Title: conversations we never had
Author: Cath
Disclaimer: Characters, etc, do not belong to me.
Summary: conversations that they never had in words (Ryan/Kirsten)
Spoilers: Series one: The Gamble
Notes: I always really enjoyed watching the interaction between Ryan and Kirsten, but there was never enough to satisfy me. So I started mulling over a few ideas and unfortunately they were adamant that they would be written. I apologise for this.
Reviews are always gratefully received.
I have plans for another four scenes/ficlets, so let me know if you're interested in reading more.
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Who has words at the right moment?
Charlotte Bronte
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They are, neither of them, people of many words. The words they do have are usually carefully chosen, measured, and consequently often hold more weight and meaning in a few short sentences than the ramblings of Seth or Sandy.
But at this moment, neither of them can think of the appropriate words to use.
Kirsten stands there, transfixed, watching the scene play out before her, unable to intervene.
Dawn gives one final wave of her hand, mirrored weakly by Ryan's, before she turns and leaves him for good.
And then, in silence, Kirsten is left standing there with Ryan.
A thousand words run through her head but they do not weave themselves into a sentence. She cannot focus enough to form even the most simple of comforting phrases; those words which come to mind are woefully inadequate. How? Why? Can't. Sorry.
And then she looks at him; sees the raw emotion on his face that is rarely, if ever, portrayed to the world. He looks vulnerable, younger than his age, and her heart begins to break.
He looks up at her eyes as if only just realising that she is standing there. And she reads some of the urgent questions that his eyes ask: Why? What? How? Mom?
They are questions she cannot answer and she feels the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, the aching at the back of her throat as she tries to swallow the lump that presents itself. And she knows that her face can only give the answer of: I don't know. I don't know and I'm sorry.
There is a slight change in his expression and she can see him trying to regain control of his emotions; she takes a deep breath as she observes his struggle to put in place his face of indifference.
Her mothering instinct starts to take over and she wants so desperately to hug him right now, to tell him that everything will be okay. But it won't and his expression and body language tells her to leave him alone.
And then she chokes out the only word she can manage: "Ryan." It is strained, emotional, uncontrolled. It reverberates through the silence. And it seems to shock him to hear his name.
His eyes beg of her the question: what now?
She can see the thoughts running at a thousand miles an hour through his head; a hundred crazy ideas when there is only one obvious answer.
She takes another deep breath, a step forward, a weak smile creeping itself onto her face. I'll make this right, it tells him.
His quizzical expression questions her: really? He tries to force away any notion of hope.
But she walks a step closer, her smile grows slightly stronger, and is accompanied by a brief nod: really.
He looks lost, like a child, desperately in need of mothering. And this time she cannot suppress her urges.
Awkwardly at first, she moves closer, pulls him into a hug; God, how the kid needs it. He stands there, distraught, unyielding in her embrace, but she doesn't pull back. Her hand rubs soothingly across his back.
She is not all those things Dawn attributed to her, but she knows that she must become them; Ryan deserves it.
She pulls back from him, her hand on his arm. "Come live with us," she says quietly, but firmly, sincerely.
A pause and she cannot read this expression.
"Okay," the wavering un-Ryan-like voice replies. And he allows himself to give a slight smile.
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end part one
