Title: Shadow of the Day
Author: LuxKen27
Fandom: Kids Incorporated
Universe: Canon (Season 5)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+
Word Count: 2,408
Summary: She'd never been to a funeral before, and she hadn't exactly been invited to this one, but all it took was one look at Ryan's stricken expression to know that she couldn't stay away.
Author's note: Written for the 2017 Summer Mini Challenge prompt worry.
DISCLAIMER: The Kids Incorporated concept, storyline, and characters are © 1984 – 1993 Thomas Lynch/Gary Biller/MGM Television/20th Century Fox Home Entertainment/Disney Channel. Any resemblance to any person currently living or deceased is unintended (i.e., I am writing about the characters, not the actors who portray them). No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.
.xxxxx.
The day dawned slate gray and cold, perfect weather for such a somber occasion. Stacy awoke with a heavy heart, dragging herself out of bed and showering and dressing before anyone else in her family stirred. She donned her heaviest black coat and left her apartment on quiet feet, her heart beating steadily in her chest as she rode down the elevator, walked through the lobby of her building, and out onto the street.
Mercifully, she didn't have far to go – the funeral was being held at the family cathedral a couple of streets over. Her stride was steady, if slow; she balled her hands into fists in the pockets of her coat as the grand building loomed into view. The street was quiet around her; nobody else was up and out so early on a December morning without purpose.
Normally, she wouldn't be, either, but this was far from a normal day.
She shivered as she approached the steps leading up to the main entrance of the building. She'd only been here a couple of times before, once for a wedding and twice for Christmas Eve midnight mass. Somehow, the building had seemed warmer on those occasions, swathed in welcoming decorations and bathed in soft lights; now, it just seemed stark and grim and very, very large.
She climbed the steps, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and hesitated at the top, in front of the intricately carved doorway. A black wreath swaddled in gray plaid hung in the center, and the sight of it caused a smile to rise to her lips, and tears to well in her eyes.
She'd never been to a funeral before, and she hadn't exactly been invited to this one. She didn't wish to intrude on a family gathering, but she couldn't stay away, either. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Ryan's stricken expression when he'd heard the news.
He hadn't been the same since then, and neither had she.
The door of the cathedral suddenly opened in a rush of warm air, startling Stacy from her reverie. A gray-suited usher stood on the other side, and she nodded quickly to him as she stepped into the building. She quickly made her way across the vestibule, huddling into her coat, averting her eyes from the stained glass windows that lined the open, airy room. Her throat felt dry and parched, and her hands were shaking as she made it to the doors of the sanctuary, but this time she didn't hesitate, mindful of the usher's presence behind her.
She entered the sanctuary and immediately slipped into the nearest pew.
She busied herself with settling into her seat, unbuttoning her coat and smoothing her skirt and trying not to feel self-conscious and out of place. When she finally found the courage to look up, she was surprised, finding the room absolutely packed with people. She was not the only person sitting in her pew; she was merely the only one not already engaged in conversation. The collective murmur that rose around the room was strangely comforting, in stark contrast to the swathes of black and gray and the staid chamber music. Stacy felt herself relax, in increments, as she glanced covertly through the crowd, hoping against hope to spot a familiar face.
They had all been there when Ryan received the news. They had all reacted to his loss in the same way that she had – with shock, with sadness, with sympathy. They had collectively made the decision to release him from his band duties then and there, going on without him for their final afternoon show of the week. Surely she was not the only one who wished to be there for him now, even if some small part of her wanted to be.
She had known him the longest. Her feelings for him ran the deepest.
But at that moment, she wouldn't have begrudged seeing the familiar face of one of her bandmates in this crowd – anything to feel less awkward and alone.
The service began, and Stacy's attention was swept away from the crowd. She'd never been to a funeral before, especially not one as large and formal as this, and it took all of her concentration just to keep up with the hymns and psalms and prayers and all the standing and kneeling and sitting. She felt strangely disjointed, as if she was just going through the motions, following the lead of the rest of the crowd as much as the priest conducting the liturgy.
She tried but failed to pick Ryan out among his family members up front; they all rather infamously had black hair, making them indistinguishable from behind, and of course they were all wearing black clothes, as was most of the congregation that separated his family from her. It wasn't until he stood to give one of the readings that she found him; seeing his drawn expression made her heart ache.
He gave his reading in a dull monotone, his eyes never straying from his notes. Stacy's eyes welled with tears. He looked so alone up there, shorn of his usual easy confidence. He concluded his remarks with a long look at the casket before making his way back to his family in the front pew.
Stacy felt very sad, and yet, at the same time, very empty. On one hand, she had no idea what Ryan was going through; all of her grandparents were still alive and well. She'd met his grandmother Ruth once, and remembered her being very vivacious and caring. She'd loved to dance, and had demonstrated her skill and grace for all of Ryan's friends during an impromptu party at the P*lace. She'd regaled them with tales of the glamorous days of the Palace, when she and her husband Herbie would paint the town red with all of their postwar friends.
As far as Stacy was concerned, Ruth had not changed an ounce from that fleeting moment three years ago; she'd never aged, or lost her sense of humor, or her ability to dance. She was that same vibrant woman, who openly adored her grandson and showered him with affection, who reminded him that he was a lot like his grandpa Herbie, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Except – now she was dead, seemingly cut out of Ryan's life just as swiftly and suddenly as she'd arrived that day at the P*lace. It was hard to believe that she was gone.
It had made Stacy realize her own grandparents' mortality. If Ruth could be snatched away without warning, then any one of them could be, too. The thought terrified her, and made her feel sick to her stomach.
She knew how that felt, and she also knew that Ryan was the strongest person she'd ever known. He'd always had a sort of innate self-confidence that she'd envied; he was thoughtful and intelligent and empathetic. He was easy to talk to, always offered sensible advice, and had played peacemaker more times than she cared to admit over the years.
The thought of him, so steady and self-assured, feeling as vulnerable and confused and overwhelmed as she did while merely contemplating a grandparent's death, made her heart physically ache. She wanted nothing more than to run up to the front of the church and throw her arms around him, to offer him the kind of comfort he had so selflessly given her over the course of their friendship.
Yet she felt rooted to her seat in the back pew all the same, feeling like an intruder into his private mourning. She'd only met Ruth once, and three years ago at that. What right did she have to be here, with Ruth's family and friends, going through the sacred rituals of death?
None. She had no right to be here.
And yet, here she was.
She gazed at the back of Ryan's head as the service came to a close, the final prayers and hymns offered. His grandmother's casket was carried from the cathedral in a somber recessional. Stacy carefully watched the family pass by her place in the back pew, worry knotting her insides when she realized that Ryan was not among them. She glanced up, spotting a lone figure still slumped in the front pew, and her heart skipped a beat.
Her fellow mourners followed Ruth's family out of the sanctuary, but Stacy stayed in place, unable to fight against the sea of humanity sweeping past her. As the crowd thinned, she gathered every last bit of her resolve, and walked down the aisle toward her friend.
Friend. Stacy felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks as she approached him. How she longed to be more than Ryan's friend! She had nursed a schoolgirl crush for the better part of two years now, watching him from afar as he grew into his looks and the accompanying flirtatious stage persona. He'd certainly not wanted for female attention, be it from fans, friends, or girlfriends. She'd been content enough with that, until now – witnessing his reaction to the news of his grandmother's death had tapped some heretofore unknown reserve of emotion buried deep inside her. The ensuing flood of feelings – worry, compassion, empathy, concern – had been swift and unnerving, and had pushed her to the brink.
She couldn't stay away, even though she had absolutely no idea what, if anything, she could offer him, other than her perhaps unwanted presence.
She drew her breath as she came to a halt at his side. She laid her hand on the end of the pew, but he spoke before she had the chance to.
"How did you know?" he asked, not bothering to look up at her, his voice gravelly and raw.
She hesitated. "I saw the announcement in the paper," she responded quietly. "I hope it's okay that I came."
He nodded, his eyes still averted, and slid down the polished wooden bench, offering her the spot he'd just vacated. "It's okay."
She sat, carefully tucking her skirt beneath her legs. Silence permeated the air around them, the faint scent of incense drifting down from the altar. Stacy glanced over at him, and then down into her lap. She had no idea what to say, or do. She had no idea how to help him, or comfort him – or if her clumsy attempts at solace would even be welcomed.
Rain started to pelt against the stained glass windows of the cathedral, drawing Stacy's attention. She looked up, towards the window just beyond Ryan's head, but her gaze found his face instead, and she watched as his expression faltered.
"Oh, God," he whispered brokenly, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, "I can't believe she's gone."
She reached out to him, taking his hand in hers and giving it a warm squeeze. "Ryan…"
He gripped her fingers, sending tendrils of warmth curling up her arm. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, swiping at his tears with his free hand.
She shook her head. "Don't apologize," she implored softly, covering his hand with both of hers.
He didn't seem to hear her. "It's just – she died so – unexpectedly," he continued, the words pouring of him as if of their own volition. "I mean, I just saw her, last week, at her 75th birthday party! She was fine, she was great, she was wonderful." A fresh wave of tears welled in his eyes. "She was dancing with her friends at the retirement village. And then…"
"Was she sick?" Stacy asked quietly.
He shook his head. "No," he breathed. "She wasn't sick. She didn't have any health issues at all – she just…died in her sleep." He sniffled. "Her friends at the retirement village found her unresponsive one morning, and they called for help. She was rushed to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do."
He broke away from her, covered his face with his hands, his tears still flowing freely. She embraced him without a second thought, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling him close. His head found her shoulder, his body curled into hers, and she held him, silently, stroking her fingers through his hair.
The steady patter of the rain became louder, echoing off the stained glass windows, as if the heavens had opened solely to share in his sorrow.
She had no idea how long they sat there, wrapped together in that pew; the rain slowly receded, as did Ryan's tears. She felt him relax against her, his hands falling away from his face, instead circling around her, drawing her body flush against his own. Her hands stilled in his hair, and she closed her eyes, savoring his nearness in such a moment of vulnerability.
"Thanks, Stacy," he murmured, lifting his head from her shoulder and resting his forehead on hers, causing her heart to flutter. "I think – I really needed that."
Stacy drew her lower lip between her teeth and bit down hard – anything to resist the urge to tilt forward just so, to find his mouth with her own. "I always feel better after I cry," she agreed softly.
"It's not that," he replied, his breath warm against her cheek. "I think… I needed you."
Her heart stopped, and then began to beat again, frantically.
"Thank you for coming," he went on, easing away, his eyes searching hers. "I'm really glad you're here."
She flushed, and trembled, her heart throbbing heavily against her ribs as she offered a wobbly smile.
Far too soon, he released her; she was reluctant to let him go, but did.
"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," he murmured, rubbing his eyes, red-rimmed from crying.
"I'm not," she replied gently, the warmth of his embrace lingering on her skin.
He offered her a watery smile as he clasped her hand. "You're a good friend, Stacy," he said quietly, drawing his thumb over the length of hers.
Her gaze met his, but she found the look in his eyes completely unreadable. "A very good friend," he mused, sending an anticipatory shiver down her spine.
"No less than you've been to me," she breathed, fighting to keep the dreamy note out of her tone.
He nodded, tightening his grip on her hand. "Thank you for being here," he reiterated. "I really do appreciate it."
"Of course," she murmured. There's nowhere else I'd rather be…