Disclaimer: All the usual disclaimers apply, like how I don't own The O.C. or any of it characters, etc. etc.
More than a week had passed since Ryan and the Cohens had painted his new bedroom and despite the close proximity to the rest of the family, his nightmares had not subsided. They plagued him each night, coming at him with a vengeance. They were never the same. Sometimes it was A.J. or one of the many boyfriends his mother had had over the years beating him to a pulp. Other times it was the Cohens walking around him as if he weren't there. Going on with their lives as if he didn't exist.
There were nights he woke up screaming and Sandy or Kirsten would be right beside him, shaking him awake with a glass of water at the ready. He noticed the worried glances that passed between them as if they were at a loss of what to do. Other times, he would wake up with a start, his face wet with perspirations and his covers tangled between his feet. Those times he would silently get out of bed, and without disturbing the rest of the family, he would hang out beside the pool and watch the sun rise.
It was difficult staying awake in class, but he remedied that by catching a catnap during lunch and his free period. No one bothered him when he curled up on the corner of the couch in the student center. And usually, Seth or Marissa was around to protect his space.
But that morning, it was more than just being tired. He ached in every part of his body. His joints, his back, his neck. Even so he dragged himself out of bed. He couldn't afford to miss a day of school. One day out and he'd be six months behind again, and he had finally managed to catch up.
He shuffled down the steps and into the kitchen. Kirsten was already there. She looked green around the gills.
"G'Morning," she mumbled. She stuck her nose in her mug and took a long whiff. "Oh, that wasn't smart."
"Are you okay?' asked Ryan. He poured himself some coffee.
"Just nauseous this morning. It must have been the Chinese food we ate last night." She watched him drag his feet to his usual chair. "You don't look so good."
"That's now way to talk to the boy," Sandy said cheerily as he entered the kitchen.
"Look at him Sandy, he doesn't look well. His eyes are all glassy."
Sandy peered at Ryan. "Kirsten is right." He reached over the counter and felt Ryan's forehead. "You're burning up."
"Ryan, come on back to bed," insisted Kirsten.
"I can't miss school."
"Yes you can," said Sandy. "Come on. Up to bed."
"Didn't he just come down?" asked Seth coming into the room. "Ooh, Ryan, man, you look awful. You sick?"
"You see," said Kirsten, "Even Seth spotted it right away."
"I can't miss school," said Ryan, even though he couldn't imagine dragging himself through the halls that day.
There was a knock on the back door and Marissa's head popped in. "You guys ready?" she asked.
"Ryan's not going to school today," said Kirsten.
Marissa walked over to Ryan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine he insisted."
"No he isn't," said Sandy. "He has a fever and he needs to go back to bed."
Ryan stood. "I can go to school, really. It'll be worse if I have to catch up."
"I'll bring you all the work that you miss," insisted Marissa. "You should rest." She whispered something into his ear, which the rest of the family could not hear, but after that Ryan, with a resigned sigh, went back upstairs.
"Come on Seth," said Marissa. "We should go or we'll be late."
"You think it's the flu?" asked Sandy as soon as the two teenagers were out the door.
"I'll call the doctor and make an appointment for him," Kirsten said. "I'll stay home," she said, anticipating Sandy's next question. "Someone should be there for him. Besides, I've been nauseous all morning. I might as well take it easy."
Kirsten went up to Ryan's room with a steaming hot mug of tea. She expected the teenager to be lying in bed in pajamas and sleeping, but instead he was sitting up, fully clothed and reading one of Seth's graphic novels. He smiled slightly when she walked in the room.
"I thought you might like this," she said. She put the mug down on the night table beside his bed and reached over to feel his forehead. "I should really see if I can find the thermometer before I call the doctor."
He shrugged off her hand and said, "I don't need a doctor."
"It's not your call," she said. "Sandy and I keep reminding you that you have to let us be the adults around here. In this house, when you're sick, you go to the doctor."
Ryan sighed. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"
"Nope."
It looked like a wave of nausea hit Kirsten, because she abruptly stood up and sprinted for the nearest bathroom. Ryan could hear her retching in the next room. When she returned, Ryan could tell she had splashed water on her face and was trying to get the sour taste of vomit out of her mouth.
"I guess you're not the only one who's sick," Kirsten said wryly.
"Are you going to a doctor?"
"No. But that doesn't change anything. I'm calling Seth's doctor right now and making you an appointment with him." She triumphantly produced a thermometer. "Open up," she ordered.
Two hours later Ryan grudgingly followed Kirsten out to the car. He was the first to notice the police car pulling up the drive. Mentally, he tried to figure out if there was anything he could have done to warrant a visit from the cops, but he knew that he'd been keeping his nose cleans since he had moved into the Cohen's home.
"We have company," Ryan said in a barely audible voice as Kirsten raised her hand to unlock the Land Rover's door with the clicker.
"We do. Get in the car Ryan."
He obeyed.
Kirsten walked over to the police officers and said, "Can I help you?"
"Is this the Cohen residence?" asked the first cop.
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"Does Ryan Atwood live with you? Son of Dawn and Roger Atwood."
"Yes," said Kirsten, her heart skipping a beat. She was so sure that Ryan had changed that he was keeping his nose clean. Why would the cops be coming here?
"Mrs. Cohen, we have some bad news for Ryan. Perhaps it's better if we do this inside."
Suddenly, Kirsten knew that this had nothing to do with anything Ryan may or may have not done. A pit sank to the bottom of her stomach. She looked over at Ryan whose face had gone two shades pale of white, if that was possible. He must have been wondering what he did wrong, if this was it? Would the Cohens finally kick him out?
"Ryan, honey," she said going over to the jeep. "The police need to speak to us inside. They have some news for us." She helped the shaky boy out of the car, wondering if he was pale because of the flu or because of what he was about to hear.
She settled Ryan on the couch and motioned for the police officers to sit across from him. "I was just about to take Ryan to the doctor. He's ill and that's why he isn't in school."
"We're sorry to keep you. Ryan, I'm afraid this isn't good news. But last night a woman was brought in the emergency room for a drug overdose. The name on the license read Dawn Atwood. Our records indicate that it's your mother."
Ryan nodded. "Is she okay?" He felt his chest tighten. After all the misery she had put him through, he still cared.
"I'm sorry," said the second officer. "She didn't make it. The doctors did everything they could, but it was too late."
Ryan stumbled up from the couch and ran to the bathroom on the first floor and heaved into the toilet. Kirsten was right behind him, patting his back, whispering that it was going to be all right.
When he was done, he sat on the cool tile floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I must be catching what you have."
"Oh Ryan!" Kirsten said, tears threatening to spill over her eyes, as she threw her hands around the reserved teen.