Disclaimer: I don't own The OC or its characters etc.
Summary: A missing Kirsten/Ryan scene from The Pilot. It's an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while and I finally decided to write it.
Intruder
Kirsten hovered in the kitchen, looking out the window towards the poolhouse. The lights were on inside, creating a glow over the yard and illuminating the ripples in the pool. It looked unusual, the poolhouse was rarely used these days. She saw a shadow moving inside: the boy Sandy had brought home; the boy with the messed up family and the criminal record. An intruder into her seemingly perfect family.
He made her nervous, with the way his head hung low and the words he barely spoke. Watching; taking in everything around him through his curious eyes. She wondered what her world looked like through his eyes.
She took a tentative step towards the door, the box clasped firmly in her hands; but she paused again, unsure of whether she should go or not. She couldn't help but ask herself if it was safe to go alone, but she shook the thought out of her mind. He was sixteen – a child in her eyes. The same age as her son.
The sound of Sandy's voice echoed through the house from his office, as if spurring her on. So she walked across the dark yard and knocked softly on the poolhouse door.
From inside, Ryan's head jerked up in surprise at the sound of knocking. He was unsure of what to do. Should he invite them in? Or was he supposed to open the door himself? He had never stayed in a poolhouse before. Hell, he'd never even seen a poolhouse before, except for in architectural plans that he had scanned for his own interest.
"Uh…come in?" it came out phrased like a question.
He watched as the door opened slowly to reveal Kirsten stood on the other side. His heart sank slightly – he had hoped it was Sandy. Kirsten's disdain for having him in her home had been obvious, despite her attempt at good manners, and he was surprised to see her stood at the door.
"Can I come in?" Kirsten asked apprehensively.
Ryan nodded slowly and she came in, suddenly feeling like an intruder in her own poolhouse. He spotted the box and he raised his eyebrows uncertainly. She followed his gaze.
"I, uh…I noticed your hand, your knuckles," Kirsten explained, waving the first aid box as she busied her hands. "Does it hurt?"
Ryan looked down at the back of his left hand and saw that it was still red raw from his assault on the telephone box earlier. Small cuts grazed his knuckles and he squeezed his fist. Pain shot up his arm and he tried to mask it.
"Oh…uh, no, it's fine, honestly," he mumbled.
But Kirsten had seen him wince.
"Can I see?"
There was something in her tone that told him that people did not normally argue with Kirsten Cohen. He looked up at her face inquisitively and Kirsten offered him a small reassuring smile. He nodded again and Kirsten came further into the poolhouse, gesturing towards the bed. Ryan sat down obediently, uncomfortable as she sat down beside him.
She was careful not to sit too close, aware of the awkwardness between them. She held out her hand and waited for him to offer her his own, her eyes focussed away from his face. Ryan paused momentarily, before carefully placing his hand in hers.
They were silent as Kirsten examined his hand, her mothering nature taking over as she checked it for infection. Ryan stared at her blonde hair, wondering why she was doing this. She didn't trust him; she didn't want him here. Maybe Sandy had sent her out here?
"We need to clean this up," Kirsten spoke eventually, pulling out the antiseptic from the first aid box. "This might sting a little."
She felt stupid saying it. Ryan seemed like a tough kid; not like Seth, who would whimper at the smallest of grazes.
The stench of the antiseptic made them both grimace as Kirsten unscrewed the lid. Ryan waited anxiously as he watched her tip a small amount of liquid onto a cloth, bringing it down to his hand.
It did more than 'sting a little' – it hurt like hell. The cool liquid burned his skin and he pulled away from Kirsten's hold. His sudden movement made her jump and she jerked away from him. Ryan looked up, his eyes wide with shock.
It was more than not trusting him. She was scared of him.
She could see his surprise and Kirsten cursed herself silently.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
They spoke at the same time, their eyes meeting nervously.
"I'm sorry I scared you," Ryan said.
Kirsten shook her head. "You didn't. You just...surprised me, that's all."
She held out her hand again, waiting patiently. Ryan hesitated for longer this time, before giving her his hand. His right hand grasped one of the expensive pillows that lay on his bed as she applied the antiseptic again. She felt him tense up but they were both careful not to make any sudden movements as she finished cleaning his wounds.
"You should be careful with your hand for a while," Kirsten said. No more fights – that was what she was thinking.
Ryan nodded in agreement.
"Are you hurt anywhere else? From the car accident or…anything else?"
She bit her lip, worried she had said too much. Ryan blushed, embarrassed that she obviously knew more about her life than he wished she did.
"No, I'm ok."
Kirsten nodded, unsure whether to believe him; but she realised that he wouldn't tell her the truth.
"Get some sleep," Kirsten said gently. "And if you need anything…"
"Rosa. Yeah, I got it, thanks," Ryan interrupted.
Kirsten felt ashamed suddenly. She looked at him, taking in his defensive stance and serious features. He was only a boy – scared and anxious; in the company of a family he didn't know instead of his own. Sometimes Sandy could be so self-righteous, it drove her insane; but sometimes, he was right.
"Well, me and Sandy…our room's just across the yard," Kirsten said, pointing out uselessly into the darkness. "If you need us, we're just nearby."
Their eyes met again.
"Thank you," Ryan said, with more sentiment than his earlier polite gesture.
Kirsten offered another small smile. "Goodnight, Ryan."
"Goodnight."
Kirsten left Ryan alone in the poolhouse again. He watched her silhouette move across the yard and into the house. Sandy had told him that they had a son and Ryan felt a twinge of jealousy towards this stranger. He knew without even meeting him that their son was lucky – not to have the material things: the cars and bikes and computer games; but to have a Dad who was honest and trusting and willing to believe the best in people, and who wouldn't raise his hand to you when you did something wrong; and to have a Mom who would look after you when you were hurt, who would make sure you were comfortable and safe, and who wouldn't put anyone else's happiness above your own.
Yes, their son was lucky.
Ryan pulled back the expensive sheets and climbed into the expensive bed, curling up and drawing his left hand close to his body. It stung, but at the same time he felt better. Fatigue washed over him and he closed his eyes, a little less scared about tomorrow.