Disclaimer: I do not own The OC. I take it out for walks, but always bring it home safely.

Author's Note: Trying to come up with new and inventive ways of showering everyone with praise for reading and reviewing is exhausting not to mention quite a challenge. How about if I make it easy on everyone this chapter and just say, thanks guys! You know how much I appreciate it.

Need to thank crashcmb, the little beta that could. I think she can claim me as a dependent in April. Wink and thanks also to a TWoP'er who provided me with some feedback/insight on the next few chapters.

Here we go. Short chapter. I can't help these things. They begin and end themselves.

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Best of Intentions

Chapter Three

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"I can walk."

Kirsten stares at her son in disbelief.

"Mom, please tell them, I can walk."

"Get in the wheelchair Seth," Kirsten directs. "You can't even stand up straight."

"This is stupid," Seth complains, his voice hoarse and grainy. He sounds like a 50 pack a day smoker.

"This whole hospital thing has been stupid. Stupid needle in my back and stupid Q-tips up my nose and down my throat and stupid gown that you...you had to wear mom. Need I point out that you too, have been a victim of the stupid?"

"Get in the wheelchair Seth," Kirsten repeats patiently.

"And stupid hospital TV. Didn't even have Cartoon Network so I couldn't watch that stupid show with the stupid talking French fries and milkshake and the stupid nurses touching me in places that I should not have to be touched." He rushes out the last seven words to emphasize his point.

"You liked the IV," Ryan glibly reminds Seth.

"And you...you had to sleep on the stupid floor," Seth's wrath turns on Ryan, "You should be on my side on this."

"Enough Seth!" Kirsten finally raises her voice. "This nice orderly does not have all day and no one is going to violate hospital regulations just to save you from your own self-consciousness. So stop all of this whining, be thankful you're getting discharged and get your scrawny ass off that bed and into this stupid wheelchair right now."

Seth slides off the hospital bed and slumps into the wheelchair. Pouting, he folds his arms around his midsection.

"Don't say ass mom," he mumbles. "You sound stupid."

"I'm going to chalk that comment up to the fever Seth Cohen." Kirsten says curtly.

"I'll push," Ryan offers.

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Dawn decides to answer her phone.

Gerald talked her into it, stayed with her all morning, told her that she was taking steps to improve her kid's life and hiding from this latest thing wasn't going to help Ryan. She let the cat out of the bag, might as well pet it instead of waiting for it to claw you out of anger.

As she picks up the receiver, Gerald holds her free hand.

"Dawn?" She hears Ed Carden ask.

"Yes," she answers timidly. She's embarrassed about her behavior Thursday. The worst part about being an alcoholic is facing the music once the buzz and stupor wear off.

"Do you remember me coming to your apartment yesterday Dawn? Do you know who I am?"

"Yes Ed," Dawn murmurs, "I remember everything."

"I'd like to drive out and see you again Dawn. I'd like to bring Ryan with me. We owe him Dawn, you and I. I want to bring him out and talk, just talk. I'm not mad at you Dawn and neither is Ryan. I know that he'd like to see you. Do you understand what I am asking? It's important that we explain things to Ryan."

"Oh God," Dawn starts to break down, "Ryan knows already? Jesus, he's going to hate me. I'm going to fucking lose him for good."

"No, no you won't Dawn," Ed tries to placate her. "He's not angry, he's just confused. But he wants to see you. You should meet with him today Dawn. I'm trying to arrange bringing him out."

"I don't know," the phone shakes in Dawn's hand, she looks to Gerald for support. "I don't think I can see him. Ryan...when he looks at me... like I let him down, I can't deal with that right now. He always just stares at me with those goddamn eyes and he never says a fucking thing. You don't understand how he makes me feel. I can't deal with it right now, I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"Dawn, you have to deal with this," Carden implores. "He's your kid, you can't make him do this alone. He doesn't know me; he doesn't have any idea who the hell I am. You can't just tell me I'm this kid's father and expect me to clean everything up without you. Ryan and you have had sixteen years together; I have nothing with this kid. Dawn, you kept him from me, you chose this, now do the right thing and help me out here. Or better yet, help your own son."

Dawn starts to cry in earnest now. "Tell Ryan I'm sorry," she sobs and hangs up.

Gerald assures her it's ok.

She did the best she could.

"I have to get out of here," Dawn says frantically. "Ed will come looking for me, and God, what if he brings Ryan?"

Dawn picks up a cigarette, her hands trembling with the effort of lighting it.

"I have to get out of here Gerald, I can't deal with any of this shit right now."

"It's all right Dawn," he comforts her, "If you can't handle it, you can't handle it. We'll go to my place, turn the television up real loud, hang out in the back bedroom. I'll take your car down to my work and hide it in the garage. No one will be able to find you Dawn. You can call your kid when you feel better."

"Ok," she shakes her head, wipes at her nose. "Ok."

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Ed slams the phone.

Fucking alcoholic bitch.

What the hell was he thinking all those years ago in Fresno?

Jesus Christ, his kid had that mess for a mother?

Ed sits down on his hotel bed and starts to sob. Quietly at first, little shudders, followed by big ones that make his shoulders rattle.

It's not fair. What Dawn has done with his flesh and blood, is not fair.

He never cried at Sara's funeral.

He never cried that first night, when Josh wailed and accused him of lying about his mother being dead or when Brad sat patiently on the outside steps waiting for Sara's car to pull up, asking, "When's mom coming home dad?"

He never cried when Sara's mother told him how very much Sara had loved him and he never cried when the coroner asked him if was aware that his wife had been pregnant.

He put on his Air Force blues and he carried Sara's casket and picked out a sturdy granite tombstone and packed up her clothes and cleaned out her dresser and never once, not once, did he cry.

He's never cried for Sara or their unborn child.

Ed is so tired, and he's so frustrated, and he's so sad.

Nothing is fair.

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To be continued......