A/N.: So this is the Sequel to 'my iraq'. I'm not sure about this story - whether actually posting it at all - , so please tell me what you think about it. I'm not sure whether you should read it before this one. Maybse some basic info might be enough:

Ryan has had a hard time becoming a part of the Cohen-family espcially after his father - to whom he had started to build up a relationship after he got released from prison - dies in the Iraq-war (mom's already dead and he watched his brother die). The tension - espcially between Ryan and Sandy - makes Ryan run away and Sandy follows him and catches him. He wants to drive him home, but they both get involved in a bad accident, and Sandy is faced with watching how he loses Ryan. Ryan makes it, baldy injured. The Cohen's way to deal with his treatment - adopting him, and then being able to make the actual decision - isn't really what Ryan wants. At the end some of the tension gets resolved through Ryan's insight that he actually has a problem to adopt to his new life.

The story now amounts in him becmoing more and more part if the family.

1.

We all sit together in the living room watching TV - like every evening. Well, what does 'sit' mean? My eldest son is sitting at the kitchen table drawing his own comic. I've seen his drawings and I'm sure now that forcing him into an academic career would only mean wasting an extraordinary talent. He's really good and his idea of making a comic about his life in Newport is amazing. He's really very creative. He must have this from his Mom - my wife. I still have the feeling that something is bothering him, but he hadn't told me yet. Maybe he'll tell my one day. I have to start pushing him a little. It's not normal that he doesn't talk about what's bothering him. Since…since the accident he's strange in somehow; but I have no idea why. He doesn't talk to me how he used to. He's changed that's for sure; but why and how? I can't find any reasonable explanation. I'll have to start to find out. That's my duty as father, but at the moment there are so many other father duties. I sometimes have the feeling as if I'm overwhelmed with my father role. I feel as if things are starting to slip out of my hands. I have to start to get the control back. It's easier said than done. I'm a father of three children, all with different needs. How am I supposed to handle that? I have to take deep breaths and just don't think about that. I don't want my family to notice that I have the feeling of being overtaxed from time to time.

I have to distract myself from this thought and feeling; and therefore I let my glance wander over to my other family members. Watching them always has a calm effect on me. The feeling of satisfaction spreads through my body, because I see that I have what I wanted: a happy and huge family. My wife is sitting in an arm chair rocking our youngest family member to sleep. Sophie Rose. I still can't imagine how my wife didn't notice that she had been pregnant until the middle of the fourth month, or so. She'd thought it was the stress or the menopause. Her Mom had gotten it very early too. Well, it hadn't been the whirlpool-incident. Sophie Rose wouldn't have been born yet; but I still remember when she'd been pregnant with Seth. We hadn't noticed it either. My wife hadn't been any swollen when we found out; but in the last three months it had seemed as if she was going to explode. I'd better not tell her this. I don't want to add an angry wife to my list of problems to be solved.

And my youngest son? He's sleeping on the couch - cuddled into a blanket. He's often very tired lately and I start to worry. After the whole trouble we had gone through the last months we'd managed to make him agree seeing a therapist. Unfortunately my son had undergone several tests that had proven again the necessity of antidepressant. He hadn't been happy about that, but he had given it a try. I'm not sure whether the medication is to blame for his exhaustion, or the fact that he still has to go to physical therapy three times a week, or whether it is his stuffed schedule. Yes, he still worries me a lot. He still hasn't recovered fully from the accident. I know that his leg will never recover one hundred per cent, but it's his whole physically appearance that gives evidence to worry. His lack of energy lately is alerting.

I watch my wife taking our daughter to bed. My son has started to talk to someone on his cell phone. I'm pretty much sure it's Summer. They're a very beautiful couple and they seem to be really happy together. Ryan hasn't had that much luck. Jimmy and Julie got divorced and Marissa had decided to leave with her father to Europe. It had been obvious that Ryan had been more than depressed about it, but he hadn't hid it. He hadn't even tried to bottle it up, and I think he's now more or less over it. At least I hope so. He's still not much of a talker, although he doesn't try to hide that many things from us. Nevertheless he's still a very private person.

"Dad, can I go over to Summer's?" My son asks.

"Sure. But don't be too late." I answer.

"Dad, it's a Friday night and it's only one week away from summer vacation." Seth answers - my info to know that he might not come home tonight. I don't bother. I know that I can trust my son – both my sons.

"Okay, then see you later, or tomorrow." I say and then he runs upstairs, probably saying good night to his sister and goodbye to his Mom. I only hear the front door shut. Not even this woke my other son. I guess it's better to wake him up before he sinks any deeper into slumber. It's impossible to wake him up then. Yes, I should rethink these antidepressants. Their effect is bigger than I'd thought.

"Hey kid." I say, gently shaking him.

"mmm." I only get as answer.

"You should go to bed. It's more comfortable there." I tell him. He slowly opens his eyes. They're still blue, but they are dazed. They've lost their bright expression.

"Yeah, sure." He says and sits up. "Sandy," I hear him say. It nearly sounds slurred. I sit down on the couch next to him. I see how he struggles to emerge from the trance he had been in. No, he doesn't look as if he's awake.

"What bothers you?" I can smell it miles against the wind when something is bothering him.

"I…see…I know that you want to help me and that you think all these sessions and so on are supposed to make me feel better…" He hesitates. I feel his uneasiness.

"But?" I try to help him. He often needs our help when he tries to express something – especially if it's some kind of complaint.

"I…I'm tired. I mean I have three physical therapy sessions a week and I'm sure it'll pay back one day, but I mean this therapist…can't we just cut it from two times to once a week?" He asks. I can hear in his voice that this isn't the whole truth. I also hear that he's too … afraid to tell me the whole one. Again I need to help him. This way I can ensure him that I understand him, and that I'm not angry about anything.

"You want to stop these pills, don't you?" I ask him. He blushes and I see that I hit the right nerve.

"They…I don't know…I mean I can sleep and stuff…but I'm always tired. I could sleep twenty four seven and… I always feel sick on my stomach…I just doubt that this had been a good idea." He says – no, whispers.

"And why didn't you tell me earlier that you don't feel comfortable with them?" I ask. I'm still disappointed when he comes this late to us when he has a problem. On other hand he comes to us. I should be glad about this approach.

"I thought…you…I mean…just…I dunno. I mean I still remember the last time we discussed this topic." He admits shyly. My heart breaks. He still feels guilty for the whole time. How to explain a teenager that it wasn't his fault that the last few months had been one entire battle, although it had been his behaviour causing it? Anyway, he always feels guilty; and now when Sophie is there, I and my wife fear he might retreat again. We are too afraid he might draw back into his shell. He's all brother for Sophie. He really cares without arguing. We never have to worry when we go out at night and Ryan's there. Okay, I have a little bad conscience. His leg is still bothering him badly and he's forced to stay home a lot. I feel like exploiting him and his situation, but he never complains about it. He never would complain about anything. Since Sophie is there he's afraid we might lose an interest in him, start ignoring him or even kick him out. No, he didn't tell us that. We had talked to his therapist who had confirmed that this is a common problem for kids in Ryan's situation. Ryan never would tell us something like that. He isn't ready for something like that yet.

"Ryan, you need to start telling us when something's bothering you, especially when's something serious like that." I tell him. He nods. He focuses the carpet. I see there's more on his mind. I see that he feels bad, because I start to care again. I don't know why, but lately he seems to feel more uncomfortable when we care than usually. I sometimes fear he might feel that there is some kind of strained atmosphere. What does fear mean? Ryan's very sensitive in sensing such things. He used to realise other people's problems before they even occur. His past had shaped him with a lot of experiences. He knows how to read people and situations. He has a feeling for that. Nobody can hide anything from him. Unfortunately he doesn't share his impressions with us. It could be of some advantage. On the other hand, maybe he isn't aware about his ability. Who knows?

"Okay, I think it's time again for some kind of conversation." I warn him. He sighs. His appearance breaks my heart and worse of all: I'm the one to be blamed for the remains of the accident. Although I try to tell myself it had been an accident – everyday – I can't get rid of the guilt when I see how tired he is, or how he struggles to come to terms with his injuries – mainly his leg.

"I know and can understand that you feel a little…uncomfortable now with Sophie around, but you don't have to. You're still our son and we always have time to listen and help you." I tell him. I have the feeling as if I have to tell him this every single day, every hour and he still wouldn't understand it; but I want him to understand this. I don't know. Maybe this therapist isn't as good as his reputation, or Ryan is just a very tough nut to crack. I don't doubt the therapist's skills. I just don't understand why nobody can help him to become more comfortable around us. Why isn't there anyone making him accept his place in our family or at least making him realizing it.

"But you don't have to…"

"Ryan, stop it. There is no way that this is starting from new. You are our son as Seth is, and thus we care about and for you. We now only need to stick a little closer together, until Sophie is a little older and less helpless." I say to him and I earn a lopsided smile. Oh yeah, he would do everything for Sophie. I already know where all this will lead to. Seth will teach her how to drive the parents crazy and Ryan will take care of her boyfriends. I have to laugh inwardly at this thought.

"So…when you're not too occupied with anything else…could you…" I already know what he wants. He still has major difficulties to walk with his leg after physical therapy. His leg uses to be awfully tired then. A wave of guilt hits me again. He's even seventeen and already needs to be supported while walking. The alternative solution would have been: losing the boy and if not through the accident, then through his fears. I shouldn't complain that much; but I only had wanted to bring him home and instead I converted him into a cripple.

"Sorry, but it feels like jelly." He apologizes. I see how he tries to put as less weight on his injured leg as possible. At the beginning he has had trouble keeping his balance, but now it's some kind of routine.

"No, it's okay. When it makes you feel safer." I only answer and put an arm around his waist. He doesn't always need to be supported, but the physical therapy gets tougher and tougher from session to session and the effect is obvious. On the other hand he can use his leg again, without crutches, but most of the time he still depends on the knee brace. His knee doesn't have enough stability. Ryan has to learn; or has learned that he has to listen to his body very carefully. It had been hard at the beginning. He isn't used that his body not working as he wants it to. There had been some grumpy days and our patience had been extended to its maximum; but we managed even this phase and now things start to calm down again. We slowly make our way to the pool house. We had wanted to settle him into the main house, but he's still afraid of stairs. His knee isn't stable enough yet. If it ever will be is questionable. The whole recovery takes longer than assumed. There had been too many not foreseen complications, but he's brave and he's working very hard. I watch I'm carefully. He's limping awfully again. I have to guide him to the bathroom.

"Okay do you think you can make it from here?" I ask. He only nods. I disappear in the main house again and fetch some ice for his knee. It's the usual procedure. After his therapy his knee uses to be incredibly swollen and I start to doubt his leg will ever recover. When I come back he's already sat on the bed. I can see all the scars the surgery has left, and the thought of having all the metal removed again within a surgery hangs above our heads like a Damocles sword.

"Here." I hand him the ice and he carefully covers his knee with it. He lies down and I tuck him in, only leaving his right leg out. I'll pick the ice pack up later and tuck him in properly, but he won't notice it, because he's too deep asleep, and if he'd notice he'd probably die from embarrassment. He still isn't used to be mothered and fathered. He still feels uncomfortable when we try to treat him like our son.

"Alright, sleep well." I say and leave him. When I come in, my wife is in the kitchen – a mug of tea in her hand.

"Seth is at Summer's." She says and I only nod.

"And Ryan's asleep."

"He's very tired." My wife answers and I'm aware of the concern that floats with this sentence. She worries a lot about Ryan. We both do. We can't read him. We can only assume how he feels about Sophie, and how he copes with his leg.

"He's tired a lot lately." I answer, making her aware of my concerns, hoping she'll understand the hint.

"He had physical therapy today." She answers. No she hasn't. Of course I know that this might be one factor making him tired too, but there's more.

"Kirsten, he told me the antidepressants are making him tired and sick on his stomach." I answer her. She nods.

"I know. I'll talk to Dr. Harrison on Tuesday." She answers and I'm surprised. How had she noticed? Why hadn't she already intervened? Why hadn't she told me? She usually tells me to talk to him when she notices that something is bothering him.

"How do you know?" I ask her. I doubt he had talked to her about this, because then I would already know.

"A mother notices things like that. Besides he throws up a lot lately." She answers. I hadn't noticed that. But why the heck did she let it happen? This was more than a small sign that something was wrong. This was a huge hint, a sign post saying: wrong.

"And you didn't talk to him or step in?" I ask. I'm a little astonished.

"I had wanted to wait and see whether he would have come to one of us and he eventually did. Sandy, we can't always push things. He has to come to us on his own. I think we had pushed him too hard the last time. For him it's very important to be ready and prepared before he comes to us." She explains me. She's right. We had pushed him too hard the last time. She leaves for the pool house. She always has to check on him. There's always the same question: when is finally an end in sight. My wife comes back and carries concern on her face.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"I think he's getting sick again. I only hope it remains with a cold this time." Of the few months he's home from hospital he has been very sick three times.

"Will he ever recover?" I ask her. I need to ask this. I have the feeling as if the doctors are only fooling us. I have the feeling as if those people have no idea what they're talking about.

"Sandy, this accident…it had a major effect on his immune system. Ryan had lost his spleen and one of his kidneys - two very important organs. Think about all the surgeries and foreign objects in his body. I'm sure by the time he'll get better." She tries to sooth me. Her voice sounds tired. She knows that I still feel guilty.

"And what about his leg?" I ask her.

"Sandy, stop it. Please. You're right his leg takes longer to heal as the doctors have assumed; and yes, I know that you're frustrated that they hadn't foreseen the complication with his hip. I'm frustrated as well. I know that seeing how slowly it all goes; that he still needs the knee brace; that he still can't move his leg fully; and that he still has trouble with walking at the end of the day – it hurts watching all this, but we have to stop this here. I don't want Ryan feeling guilty because of anything and I don't want him to hide his physical problems." She's right. If Ryan starts realising how worried we are, he would start to pretend being the tough strong guy again.

"You're right. I only …I dunno. It takes too long. Ryan's supposed to recover from his former life and not…from some injury." I answer. My wife put her arms around me and kisses me. I love it when she's doing this. It gives me the feeling that we can fix everything and everyone.

"I go to bed now. Don't forget the ice pack, but don't take too long. I'm waiting for you." She says, kisses me once more and then leaves. I have a quick look through a new Lawyer magazine and then go to the pool house. Ryan's already deep asleep. I take the ice pack from his knee and tuck him in properly. I feel his forehead. Definitely: he is coming down with something.