Title: The Chrismukkah Carol
Author: kevo
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.
Pairing: Seth/Ryan
Rating: PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.
Spoilers: Only up to the end of Season Three.
Summary: Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?
Warnings: AU after 3x25 "The Graduates", some angst.
Author's Note: Here's part two! Special thanks to my co, D'Arcy, and my mei-mei for being awesome beta readers. In the midsts of everyone's stress over holiday shopping and final exams and whatnot, I hope you can use this story as a nice little Chrismukkah-y escape from reality.

The Chrismukkah Carol

- Second Verse -

–

"The Past"

---

Some time later, Ryan regained wakefulness.

He didn't really remember falling asleep, so he couldn't be sure how long he was out. The events of his day slowly came back to him: Kirsten talking to him in his office, the homeless kid in the lobby of his apartment building, and, most importantly, his encounter with Marissa Cooper's ghost.

He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the last bit, especially now that he had obviously woken up from a deep sleep. Could the whole thing have been just a dream like he first suspected? It was the simplest explanation, much simpler than being visited by his dead ex-girlfriend. Simpler than being told he would encounter three more spirits, or else suffer some terrible, unexplained fate.

And yet, he'd felt Marissa's cold touch on his cheek. It felt real. Could his mind have invented something so convincing, so vivid?

Little by little, Ryan noticed that the room beyond his closed eyes was beginning to brighten. Was it sunrise? Had Ryan actually slept through the whole night? If that case, it must have been a dream, because Marissa had told him the other spirits would be coming that night. Surprisingly, Ryan was a little disappointed. Sure, it was a little disturbing to see her like that, all pale and ethereal, but it was also kind of nice. Just to see her again. To know she was watching over him.

"So much for that whole guardian angel thing," he mumbled.

Ryan sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He stretched, opened his eyes, and then froze mid-yawn as he saw the source of the golden glow he had perceived. It was not coming from the rising sun outside but from a very different source inside.

It was a young woman. But it wasn't a woman so much as it was a child, a small girl. And an old lady. All of these things. The woman changed from one to another like a hologram that shifts depending how the light hits it, yet somehow was all of them at once as well. She was familiar, too. Ryan recognized her girlish smile and dark, expressive eyes.

"Theresa?" Ryan gaped.

It was Theresa, in every sense of the figure. There was no way Ryan could ever mistake the girl he'd known his whole childhood. She was wearing an elegant, pure white gown and gloves to match. When she seemed as a little girl, they reminded Ryan of the way she had looked when taking her first communion. Like an angel. He recalled telling her that before the ceremony and the way she blushed.

She was beautiful, radiant even. Literally. The white gown was so bright that it seemed to shine. In fact, Theresa herself appeared to be giving of faint glow, like her skin was lighted from within. It was then that Ryan saw the sheer bright jet of light that sprang from her crown.

"Hey, Ry," the strange version of his former friend said with a smile. "I believe you were expecting me."

Ryan stared, baffled. Then it dawned on him: "Are you the first spirit?"

"I am," she answered. Her voice had an oddly echoic quality that Ryan could feel in every molecule of his body.

"But… how?" Ryan choked out with some effort. "Theresa's not dead." He paled. "Is she?"

"Of course not," the spirit assured him. "The real Theresa Diaz is alive and well. I am merely assuming her form, though slightly altered. We thought you might handle this whole ordeal better if we appeared as more familiar faces."

"I'd rather not handle this ordeal at all," Ryan grumbled. "So what are you supposed to be anyway?"

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Ryan stared.

"No, seriously," he urged. The spirit merely shrugged. She was serious. "The whole past?" Ryan wondered.

"Just yours," Spirit Theresa smiled.

Looking at the spirit was beginning to hurt. Ryan tried turning his stare away, shielding her from his view, but nothing worked. His eyes started watering profusely.

"Can you maybe put out your head or something?" he requested.

"You would snuff out my light so quickly, without any thought of the consequences?" Spirit Theresa demanded with a sudden and unexpected anger. "It's not bad enough that you've ignored it for so long already? Your eyes will adjust to the brightness when you stop resisting it."

The words left Ryan temporarily speechless. He had no idea what they meant, but she said them with enough vehemence that he didn't dare question them. He eyed this effulgent apparition skeptically.

"So what exactly brings you here?" Ryan asked bluntly. "And I mean you, specifically. Into my bedroom, into my world, into my life. What did you come here for?"

"Your welfare," the spirit answered.

"My welfare," he scoffed, "I'd be better off if you let me sleep."

"Your salvation, then," Spirit Theresa tried instead.

For this, Ryan had no response. That word, salvation, suddenly reminded him of Marissa's warning from earlier. As difficult as this situation was for him, he truly believed Marissa, believed she was trying to help him. And she said this was what he needed to do.

So stop fighting it, you jackass, he ordered himself.

"All right then," Ryan said. "What do we do?"

The spirit gestured toward the glass doors of the balcony, which then slid open. An icy breeze rushed in, flapping the curtains as it sailed through the room. Spirit Theresa looked at him with her ubiquitous smile.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go for a walk."

She headed toward the open balcony. Ryan, feeling slightly foolish for some reason, pointed out, "Uh, I can't fly."

"I'm aware," the spirit retorted. "Take my hand."

Ryan did. Warmth spread from her hand into Ryan's body. He no longer felt the night's coldness. As they moved toward the balcony, a bright light appeared on the horizon, drawing nearer and nearer to them.

"What's that light up ahead?" Ryan asked.

"It is the past," Spirit Theresa replied.

The light grew larger until it took up Ryan's entire field of vision. When it finally dimmed, they were no longer on Ryan's balcony, but someplace completely different.

It was daytime, and they were near a squat, grayish building. A school. They stood in the playground area. Concrete and metal, not the woodchips and plastic kind. Old and worn, with the paint chipping off the equipment. Ryan knew this place. He knew it well.

"Our school," he murmured. "This is our old school."

"That's right," Spirit Theresa said.

Sitting side by side on two chain-link swings were a much, much younger Ryan and Theresa. They smiled at each other and swung. And sang.

"He sees you when you're sleeping," they crooned. "He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake."

The older Ryan, the current Ryan, stared, agape, stunned into silence. He had been expecting something like this, of course. The spirit did call herself the Ghost of Christmas Past. He just didn't expect it to be so real. Everything was exactly as he remembered it, if not even more vivid. Ryan could smell the pavement, still wet from a late December rainstorm earlier that day, and feel the slight chill in the air. He turned to Spirit Theresa. She was smiling motherly at the scene before them.

"What is this?" Ryan asked her. "Where are we?"

"The past," she stated. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Can they see us?"

Spirit Theresa shook her head, making the light from her head shimmer dazzlingly through her hair. "These are but shadows of the things that have been," she explained. "They have no awareness of us."

"Why are we here, spirit?" Ryan wondered. "Why have we come to this day?"

"You have a beautiful voice, Ryan," Spirit Theresa told him, eyes set upon the children playing. "But you never sing anymore." After a pause to let her statement settle, the spirit looked at Ryan. "Do you remember this Christmas?"

Before Ryan could answer, he was interrupted by a shout from the younger Theresa.

"Ryyy-aaan," she said. "What do you want for Christmas?"

The much earlier version of Ryan planted his feet on the blacktop, forcing his swinging to an abrupt stop. His longish dark blond hair fell over his eyes.

"You know what I want," he mumbled. "I want my dad to come home."

Young Theresa looked sadly at her friend.

"He took off three days before Thanksgiving," Ryan said, more to himself than his spirit companion. "Without so much as a word, he disappeared. Mom didn't get out of bed for a week." A lump formed in his throat. He attempted to swallow around it.

"Something wrong?" the spirit asked.

"No, nothing," Ryan responded quickly. "I just… met a boy earlier this evening. I only wish I had been a little nicer to him."

Across the playground, from behind the swing set, the kids' brothers Arturo and Trey entered the premises. They laughed and shoved and bandied about like the adolescent boys that they were. There was a spark of youthful exuberance in Trey that he never lost, Ryan thought, no matter how old he got.

"Hey, Theresa," Arturo called. "We gotta go, Ma's waitin'."

"Bye, Ryan," Theresa said, hopping off of her swing. "Merry Christmas."

Young Ryan grunted in response. Unbeknownst to him, Trey was sneaking up covertly from behind. Without warning he descended upon his little brother, tickling him mercilessly. Ryan watched his younger self twist around on his swing.

"Trey, stop it!" the small boy squealed.

"Come on, baby brother," Trey said, relenting his attack. "We've gotta head home, too."

Little Ryan frowned. "I don't wanna go home," he muttered.

"No, no, Ryan, it's great," Trey told him, smiling brightly. "Dad's back!"

"He is?!" Ryan yelped, slipping awkwardly from his swing. "Since when?"

"He just got back!" Trey said. "And he's got presents! Come on, let's go, they're waiting for us!"

The Atwood brothers tore out of the playground, arms hung across each others' shoulders, brimming with cheer.

"You two seem pretty happy," Spirit Theresa observed.

"Yeah, and why shouldn't we?" Ryan asked bitterly. "Our dad was back, it was a Christmas miracle. That is until the cops showed up looking for him and confiscated all our presents because they were bought with stolen money. After they took Dad off, Mom just drank herself to sleep."

"If there's drinking, crying, and cops, then it must be Christmas," the spirit mused. "Right, Ryan?"

"I've seen enough," Ryan snapped. "Can I move on to the next spirit now?"

"You haven't seen anything yet," Spirit Theresa contradicted. "Perhaps you would prefer to see happier times."

She took Ryan's hand and hauled him forward. The world around them blurred. Ryan could feel himself being wrenched through the years.

When the whirling, swirling pull finally stopped, Ryan found himself in very familiar surroundings. The place he lived and slept and worked for most of high school and beyond.

The pool house. Where a Ryan ten years younger than the current one was sitting on the bed. A young Seth was sitting on the chair in front of him. They were discussing Marissa Cooper's earlier catastrophe with shoplifting.

"Ehh, it's that time of year, and," the younger Ryan was saying, pausing to take a deep breath, "with everything that's going on with her family…."

"Yeah, no, I know," Seth concurred. "I'm sure it's gotta be hard for her."

"Yeah," Ryan said softly. "I just wish there was something … I could do, or say."

"Did we really used to think Marissa shoplifting was such a major crisis?" the current Ryan wondered aloud over his former self's discourse. It seemed incredibly silly in retrospect, but he supposed they had little basis for comparison at the time.

Meanwhile, in the scene from Ryan's past still playing out, Seth stared at the younger Ryan apprehensively. Ryan looked back and shrugged. A brief but awkward silence fell over them. Naturally, Seth was the one of them to break it.

"Um, oh!" he cried out. "I got you something." Seth twisted around to grab something red lying behind him on the chair.

"No no no n-no n-n-no," Ryan said immediately. "We had an agreement."

"Yeah, but this is different," Seth told him, turning back. "This is a requirement."

In his hands was a large red Christmas stocking with white fur trimming at the top. Written vertically in bold white capital letters was Ryan's name. On the toe there were three small snowflakes. Seth passed the sock to Ryan.

"I know it's a bit minty," Seth permitted. "But, uh… y'know, we all have one, so we just thought…." He shrugged, looking nervously between Ryan and the stocking.

"Nah, it's cool," Ryan assured him evenly.

"Well, good," Seth said, starting to rise. "Maybe it'll meet a kinder fate than your wreath did, but if not, we still wanted you to have it."

Barely able to tear his eyes from Seth's present, Ryan told him, "Thanks," with a slight smile on his lips.

"All right," Seth said. Turning and heading out of the pool house, he continued, "Well, I'm gonna go make magic happen. I feel like my hair's working for me tonight."

Ryan looked up at last to watch Seth go, then back at his stocking.

"I take it you remember this?" Spirit Theresa asked.

The question startled the older Ryan from his thoughts. He'd been so fixated on the moment that was playing out before them that Ryan almost forgot they were merely visitors there.

"Of course," he replied, voice choking slightly.

"This was the closest you came to enjoying a Christmas in five years," the spirit remarked. "And it was thanks, in most part, to Seth's constant gestures, like this one.

"But then Seth had been doing things like this, making friendly overtures, since the moment you two met, hadn't he?" she continued knowingly, like a wise old woman. "He was the only person you ever met in Newport Beach who made you feel truly welcome. Who didn't look at you with the slightest bit of difference after finding out where you were from, or why you were there. The morning you were supposed to go back to Chino he hugged you goodbye, after knowing you for only a day. When was the last time someone hugged you like that before then? And when you wanted to go on the run, he immediately jumped at the chance to join you. He'd known you less than a week, Ryan."

"He was a good kid," Ryan said fondly, still watching his former self holding his new stocking tenderly.

"I think he was more than that," Spirit Theresa said knowingly. "From the day he met you, you were Seth's world. And that scared you, because he meant something to you, as well. So you ignored it. For as long as you could. But you couldn't ignore it forever, could you?"

Before he could say in response, the spirit grasped his hand and again Ryan felt that tug as they moved forward through the years.

The feeling lasted longer this time. When they came to a halt, they were in another setting Ryan found familiar. This one he had seen much more recently; that very day in fact. It was one of the conference rooms at the Newport Group. The room was dark. A younger, but much more recent, version of Ryan was leaning against the table, alone.

Just outside, the sounds of a mild gathering could be heard. It was the Newport Group's "holiday" party. Called a holiday party only to be PC, as most of the people working there were WASPs.

All of a sudden, the door opened a crack. A shaft of light pierced the darkness, silhouetting a skinny frame with a curly head of hair.

"Ryan?" a voice called gently.

"Seth, why are you whispering?"

Seth thought about this for a moment, and answered, "I don't know." He then entered the conference room and closed the door. "Hey, buddy," he said. "I was looking for you out there. You disappeared on me somewhere between the mushroom-leek crescent and the crab and brie phyllo."

"Well, you know me and Newport parties," the brooding man replied. "I haven't felt so uncomfortable at one of these since my bar mitz-vahkkah. People keep talking to me about my starting here after graduation."

"Ah, yes," Seth mused. "Ryan Atwood and talking aren't so much bosom buddies, are they?"

"Seth, don't say 'bosom'," Ryan said automatically.

"Yeah, that didn't really come out the way I intended it to," Seth granted. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not really getting a warm reception around here either."

"That might be because you burned the old office down," Ryan commented.

"Accidentally burned it down," Seth corrected. "And we're not talking about me, for once, we're talking about you. You need to get out there. Shouldn't you be, like, making connections or something?"

"Your mom owns the company," Ryan pointed out. "What other connections do I need?"

"Uh, well, there's the whole social component," Seth proposed, taking a few steps closer. "I know you're not big into the whole socialization thing, and obviously you're not going to meet anyone as awesome as me –"

"Obviously."

"It goes without saying. However," Seth continued, "you should at least make an effort. We're graduating from college, going out into the real world, and this is just what grown-ups do. Otherwise you're going to be sitting alone in your office all day. And nobody wants to be that guy."

"What if the other kids are mean to me?" Ryan whined, in a petulant manner that was more like Seth than it was himself.

Taking another step closer to Ryan, Seth placed his hands on the man's shoulders and said soothingly, "They won't be. You're totally awesome, man. You're smart, and you're actually funny sometimes. It's rare, but it happens. And I'll be right there next to you, like a security blanket, only slightly less fluffy. United we're unstoppable, remember?"

Ryan smiled. Seth had said the same thing to him during his downward spiral after Marissa's death. It was the night Ryan quit smoking for the second time. He nodded.

"They're gonna love you, dude," Seth promised. "Just like I do."

There was something in Seth's eyes when he said that. Something about the way Seth looked at him shifted in that moment. And something about the way Ryan saw Seth as well. Without thinking, without hesitating, he leaned in quickly and kissed Seth. The taller man put up no resistance except a small hmpf! in surprise. A split second later he was returning the kiss with twice as much vigor. As soon as Ryan's thoughts caught up with his actions he pulled back.

"We can't—" he began.

"Can't stop?" Seth supplied rapidly. "I agree completely."

And in a flash his lips were back on Ryan's. He was acting with an assertiveness that Ryan rarely saw and, God help him, he found it overpowering. Seth's hands had traveled from his shoulders up Ryan's neck to cup his face. Ryan grabbed fistfuls of the back of Seth's jacket. When Seth's tongue darted between his lips, Ryan couldn't help returning the gesture. Eagerly.

No matter how exhilarating kissing Seth was, Ryan couldn't ignore the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him that this was wrong. At the very least, because they were in the middle of the Newport Group building, surrounded by its employees. Both reluctantly and gladly, he pulled back again, though not far.

"Oh, God, Seth," Ryan murmured into the other man's lips. He was panting ever so slightly. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Jesus and Moses do I not know," Seth replied, sounding just as amazed.

Ryan moved away, completely out of Seth's embrace. If he didn't, Ryan knew he would just end up kissing him again. He needed to not be doing that right now. He needed to think. He began pacing tightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, where Seth's hands had so recently been, looking lost. After a few swift turns, he looked at Seth.

"So," he said awkwardly, "are you…?"

"No," Seth said quickly. "Except that, yeah, probably. It's a very distinct possibility. I mean, I don't have any conclusive evidence on that front, or anything, except to say that Capture the Flag isn't the only thing I learned how to do at Camp Takaho. I've liked.. some guys, over the years, but I've never really done anything about it. Until now, that is."

"That explains all the Kavalier and Clay references," Ryan opined.

"Actually, no, I just think it's an awesome book," Seth demurred. "Plus only one of them is gay," he added with a grin. Only Ryan didn't smile back. Seth hesitated, then asked, "So, are you…?'

"No," Ryan said, even more quickly than Seth.

"Except…?" Seth said leadingly.

Only Ryan didn't follow. "We should probably get back to the party," he said faintly instead.

"What?" Seth said. "Ryan, wait –"

Before Seth could put up too much of an argument, Ryan bolted out the door. Seth lingered behind, collapsing into one of the chairs around the conference table.

"Stupid," he muttered to the empty room. Seth's head fell into his hands. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

Something in the older Ryan, the one still standing in the conference room with the spirit, stirred. He'd never seen this, Seth's reaction to his mad dash. He only knew his side, how he rushed to the nearest bartender and ordered a seven and seven, then spent the rest of the night avoiding the man he'd just kissed.

"Feeling guilty?" Spirit Theresa asked. "After the party you didn't speak to Seth for months. You ducked his calls, ignored his e-mails. But Seth was as persistent as ever. He wore you down and, soon after you both graduated from college, you were dating. But you still couldn't surrender yourself completely. You insisted that your relationship be kept a secret. And it was. For a time."

The image of Seth sitting alone at the table faded and became something entirely different. They were at the Cohen residence, in the pool house. It was slightly different from when Ryan used to live there, fewer personal belongings. On the bed, a slightly older Seth and Ryan from the last two were making out zealously. The current Ryan glanced at the spirit beside him.

"You know," he said, "it's a little awkward to keep watching myself make out with someone while you're standing next to me."

"I've seen a lot more than this, Ryan," she informed him, smirking suggestively like the Theresa he knew from Chino.

Not wanting to think about what Spirit Theresa meant by that, Ryan instead turned his focus on the men embracing on the bed. It was no less awkward watching it himself. He was relieved when his younger self pulled away.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asked as he tried to keep Seth away from his lips long enough to speak. Which was no easy thing to do.

"Don't worry about it," Seth reassured him, placing soft kisses on the other man's chin. "Mom's busy with the cooking. You know how she feels about the ham. Now that she's all empty nest, it's like the closest thing she's got to another kid."

"That was a really weird analogy," Ryan remarked with an odd look.

"Well, I can't help it if there isn't enough blood reaching my brain right now," Seth replied.

"Is that supposed to be my fault?"

"I won't hold it against you if you keep kissing me," Seth said. "Like, as in right now."

Ryan grinned. "It is the season for giving."

"That's the Chrismukkah spirit!" Seth said gleefully.

He ducked his head to meet Seth's lips with his own. His hands wandered under Seth's sweater, causing him to smile and moan slightly into Ryan's mouth.

The older Ryan remembered that moment. And his heart sped up as he remembered what would come next. His eyes darted to the pool house door. A thin shadow appeared on the curtain there. Without warning, the door opened, and there stood Kirsten. Ryan never saw her initial reaction, being so occupied the first time he lived through it. Now he could witness firsthand her shock and embarrassment. She was clearly more embarrassed than surprised, which made Ryan wonder if he and Seth weren't a little too careless about keeping their secret.

"Oh!" Kirsten squeaked.

The younger Ryan and Seth flew apart mid-kiss, scrambling to opposite sides of the bed. Kirsten smiled sheepishly and looked away.

"Uh, I just wanted to let you know that dinner will be ready in ten minutes," she notified them. "In case you wanted to wash up or, uhm, fix your shirts."

She was nearly laughing as she said the last part, and quickly set off back to the main house, being sure to close the door behind her.

The men stared after her. Seth was, of course, the first to speak.

"Did my mom just catch us making out?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

Ryan, on the other hand, was not taking their discovery so flippantly. He was pale, and looked very much like he was about to throw up. Seeing Ryan's distress, Seth moved closer and placed a hand on his back.

"Hey, chill, man," Seth said. "It'll be okay."

"How will it be okay, Seth?" Ryan growled. "Your mom just saw us – oh, God."

Seth rose from the bed and held his hand out to Ryan.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

"I can't go in there," Ryan said quietly.

"You can't stay out here forever," Seth argued.

Still looking terrified, Ryan met Seth's comforting gaze. Without a word or a nod or any sort of indication that he was reassured, he took Seth's hand and let himself be led out of the pool house. The older Ryan and Spirit Theresa followed them into the kitchen, where Sandy and Kirsten were talking across the island counter. They looked up when the young men entered. Ryan tried to separate his hand from Seth's but Seth held fast, with a firmer grasp than Ryan knew he could manage.

Silence descended upon the four of them.

"So," Sandy said after a while. "I hear Kirsten caught the two of you in a compromising position."

Seth blushed. Ryan paled. Sandy chuckled a little at their uncomfortable reactions. Kirsten smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

"Sandy!" she hissed. Kirsten turned to the boys, her eyes full of light and love. "Ignore him, please. I'm sorry for not knocking, I just – I wasn't really expecting that."

"Now you know how I've felt every time I walked in on the two of you mackin' it," Seth replied.

"Well, this is an odd way for you to take your revenge," Sandy said.

"How long have you two…?" Kirsten let the question go unfinished, as she wasn't sure how to qualify what she'd just seen.

Ryan answered, "About six months."

"Have you two thought about what you're doing?" Sandy asked. His expression had turned slightly more somber. "I mean really thought about it?"

"No, Dad, haven't really given it much thought at all," Seth said dryly. "Why? Do you think we should?"

"Hey, cut it out," Sandy snapped. "This is serious business here."

"Sandy –" Kirsten began.

"No, they need to hear this," Sandy said. "You need to be careful with something like this. If you two aren't serious about it, then the whole thing could turn out badly, for all of us."

"We are serious," Ryan said.

The older Ryan watched himself in that moment. He remembered it so distinctly. He didn't even realize that he was going to say it until the words escaped his lips. He remembered the way his heart was thundering in his chest. He remembered returning the tight squeeze Seth was giving his hand.

Sandy studied Ryan's face. There was something in it that seemed to satisfy whatever need Sandy had. He broke out into a smile.

"In that case," he said, gesturing widely, "this calls for celebration."

Kirsten came forward and kissed both of her boys on the cheek.

"A Chrismukkah to remember," she said.

Then she and Sandy took their seats at the dinner table. After sharing a look, which for Seth clearly said 'I told you so, dude', the newly outed couple approached the table, hand in hand. The knot in Ryan's chest came loose. He smiled an honest smile as he looked at Sandy and Kirsten watching them fondly.

It was the start of something new. It was the start of something wonderful.

As the family began their meal, and Kirsten confessed that they'd already had her suspicions considering the men shared an apartment but only had one bedroom, Spirit Theresa stepped forward. For the first time, Ryan noticed a long, heavy hood on the back of her dress. It was so black that it almost matched her hair, which was probably why he didn't notice it already. She took in the scene before them with rapt delight.

"Truly a lovely night," she said. "You had a family who loved you. You had Seth. What more could you ever need?"

"Yes," Ryan said vaguely. "What indeed."

The picture before them dimmed and swirled. As Ryan expected it would. He knew what was coming next. It was obvious. He looked around the dark Newport Group conference room, no different than it was two years ago. No different than it was earlier that day in the current Ryan's own time.

The door opened and another Seth and Ryan, a year older than the last two they'd seen, entered. Seth was smiling goofily. Ryan wasn't.

"Oh, God," Ryan whimpered, knowing exactly what he was about to witness. "Not this."

"You remember this moment?" the spirit asked him.

Ryan blinked against tears.

"I do."

"This looks awfully familiar," Seth was babbling. "Did you drag me in here for a little trip down memory lane?"

He tried wrapping his arms around the younger Ryan but was not having any of Seth's advances. He looked positively livid.

"What the hell was that, Seth?"

Seth looked confused. "What was what?" he asked.

"You just almost kissed me in front of everyone out there," Ryan fumed. "People could've seen."

"It was an accident," Seth said defensively. Then, more calmly he added, "And so what if they did? What's the big deal?"

Ryan sighed angrily and began pacing. The same way he did the night they first kissed.

"What!" Seth cried. "What's the big deal? Mom and Dad know. Summer knows. Does it really matter if the rest of Newport does?"

"It's bad enough that Kirsten owns the company I work for," Ryan said. "But then if I'm dating her son? My adopted brother? It's just, it's too much. I don't want to be so singled out. I'm still getting my feet wet here."

"Dude, you've been around this company for eight years," Seth replied. "I'd say your feet are properly moist at this point."

"Don't make jokes right now, Seth," Ryan barked.

"I wasn't joking, Ryan," Seth shot back, just as fierce. "We've been in this relationship for a year and a half and you won't even hold my hand in public. I know you're a private guy, but come on! I feel like it's a giant secret or something, like you're ashamed of me."

"You know that's not true," Ryan said weakly.

"Do I?" Seth asked. "I'm not saying I want you to make out with me on top of the copy machine but is it so much to ask to dance with my boyfriend at a Christmas party?"

Ryan stopped pacing. He couldn't meet Seth's eyes, so instead he stared at the man's shoes.

"You're not ready, whatever," Seth said, reading Ryan's mind. "I get it. But how much longer do you expect me to wait?"

"I don't expect you to wait at all."

The words were spoken quietly, but firmly. Ryan blinked twice, as though he'd just heard the words for himself at the same time as Seth. Like the night he'd told Sandy that they were serious about their relationship, he didn't even know the words were there until they were out. Seth stared. His mouth gaped open for a minute, then closed, and set grimly.

"I see," he said. "So is that it?"

"What else do you want from me Seth?" Ryan asked. "You know who I am."

"Yeah," Seth replied. "I do."

There was something in Seth's voice as he spoke. Something new, a deflated quality that Seth so rarely possessed. He was done fighting and, seeing that, so was Ryan. No more words passed between them. None were needed. Seth backed away, and left the room. Ryan stayed, and stood, alone.

"Idiot!" the older Ryan raged.

He crossed to his former self and gave the man he was a hard shove. However, the blow never made contact. Instead, the older Ryan's arms went straight through his younger form. This only spurred his anger on further. Ryan swatted at the intangible shadow of a man, swung over and over again, with no consequence. And no outlet for his frustration.

"You moron!" he bellowed at himself. "Go after him! Go after him!"

"Ryan, stop it!" the spirit shouted. "Stop it!"

Ryan stopped. He collapsed against the conference table, tears streaming down his face, his body shaking with sobs.

"Spirit, please," Ryan begged. "No more. I can't take any more."

"There is still one shadow left for you to see," Spirit Theresa told him.

She reached out her hand. Ryan ducked, pulled back, tried to avoid the spirit's touch, to no avail. The spirit grabbed hold of Ryan's shoulder and they were off again, sailing through time. When they finally came to a stop, they had arrived at a café. Ryan didn't recognize this place.

"Where are we?" Ryan demanded. "Why are we here?"

Spirit Theresa did not answer. She didn't even acknowledge the question. Her stare was fixed on a spot over Ryan's shoulder. He turned to see what she was looking at. There, in a far corner of the shop, sat a man hunched over a coffee mug. His head was so low that Ryan couldn't see the man's face. Only his curly mess of brown hair.

"Seth," Ryan breathed. Unable to look away from him, but desperate to know, Ryan tried again: "Where are we?"

"Last December," the spirit answered. "It took Seth a whole year before to move on after you, Ryan."

"Move on?" Ryan asked. "What do you…?"

Then, before he could even finish the question, he saw. Another man, short, well-built, blond, approached Seth's table. Ryan and the spirit were on the opposite side of the loud, crowded coffee house but he could hear every word that was said as clear as if they were sitting at the table with them.

"Hey," the man said.

Seth looked up, startled.

"Hi."

"Mind if I sit?" the man asked. "Everywhere else is taken." He gestured around at the rest of the café, which indeed was full.

"Uh, sure," Seth said.

The man sat and held out his hand. Seth shook it.

"I'm Chris," he said.

Seth gave his name as well. An awkward silence followed. Seth's discomfort was etched clearly on his face. He wasn't used to being approached by strangers in coffee bars.

"You know, I've seen you here before." Chris told him. Seth had no answer for this except a tense, polite smile, so the man tried again. "Got any big plans for Christmas?"

"I'm not really feeling the Christmas spirit," Seth admitted. "My, uh… my boyfriend sort of dumped me last year around Christmas. That kinda ruins the holiday, y'know?" He looked nervously at the other man. "If you wanna leave now, it's okay. I can understand you not wanting to share a table with a big 'mo."

Chris laughed. "Trust me, I don't mind," he assured Seth. "And don't worry about that guy. I'd say his loss is my incredible gain."

Seth's eyebrows raised at this comment. Then he smiled coyly. Ryan shut his eyes, but the image was already there, in his mind, and he couldn't erase it now.

"Seth brought him to the Newport Group Christmas party," Spirit Theresa whispered in Ryan's ear. "They danced together. Chris loves to dance."

"ENOUGH!" Ryan screamed. He whirled around, outraged, and glared at the spirit. "I'm sick of this! Sick of you! What, do you get off on torturing me like this!?"

"I told you, Ryan," the spirit answered calmly, "that these are the shadows of the things that have been. They are what they are, do not blame me."

"Well, I'm done," Ryan shouted. "Done with the past, done with this whole thing. And I'm especially done with you. Now take me home!"

"No!" Spirit Theresa said angrily. "You're never going to learn anything if you keep hiding from the past!"

"I said take me home!"

Suddenly, Ryan sprang at the spirit. He grabbed her and shook her violently. The world around them became a hurricane of images from Ryan's past. He saw the morning he lost his first tooth, the afternoon he got his first kiss, and the evening he was given his first black eye from one of his mother's many boyfriends. The spirit was equally affected by her and Ryan's struggle. Her countenance changed, shifting seamlessly from one person in Ryan's history to the next without any discernable pattern. One minute she was his mother, then Summer Roberts. She was his eighth grade gym teacher, Kirsten, Kaitlin Cooper, Caleb Nichol, his father, Arturo, Sandy, Trey. Seth. Then he saw it again, on the back of her dress; the hood.

In a blinding flash of revelation, Ryan knew what he had to do. As the spirit turned once more into Theresa, Ryan grabbed the hood and pulled it over her head, cutting off the stream of light from her head. It dimmed, but didn't completely go out, so Ryan kept pulling. He yanked and tugged and wrenched until the hood had completely covered the spirit's body.

All at once, the tornado of images ceased. Spirit Theresa was gone. She was gone, and Ryan was exactly where she'd found him, lying across his own bed, in his own dark apartment.

He sat up quickly. A little too quickly. His head was spinning. Perhaps it was a side-effect of jumping through time. Ryan didn't know. And the Spirit was gone, so he couldn't ask her.

Slowly, cautiously, Ryan stood. He moved across the room as though he was afraid the floor would crumble beneath him and he would fall, helpless. He walked as confidently as he could manage down the hall to the bathroom, managing to stumble only three or four times.

Once there, he fell on his knees in front of the toilet, hard, and promptly threw up.

END NOTES: And that's part two. This is, so far, my second favorite part, after part five.
I hope some of you are seeing parallels between this fic and the original! I studied A Christmas Carol far closer than I would like to admit for this fic. And I hope you like my next choice for character stand-in for a ghost. I've never written for this character before, and never quite imagined myself doing so, so I'm looking forward to doing it.
Another note - the character of Chris is based ever so slightly on Chris Carmack, if only for his Aryan good looks and, let's face it, slight resemblance to Ben McKenzie. the idea is that Seth has a type, and that type is Ryan.
Now, on to the second ghost!-kevo