Disclaimer: I do not own The O.C. or any of its characters. Anything that you might recognize belongs to FOX and Josh Schwartz.
Ryan's POV
I woke up the next morning, not feeling any better than I had yesterday; I actually felt worse. Everything was hurting. My head, my throat, my stomach, and pretty much every other part of my body. Everything ached. I couldn't breathe out of my nose and I felt so cold, I could shiver, but I resisted the urge. I wasn't going to let the Cohens know that I was feeling awful. I had to act like I was fine—like it was just a 24 hour thing. I would just have to push through it and put on a façade; a more convincing one.
I forced myself to get out of bed. I had some clothes in here for one time where I had to stay in here. I put them on and then sat on my bed, resting for a little bit, but then I left the guest room. I went into the pool house to grab my backpack—as I did, I realized I didn't do my homework; I hope I won't get into too much trouble. After I had my back I went into the kitchen. Now Sandy was in the kitchen, having some coffee.
"Where do you think you're going on?" Sandy asks me.
"School." I said, trying my best to sound normal.
"You're not going anywhere." Sandy tells me and I sighed; I had to go to school. I didn't want to stay here—well I didn't want to be sick. I don't want them thinking I'm sick. It'll just be a bother.
"I'm not sick." I insisted, in which Sandy crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow. "I'm fine." I continued to insist.
"That's what you said yesterday." Sandy said, obviously not believing me.
"I feel better." I tried to claim, but still he didn't believe me. Did I just look sick or something? Or was I just a really bad liar, like everyone says? Probably both, but I didn't want them to think they had to worry about me. They shouldn't have to. I'm not their problem. I shouldn't be their problem. Why can't they just let me go so they don't have to worry about anything except their work? My mom would have been happy if I had done that for her.
"Right okay." Sandy shook his head, walking over to me. I took a step back, sitting at the counter where I would normally sit like any other day. Sandy was still looking at me—eyeing me—and it made me sort of nervous. He put his hand on his forehead and I couldn't resist the urge to shut my eyes for the time he had his hand on there.
"I'm okay." I opened my eyes and quickly insisted; I shouldn't help him determine I was sick, by acting like I felt bad. I had to seem like I was okay.
"Ryan, do you think we were born yesterday?" I look over and see Kirsten walking in, dressed for work. And now, it was when I realized that Sandy was not dressed for work, unlike his wife. Why wasn't he dressed? He was always dressed—or at least he would look like he just got back from surfing. But it was neither.
"What?"
"We're not clueless. We know you're sick." Kirsten said and I sighed.
"I'm—"
"Not sick? Yeah, try that again later." Sandy laughed a bit and I sighed; this was not going how I hoped it would at all. "Now open up."
"What?" I ask.
"I need to take your temperature." Sandy said, showing that he had the thermometer in hand. Did he have to do that? I think it was obvious that I had a fever. I had even let my body shiver a bit since I knew there was no point trying to hide it any longer.
"Do you have to?"
Sandy nodded. "Ryan, it is just thermometer." He said. I knew that. I wasn't stupid. I could see what it was and I know what it's for. I just know if I let him do it, he'll want to do it frequently; that was something I didn't want. I didn't want them to think they had to do stuff for me. They didn't have to. It wasn't their job.
I shook my head.
"You don't need to. I think you already know that I'm sick." I said.
"Yeah, but I have to keep an eye on that temperature." Sandy said further as he brought the thermometer closer to my mouth. "Open your mouth." He said and complied, hesitantly, and he stuck the thermometer under my tongue and I sat there, with my arms crossed as I began to shiver.
As I sat there, waiting for the thermometer to go off, Seth came down and stared at me for a second.
"Well, well, is someone sick?" Seth asked, sarcastically using a tease-like tone.
"Shut up, Seth." I said, with the thermometer still in my mouth.
"You: go to school." Sandy pointed to Seth and then turned to me. "And you: no talking."
I didn't argue; it's not like I was much of a talker anyways.
Sandy then came over and took the thermometer out of my mouth when it started to beep. "102.2" He read and then put it down on the counter, while shaking his head; I guess that wasn't good. "Not good, kid."
"Sorry." I shrugged.
Seth left shortly after that, but not before he said a few other words. I didn't even bother to listen to what he said. I got up and started to walk to the doors so I could go back to bed in the pool house, but stopped at hearing Sandy, which is what he wanted me to do.
"Guest room, Ryan." He told me and I sighed. Not that I minded, it was actually kind of nice being in the house for a change, I just hope it's not a bother for them now having to give up the guest room.
I went back to the guest room. I took off my clothes and changed into something more—comfortable. I was now wearing my usual tank top with sweatpants. I got back into bed and that's when Sandy came into the room.
"Do you want anything to eat, Ryan?" He asks me.
I shook my head; the thought of eating made me want to go throw up again.
"Okay, but I want you to eat something later." Sandy said as he came into the room and sat down at the edge of the bed. He then placed a cold washcloth on my head—why was he doing that.
"What—"
"It's to help with the fever." Sandy explained.
I nodded, deciding not to fight it. Mostly because it was helping with my headache a little.
"Do you need anything Ryan?" He asked me and I shook my head. I didn't need anything. I could take care of myself. I don't know why he thinks he has to keep checking on me. This was probably just a cold or something. I would be fine. I didn't need him to worry about me. "Okay well, I'll be here all day. So just come get me—or call—if you need or want anything. I'll check on you in a little bit." Sandy patted my shoulder.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." Sandy replied.
I didn't really see why he wanted to do that. Did he really want to be around me when I'm sick like this? I don't know if I would. Why does he want to take care of me? My own mother never did. She never wanted us to be sick or in need of anything. She wanted perfect kids—though it isn't like those exist. She wouldn't pay for Trey and I to get flu shots—though I'm not really complaining all that much—but then if we got sick, she didn't want to hear about it; it was bother to her. She would yell and then, depending on the boyfriend, I might even have gotten my ass kicked.
Well, at least, I don't have to worry about getting my ass kicked here—I know Sandy and Kirsten would never do that to me. But I don't want to be a bother to them. Needing things and such—that was being a bother. I wouldn't do that.
I could handle this. I could handle just having a cold.
A/N: I just adore the Sandy/Ryan relationship, so it'll probably be mostly those two for this, but I may throw in some Kirsten/Ryan as well. If there is anything you want to see happen to Ryan in the story, let me know. Also if you could, please check out my other story I started "I Don't Have A Toothache", if you haven't.
Please don't forget to review.