This is a one-shot. I wondered how Ryan would react to becoming a father – and how it would affect his relationship with his birth family, and with the Cohens. I figured the birth might change his outlook on life.
DISCLAIMER: Ownership of the characters, concept, show etc... is Fox's. Not mine. So don't sue.
Reviews always, always welcome, you guys. Please.
Now you know
Exactly a week after the birth of his son, Ryan realised what a stubborn fool he'd been. Pride, self-respect, humility, his refusal to impose on others, the nagging feeling that he just wasn't worth it – all the reasons he'd come up with to turn down the Cohens' extraordinary generosity were just bullshit. He understood it all now. It had taken just seven days.
The day Connor was born was too intense, too jumbled and crazy for anything to make sense other that the fact that after twenty-eight hours of pain and sweat and more pain, and swearing and panting and pushing, and blood- curdling screaming and whimpering and cursing him and all men to the other side of the world, Theresa had given birth to a slimy, bloody, tiny, perfect little boy. And when Ryan had been given the little bundle he just stared and stared into his eyes and couldn't believe that there was his son, a real live new human being, staring back at him.
"Hey, Trey, it's me."
"Hey little bro'. So?"
"So, you're an uncle now. It's a boy." Trey can hear the grin in his brother's voice. He smiles back.
"A boy, huh? What're you going to call him?"
"Connor. Connor Juan Atwood."
"Oh man. Another little Atwood. Cool, bro'. How's Theresa?"
"Dude, I've never been happier I'm not a girl. That was fucking horrible. I mean, amazing, but fucking unbelievable. You should've heard her. She's okay now. I think."
"Have you told mom?"
"No. I don't really..." Ryan hesitates. "I don't know. Not yet. I guess I'll call her."
"She'll be stoked, Ry," says Trey softly.
"I don't really care, Trey," he replies tiredly. "Anyhow, gotta go. I'll come visit soon. Bring you some pictures."
"Sure. Congratulations, man. Say well done to Theresa for me."
The following day, he went home and slept while Theresa recovered in the hospital. He understood he had to be thankful for small mercies, like a day's sleep.
"Ryan, hi, it's Kirsten. Is this a bad time? I can call back later." Ryan sounds groggy as he answers the phone she thinks, and mentally kicks herself for calling so early after the birth.
"No, no. I've been sleeping but I'm up now – getting ready to go back to the hospital. I meant to call you guys to say thanks for the flowers and all. You shouldn't have."
"Oh, it's nothing Ryan, it's our pleasure. How's Theresa doing – is she recovering okay?"
"Yeah. She sounded fine earlier. Still shattered I guess." Ryan has no idea how you recover from something like that. He wants to tell Kirsten that he understands why Seth is an only child.
"When do you think we can come visit and meet the little man?, " asks Kirsten, trying no to sound too desperately eager.
"I'll have to get back to you on that – Theresa's call. Maybe next week?"
"Next week would be great. Let's talk later, dear. Tell Theresa we send our love."
The next day, and the next, were spent adjusting – or to be honest, attempting to adjust – to living with a little being who spent all hours of the day or night crying for food, for clean diapers, for sleep, for a cuddle, or just for the hell of it. Trying to go to work on no sleep at all and just adrenaline and coffee to keep him going while he slowly came to terms with the concept of being a father. The fact that the paternity test didn't confirm it until the fourth day was almost irrelevant. By then Ryan knew already that whatever the result Connor was already his son. The test just made him happier than he had thought possible even a week earlier.
"So – it really is your baby?" She sounds almost disbelieving. Disappointed, too.
"Um, yes. Connor is my son. Definitely." My son. He still feels weird saying it. And proud.
"Wow. That's just... amazing. Did you expect it?" Something about the tone of Marissa's voice sets Ryan's teeth on edge. Amazing isn't the word she was thinking of, he bets.
"Well I was hoping he was. But you know, at the end of the day, it wouldn't have made much of a difference to me. He was my son the minute he came out."
"I understand."
"No you don't. No offence Marissa, but until it happens to you I don't think you can."
On the fifth day, Ryan had the first inkling of what it meant, really. It was a Sunday and he was sitting in a battered armchair in the sparsely furnished living-room of their house, holding the baby so that his head rested in the palm of his two hands, his body cradled on his lap. Connor slept soundly, with little twitches and sighs which tugged at Ryan's heartstrings. He was studying the little scrunched up face, chinless and swollen still, and trying to figure out who the child looked like, and what he'd be like when he grew up. Would he have his eyes or Theresa's? Would his shock of dark hair remain, or fall out as he'd been warned, and grow again a different colour? What genes had been passed on? And it hit him then and there that Connor was also Dawn's grandson, and his father's, and that they too were part of that genetic mix. Somehow during all the pregnancy Ryan had managed to ignore that. But then he hadn't really thought all that much about the baby, as a person, until he was born. Until then it had been more about the practical issues, what they needed and how they would cope when the baby turned up. Not about having another individual, another little Atwood, no less, in their lives. Strange, that.
"So, what's it like dude?"
"Weird. Good, but weird."
"Weird? Is that the best you can do?" Seth is trying to egg him on, sounding sarcastic, but Ryan can tell he's awed. That's cool. Ryan too is awed by the enormity of what has happened to him.
"No, Seth, it's just, kind of hard to put into words. It's like your world turns upside down all of a sudden and nothing is like it was anymore. It takes you over. Actually, that's it. He's taken me over. Completely."
"So when can I see my almost-nephew, man?"
"Soon. I think your parents are planning to come down next Saturday. I guess your mom would be pissed if you got to see Connor first – so you'll have to wait."
"So, tell me – is it cool, being a dad? I mean apart from the fact that dads are inherently uncool?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." And Ryan really means it.
When he thought about Connor's feckless grandparents (as opposed to his doting abuela, Maria, who had taken time off work to look after Theresa and the baby so Ryan could keep his job), Ryan felt angrier than he had ever been. The surge of love and protectiveness that had near overwhelmed him when he first held his son had been growing exponentially in the past few days. He could imagine nothing worse than something, or someone, hurting his baby son. His own welfare was irrelevant – he already knew that he would gladly lay down his life for Connor's. That seemed so natural, so self-evident. And so absolutely opposed to what he had known as a child.
Growing up as the son of an alcoholic mother and a violent father, Ryan had spent his childhood making excuses for his parents' behaviour. Well, his mother's really, after his father was sent to jail. Dawn had always been the weak one, out of control, in thrall to alcohol or drugs, and to the men in her life. No matter how they treated her children. Now he was experiencing at first hand the nature of parental love, the sheer animal strength of that bond, Ryan could no longer begin to excuse her behaviour. He felt incapable of relating to a woman who had let her boyfriends beat up her sons. Even less to a father who, according to Ryan's distant yet pin-sharp memories, had enjoyed heavy-handed disciplining of his boys after a good night out. He was fucked if he'd let either of them ever play a role in Connor's life, he swore to himself when his son was six days old.
"Mom."
"Ryan, I'm so proud of you. A little boy!" Trey must have told her, he thinks. Oh well, it was bound to happen at some point.
"Yeah, well, it's not like it was hard for me."
"So, when can I come meet little Connor?"
She sounds excited. Ryan briefly wonders if she's drunk. He closes his eyes. How about when you're sober and no longer shacked up with a fucker like AJ? Or when you start acting like a fucking mother. How about never, mom? Is never good for you?
"I don't know mom," he sighs.
"Ryan, hon, come on, he's my grandson. You can't keep him away from his grandma..." Dawn's voice is taking on that whiny quality Ryan recognises so well. It makes his skin crawl. He snaps.
"Mom, don't pull that shit on me. You gave up on the family stuff when you walked out on me. Twice. Now you want back in. Well I don't."
"Ryan..."
"Later, mom."
On the seventh day, the car broke down as he was driving back from the supermarket, loaded up with a week's worth of food and diapers. He cursed and swore and kicked the tyres when he realised he couldn't fix it then and there. Later, after 'Turo gave him a lift home, he sat on the porch and smoked a cigarette. Inside, Theresa was struggling with breastfeeding Connor (harder and more painful than she'd expected, but she was determined to get it right and Ryan admired her for that). He was trying to build up the courage to call Sandy.
To tell him he'd been wrong. To admit that he needed help to be a good father to Connor; that he'd realised now that being a parent meant wanting the best for your child, to the exclusion of everything else. And that two teenage high-school dropouts struggling on minimum wage jobs couldn't give Connor the best. He had to stop pushing the Cohens away and start accepting the help they gave so willingly. He had to accept that they considered him a member of their family. Another son. And although he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that, Ryan was beginning to understand it.
"Sandy? It's Ryan."
"Ryan! How're you doing? How's Connor? Is Theresa doing well?"
"He's fine. Theresa's feeding him. "Ryan takes a deep breath. "Sandy, we need to talk."
"Now?"
"No, not on the phone, face to face."
"What's up Ryan? Is everything alright?" There's a slight edge of panic in Sandy's tone, and suddenly Ryan understands him like he never has before.
"It's nothing like that – don't worry. It's just... I need your advice. I think maybe I've been wrong."
Sandy doesn't answer anything but somehow conveys an expectant silence down the line. At least that's what it feels like to Ryan, who ploughs on.
"Too damn stubborn. I don't know, Sandy, I'm kind of scared. I don't want to be just a dad, I want to be the best dad possible. And I don't think..." He hesitates.
"Yes?" This time a gentle prod.
"I don't think I can make it alone. I mean, me and Theresa." Ryan mutters, almost under his breath. There. He's said it. He's admitted his weakness, asked for their help.
"Okay. Don't worry. You're not alone. This is what parents are for. This is what we live for. You'll see soon enough." And the relief in Sandy's voice is so evident that Ryan wonders why he didn't call him weeks, even months ago, instead of pretending that everything was cool and he could handle it all. "I'm so glad you called Ryan. I was hoping you'd allow us to help you out ever since I let you follow Theresa to Chino. We really want to be involved in this, Kirsten and I. We want Connor to be part of our family, too."
"Sure." Ryan feels slightly sheepish. He doesn't really know what to say. He thinks his voice might break if he tries to talk.
"Do you want me to come up before Saturday to talk it over? Do you need anything urgently?"
"No, no. Saturday's fine. I just wanted to tell you first. Thanks, Sandy..." he croaks.
"So now you know, Ryan. That's what it feels like to be a father. Nothing else matters, really."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Welcome to my world, son."