"Your son is up to something."
            Sandy glanced up over his wine glass as Kirsten marched her bag into the kitchen.  She swung it onto the table in one fluid motion and started searching through the architectural plans it held.

            "How come as soon as he's up to something he's suddenly my son?" Sandy grumbled.  She caught his gaze and shot him half a grin as she pulled out the report she was looking for.

            "Up to something in your study.  I caught him snooping in there today.  He won't say why."
            The kid never ceased to amaze.  Sandy sighed.  "You want me to talk to him?"
            "You really have no idea why he would go in there?"
            "I'm not the kommandant, sweetie.  This is not the Third Reich.  If Seth wants to go in the study, it's not like there's anything secret in there.  I bet he was just... I don't know, playing Secret Agent or something."  He shrugged.  It seemed a little juvenile for Seth, but that had never stopped him before.

            She wrinkled her nose.  "You think?"

Sandy took a swig and polished off the last of the wine before setting the glass back down on the counter.  "Where is he, anyway?  Is he in his room?"

            "No, I think he went to the store.  We're out of ice cream.  Has he said anything to you about why he came back early?"

            Before he could reply, the chirping of his cell phone interrupted them.  Kirsten glanced at it on the table.  "Who's that?"
            He moved to pick it up and glanced at the caller ID.  "Not a clue."
            "Mmmm.  Let it go to voice mail."
            But something was odd about it.  It was an out of town number.  A wrong number?  Or...?  "Scuse me a sec, honey," he said apologetically.  She shrugged and turned back to her report.

            "Sandy Cohen," he said, flipping the phone open as he moved into the den.  He listened to the operator and squinted at the couch.  "Collect?  Yes.  Okay.  Okay."

            All he heard as the call connected was silence.  A car honked, distant yells rang out, and he waited, and then there was a voice.  It sounded so small and far away.  So uncertain.  "Mr. Cohen?"
            He squinted again.  It couldn't be, but it was.  "This is he."  The voice lacked all the cockiness, all the smartass attitude, but there was no denying it.  He'd known before he even heard it.

            "Mr Cohen..."  Uncertainty, fear, anxiety, all in one spoken name.  The voice of a bright kid in a bad circumstance that had gotten worse.  But he couldn't call the voice on that.  Not yet.  "This is Ryan... Ryan Atwood, I... you were representing me, the thing about the car?"
            Sandy's heart just about fell out of its place in his chest.  "Of course.  Ryan.  How could I forget?"  He wanted to fire off all of the questions he'd had for weeks.  Where the hell are you?  What happened?  Are you okay?  Why did you leave?  But he knew it would be asking for trouble.  Instead, he listened.

            "I was just calling cause, I had your number, and I was thinkin'..."  Ryan's voice trailed off.

            "Think away," Sandy said, fighting to keep his voice steady and patient.  The kid was losing his nerve.  He had to keep him on the line.  It was all he could do not to shoot back, Why the hell didn't you call sooner?  Of course I'm the right person to call!  But he pushed the reaction down.

            "I need..."  Again, silence.  Ryan made a noise as if he was choking.  "I need to talk to Seth."
            Sandy fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it.  He caught it just before he hit the floor.  He straightened back up.  "S - Seth?"
            "Your son," Ryan pressed.

            "I know he's my son, how did y-?"
            "Fate?  Destiny?  I dunno, don't care, just want to go home-"  The sentence seemed to catch halfway through, stuck in mid-air.  Something was very, very wrong.

            "Seth," Sandy said again slowly.

            "Please?  Mr. Cohen?  I – I don't know..."
            "He's not here."  Sandy hesitated.  "Well.  I can give you his cell."

            "Yeah?"

            "Okay.  You got a pen?"
            "No.  But-"  Ryan breathed a shuddering sigh.  "I'll remember."

*

            Ryan stared at the phone.  For a long time.  It didn't bite.  That was good.  Real good.

            He heard the thunder in the distance.  A storm was coming.  The humidity was oppressive.  The water was ready to break.

            Automatically, his fingers started to press the series of numbers, one right after the other, each one bringing him closer to his fate.  There was no use fighting it anymore.

            "Please state your name."
            "Ry – uh, I mean, this is Bike, um, hey."
            Was it too long?  He listened closely.

            The phone rang.  He held his breath.

            "Hello?"
            "Will you accept a collect call from 'Ry – uh, I mean this is Bike, um, hey,'?"

            "Ryan?  Bike?  Yeah.  Definitely.  I mean..."  Click.  "Ryan?  Is that you?"
            Ryan clutched the phone tightly.  "It's me.  Hey."
            "How-?"
            "Your dad.  Gave me your number."
            "Cool.  I mean, more than cool, awesome, uh, dude?  Are you okay?"
            It took everything he had to fight it.  To tell Seth the truth.

            "No."  He heard his own voice shaking and hated himself for being so weak.  But this was him, this was Ryan, this was what he had to work with.

            "Where are you?  I'll come pick you up."
            Ryan heard the note of concern in his voice.  Something stung his eyes and his throat.  "San Diego, I think.  I guess."

            "Tell me where.  I'm coming for you."
            Ryan took a deep breath and stared up at the clouds gathering overhead.

*

            Seth stared out at the headlights reflecting off the wet ground.  It wasn't much farther.  Soon they'd find him again.

            "So you're probably wondering how me and Ryan met," Seth said, resigned.  He fingered the dashboard in front of him as one of his father's massive eyebrows shot up, and pressed on.  "I couldn't, I mean he didn't want me to tell you, but now that you know, I guess it's okay-"

            "Seth," Sandy said, cutting him off.  "It's okay.  Really."
            They sat there in silence for a moment, the windshield wipers stroking back and forth just off the beat of the Bright Eyes song.

            "I wanted to tell you," Seth said at last, quietly.

            "I believe you."
            "There's something about him, Dad.  I mean, you see people all the time and sometimes, yeah, maybe they do need help, but I never felt like I had to stop and pick them up-"

            "Wait," Sandy said, glancing over.  "How did you two meet?"
            "He was hitchhiking, I picked him up-"
            "You what?" Sandy asked, alarmed, then sighed.  "Do me a favor and do not tell your mother."
            "Deal," Seth said, relieved.

            There was silence for a moment.  "You're right," Sandy finally said.  "You wouldn't know this, but I see a lot of Ryans.  Every day of my life.  And this one?"  He glanced at Seth.  "He's not like the others."
            "So.  What happens to him now?"
            "Well, he'll probably go to a residence for a few days until we can figure out where his mother went.  Hopefully we can get him home again."
            "Yeah.  Okay.  You think that's what he wants?"
            Sandy shot his son a sad smile.  "Welcome to my world."
            Seth twisted in his seat.  "Can't we do something?  Like, bring him home?  I mean, with us.  We've got room."
            "Oh.  Your mother would love that."
            Seth scratched his head.  "I just want him to have a happy ending is all."
            Sandy's head tilted to the side as he contemplated this for a moment.

            "Okay, hey, hey, hey, there it is," Seth said, leaning forward and pointing.  "The Super Wal-Mart, I think that's where he is."

            Sandy stopped the car just inside the entrance to the Super Wal-Mart parking lot.

            "Uh, Dad?" Seth leaned forward.  "What are you doing?  I see him.  He's way over there."  He pointed across the parking lot.

            Sandy turned to him.  "You go.  I'll catch up."
            "Me?  Alone?"
            Sandy nodded.  "This kid trusts you a hell of a lot more than he trusts me."  He grinned at him.  "So you get to be the advance team."
            "What do I do?"  Seth sputtered.  "What do I say?  I already scared him off once"
            "Just be Seth Cohen."  He shrugged.  "It's worked for you so far."
            Seth shot him an apprehensive look before scooting out of the car.  He loped across the parking lot in the drizzling rain, past mothers and screaming toddlers and umbrellas and minivans and trucks and shopping carts and streetlights reflected in puddles until he was ten feet behind Bike, his curls matted down from the wet rain, water stinging at his face.

            He stared at Bike, who was in turn staring forlornly at the gumball machines.  Seth felt a sudden, strange fury rising up in himself, and realized all at once that a sad Bike wasn't what he'd wanted to see.  After all, he'd driven all the way home alone, and all the way back with Sandy, and he was the one who should be said, cause after all, Bike-or-Ryan had left him.

            He wasn't sure what to say.  And so he stood there and watched.