A/N: My attempt to rehabilitate PapaAtwood. Chapter one of three (I think). Please read and review. No words of mine could ever be enough to express my gratitude to the Ryan thread over on TwoP--y'all keep me thinking. In related news, Peter Gallagher as Sandy Cohen just bowls me over with every episode.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I bring the love; please don't bring the lawsuits.

Fathers and Sons:

Sandy Cohen's phone rings. Nothing new about that, but it's the internal line from his personal secretary, so he puts aside the folder he's perusing. Another Botox treatment gone wrong? and picks up the phone.

"Yes, Patricia?"

"Mr. Cohen, there's someone here to see you. His name is Mr. Atwood."

"My son is here? Patricia, you know Ryan! Show him in!"

"Mr. Cohen, it's not Ryan. He says his name is, uh...James Atwood?"

James Atwood? Jamie Atwood...Ryan's father?

"OK Patricia. Keep him out there for a minute while I get his file, OK? Thanks."

Sandy turns to his personal file cabinet, unlocking it quickly and removing Ryan's file. Flipping through it, he looks for James Atwood's trial records, his sentencing decree...there it is; 10 - 15 for armed robbery of a convenience store. Sentenced July 5, 1996, incarcerated that same day. Ryan had just turned nine. Why is James out already? It's only been seven and a half years.

Sandy prepares himself, both mentally and physically. "All right, Patricia. Show him in."

The man who enters Sandy's office is short, but stocky. Prison built muscles fill out his frame, and his blond hair, shading to grey at the temples, is cut regulation short. He wears what Sandy recognizes is prison issued "outside" clothes--scratchy, poly/cotton blue shirt, black work pants, and dark blue windbreaker. James sits down in the client's chair--lower that Sandy's, built that way to intimidate, and says, without preamble, "I guess you know where my son is."

Sandy, lawyer-like, tries to stall. "Which son are we talking about, Mr. Atwood?"

"You know which one. You think I don't know where Trey is? I know you know about the prison grapevine."

Sandy studies the man sitting before him. James sits quietly, hands in his lap, obviously ill-at-ease in the swanky surroundings of Partridge, Savage, and Kahn, but still bearing an aura of determination. "So" he begins, "you know where Trey is. You must know where Ryan is already. You talk to Trey lately? You're here--that tells me that you know."

James shifts a little in the chair, fidgets, looking down at his hands. "Yeah, I know. That's why I came here when...when I could."

Sandy stills, and then responds slowly, "Mr. Atwood. I'm not harboring a fugitive from justice here, am I? I'll admit, it wouldn't be the first time, but you have to tell me now."

"No! I got out fair and square! They call it early release...I don't know. One day, I'm just working in the prison library, shelving the books, you know? Next day, I see my lawyer in...I don't know how long...and he says 'Jamie, guess what?' 'What?' I say, and he says to me, 'Prisons are overcrowded. Good inmates, like you? Early release.' The next thing I know, I've got some clothes..." he indicates what he's wearing, "a hundred dollars, my watch, and a card that Trey sent me with your name on it. Said Ryan was living with you now."

"What, exactly, is it you want from me, Mr. Atwood?"

"I just wanna know my kid's OK."

"If you're referring to Ryan, he's fine."

"Can I...can I see him? I mean, not...I don't wanna intrude or anything, I just...it's been so long..."

Sandy switches tactics towards questions he's reasonably sure he knows the answers to. It's a lawyer's habit, and it usually serves him well, at least on the stand on those rare occasions he gets to go to court. "So. Have you had any contact with Dawn?"

"No. Well, she and Ryan visited a couple of times in the beginning, but Dawny? She's, she wasn't...the most stable, you know?"

"She held jobs. She stayed out of jail. She made a home for your sons."

James bows his head and says, "Maybe she did. I don't know. Do you?" His head comes up. "Did she? Why is Ryan with you? I know why Jamie's in jail--stealing a car, and he had priors, and drugs, but Ryan? Jamie said she just flipped out on Ryan when they got arrested."

"Jamie?"

"Trey. James III. I'm James Jr., but he's the third--that's why we always called him Trey. Dawny said Trey didn't want to visit me--hell, he was 12 or 13 by then, I guess he was ashamed or something, but Ryan...until they stopped coming, he was always so glad to see me...but then she didn't come no more. Said she had to make another life--a new start. Move away. I guess she didn't do so good...well, who am I to judge, huh? I didn't do so good either. But Dawny needed...and Trey and Ryan were so hungry..."

"Mr. Atwood. You don't need to apologize to me, or make excuses. Trey made his own choices, before I ever met him, but Ryan...he's made choices, too. He chose to make something out of his life, he chose..."

"To live with you?"

"Yes," Sandy says, but in his heart he's not sure.

"Look, I just wanna...he's OK, right? Ryan? He was such a good kid...good in school, helping around the house...he's, jeez, he must be sixteen now. Is he...do you have a picture or something?"

Sandy glances involuntarily to the picture that holds pride of place on his desk; his family--Kirsten with her beautiful smile, Seth mugging goofily, Ryan smiling shyly, and then says carefully, "I'll ask you again, Mr. Atwood. What is it you want from me? What do you want from Ryan?"

"I don't want anything anymore, Mr. Cohen. Prison teaches you not to want, believe you me. But he's my kid, you know? I..." James changes the topic abruptly. "Listen, I got a good job lined up through my P.O.; I'm living for now in a halfway house but the minute I get my first paycheck I'm gonna get my own apartment. Can you...can you tell him that, from me? Could you just...tell him that I'm trying? I'd appreciate it." He stands up, then, and runs a hand through his hair.

Sandy stands up, too, and says, "I'll tell him that. But whether or not he wants to get in touch with you is entirely up to him, and if I ever find out that you've made an attempt to contact him without my knowledge, I promise you that I will not stand for it. Understood?"

"Yeah. Understood." As James turns to go, he says softly, "Thank you for seeing me. There's a lot of people that wouldn't, that don't...well, all I'm saying is thanks."

Sandy sits for a long time at his desk after James leaves, before he finally packs up his briefcase and goes home to his family.