TITLE: Not just somebody

DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing.

CATEGORY: Ryan/Kirsten romance

TIMELINE: Season 2 – Kirsten and Sandy are somewhat estranged, Lindsay has left for Chicago leaving a depressed Ryan and Kirsten starts to find solace in alcohol…

NOTES: I hate having to write about Ryan/Kirsten in any sort of romantic notion. But this idea almost kept me awake at night and so I had to write it. I love Ryan/Kirsten interaction but purely in a mother/son way. Which is what I will write again after this. But please read and review anyway, ok? It wasn't exactly easy to write for me lol and it's kinda weird. Like its author.

**

The nights here were brighter than anywhere Kirsten had ever lived. She stared out the spotless window and into the blurs of light. It was somewhat dim, almost not there at all, yet it seemed to be blinding her. The light, although disturbing, was nothing compared to the quietness Kirsten had to face in the house. Seth was somewhere she didn't know. She had long lost touch on her son, it seemed. Sandy, too, for that matter. Rebecca was gone, but apparently she had taken parts of Sandy with her. Crucial parts. Now Kirsten was alone and the only solace she seemed to find fit into a glass.

She wasn't all alone, she remembered. A great deal of that diffuse light came from the pool house where her other son was. Kirsten cringed. Ryan wasn't at all like Seth, not her child or any child. He'd come back from Chino and every last ounce of innocence and childhood that had been hidden underneath was finally gone. Seth may have matured in Portland over the summer, but Ryan – he had become a man. Kirsten took another gulp from her drink. She couldn't stop thinking about Ryan as a man. She vividly remembered telling Lindsay how hard it had been accepting Ryan as her son. She couldn't. Not anymore. Not when he was this young man with that rebellious darkness about him. A quality that reminded her painfully of Sandy in his younger days.

The last few days Ryan had been more of a shadow. A five o'clock shadow in a crumpled wife beater that emphasized his strong, manly muscles. Another sip from her glass. Guilt fuelled up in her. She wasn't supposed to think of this man – boy, she reminded herself hastily, just a boy, her foster son – that way. He was her son. In some way anyway. This wasn't appropriate at all. But he wasn't. Not her son. Had she met him in a bar, or on the street today there wouldn't have been any boundaries. Sip. Kirsten couldn't quite remember if she'd had thought about Ryan like that before. No, she hadn't. When he'd left over the summer, she had mourned the loss of a son. But Ryan had returned as a man. A stranger yet again. Now, with Lindsay having left another scar on him, she was sure she knew what he was longing for. Sip. She was longing for the same.

Light has a way of guiding. It allures moths, it allures lovers. Kirsten cringed. She couldn't think of Ryan as her lover. Not her son, but not her lover. Just somebody she needed at this moment. Her feet followed their destination. The light was dim, but well enough. Opening the door without knocking, their eyes met in a surprised glance. The young man sat on his bed, with a book and his eyes as empty as she felt were hers. The five o'clock shadow darkened his young face, giving her the permission to walk further. Ryan sat up straighter, the surprise on his face growing. It felt wrong to be in the pool house for this. Then again, it could be left here. Locked up, stashed away for no one ever to find out.

"Kirsten?" His hoarse voice was a question mark. It was so dark and broken that it made her shudder. She knew she couldn't say anything, not yet. Words would destroy it. Would remind her that this wasn't supposed to happen. When Kirsten sat down on his bed, he didn't flinch. He wasn't that shy, unsure boy anymore. He was a man. The man who would help her through this night. Not her son. Not her lover. Just somebody.

Her hand slowly wandered up to his hand. Cold. Further up, his strong muscles, the fine tiny hair. Warmer. Ryan let her explore his arm. As she was about to make the trespass to his chest, his hand caught hers. Ocean blues collided.

"Just tonight." Kirsten whispered desperately. He stared into her deepest core, she thought, recognized his own feelings. Ryan's hand loosened its grip and Kirsten's hand fell flat on his chest. She felt his warmth through the shirt, could feel his heart beating. She closed her eyes, taking in his manly scent. Her face closed in on his by instinct. Eyes closed – how could she look at him? – their mouths met. Sensational. Kirsten's head started spinning out of time and place. Not her son. Not her lover. Somebody. This was somebody who knew what he was doing. It was Ryan. His tongue lazily explored her mouth. Still somewhat careful, but not unsure. They knew what they were doing and they wanted it both.

Darkness led Kirsten back to the house. Numb, she found the opened vodka bottle and took it with her. Her feet led her again, this time to her bedroom. There was no Sandy. A part of her had wanted to stay with Ryan. Had wanted to console the boy she had broken into even more pieces. A man, she reminded herself bitterly. She had made the mistake of looking into his baby blue eyes. Not a man she had seen there. A boy still - but disguised - masking his way through the world. She cringed and took a gulp from the bottle. A voice from the past, her own in a better shape, had told Sandy that Ryan was still a boy, that he didn't know what he wanted. Or needed. Tonight, she had taken that decision from him. He had thought that he wanted this, and she had taken it. Not her son – never could have been. Not her lover – never could have been. Somebody. Only that he hadn't been.

Kirsten drowned herself in the only solitude left.

END