Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Author's Note: Girl next door alert... you have been warned.
It had been the best part of twenty years since she'd last had one, but as she watched the minute hand on the hallway clock click excruciatingly slowly round to seven am, Kirsten had never missed smoking more. Smoking was the ultimate second killer, particularly if it was the last one in the pack. Kirsten was no physicist, but she had long been convinced that anybody searching for proof for Einstein's Theory of Relatively need look no further than an avid non-smoker stood next to a two packs a day junkie on their last cigarette. Right now she was so twitchy she'd have settled for a nicotine patch and a candy stick. She was well aware that her craving wasn't helped any by the fact that Sandy was fast asleep in the chair next to her, his head nodding forward as if his neck was made of Silly Putty. She deeply envied the fact that both Sandy and Seth could drop off wherever, whenever. Somewhat predictably, Seth had sneaked into Ryan's room the second she and Sandy had been out of earshot and when she'd stolen a glance inside she'd found him curled up in a ball on the cold hard floor, sleeping like the proverbial log. But not her. Kirsten knew she was doomed to need a mattress; whether it be on her lovely king size at home, a squishy waterbed like she'd flirted with for a few years as a teenager, or hell, even her old, lumpy and more than a little ripe floral print mattress she'd called her own when she lived in the mail truck. Kirsten smiled at the memory of it; that old mattress had seen some pretty wild times, not the least of which had resulted in the log in the other room.
She checked the clock again. One minute past seven. Only fifty-nine minutes to kill until the world started waking up proper and she could start to feel as though yesterday's dreadful Thanksgiving was well and truly behind her. As far as Kirsten was concerned, the last twenty fours hours, from Ryan's ill- fated trip to Chino, to her father's bizarre performance, to Seth's sudden metamorphosis into teenaged philanderer, not to mention her own close encounter with a bottle of Mexico's finest, had only served to show how screwed things had managed to get just because they weren't paying attention. In a few hours, she could get all three of her guys home and they could start sorting things out, start building their family again, but properly this time, so they ended up a functioning group of contented people, instead of three independent units, merely co-habitant under the same roof. Lord knows there was plenty of raw material.
Bored out of her wits, Kirsten stood up and crossed over to the notice board covered with fliers and leaflets hanging on the wall opposite. She'd already read everything on it on her first trip over. On her second she'd straightened all the fliers so that they were horizontal. Now starting ironically with a large "No Smoking" poster, she began to move the drawing pins around so that their colors matched the posters. It was tedious, but a distraction marginally more exciting than examining her hair for non-existent split ends which she'd occupied herself with for a full ten minutes not so long ago. The sad thing was, as boring as color coordinating drawing pins was, she'd actually been saving it until seven. Hence her growing desire for a cigarette. To take her mind off it, Kirsten moved to the water cooler and poured herself another plastic cup of water. With any luck she'd need to go to the bathroom again soon, which would give her an excuse to go for a wander through the halls.
"Can I grab one of those?" rang out Sandy's voice unexpectedly from behind her. Startled, Kirsten turned to see her husband yawning spectacularly.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said amiably as she drew off another cup of water and took it over to him.
"Ah, thank you," he said taking it gratefully and drinking deeply. After draining the water in one gulp, he sighed in satisfaction, "Morning. Seth about?"
"Still asleep in the other room."
"And Ryan?"
"Ditto. At least I think they are. I haven't looked in for a while. Didn't want to wake them."
"Have you slept at all?"
"Are you kidding? I've run through all the states in my head, run through the name alphabet four times, boys and girls, and not a wink."
"Four times, huh? Personal best," said Sandy, impressed.
"I may have cheated a little," Kirsten admitted, before laying her head on Sandy's shoulder with a sigh.
"Come here," he said gently, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her on the forehead, "You must be exhausted."
"I'm okay," she replied. Sensing her husband's skepticism, she elaborated, "I'm sort of past tiredness. Well into my second wave. But I'm glad you're awake," she said, looking up at him, "We didn't really talk last night and I think we should before the kids spring into action."
"I agree," said Sandy, "Although I don't think Ryan's going to be springing anywhere for a while."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know. And you know what I mean. You got any ideas on how to make him take it easy for a while?"
"Aside from pot brownies, not a one."
Sandy couldn't help but chuckle a little, "I always used to love it that the woman who can't boil eggs could make the world's best pot brownies."
Kirsten leaned over a little and whispered conspiratorially into Sandy's ear, "I'll let you into a secret."
"What's that?"
"They were just add water. All I had to do was add the weed and stick 'em in the oven."
"Ah mystery solved," replied Sandy with a smile. "Although now of course, the domestic goddess illusion is shattered."
"I'm sure you'll cope," said Kirsten amiably. After the tension of the previous evening, it felt good to share a joke together. Before the light- hearted mood dissipated into a solemn silence, Sandy spoke.
"We did do the right thing, didn't we? Letting Ryan go to see Trey?"
"Of course we did, "replied Kirsten immediately, "Besides, how exactly do you tell a sixteen year old that he can't see his big brother on Thanksgiving?"
"I guess. I should have gone with him though."
"Perhaps. Or I should have. But we didn't, so there's no point in torturing ourselves over it, because it's too late now," said Kirsten, the unwavering rationality of her words comforting Sandy.
"You know what," she continued, her tone softening as she remembered her earlier conversation with her son, "Seth was right; when he and I were talking last night he said that sooner or later we were going to end up here, and it's true, we probably were. We just didn't want to admit it."
"I know I didn't, "Sandy replied honestly, "I suppose in a way I just find it easier to imagine Ryan didn't really exist before I met him. Which I realize is incredibly narcissistic, even for a cynical old fool like me, but the truth is, I don't want to think about his life before us. I don't want to think about Ryan's family, where he grew up, and not just because of some of the horrible stuff he's been though, but because it's easier to pretend that he's our son. And of course I know he isn't really, no matter how much it may feel that way sometimes. I guess I just got carried away. I wanted to be able to make things right for him, to fix him and I ended up using crazy glue, when I should have used Spackle. I think I thought that if I treated him the same as Seth, then somehow he would just be the same as Seth." Sandy stopped his rambling momentarily, frustrated by his attempt to verbalize his conflicting emotions. Kirsten sat quietly with him, letting him gather his thoughts. After a moment's pause, he continued.
"Do you know what he told me when we first met? He said, 'Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. Knowing it won't come true... that does.' That's what stuck with me, Kirsten. He's sixteen years old; he should be taking dreams for granted."
Sandy looked at his wife, his hurt clearly evident in the worry lines of his face. Touched by the second hand words of the man beside her, it took a few seconds for her to find the right ones of her own with which to respond. Finally, Kirsten took his hand in hers and looked straight into Sandy's eyes.
"You're right, he should," she replied decisively, "And we're going to help him learn how to."
Marissa walked down the hallway towards her father's apartment still trying to decide whether opting for lies or honesty would get her in more trouble with her Dad. She was going to be grounded, there was no getting out of that, but now it was just a question of how long for. She wouldn't particularly mind being grounded; it wasn't like she had the world's most exciting social life right now anyway, but she wanted Ryan to be able to come over. There were things she needed to know, things they needed to talk about. When she'd dropped the Cohen's car off at their house a little earlier that morning, there hadn't seemed to be any signs of life stirring from within, not even Sandy going for an early morning surf as he did so often. She'd even crept around to the pool house to see if Ryan was awake, but had chickened out from knocking at the last minute. Some things were better left until the day had begun.
Thanksgiving had not gone well. For starters, there was Theresa. Ryan might not have mentioned her, but there was no way that he hadn't thought about her, the expression on the face when she'd open the door to see him standing there had said it all and brought one word screaming into Marissa's mind; history. Even in that briefest of lingering looks, Marissa knew that there was a connection between the Ryan and Theresa that went deeper than anything that she'd yet experienced with him and it bothered her more than she could say. Marissa knew a large part of it was irrational; the things that had probably brought Ryan and Theresa close to one another were things that she wouldn't wish on her worst- well, not even on Holly. Yet in that short awkward moment on the doorstep, it became apparent to Marissa just how much Ryan was holding back from her and whatever the reason, she didn't like it one little bit. Deep down, she knew that it was largely down to her wounded pride that had driven her back to Newport so quickly after last night's fight. It was also largely down to anger, even now she couldn't believe how Ryan had gone off on one at her for lying about being allowed to come down to Chino with him. So what if she had? It was hardly the crime of the century. And as the encounter with Theresa had so clearly demonstrated, Ryan was far from 100% forthcoming with her. On reflection, it was probably a good thing that they'd made their separate ways back to Newport. But that didn't mean she didn't want things to work out between them, she did, so very badly. Marissa wasn't sure if she was in love with Ryan, but she loved being with him, of that she was certain. He made her feel curiously safe and wild at the same time; when she was with him it was like his rebel without a cause personality somehow rubbed off on her, yet she also felt like he would never let anything bad happen to her. Sometimes she wondered if she was using him, but then again Ryan was so easy-going with everyone, she figured it was just his way. Perhaps that was why she found it so frustrating when he held things back from her. Hopefully, he could come over tonight and they could talk things through. But before that she had her father to face. As she slipped the quietly key in the lock of the apartment, Marissa made her decision; go for the classic, honesty with a side of vague. So far, it had served her well.
Seth awoke with absolutely no clue where he was. He'd opened his eyes to find a wall where no wall should be, there was a weird smell permeating his senses and his bed seemed to have developed an unusual linoleum motif that he couldn't previously recall. Seth wondered briefly if the weird smell was a remnant of his mother's margarita misadventures until from the other side of the room, there came a quiet grunt followed by a creak and the events of last night all came rushing back.
His senses regained, Seth got to his feet and looked over to see how Ryan was doing. Seth almost laughed at the sight of him; despite the tubes, the mask, the cast, the unfamiliar surroundings and increasingly large and purple nose, Ryan was fast asleep on his side, limbs splayed everywhere as normal and, Seth suspected with amusement, subconsciously trying to suck his thumb. There was no doubt about it, Ryan was definitely looking better and he was extraordinarily glad of it. Seth had joked with his mother only a few hours earlier that Ryan was the burly one, but it was something that they all took for granted. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Seth moved over to his friend and shifted the blankets slightly to cover one of his one feet that was hanging exposed off the side of the bed. Unfortunately, Seth realized with irritation, his new found protective instincts apparently did not come with an ability to suppress the urge to pee so he reluctantly turned away from Ryan and quietly crept his way across the room to the door. As he reached for the handle and gently pulled the door open, Seth heard Ryan stir and turned to see him sluggishly pulling the oxygen mask off before lumbering his cumbersome injured arm under the covers and bringing them in tightly around himself.
"You cold?" asked Seth, pausing in the doorway.
"Hey," Ryan said wearily, pleasantly surprised as he noticed his friend's presence for the first time, "What are you doing here?"
"Well, you know, Thanksgiving at home is so passe," said Seth, as he let the door fall closed again, "Thought I'd stop by, see you, do some good deeds; it's all the rage you know. All the kids at school do it. Makes us feel less shallow."
Ryan couldn't help but raise a smile, "Glad to be of service." He shivered again and pulled the blankets in closer, wincing slightly as he did so.
"You okay, man?" Seth asked, concerned.
"It's just my ribs," Ryan replied, automatically down playing it. He could tell Seth was unconvinced and decided to come clean, "And my arm aches," he added, "And I'm kinda cold."
"I'll go get someone," Seth said, relieved that Ryan was being honest with him for once instead of playing the noble hero.
"Thanks," said Ryan. He watched as Seth reached for the door handle. As glad as he was to Seth, to have that sense of normality around him, the person he really wanted to talk was Sandy. Impulsively, he called out to his friend, "Hey, Seth."
Seth stopped again and looked back at Ryan. "Yeah?" he asked, the warm tone of his voice warm matched by an expression of concern on his face.
Ryan took one look at him and changed his mind. He didn't think he was quite ready to handle Sandy's disappointment just yet and Seth deserved more than to be reduced to the role of go-between. Instead, Ryan just opted for trite predictability,
"Thanks for coming down here," he said, genuinely meaning it, despite the banality of his words.
"No problem." replied Seth, clearly pleased to hear them. He smiled briefly at Ryan before leaving him alone.
Ryan burrowed into his pillow, seeking comfort as he tried to ignore the dull ache of his bruised ribs and the increasingly frequent stabs of pain radiating down his arm. More than ever, he just wanted to go home, wherever that was. He didn't want to be here, again. He wanted his mother to be here, to stroke his hair out of his eyes like she had when he'd been sick when he was little; he wanted to listen to her telling him things would be okay. He didn't even care if she was sober or not. He wanted his brother back; he wanted to be able to mess about on the beach or play at tinkering cars like he knew what he was doing. He wanted to be back in Chino, hanging out with Theresa, when their as yet uncomplicated friendship meant long bike rides down to the park with her teaching him Spanish and laughing at his bad pronunciation. He wanted to be still living a life where his dad was his hero and he didn't have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get by. He wanted to be seventeen, an architect, an optimist. Most of all, he didn't want to be alone anymore.
Ryan heard the door open, but didn't look up. Even though he knew was being rude, he really wasn't in the mood to make small talk with a nurse, Ed, or anyone else. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lonely and his heart ached almost as heavily as his mangled arm.
"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now," said Sandy, his voice burdened with nervous hesitation, making Ryan turn to look towards the door. Sandy was lingering uncertainly on the threshold, looking almost as apprehensive as Ryan felt.
"And I wouldn't blame you. But Seth said you were awake. I just wanted to see for myself. You look..." Sandy trailed off, searching for the right words, "... A lot better," he said finally. Ryan remained quiet, not wanting to upset him again, unaware that the reasons for Sandy's silence were the same. After an excruciatingly long moment of pained silence, the older man gathered his courage and spoke,
"Ryan, I am so sorry. For not being there for you when you needed us, for not insisting on coming with you yesterday and God, for yelling at you; I should never have said what I did last night, any of it. I do want to know more about you, but only because I want to help make your life better." Sandy stopped suddenly and laughed awkwardly a little at the unintentional irony, "Great start, huh?"
Seeing Sandy smiling worriedly at him, relief and self-loathing washed over Ryan in a sudden tidal wave of emotion.
"I'm so glad you're here," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
"Hey," said Sandy, moving across the room. He sat down beside Ryan and instinctively reached out to touch the boy's hair as he had done with Seth only last night, "It's alright," he said comfortingly, as he stroked it softly, unaware just how much this small gesture of comfort meant to the boy lying beside him.
"Everything is so messed up," said Ryan, feeling the inevitable tears prickling in his eyes, "I just want everything to be easy for once and it never is. I feel like the world's just moving on without me, like everyone else belongs to it and is happy and I'm just in the way all the time and I'd don't know how I can make things better, make me better." He closed his eyes momentarily, letting the tears fall, "And I know that's not true, but it just feels that way sometimes, even most of the time, and I am so tired. I'm just so tired of being confused all the time, of trying to work it out by myself. I don't want to do it anymore; I don't. All I want is to fit and I'm trying so hard to and I can't keep doing it over and over, I can't, I'm so tired and it's just too difficult."
"I know it is Ryan," said Sandy, softly, equally surprised and relieved by Ryan's unintentional outpouring of raw emotion, "But you do belong. You belong with us. And everything is going to be fine. I promise. From now on, your life is going to be better, no more worrying. Second star on the right and straight on 'til morning."
Sandy took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away Ryan's tears from his swollen and bruised face.
"It's clean, I promise," Ryan smiled a little, not believing him for a second, but feeling too emotionally drained to care or protest. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he felt like he owed Sandy more than that.
"Sorry," he said, attempting to sniff through his still blocked nose.
"For what?" replied Sandy, "We all have our off days, Ryan. Even me."
Ryan smiled, grateful for his understanding, "You know," he ventured as Sandy as he folded the handkerchief and tucked it back in his pocket, "I kind of violated my probation yesterday."
"Which is stupid, but fixable," replied Sandy breezily.
"Really?" said Ryan, surprised by Sandy's nonchalance.
"Well, I wasn't planning on telling anyone. Were you?" asked Sandy, unconcerned.
"Well, no. I guess not. Except you and Kirsten," he said. Sensing Sandy's skepticism, Ryan added sheepishly, "Probably." Seeing Sandy raise his eyebrows in doubt, he elaborated further, "Not. But I would have felt bad about it," he said truthfully.
"Now that I believe," said Sandy, his tone suddenly becoming more serious, "But Ryan, I am telling you now that handling stolen goods is not something you will ever do again either in my sight or out of it, no matter what the circumstances, are we clear?"
"Absolutely. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, be law abiding. I mean it."
"Yes, Sir," said Ryan, sincerely.
"Okay. That's that sorted." Sandy sat back in his chair again, the tension slowly beginning to leave his body for the first time since his arrival at the hospital late last night. Ryan looked shattered and Sandy could tell he was trying to stay awake for his benefit.
"You should get some more sleep, before Seth wakes up properly and reaches full speed."
"Yeah," said Ryan before rolling on to his back and closing his eyes hopefully. Truth be told, he would have welcomed sleep, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his arm and ribs were going to keep him vulnerable to Seth's verbal assault. Hearing the door open, Ryan opened his eyes and looked over with Sandy to see if the yammerer in question had returned, relaxing when he saw Ed entering the room, carrying a blanket.
"Hey there," Ed greeted Ryan warmly, as he crossed over to Ryan, moving round the opposite side of the bed to Sandy. "Look who's up and ignoring medical advice again," he said, nodding towards the oxygen mask that Ryan had once more discarded, as he unfolded the blanket and spread it over him.
"I'm fine," said Ryan, as if daring Ed to suggest otherwise.
"Is he this stubborn at home?" said Ed, taking his stethoscope from round his neck and warming it routinely on his hands.
"You have no idea," replied Sandy, only to receive the same narrow stare from Ryan.
"Slowly, breathe in and out for me Ryan," said Ed, cheerfully pretending not to notice the daggers shooting from Ryan's eyes as he complied, "Good." He said finally, straightening up and to Ryan's relief tidying the mask away again. "No crackles, no wheezes."
"Told you," said Ryan, channeling his inner five-year-old.
"Yeah, you did," replied Ed unperturbed, "And before you go home, you can tell me a proper history. The one I've been working from has one or two gaps."
"So I can go home soon?" said Ryan, not missing a beat.
"I want you to eat something first. And before that, you should get some more sleep. This will help," he said, taking a small bottle of medicine and a syringe from his pocket and loading it up.
"Welcome to the world of Demerol, my friend," quipped Ed, as he slid the syringe into the port on Ryan's I.V. and depressed the plunger, "It'll take the edge of the pain for a while, let you get some rest."
"Sure," replied Ryan, feeling himself begin to float away almost immediately. He looked up at the ceiling, imagining the hundreds of tiny holes as dark stars in a cream colored sky. Closing his eyes again, letting sleep finally take him away, Ryan heard Sandy whisper softly, echoing his thoughts,
"Second star on the right and straight on 'til morning."
Ta da! Next stop, Ryan / Seth time.