hell, he couldn't help it; Evie was the only one who'd be able to realize if he was really hung over. And maybe Sodapop but he wasn't here. "Evie, baby, come on. Be reasonable, babe."

"I am being reasonable, Steve. You're lying to me and now drinking, too."

"Lying? You're telling me I'm fucking lying to you? Mind telling me who the hell this guy is then?"

"The difference between you and me is that this really isn't what it looks like, Steve."

"Whoa, wait. Evie, you're dating this guy?" Tommy asked, looking from Steve to Evie.

Evie bit her lip not wanting to answer yes but not wanting to say no, either.

"It's complicated, Tommy. Just leave it at that."

Steve laughed. "So, this is what it seems like. And you had the nerve to say I'd changed?"

"Ihaven't, Stevie. Please, believe me. I haven't changed."

"Sure … I'll believe you, Evie," he said dropping the full beer bottle on the ground. "While I'm at it, you can have a nice fucking life."

Steve turned and stalked out of the bar before he could see the look on Evie's face. Shock? Hurt? Anger? She deserved it. That bitch deserved every bit of it.

Good going, Randle. Way to hold onto your own girl.