A/N: Chapter 10 is here! The last chapter was too long, I feel, and I'm sorry if any of you couldn't keep up or found it difficult to read because of it! This one is shorter and more manageable, hopefully. Hope you guys enjoy!

"Should I Stay" is a song by Gabrielle.

X.

Should I Stay

Thursday, January 14th through Wednesday, January 20th, 2016

"I literally do not think I can feel any other sensation besides pain."

"You want me to come over there?"

"No, no, it's late; you should sleep soon. Besides, I think I'm past the point of a foot rub being any sort of help, as much as I appreciate the offer." Marissa cradles her phone between her ear and shoulder as she digs her keys out of her purse, unlocking the door to her house and just barely making it into the living room before she collapses onto the couch, groaning slightly with the relief of being off her feet.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ryan sounds concerned, and she smiles the smallest bit at that, rolling over so she's on her back and repositioning the phone.

"I'm fine. Just tired from being on my feet all day; looking forward to a bath. Preferably a hot one. It's not like I didn't deserve a double shift—spent a whole week away during Christmas, so…"

"They could've at least given you notice beforehand, not just called you this morning."

"Yeah, but it's the way things work, I guess. Sorry about having to cancel." She does feel bad about that. "Maybe tomorrow night? I'll pay for the tickets, make up for it."

"Only if you're up to it—"

"Ugh, Ryan, I'm a big girl. Being on my feet for all of today isn't going to have me incapacitated still by tomorrow night." She tries for annoyance, but really all she's doing is laughing. "I'll be fine. And again, don't even think about coming over. You need to get more sleep."

She finally gets up, heading into the bathroom to start the bathwater running and getting undressed. She sets her cell phone on the sink counter, putting it on speaker so she can keep talking. The intimacy of him knowing she's in the bath doesn't bother her. She actually thinks it's nice.

She twists her hair up into a knot—the bath is really just for her sore muscles; she has no energy to wash her hair—and wades in, taking the phone with her and being careful to keep it away from the water. "Anything exciting today?" she asks, wanting to get the conversation onto him—she'd called him as she left the diner, wanting to talk to him on her walk home. It's not a particularly long walk, since the place is just down the road, but she likes having him to talk to, especially since her shifts this week have kept her from seeing him.

"I sketched some," he admits, after a silence. "First time in a while."

"Since before the accident?" she asks, quiet and sympathetic, because it's easier to say things like that now, to know when to say something and when not to. The change in his breathing lets her know the answer; he doesn't have to say anything more.

"I'm glad," she says softly. "I know it's something you loved. Have you thought about restarting your business?"

"Kirsten's offered before to put me in touch with people out here. I've just…"

She waits for him to finish, shifting so that more of her body is submerged under the water.

"I've been wondering if it might not be a bad idea to go back home," he finishes, and she realizes that she thinks the same way—that home is not quite here, in New York, but in California.

"Soon?" she asks, though there's another question on her mind: does he want her to go, too?

"Not tomorrow or anything, but in a couple months. I mean, with Seth and Summer having a kid, I'd… like to be around. I'm sure you would, too."

She nods, realizes he can't see, and says, "Yeah. I would. I hadn't… realized how much I missed it back there."

"I could tell." They sit in silence for a while, and she closes her eyes to listen to his breathing on the other end of the line. "Hey, Marissa?" he asks once a few minutes go by.

"Yeah?"

"I got a call from Claire earlier today." It takes her a second to place the name, and then she remembers—Claire McKeever, his former mother-in-law. "She and Toby are thinking of flying out later this week. We didn't get all that much time to talk, and she wants to see more of me. And you, if you're okay with that. She said she liked you."

"Yeah, after seeing me for two seconds." Marissa laughs softly—Claire seems like a nice woman. She'd liked her, too. "I'd like to see more of her."

"I'll give her a call, then. And if I didn't say it at Christmas… it means a lot to me that you're open to meeting them. I know it must be awkward—"

"Hey. Anything to help you out, you know that," Marissa says softly. "Listen, I think I need to get to sleep, so…"

"… so I'm holding you to that date tomorrow. 'Night, Marissa."

"Don't stay up sketching all night, you hear me?" she gently chides him, and the soft chuckle she hears makes her smile. "'Night, Ryan."

The next night finds her on her couch with Ryan, drowsing in his arms after a glass of wine. He'd picked them up a bottle on the way home from the movie, and even though she'd sworn to him yesterday that she wouldn't be too worn out for their date, she realizes now how exhausted she is from the work week.

"I almost never use this couch anymore," she murmurs against his shoulder. "Besides last night, after work… the last time was when you told me about Jenna and Cody."

He strokes his fingers along her arm, and she sighs. "This is where Iz and I used to be on Wednesdays. Movies, takeout, ice cream… we used to talk here all the time. It just felt… too weird without her. This is where I was sitting when my dad came… after."

"He was really there for you, huh?"

She nods. "More than anyone else. He never judged. Isobel might've been his niece, and he loved her, but he never made it seem like losing her was my fault. Not like Will and Katie."

"It's not your fault. Never was." Ryan gently tilts her face up to his. "You know that. Don't you?"

"Not always." She sighs and burrows closer. "I miss her, Ryan."

"I know."

"I thought… I thought that if I could just talk to Kaitlin and make up with her, it would get easier. She was right to tell me off. I shouldn't have thought I could use her like that."

"Maybe it wasn't, but don't be so hard on yourself. You still made the effort to talk to her. You did good." He lightly touches her nose and she opens her eyes enough to look at him as she gives him a smile. He brushes his lips against hers and they sit in comfortable silence until she says, with a soft smirk, "Iz tried to set me up once."

He gives her a quizzical glance. "Really."

"Yeah. I think she just wanted me out of the house, to be honest. I took off work for a while after she first got here, stayed around the house most days to make sure she was settling in. I know it got on her nerves after a while, because she started finding places to go around town. There was this bookstore she liked, and the owner was maybe thirty-five? She dragged me in there one day and made me talk to him, and she must've told him what to say, because I ended up liking him enough to say yes when he asked me out."

"And did it go well?"

"Not at all." She laughs, and he kisses her forehead, just because. "I asked him what he liked about running a bookstore, and he started going on and on about how it didn't bring in enough money, so he played the stock market on the side. He started telling me about it during the appetizer… and he didn't stop until the waitress brought dessert. Which he ordered, by the way; didn't even give me a choice. I mean, it's not like I couldn't talk stocks; my dad taught me about finances when I was a kid… but God, the guy did not know when to shut up."

"What did Isobel think?"

"It was actually the first time we really talked. She was waiting for me to come home and we ended up sitting here on the couch, eating ice cream and making fun of the guy. Turned out she wasn't a big fan of his, either; just thought he was close enough to my age that setting me up with him wouldn't have been weird. Even with the date going badly, it was just… a great night. It broke the ice for me and her." She pauses, finally saying, "I haven't… talked about her like that before. Not even to my dad. It's… nice."

She's told him about Isobel before, but never like this, never with more laughter and smiles than pain. "It was good to hear you talk about her. Not to push you or anything, but... try it more often. It's nice to see you smiling."

"Look who's talking, mister." She leans up to kiss him, saying softly, "You've got yourself a deal."

Fortunately enough, Sunday is Marissa's day off, and she's so grateful she could cry—three straight days of long hours to make up for the vacation has given her the right to be off during the always stressful Sunday morning rush. She ends up grateful for one other thing: being off on Sunday lets her be there for Ryan when he needs her.

She sleeps over Saturday into Sunday. Since they'd returned from Newport, they'd stayed over at each other's places one or two times apiece. Having gotten used to a sort of living arrangement in the pool house, the habit was difficult to shake. Ryan had called her Saturday night and asked her if she wanted to stay, and she knew from the way he said it that he just needed her to. She'd grabbed the small duffel bag with toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes that she'd kept packed for these occasions and went straight over.

He tells her when she gets there McKeevers are flying out the next day, that he wanted her around so the bed wouldn't feel so empty with just him. She gets what he means. Ever since Newport, she's started feeling like she wants more. She hasn't made any truly momentous moves just yet, but she finds herself wanting to, and soon.

Marissa wakes up alone on Sunday morning, and a trip downstairs reveals that Ryan's on the couch with his laptop, watching a video, it looks like.

As she comes closer, carefully sitting beside him, she realizes it's not Youtube or any news site. She hears Ryan's voice, Ryan's laugh. "Come on, he's not nearly old enough to be talking yet."

"I refuse to believe that he does not somehow have some Cohen genes by association. Ryan, I've been to the holidays with you. They do nothing but talk. Now, if he had your genes—"

"—which he should, seeing as I'm his father—"

"—he wouldn't be talking at all, I'm sure."

"You said you liked me being quiet."

"Only because it helps me win the arguments, Ryan. Only because."

"She was pretty," Marissa says quietly, resting a hand on Ryan's thigh to let him know she's there. When he looks at her, she nods to the screen of his laptop, where the video playing shows him and Jenna. Jenna's cooing at Cody in an effort to make him mimic her, although he looks only a few months at most, and, like Ryan had said, not ready to talk just yet. "I don't know if I ever said that; I meant to. I can see what made you notice her."

"She was." He smiles faintly and goes to close the laptop, but she catches his hand.

"I'd… I'd like to see some of them. If you're okay with that, I mean."

He nods, after a moment, and she curls against him as he plays her some of the videos, telling her the stories behind some, letting others stand on their own. He's smiling, she realizes. When she reaches out her hand, he takes it, and she kisses his shoulder softly even through the t-shirt. She likes seeing him like this—even if he's not talking, he's being open in a way she'd thought she wouldn't see the month before, when he'd nearly driven them off the road, when he'd been spending most of his nights drinking at a bar or at home.

He goes to pick up the McKeevers late that afternoon, and she stays at his place so she can be there to welcome them. She picks up a few things, does their dishes from that morning, fixes a few errant ornaments on the still-up Christmas tree.

He'd told her the house was hers to explore, though there isn't much ground they haven't covered by now. Still, she knows one place he's never showed her, and she decides she wants to look.

There is a bedroom next to Ryan's whose door is always shut. The air is mostly stale and a little too hot, so she leaves the door open after she enters, flicking on a light switch as she passes.

She nearly knocks into it before she realizes what Ryan uses the room for. Storage, she'd assumed, but then she's putting her hands out to stop herself from walking into the metal structure, bracing herself against it and taking a look. She realizes from the paper tacked to the sloping-upwards surface of the table that it's an architect's table.

Ryan had been sketching a cityscape, she notices; it's dated the 14th, the night of their conversation. The drawing is good, too. She wishes she could see some of the buildings he'd planned, back in Newport—she'll have to ask him to show her pictures when he's ready, or maybe even to take her there, once they go back.

She realizes that her thinking has shifted, that there are no longer any ifs when it comes to her and Ryan—that it's when they'll go back to Newport, that they'll do it together. She can't see a future without him, knows it's dangerous to think that way. She knows now that lives can be lost so quickly, in one shattering instant. Even if she knows it's foolhardy, she can't quell the thought that she has a future with Ryan. That she wants a future with Ryan.

Marissa explores the flat surface underneath the sloped part, just skimming her fingers along it as she goes to look out the window, but when her fingers hit against something that feels like cardboard, she picks it up, curiously. It's a card, she realizes, a standard Congratulations! card you'd get at a Hallmark or a local pharmacy. She opens it and reads the message within.

If you're going to be an architect, you're going to have to have the right tools. And I kind of want to reclaim the kitchen table. So here's to your future, love. I know you'll do great.

Happy anniversary, Ryan.

xx. Jen

She sets the card back where she found it, leaning against the windowsill and smiling faintly, though there's no one else in the room to bear witness to it—just the dust in the air and the faint beams of sunlight filtering in through the frosted window.

"You really loved him, huh?" she asks softly, even if she knew it from the way he'd talked about her, knew it even more once she'd seen the videos. "I can see it. How much he loved you, I mean. Every day, even if he doesn't mean me to. And God, I love him for it. For not… forgetting. I get so scared of forgetting her sometimes and he's… he's held onto you. Maybe not in the best ways, sometimes, but he's getting better."

She never does this, not even when she's thinking of Isobel, because she's still not sure what she believes, if she thinks there's another life past this one. She wants to believe that if there is, Jenna's listening. If she loved Ryan even half as much as he loved her (and it's so obvious she did; she'd seen the proof just seconds ago), she'd be listening.

"He's getting better," she repeats softly, a certain pride in her voice, a hope. She'd really like for Jenna to know that, wherever she is. "I'm proud of him for that. I'm sure you are, too."

She gives the room one last look before she steps out, turning off the lights and closing the door behind her.

Tuesday night, Marissa is working, so Ryan offers to take the McKeevers out for dinner himself. Sunday night and Monday night had been spent with Marissa, getting them better acquainted, and she had taken Claire shopping earlier that day. From what Ryan had seen, they were getting on like a house on fire, talking like old girlfriends even with the age difference. He'd never understand female bonding, so he accepted it for the great thing he could assume it was.

Midway through the dinner, Claire excuses herself to take a phone call—some family problem with her sister's kids; whatever it is, it's important—and he sits with Toby, conversing easily. He'd been surprised at how simple it had been to go back to talking with his in-laws. They didn't hold anything against him, and he felt guilty for not keeping in touch. Some things were left unsaid, but they would be approached in time. For now, he was trying to build their relationship back up from the ground.

"Claire and I like your girl," Toby says as Ryan butters a roll. "I'm sure Claire mentioned it—hard not to, way they've been talking—but I wanted to say it myself. She's great."

"She'll be glad to hear it. She was nervous about seeing more of you, wasn't sure if you'd like her."

"Well, Claire's certainly found something to like; so have I. She makes you smile, kid." Toby takes a sip of his beer, regarding Ryan steadily over his glass. "Haven't seen that in a long time."

Ryan looks down for a moment, smiling at the mere mention of her, staring at the flounder he'd ordered before he looked back up at Toby. Toby sets down his glass and Ryan finally decides to say it—he's been waiting to broach the subject, would want to do it with Claire around as well, but he doesn't want to lose his nerve.

"I've been thinking about moving back to Newport," he says, and some surprise makes it into Toby's expression, although it seems to be a pleasant kind. "Being back there for the holidays… it reminded me of how much I used to love it there. Marissa, too. My brother and his wife, they're having a baby, and Marissa and I want to be around. I could get back to the business, and see more of you and Claire, if you'd… like that."

He doesn't know why he hesitates on that—residual nervousness, maybe. "It wouldn't be right away; we'd have to discuss it, but… it's something I've been considering. I wanted to know how you felt."

Toby doesn't hesitate. "Son, I think it would be great. For you and for her, if she loves it there as much as you do. You know Claire and I would love to see you more often—same with the Cohens, I'm sure. But it's up to you to decide, kid. We wouldn't push you. You've just got to do what you think is best."

Best. It's a word that echoes through his mind the rest of the night, after he's dropped the McKeevers back at their hotel and called Marissa after getting home, after he hangs up after saying good night to her, after he shuts off the light and lays in the dark, staring at the ceiling he can't see and rolling the word around in his thoughts, considering.

Best. Two years ago, he would have said best was the family he'd had, the life he'd built in Newport.

Best. One year ago, he would have said best was the numbness, the loss of feeling in his head, his empty hands, his heart, as he drank his feelings so he could pretend they weren't there.

Best. Now, he would say best is the hope—the hope for something more, the hope at gaining back the love he'd lost. That hope rests with Marissa—he's known that for quite some time now.

Someday soon, he'll let her know it.

They all have one last dinner at Ryan's on Wednesday night, before the McKeevers fly back on Thursday. Marissa helps clear the table, and even when Ryan insists she shouldn't have to, she starts to do the dishes anyway, just because. He actually likes doing the dishes, does them far too often in her opinion, so she takes over whenever she can, to even the score.

Claire brings in the utensils and plates from the dessert, putting them in the sink for her and picking up a dish towel to dry the plates Marissa had set on the drainer board. "It was nice of you to volunteer, dear, but I'm sure Ryan would like you back out there."

"I don't mind; I don't think he does, either. Besides, once the conversation gets onto sports, I'm as good as lost," she says, and Claire laughingly agrees.

"It was nice spending time with you this week," she puts in as she passes Claire another dish, squirting soap onto one of the dessert forks and then scrubbing. "I really enjoyed getting to know you."

"I felt the same, dear. So kind of you to help Ryan show us around, too. Ryan mentioned you were nervous about seeing us—I hope you don't feel the same still?"

"I don't," Marissa laughingly reassures her. "Never could, not after how great you've been to me, this week and at Christmas. I've actually liked seeing Ryan when he's with you. He's been telling me more about Jenna, and she… it seems like she was a wonderful person. I can see where she got it from."

Claire smiles, a little tearily, Marissa thinks. She reaches out and puts a hand gently on Marissa's arm, and Marissa sets down the dessert plate she'd been washing and shuts off the water to give Claire her full attention.

"You've been so good for him, dear," Claire says gently. "From what we've seen, and what we've heard from the Cohens… can you promise me something?"

"Of course."

"Keep looking after him? I know he puts on that stoic act, but he needs someone more than anyone thinks. From the looks of it, you're that someone he needs. I hope to see more of you two together in the future."

"Trust me," Marissa says softly, "so do I."