Disclaimer: I don't own The OC, people. Not. Mine.
Summary: "If anyone had told Kirsten Cohen three years ago that the boy her husband brought home from Juvie was going to end up with Marissa Cooper's dead head in his lap, Kirsten may have actually believed them."
A/N: This fic was written for knightdawn for The Annual OC Sentence Fic Challenge. My sentence was:
"Kirsten is grateful though guilty that Ryan survived the crash and Marissa didn't."
On with the show ...
Luck
If anyone had told Kirsten Cohen three years ago that the boy her husband brought home from Juvie was going to end up with Marissa Cooper's dead head in his lap, Kirsten may have actually believed them.
Graduation night, 2006, that would not have been the case.
To say Kirsten was shocked when Sandy got off the phone and told her Ryan and Marissa had been in a car crash would be an understatement.
For a few seconds she couldn't even move, staring at Sandy, a bad feeling sweeping over her.
He hadn't been told anything over the phone to do with the kids' conditions, only that it would be best if they got there as soon as they could.
Kirsten went on autopilot.
She locked doors, she yelled for Seth and Summer to meet them at the car, she grabbed a coat, her cellphone, Julie's number, and her bag, and was outside five minutes later.
Shit, shit, shit.
"Dad? What's going on? Where are we going?"
She watched as Sandy turned to Seth, and wondered how he could appear so collected.
"Ryan and Marissa have been in a car accident. We have to get to the hospital."
Summer gasped, and Seth just stared.
Turning, he opened his door and jumped into the car.
"Are we going to go or not?"
Kirsten didn't know how her family did it.
As she passed Summer on her way to her seat, she brushed the girls shoulder, trying to smile.
The bad feeling was back.
"I told you, I'm sleeping in the poolhouse." Ryan gritted out, glaring at Sandy as he stumbled towards the French doors.
"Ryan, please. Kirsten and I really think it'd be better if you stayed in the house for now, we just need to know you're okay."
Turning, Ryan looked skeptical, "And I told you, I'm fine! I'm still here, aren't I?"
Kirsten stood uneasily by the kitchen counter, and watched Sandy take a deep breath. "Ryan-"
"No! I'm sleeping in the poolhouse, or I'm not sleeping here at all."
Kirsten stared at her foster son, taking in his pale face, stitches, messy hair, and the pained look she'd seen on his face since they first saw him at the hospital, and decided the kid didn't need anymore distress. She stepped in front of Sandy – who had just started to open his mouth – and gave Ryan a sad smile, moving forward and placing her hand on his shoulder, ignoring his flinch.
"It's okay, sweetie, you can sleep in the poolhouse if you really want to. But we are going to have to wake you up every few hours like the doctors said, okay? You know the only reason you got to come home this early is because we promised to."
Ryan wouldn't look her in the face, his eyes dancing over her cheeks, and he nodded quickly twice, his eyes shining and wet.
Without another word he turned, brushing off her hand, and shakily opened the glass door, making his way outside.
Kirsten caught Sandy's look and sighed.
It was six am; two hours after everyone had gone to bed, the first time Kirsten went to check up on Ryan in the poolhouse.
Sandy was asleep, breathing softly to her side, but she couldn't.
She didn't peer in on Seth and Summer as she passed Seth's room in the hall, and she didn't make a sound as she walked down the stairs.
The second Kirsten walked into the poolhouse, she knew something was wrong.
Ryan's bed was empty, his sheets were draping off the side of the bed, hanging crisp and dry, and the room was silent. She stood still, the glimmer from the pool trailing puddles of light on the walls, bouncing around her, and she was struck suddenly with the fact that Marissa was dead. A girl she'd known since she moved to Newport, a girl she'd watched play dress-up in her mothers clothes, smiling and giggling, and Kirsten's hands ached as she clutched at her sleeves.
It could have been Ryan who'd died in that crash.
She could be here standing tonight in the poolhouse, shaking, because it could have been Ryan who would never come home again.
She knew that the drivers' side of the car – Ryan's side of the car – had been completely crushed, yet he'd managed to walk out with just a cut on his forehead and a concussion, and it was Marissa who had died in his arms.
She had no idea what Julie was going through right now, losing her daughter, because Kirsten had only known Ryan three years and she knew, if it had been him, she'd be beyond devastated.
Quiet coughs brought Kirsten out of her thoughts, and she looked up towards the bathroom, finally realizing that was why Ryan wasn't in bed.
She hurried over to the door, her nightgown trailing against the carpet, breath quick in her chest.
Resting her knuckles on the wood, she knocked lightly, "Ryan?"
The coughing continued, so Kirsten tried again, "You okay sweetie? Are you sick?"
When she didn't get an answer, Kirsten put her hand on the door knob, frowning. Clearing her throat she called out gently, "Ryan, I'm coming in."
She pushed down the handle and stepped inside quietly.
There were no lights on and Kirsten ran her hand down the wall for the light switch, watching Ryan's hunched over form on the floor, and turned it on.
Kirsten's face dropped. "Oh honey," she said, rushing over to Ryan and putting her hand on his back as she watched the kid retching silently in the toilet.
She could feel his back trembling, and she ran her hand in circles on his scratchy shirt, biting her lower lip.
"How long have you been in here?"
Ryan scrunched his face, trying to control his breathing, as he tilted his head slightly, his voice a hoarse mess, "I – I don't know …"
Trailing off he leaned forward again, swallowing quickly, closing his eyes.
"I should've come to check on you sooner, I'm so sorry Ryan." She whispered.
She'd left him all alone, and Marissa was dead. He'd been sitting in the bathroom, vomiting, for maybe even an hour, and she'd been more worried about trying to get some sleep, when Ryan was sick and hurt. She knew Ryan would say he was okay no matter what and she still left him alone for two hours. Ducking her head, Kirsten willed back the tears.
"Not your fault," Ryan said, his face pale, making the black stitches stand out cruelly on his forehead.
Kirsten wrapped her arm around him, sliding to the floor, as Ryan started to cough again, his shaking hands coming back up to hold the toilet seat.
"It's okay honey, just try to breathe, all right?"
It's okay, it's okay, he's okay, he's alive.
Two days later Ryan ate his first meal.
Kirsten had ordered take out, because she couldn't bring herself to cook, and had asked Seth to ask Ryan if he wanted some.
She'd tried continuously over the past few days to get him to eat, but Ryan would turn over on his bed, face crushed, eyes dull, and say he wasn't hungry.
Whatever her son had done, it worked.
Seth had been handling the death surprisingly well, and had taken to trying to cheer Ryan up, taking in playstation games, comics, lending him books, trying to make him smile.
So when her son led Ryan into the kitchen, his hand on the kids back, Kirsten had to bite the inside of her cheeks to stop herself crying, because even when she was happy, she couldn't stop the tears.
Five days after the crash, two days after Ryan's first meal, all of the Cohen's were dressed in black.
In a place as social as Orange County, Marissa's funeral was very small.
The first time Kirsten saw Julie was when she was lead out of the car, black covering her face, her arms, her feet, and Kirsten's heart clenched.
Ryan was sitting to her left, Summer clutching his arm, tears sliding down her face, and Seth trying to comfort both of them at once.
When Julie walked past her, Kirsten finally got a good look.
Her face was white, cheeks splashed with red and shining, eyes dropped. Her hair was matted, as though it hadn't been washed, and her clothes were rumpled.
Neil had his hand on her shoulder, as Julie took a seat in the front row.
When the casket was carried past, solid and heavy, the steps of the men crunching on the ground, Kirsten watched as Julie's shoulders started to shake.
The sobs were loud, choking, and Kirsten couldn't look away as Neil hugged her.
Since Kirsten had met her, Julie had never let anything get her down.
She remembered when Julie lived in the trailer, and how even with no money, Julie could still manage a smile, could hold her head high.
But as speeches were told and poems were read, all Kirsten could hear were Julie's shallow breaths, her chilling sobs, and Kirsten's stomach ached.
She'd spend every day since that dreaded call thanking God for the fact Ryan was alive, and Julie had been crying.
She'd smiled along with her family when Seth tried to tell a joke, and Julie's daughter had died.
If it had been Ryan, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to really smile again.
They were so lucky, so fucking lucky, and Kirsten feels like a horrible person, but at the back of her mind she's happy it was Marissa.
Kirsten reached over and clutched Ryan's hand, closing her eyes. His skin was warm and soft, and when she felt him squeeze back, she let herself go, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Julie's entire life had been full of tragedies.
She had two divorces, one husband dead, the other who took off on her wedding day.
She'd lost all her money, been kicked out of her house, and lost all but one of her friends.
And now her daughter, in a car accident that crushed the drivers' seat, was the one who ended up dying.
And Kirsten knew, between her and Julie, the Cohens' had all the luck.
end.