What if Marissa had been alive in alt-world? What if Ryan had stayed? What if I went a day without writing a new O.C. one-shot?

The world would explode.

Current musical inspiration: 'Gubbbish' by Chad VanGaalen from the album 'Skelliconnection'. The title is a line from the song.

Read, enjoy, and as always, review.

She stared blankly down at him. He looked so peaceful. If it weren't for his incredible paleness, and all of the blinking and beeping machines attached to him, she would think he was just sleeping.

"Visiting hours are over," a nurse said quietly, a little desolately. Taylor nodded, picked up her purse and left the room, ignoring the pitying looks she got from the nurses as she went out. The women looked at each other. The girl came every day when visiting hours began, and left when they ended. They had seen it before: the lost, the lonely, the desperate.

She sat by his bed, sunlight streaming through the blinds, and she read to him. She read books she found in his room, magazine articles about architecture, and newspaper headlines about current events. She played Journey softly through a CD player she brought from home, the sound filling his single room. She wished he would wake up, but she knew it was a lost cause. He had gone back to her.

Ryan sat on the couch, digging some popcorn out of the bowl. The girl next to him had the same idea, and their hands met over the snack. She snuck a look at him and smiled. He smiled back, a little hesitantly

"I love you, Ryan," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

"I love you too, Marissa." Their lips met.

"Do you think he'll ever wake up," Kirsten asked hopelessly, trying not to look at her son through the glass window. The nurse placed a comforting hand on the woman's arm.

"It's up to him, really. Like I told you before, whenever he finishes what he needs to finish…"

"What if he doesn't want to finish?" Taylor's voice cut through. The girl stood in the doorway, listening in on Kirsten's conversation. The nurse opened her mouth to speak, but closed it: she didn't have an answer.

"Taylor…" Kirsten's voice was strained, tears threatening to break.

The girl just turned around and walked back into the room.

"So why haven't you gone back yet?" Seth asked, punching buttons on the controller.

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, knowing exactly what he meant, but wanting to evade the question for a few more seconds.

"Well, the other world. The parallel universe you're really from." Ryan was silent. "Don't you want to go back?"

"No."

"Why not? Is there an evil vegetable despot?" Seth won the game and turned to face the other boy.

"No, it's just… vegetable despot?" Ryan smiled a little.

Seth ignored the question. "What's so wrong with the other place?"

Ryan shrugged. "Well, at the end of our senior year…"

"Yeah?" Seth asked when Ryan paused. He heard the other boy sigh.

"Marissa and I were in a car, and this guy – I won't go into his story – but he drove us off the road. She died."

"Well what about that other girl? The one you were here with in the beginning. I'm assuming she went back…"

"Taylor?"

"Yeah. I still can't get over that. Taylor Townsend being a girl. That's weird." Seth closed his eyes and shook his head. "That guy was so weird in high school."

"So was she. I guess it's the same personality, just different genders." Seth nodded.

"Oh great," Kirsten walked into the room and rolled her eyes. The boy was back, the one who had caused all the drama.

"Hi Mrs. Cooper," Ryan said tentatively. It was still weird to call her that. Taylor's plan had failed. Yes, Sandy and Julie were divorced, but Kirsten had stayed with Jimmy.

"Hey, honey," Sandy murmured, pressing a kiss to his wife's head. She buried her face into his neck, holding back tears.

"It's been a month," Kirsten whispered, voice breaking. "They say the longer they're out, the less chance they have of ever waking up again."

"But its Ryan," he gestured to the boy. "Ryan's a fighter."

"God, Ryan!" Marissa screamed, throwing a picture frame at him.

"What the hell did I do?" He really had no idea. They had been at one of Kirsten's parties all smiling and happy one minute, the next they were in her room and she was throwing things at him.

"Why did you have to be so rude to that guy?" Tears rolled down her face, and she folded her arms.

"What? The guy I told to back off cause you had a boyfriend? He was trying to grope you."

"You're so possessive!" She put her hands over her face and turned away from him. He stared at her back incredulously for a few seconds.

"Possessive? Just because I told some guy you already had a boyfriend?"

Ryan ran his hands through his hair. He had forgotten about this part of his and Marissa's relationship: the constant fighting. It's not like they were even having sex to make up for it. She insisted that she loved him, but she wasn't ready. It was like high school all over again. Well, the other world's high school. In this one there had been no him. She wasn't a virgin, but for some reason wasn't letting him in at all. It was annoying.

"Have you been drinking tonight?" he asked wearily. She gasped in anger and picked up a book to throw at him. He ducked and left her room.

Taylor waited at the terminal. She couldn't put off college anymore. Ryan wasn't going to wake up, and she had to get on with her life. It's not like they ever really lifted off, anyway. It had been one night of intense kisses, then he freaked out and then the coma.

She had put an application in to the Sorbonne the minute she had come back to Newport after leaving Henri-Michel, and they had reaccepted her for the spring term.

"Flight 31 to Paris, France now boarding," a polite voice crackled overhead.

She sighed, looking down at her phone one last time – waiting, hoping desperately, for a call to come and say he was awake.

It never came.

"Taylor, I can't believe you wore that!"

Ryan spun, heart racing erratically as he recognized Veronica Townsend's angry voice. He found the woman, and the male Taylor, standing off to the side. Male Taylor looked ashamed and embarrassed at himself, and Ryan recognized the look from his Taylor.

His Taylor?

No. This was his world now. That other one was just a far off memory, a dream. There was no 'his Taylor'. There was just the Taylor that happened to be a girl, that happened to be in his former world.

But he kept watching this world's Taylor trying to fix his suit, trying to please his mother. He looked so hopeless.

Taylor tried to focus on her work, but she couldn't. She figured that once she was back in France she wouldn't think about him. She had hoped that Newport would seem worlds away, another lifetime. A dream.

But it didn't. Instead Paris felt like a dream. She felt like she was moving through water here. The air was thick, sounds were muffled, sunlight dim. Edges were blurred, and she often had to ask people to repeat themselves.

Sometimes she wondered, if she threw herself out of her window and went back into a coma, would she find him?

Ryan watched angrily as Marissa downed another glass of tequila. He strode towards her. "Haven't you had enough?"

She sneered at him, completely drunk. "God, Ryan, leave me alone!"

He didn't know why he came here to visit her at Berkeley. It was a bad idea. He should have just stayed at his apartment, instead of taking off work for this. But he obeyed her orders and walked away, giving her space.

He found her later in one of the bedrooms, snorting cocaine off the bedside table with six other people. He didn't say anything, just turned and left.

"Ryan?"

He paused in the middle of the party. The voice sounded familiar, but it came from far away.

"Honey, it's not doing any good," Sandy said hopelessly, pulling his wife up. She had been calling the boy's name for five minutes. "It's time to go home."

"But he needs to hear reassuring voices," Kirsten explained, half sobbing. "Taylor's gone, Seth's at work. Someone has to talk to him." Sandy hugged her body to his, stroking her hair. He felt like crying himself.

"Look, kid," Sandy said, taking a sip of his coffee, "you should just really stay away from her. She doesn't like you."

"But that's not like her," Ryan said desperately. Sandy gave him a weird look, but Ryan couldn't explain. Seth he could tell about the whole parallel universe thing, but Sandy would just think he was insane.

"Well, no offense, but I don't think you know Kirsten very well. It used to not be like her to hate people. Now? Now, she's her father. Bitter, cold, ruthless. Everything I ever fought against." The ex-mayor shook his head sadly.

He had gone back to being a regular defense attorney. It was the one thing Ryan and Taylor had accomplished. That and restoring Julie back to her real self – not that fake philanthropist. They had also split up Summer and Che, but she hadn't gone to Seth. This world was nothing like he wanted it to be. But he needed to stay, because Marissa needed him.

"I wish he knew how much we need him," Summer whispered sadly to her boyfriend. Seth had just gotten off work, and the two had come to visit Ryan.

"I wish I could say that he knows, but I don't think he does, actually. I don't think he realizes how much he changed all of us…" Seth put his arm around his girlfriend. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"I can't watch this," Ryan paced around her room.

"Then don't!" Marissa cried.

"I can't watch you die again." He was talking more to himself, but she heard.

"What do you mean 'again'?"

Ryan sighed. "It doesn't matter. But you're killing yourself. All the drugs and alcohol? It needs to stop."

"Screw you," she told him flatly, grabbing a sweatshirt from her bed. "I'm going out."

"Marissa, if you walk away now, we're over," his voice held a warning.

"Fine!" She stormed out the door.

He couldn't do this anymore. This wasn't Marissa. This was some other girl who had taken over Marissa's body. She was emaciated, completely dependent on drugs and alcohol. She threw up constantly, and never ate. This wasn't Marissa.

Except that it was, a little voice in his head taunted him. It was Marissa, just father gone than the other world's Marissa. This was where she might have ended up, if she hadn't died.

"Would you like to go to dinner?" the boy asked, the French words rolling off his tongue beautifully.

Taylor heard none of it. Her world was hazy, sounds dull, words vacant. The boy asked again, then walked away.

"I think I'm going back," Ryan told him. Seth paused the game and put down the controller.

"Seriously?"

"This place is nothing like I thought. Kirsten, Marissa, Summer…"

"I'm working on Summer," Seth cut in. Ryan smiled a little. This Seth was making slow progress. This Summer was a lot more shallow than she had been in his world, even back when he first came to Newport.

"And you'll get her eventually. But I don't belong here."

Seth nodded a little sadly. "I'll miss you, man. Although I guess you won't miss me, cause I'm in the other world too."

"It's been two months, Cohen," Summer tried to reason with him, desperation gripping her.

"That doesn't mean he won't wake up," Seth argued hopelessly, then went back to reading comic books to his friend.

Ryan didn't know why he hadn't gone yet. When Taylor had left, she had clutched her chest, said 'oh', and then disappeared. Why wasn't he?

He had said all of his goodbyes. He had given up on Marissa. He knew in his heart that they weren't meant to be together.

He turned the TV in his apartment on, wanting to lose himself in its flickering light. Flipping through the channels, he caught an old French movie on one of the movie stations. He watched the girl and boy on screen kiss, and it hit him.

He missed Taylor. Her infectious laughter, her ever-present smile. Even the way she rambled on. He missed it.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a beeping sound. He panicked for a minute. Smoke alarm? No. The beeping was still going, steady, rhythmic. His brows furrowed and he held a hand to his chest. His heart beat to the same rhythm as the beeping.

"Oh."

Ryan's eyes fluttered open, the steady beep-beep of the machine still in his ears.

"Ryan?" The voice sounded pained, trying not to be hopeful.

"Hey Kirsten," his voice was scratchy from lack of use. He turned his head towards the blonde woman. She stared at him for a minute before bursting into tears.

Taylor didn't hear her phone at first, but after a while the constant ringing pulled her attention.

"Hello?" she asked lazily into it. She felt like she was moving through molasses.

"Taylor?" Summer's voice was choked with tears. Some of the haze started to lift.

"Summer, are you ok?" Taylor sounded more alert now.

"He's awake. He's asking for you."

What was she doing here? She couldn't believe she had left college again. Not left-for-good left, but left-in-the-middle-of-the-week left. And now she was standing in the bright California sunshine, where everything was sharp and overdone. Everything seemed too loud, too harsh.

The door opened, and Kirsten grabbed her up in a hug. "Taylor! We're so happy you're back."

Taylor just nodded. The hug had been too forceful, the words too deafening. It was all too much.

But she allowed herself to be pulled through the house, wincing as the door closed with a thunderous bang.

He was in the kitchen, white shirt too bright, eyes too piercing. This had to be a dream. He said nothing. The other four in the room – Kirsten, Sandy, Seth, Summer – all stood silent. Taylor didn't move. They all seemed to be stuck.

Then he moved, fast, like lightening, and his lips were on hers. It was too much. His hands were too rough, lips too soft, breathing too loud. But he didn't stop. He didn't pull away, didn't let her breathe.

They sat at the counter, not talking. The others had left. She sipped at a glass of water that was too cold. The silence was deafening.

"You stayed with Marissa?"

They both remembered the other world, although it was a little murky. He nodded, not denying it.

"What happened?" Her voice was too loud in her ears, but he didn't seem to notice.

"She wasn't the same Marissa." He placed his cup on the counter, and the loud crash made her wince. "Are you alright?" He didn't seem to find everything too… much.

"Yeah."

He got back to his story. "She was Marissa, but not the Marissa we knew. I guess three years of constant drinking and drug use changes a person."

"I told you. You made her life better," Taylor explained, trying to ignore the overwhelming sunlight.

"I get that now. And I get that we never would have worked out, even if she lived past the crash." He looked at her. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

"Why would I be hurt, Ryan? You loved her. I get that."

"Are you sure you aren't upset? Because you seem a little weird."

"I'm always weird." Everything was too damn bright.

He got up and walked around the island, putting a hand to her head. It was too hot; he needed to not touch her.

"You're a little warm." He looked at her, trying to figure her out. His eyes were too blue. She put her head in her hands.

Taylor sat on the exam table, staring at a wall that was too white. The doctor's words were too loud, she couldn't hear what he said.

The Cohens plus Summer and Ryan all looked at the girl, then back at the doctor. "Has she been getting sleep? Has she had any contact with others who may be sick? Is she pregnant? Has she been eating well?" the doctor looked up from his clipboard at the family.

"Um…" Summer began. "We don't really know." The doctor looked at them quizzically. "Well, she's been in Paris for the past month…" Summer tried to explain, but it didn't help the guilty feeling in her gut. The whole family had been so worried about Ryan that they completely forgot about Taylor.

"Alright, well, we'll run some tests, but most likely it's the lack of sleep and food. That's usually the case. Has she had an unusual amount of stress lately?"

"I don't even know what hotel she's staying at," Summer whispered, trying not to cry. She was such an awful friend.

"It's ok, honey, she can stay here," Kirsten patted the younger girl's back reassuringly.

"It's not ok. I should have called her in Paris, or stopped her from going altogether, or… something."

"You weren't thinking properly," Kirsten sighed. "None of us were." Summer nodded, sniffling. "Plus, the doctor said it was only a mild fever. Just rest, some food and lots of water. Plus, no stress."

Taylor opened her eyes, noticing that the sun was just a little dimmer today, a little more bearable. She also noticed the extra weight on the mattress, making it dip. "Ryan?" she croaked out, throat dry.

"Hey," he put his book down and looked at her. "Welcome back."

"I think I should be saying that to you," she said, not really noticing the words that were coming out of her mouth. Sitting up, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. It wasn't her room at home, it wasn't Summer's room, or the Roberts' guest room, and it wasn't her dorm. It wasn't even the dingy hotel room she had rented for her indefinite stay. "Where-" her voice gave out, and she erupted into a fit of coughs. Ryan dropped his book, the sound pounding in her ears, and grabbed a cup of water off the bedside table. He pressed the cold glass into her hand firmly.

"Drink." She obeyed, gulping the icy liquid down. It stung her throat and made her stomach cold. "You're in the guest bedroom."

"The Cohens?" He nodded, looking at her strangely, sizing her up. "I'm fine now," she told him, flushing hotly under his gaze. The air in the room pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

"You're not fine," he muttered, pushing her to lie down again. "You're dehydrated and exhausted."

"No I'm not," she protested, but didn't fight against the heavy pressure of his hands.

She hadn't realized she fell asleep until she woke up, darkness filling the room now. Soft white moonlight trickled in through the window, but it wasn't harsh. It was… normal. She remembered normal now. In fact, she felt better than she had in two months. Smiling, she glanced to her right, and her heart tightened, because he was still there. He was pale in the moonlight, eyes closed peacefully, book fallen from his hands.

She twisted, grabbed the magically refilled glass of water and downing it in a single go. It wasn't so cold this time. Her stomach growled, and she realized she was desperately hungry.

Slipping off the bed carefully, she tiptoed out of the room, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy. Not when he looked so… content.

The light from the refrigerator flooded into the darkened kitchen. It was a few minutes before 2 a.m., and she didn't want to turn on any lights for fear of disturbing the Cohens. Especially since they had been so nice and let her sleep here.

She spotted left-over Chinese cartons, and grabbed them from the back, fork already in hand. She downed the Chow Mein greedily, not even bothering to move away from the fridge. The cold air was nice, it made her feel… it just made her feel.

She hadn't felt anything in so long. Since waking up from her coma, she had been wallowing in a state of self-pity and self-destruction. France had been a blur; sounds, smells, and sights all blending together into one dulled sense.

"Taylor?" his voice was gravelly and low, heavy with exhaustion. She stepped away from the refrigerator guiltily, letting the door close and plunging them into near-complete darkness. Only the moonlight streaming through the lone window and sliding doors lightened the room. His face was half in shadow, but she saw fear and panic in his gaze.

"Hey," she greeted shyly, warily.

"I woke up and you were gone-" he cut himself off, shoving his hands into his pockets. She realized he was still in his jeans and a t-shirt. Wasn't he uncomfortable?

"I'm sorry, I was hungry. I didn't want to wake you." He shrugged, looking around the room uncertainly. "So how long have I been out?" she tried to break the tension.

"Um, about a day and a half," he replied, thinking back. "After we got back from the doctor, you fell asleep. Do you remember waking up to drink?" She nodded, vaguely aware of short periods of wakefulness where cold glasses of water had been pressed to her lips before she dropped out of consciousness again.

"A day and a half isn't so bad," she mused quietly. "You beat me by one month and 28 and a half days." It had been meant as a joke, to lighten the mood, but he stiffened. "Sorry." He shrugged.

"I just feel bad," he confessed, not looking at her. "Everyone was so worried. Kirsten cried…" he shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the image. She couldn't help but move forward, dropping the Chinese container onto the kitchen island.

"Ryan," her voice was surprisingly soothing, despite the intense and overwhelming ache that was filling her chest. "It's not your fault." She wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He was stiff beneath her, but she felt his head drop against hers and his hands drifted to link behind her back. "It's not your fault," she repeated softly, and felt him relax ever so slightly.

They stood like that, time passing by unnoticed.

Kirsten smiled, heart warming. The two teenagers were sleeping peacefully, her son's arm wrapped protectively around the girl that was curled into his chest. Normally she would panic about her son being in bed with a girl – she still liked to think of her boys as innocents – but this was different. She backed out of the door, letting the two continue on.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a smile curled itself across her face. "Hey you," his voice was low and soft, eyes searching her face.

"Hey you," she repeated, shifting closer to him. His anxiety vanished with her movement, and he finally relaxed. "What time is it?"

"Last time I checked it was about 7:30." He raised a hand to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes.

"The 'last time you checked'?" she grinned at him. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know that you talk in your sleep," he smiled back. "Do you always dream in French?"

"It switches back and forth," she buried her head into his chest, feeling him stiffen slightly, before relaxing again. His fingers stroked down her back, tracing her spine.

"You had me worried," his voice was serious, nervous. "I don't like it when you're sick."

"Neither do I," she tried to joke.

She turned from him, pushing down the panic that was flooding through her. Every atom in her was fighting against the movement of her feet, carrying her farther away from him.

"…to Paris, France, now boarding."

She caught the tail end of the announcement, but it was enough to make her body scream in protest. She knew he was still behind her, watching her leave, but she didn't turn around. Her heart wouldn't be able to handle it.

Her dorm was cold, the air stale. It felt distant and uninviting, despite all of her possessions scattered throughout. Her cell phone buzzed.

"Hey Summer," she greeted wearily, dropping her bags on the floor.

"Hey, I was just checking to make sure you landed alright," Summer's voice was insistent and forceful. Ever since Ryan had woken from the coma, Summer seemed to make it her mission to be a better friend – although Taylor was constantly telling her she already was a good friend.

"Landed, called a cab, got to my dorm," Taylor summed up, fighting the sinking feeling.

"Oh. Good." There was an awkward pause. "Well, I'll let you get unpacked. Seth and Ryan say hi." She hung up before Taylor could react to the stealthy 'Ryan' thrown into that last sentence. Taylor looked glumly down at her bags.

Right.

Unpack.

She tried to listen to the lecture, but the professor's words had slurred into a muffled sound, mere background noise. She looked down at her notebook, unable to read the words she had written there a minute ago.

She tried to panic, but all she managed was a calm sense that everything was going back to the watery haze she had been in for the past two months. The short burst of normality was fading. She was fading.

Ryan trudged into the house wearily, exhausted after a long days work. Kirsten was in the kitchen, smiling smugly. "Hello, Ryan," she greeted, gripping her mug tightly. "There's a surprise waiting for you in the living room." He looked up with disinterested eyes.

"Alright." His feet dragged along the floor towards the living room, and he just wanted to get this whole 'surprise' thing over with. He hated surprises. Kirsten had probably bought him something to try and cheer him up. What he didn't need right now was guilt – he always felt guilty when the Cohens spent money on him. He hoped it wasn't expensive-

"Hi, Ryan." His head rose slowly, disbelievingly. She was sitting on the couch, arms resting on her knees, hands clasped in front of her.

"Taylor. You're not in France."

"Obviously," she smiled, standing up and smoothing down her shirt.

"Did you forget something here?" he looked around the living room nervously, trying to spot something that she could have left.

"You could say that," she stepped towards him, and he began to panic. "You see, I forgot that here," she gestured around her vaguely, "is where I belong."

"In the living room?" he asked dumbly as she stepped nearer to him. He dimly heard her laugh, and looked down at her for a response. Instead of saying anything, she leaned up and kissed him softly. His entire body tensed, and his mind wouldn't allow him to believe this was happening. Her hands slid into his hair, and it was suddenly very real. He pulled away. "Are you staying?"

"Is that ok?" she searched his eyes, looking for any trace of panic.

"Yes." His answer was resolute, but the look on his face was disbelieving. Like he expected it to be a joke.

"Good," she gripped his shoulders painfully, trying to ground him in reality, "because I've already shipped my stuff here, and these trans-Atlantic flights are killer."

"What's all this?" He looked around the kitchen at all the food and decorations. The Cohens, plus Summer and Taylor, were standing around, smiling at his confusion. Kirsten looked at Taylor, gesturing for her to explain.

"Well, Ryan, since we never got to have a proper Chrismukkah, we decided to have one now." She walked forward to slip her hand into his. He looked down at her in silent appreciation before turning back to the Cohens.

"It's almost March."

"But Chrismukkah is a state of being, Ryan. It can't be defined by a specific date. The Chrismukkah spirit can be called upon at any time," Seth had on his reindeer sweater, and Summer looked up at him adoringly. Ryan looked at his family, all of them, and smiled.

"See, now you're just making stuff up."

End.