Author's Notes: This is a simple read about Seth, with no symbolism or meaning, and probably a very OOC Luke. It's set before 'The Outsider', but after 'The Model Home'. I just wrote this for fun - any reviews/comments are always welcome. Oh, and for anyone who's interested, I sail on the SS SethSummer. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: If I owned the show, I'd change quite a few things - but (un)fortunately, I don't. That happy pleasure belongs to Josh Schwartz.
Dedication: For everyone at the OCFanfiction group. You guys rule, and write some great stuff to boot!
"We're left with nothing. And nothing's what you've got when you ain't got no-one." -: 'Nothing', by 'A'
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Nothing
By Flick-chan
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Four grey walls. That was all that stood between Seth Cohen, and freedom.
Freedom that he deserved. Freedom that he was entitled to. But most of all, freedom that he bitterly craved.
After rotting in one of Orange County's police cells for almost three weeks, Seth's patience, as well as his resilience, was beginning to wear a bit thin. All he'd had to stare at were masses of grey…blank and foul sheets of murky colour in every direction.
Often, he'd wondered how his mother would have decorated them. She might not have been an interior designer, but Kirsten Cohen had an eye for sharpness, and it was one thing that Seth was proud to have inherited from her.
Come to think on it, he didn't shape up too badly in the genes department. His father's brains, his mother's preference for detail. If he hadn't grown up surrounded by money and values, he'd have made a damn good bank robber.
Of course, he was a criminal now, anyway. Or at least, he was in the eyes of the state police.
He thought back to the day when he'd been arrested. The day where the justice system that his father praised for its fairness had gone badly wrong. But this was America; and things were always turned around in the land of the free.
Free. Everything related back to that word.
Free love. Something that the hippies believed in, throughout the war of Vietnam. Seth reckoned that his parents had probably been born from some free love or another - no doubt two teenagers bonking in the back of some bus parked far off in the mountains of Montana.
So why couldn't he have that? Why couldn't he love a girl, without being accused of rape?
"I didn't even do anything with her!" he exclaimed aloud, crumpling his fist into a ball. "All we did was sit and talk: not something that Ryan would be proud of, but there you go. The geek that is Seth Cohen in a nutshell."
Although he had no idea who had raped Summer, he was quite clear on one thing. It most definitely hadn't been him. They might have found his boxers on the carpet, and traces of alcohol in his system, but he could never have hurt her - he loved her too much for that.
He loved the way that her hair fell about her shoulders in untimely waves, making them seem like something that belonged to Aphrodite, and not two pinched and self tanned peaks of bone. He loved the softness of her eyes, and the way they would crinkle up when she laughed or smiled. The creamy texture of her cheeks, and the idea that their skin cells would merely melt like butter in his hand as soon as he laid a gentle finger upon them.
Yes, he loved Summer Roberts - but he would be hard pressed to ensure that the prosecution didn't find out about his thoughts; the whole of California knew how he felt. For as intimate and beautifully tender as they where, Seth was no fool. His observation could be seen as nothing less than stalking, and that would completely damage his chances of ever seeing the woman of his dreams again. That was, of course, if she believed in his innocence.
And there was nothing that Seth doubted more in the world than the judgement of Summer. She might be a good, kind hearted person deep down, but she was always more than ready to jump on any passing bandwagon - including the one that could perhaps, condemn him to death.
Obviously not actual death, but metaphorical death. If he was convicted of rape, Seth would never be able to show his face in Orange County again - once he got out of prison, of course - and neither would his family. His father would be sacked, and his mother would resign. He'd bring shame on the family name, and sentence them all to financial ruin. Not even Ryan would escape - after all, what woman would want to go near a man who had a convicted rapist for a brother? Not very many, Seth was willing to wager.
And to top off all of the injustice and the worry, and the confusion, Seth was scared. He had to believe that his solicitor could present a watertight case - but what if he couldn't? What if the prosecution broke him down on questioning, took his stutters and his mumbles for guilt? The jury would convict him, and he'd spend the rest of his young life behind bars, part of the system that he hated so much.
He understood now why Ryan hadn't wanted to go into care. The insecurity, and inevitability that no-one would want you was far too much to bare; especially for Seth. He'd led a sheltered life, brought up by both parents. He'd never gone without, and, being an only child, was used to having things his own way. How was he going to survive inside? Against all the heavies who would be baying for his blood?
No. He wouldn't be found guilty. He couldn't allow himself to think like that.
That was the trouble with having four grey walls for company; all you had was time. Time to think, and ponder. About what you wanted, and what you didn't. What could happen, and what might not. It was enough to break a man of even the most composed and confident nature, and by right, Seth wasn't like that. He was alone, and naïve - thinking that in a just world, he would prevail, and that everyone was behind him.
But he was wrong. All he had was himself, and if he couldn't depend on that, then he was going to fall, and fall hard.
"You have a visitor, Cohen."
Seth scarcely dared to look up at the fat synthetic triangle of light that had coloured in the patches of grey - both on the walls, and in his mind. He had craved variation and stimulus for so long. Now all he wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep. Let the decision pass over his ears like a crane on the waters of the Pacific.
"What's wrong? Not want to see me, geek boy?"
It was Luke.
Seth groaned. If there was anyone he wanted to see less than the prosecutor right now, it was him. Jock. Captain of the football team. And jerk extraordinaire. "Hello," he grumbled, forcing his eyes down toward the floor. There wasn't much else to look at in the room - a table, chair, and doorframe filled the rest of the death tainted space.
Luke closed the door behind him. "Well?" he glanced at Seth expectantly, although his gaze still stared resolutely at the floor. "Where do expect me to sit? Get off of that chair, Cohen," he demanded.
If Seth's short spell in prison had taught him anything, it was not to give into other people. "No," he replied flatly. "If you're so desperate to see me, you can sit over there." He point to a cobwebbed sheathed corner of the room. "Way over there."
"Fine." Luke threw up his hands in exasperation. "Whatever. I'll just stand."
Steeling himself, Seth raised an eyebrow, and then finally his whole head. "Why did you come here?" he said finally, throwing a disgusted glance in Luke's direction. "Come to gloat about the fact that I'm in here, and you're out on the pull - getting down on anything that wears a skirt?"
"Temper, temper, Cohen." Luke lowered his head to meet Seth's gaze. "I haven't sunk as far as your mother. Well - " he paused, "not yet, anyway." He waved a dismissive hand. "But that's not why I came."
"Why did you?" repeated Seth.
"To taunt you, of course." Luke's wicked smile reached up into his eyes, and Seth bore no illusions that he had any sort of sympathy whatsoever. "What you did to Summer was evil - do you know what they do to monsters in there? You've only been in minimum security - the place for rapists is so much worse." He looked Seth up and down. "You'll be on your hands and knees begging for mercy before the day's out."
Seth composed himself. "I know what it's like in there," he said slowly. "My dad's a public defender, for God's sake. He's told me all the stories; of razor blades and baseball bats. And Ryan's been banged up a couple of times - I'm not totally clueless. Don't try to shit me and pretend you know more about life inside than I do - 'cos you don't."
"You fucking idiot." Luke gripped his hands on Seth's shoulder blades, digging into the soft, regularly masseused skin. "Ryan was in isolation, and your dad's never done any time. Neither of them have seen what jail is like. One night in there almost made me go completely mad." Luke grinned. "And if that was enough to defeat me - imagine what it'll do to you."
"I'm not scared," Seth replied defiantly. But it was fairly obvious to even Luke that he was lying. All the brains in the world couldn't hide the empty, hollow look in his eyes. And it was growing by the second.
"You might not be now," whispered Luke, searching further into the depths of Seth's eyes. "But you soon will be." He chuckled. "A pretty boy like you? I'll bet you're sucking before your first meal."
He had gone too far. Seth leapt out of his chair, and it seemed like an animal had taken over his senses as he pressed Luke's back hard against the wall. "Get out," he hissed, hands around Luke's neck. And then he let go, falling backward. What had he just done? The thirst, the urge to kill had pumped through his blood like a regular emotion. He was nothing more than scum…reduced to violence to defend his already whittling force of life.
Coughing, Luke massaged his skin. "You're a madman," he spluttered, "I'll be telling the prosecution about this - make no mistake." He inhaled again, this time louder and stronger. "Wouldn't be the first time I've ruined your life."
"What are you talking about?"
"Hasn't it dawned on you, pretty boy?" Luke smacked himself on the head with his palm. "I should've guessed - you're smart, man, but you've got no common sense. C'mere, and I'll tell you."
Cautiously, Seth leaned in against the elder boy, ignoring every impulse and urge he had not to. The wild gleam in Luke's eyes was enough to tell Seth that Luke was going to divulge something very important.
"Listen closely." Luke tilted his head up to meet Seth's earlobe. The Cohen froze in shock at Luke's next words. "I did it. I raped Summer."
Then Seth backed away. "Why?" he finally stuttered. "How could you do something like that? She's your friend."
"And my ticket to revenge against you," was the reply.
Seth eyes Luke for a moment, and all he could see was red. He longed to lunge at this monstrosity, hack and claw at it for touching his Summer, for impurifying her. But he didn't. He merely stood, all his thought suspended in time and space as Luke's penetrating gaze followed his own, along the floor and back again.
"How did you…" he trailed off.
"Frame you?" supplied Luke. "It was easy. Drove to your house while your parents were out - told your cleaner that I was a friend who needed to pick up some underwear for you, you were too busy to do it yourself. And then I spiked your drink."
"You - you - "
"Shit, and that was the hardest part," continued Luke gleefully. "The easiest was getting Summer to testify against you. She hates you, Cohen. She always will - I don't know what made you think you had a chance with her in the first place."
"She's your friend." Seth said again, quietly.
"Maybe - but friends go out of the window when revenge enters the equation." Luke spoke softly now, intending Seth to have to strain to catch his every word. "Your adopted brother…he stole my girlfriend. And so you're going to pay."
"Because you're too cowardly to take on Ryan yourself?"
Luke shook his head. "No," he assured Seth, "because you're much more fun to toy with." He turned to leave.
"I'll tell them, you know," Seth blurted out. Luke wheeled around. "I'll tell them what you told me. That you did it."
Touching the light marks of bruising that had begun to form on his neck, Luke merely snickered. "They're not going to believe you. You hit me, and made up the entire story in a fit of madness. Face it Cohen - your life is over."
In that split second, Seth realised how horrible the rest of his race could be. They really were in the game of life to win…and didn't give a damn about anyone else. It was all about power…all about strength. And unfortunately, Seth had neither.
There was a clang of iron, and Seth realised that Luke had gone. Left him for dead, to face up to a destiny that had never been his to claim. He was going down.
"Seth Cohen?"
He nodded, the gloom shaded face of one of the guards having just peered in through the slat window of the cell.
"If you'd like to follow me to the dock?"
And suddenly, any connotations that Seth had of the word free disappeared from his mind, and he took one last breath, feeling his world come crashing down about him.
End.