Author's note: Hey guys, sorry for the wait. School's been crazy, and I've hit a really unfortunate wall of writers block on this story. But I pushed at least halfway through it to write this chapter for you guys. Sorry it's so short, but it's the best I've got right now. Believe me, I am trying. Do me a favor and don't hate me for how long this is taking, okay?

Disclaimer: The Outsiders is not mine in any way shape or form, but Motley is.

Chapter 23: For All the Things He Did

CHRISTINE'S POV

That night, my mom came to my room and started in on me again.

"Christine, he's got to go."

"Why?" Motley hadn't done anything to me. He was a good guy underneath the act. Why was my mom so against him?

"Think about it for five seconds, honey. You've never mentioned this boy before, so that tells me you met him after you left. And if that's the case, you barely even know him at all. But you let him into your home, you let him live here. He could be anyone. He could've done any number of things. If you don't want me to talk to you about how immoral it is, can you at least recognize that it's stupid and reckless?"

"Call it what you want."

"Just as sullen as ever, I see."

"Thank you."

"He could hurt you."

"He'd never do that." There weren't a lot of things I'd ever been sure of, but that was one of them. Motley would never hurt me. Get angry at me, sure. Yell at me, even. But he wouldn't hurt me. He'd proved that when I slapped him the other night and he hadn't even raised his hand back. For all the things he did to prove he was horrible, he was so good.

"You have no proof of that."

Well, I sure as hell wasn't gonna give her my example as proof, but still. "I just know, alright? Now would you get out of my room and go back to bed?" The sleeping arrangements were already pissing me off as it was. There were only two bedrooms and two beds in the apartment, so Motley wound up on the couch. I felt like he deserved the bed more than my mom, but what can you do?

"Alright. I'll go back to bed. But we're not finished with this discussion."

Man, did I miss how much simpler it was with my father. If I was enough of a bitch for about five minutes, he'd just leave it alone.

PONYBOY'S POV

This was getting ridiculous on so many levels. Darry and I could barely even stand in the same room as each other, we hadn't heard anything from Soda since his talk with Cealia, Motley hadn't called since that one time I talked to him, and the world was just going to hell in a handbasket in general.

See, the state was wondering where the hell Soda'd gotten off to, and apparently 'he's on a roadtrip with Steve to take his mind off things' just wasn't a good enough explanation in their book. So now they were watching us like hawks, coming over to check up on us all the time. It was getting really old.

Not to mention how Darry was acting about it. The way he was talking to me, you'd think I was some horrible kid. It was always, 'be good, Ponyboy, don't do this, don't do that, best behavior, clean up your stuff', and a million and one other things I don't particularly wanna take the time to mention. He didn't trust me to handle myself, and I'm gonna be honest, that hurt. I'd thought we'd been making some forward progress. But that just goes to show you that I really shouldn't get my hopes up about stuff like Darry and me getting any better with each other. It never lasts.

And you think that pissed Darry off? Yeah, think again.

You should've seen what happened when Steve's dad finally noticed he wasn't around. Took him long enough.

I was woken up by incessant knocking at about seven o'clock Saturday morning. Groaning I rolled out of bed and headed out to the front door. Darry'd gotten there first so I just stood behind him and watched. He opened the door to find Mr. Randle, wasted and angry looking, on our front porch.

"Can I help you?" Darry asked cooly. None of us likes Steve's old man all that much, and we don't even really know the half of what goes on over there. Steve doesn't talk about it a lot.

"Where's my son, Curtis?"

Darry could've answered honestly, but I guess he felt like pissing Mr. Randle off, because he said, "And why should I tell you that?"

"Because he's my son."

"And?"

"And what? Do I need another reason?"

"Well, considering the way you treat him... kinda, yeah."

Oh man. This was getting good.

"You tell me where he is right now, Curtis, or I swear I'll-"

"You'll what? Beat me up? Kill me? D'you honestly think you'd win?"

Mr. Randle paused. He knew he'd never win. He wasn't exactly tall, about my size, honestly, and as shitfaced as he was, there was no way he could take my big brother.

Darry smiled coldly. "That's what I thought. Now why don't you just head on home, and your son will come by when he feels like it?"

Mr. Randle shook his head adamantly. "No. I ain't leavin' without my boy."

Darry cocked an eyebrow. "And why is that? Never seemed to care about him too much before, what with how many times he wound up sleepin' on my couch covered in bruises."

"Don't you criticize the way I parent my own kid, Curtis!"

"Oh, is that what we're callin' parenting now? I was under the impression that taking care of the kid was involved in there somewhere."

"You shut up or else!"

"I thought we already established that 'or else' means absolutely nothing coming from you?

Mr. Randle didn't say anything for a minute, then finally he just snapped, "You send Steve home soon, you hear?"

"Yeah, I hear. Now get off my porch." And Darry slammed the door in his face.

"Darry?" There was one thing I just didn't understand.

He turned to face me. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"Steve told us he got his bruises fighting, 'member? Not from his old man."

Darry gave me a sad smile, like he thought I'd just said something cute. "Pone, did you honestly believe him?"

Author's afterthought: Again, sorry for the wait, and sorry in advance for the wait I just know is coming for the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW ANYHOW?