Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind reviews, I hope you like this chapter too.
By the time Kirsten arrived with Seth at the hospital at a quarter to twelve she was wet, angry and beginning once more to feel the affects of her Mexican themed Thanksgiving dinner. She had a chronic case of the moonshine munchies and although drinking practically her own body weight in water had put an end to her pounding head, it had left her with desire to find a bathroom almost as strong as her urge to find Sandy and find out how Ryan was doing. She couldn't believe how long it had taken them to get here. Thanks to a cloudburst of rain and a jack-knifed delivery truck a mile away from the hospital, the taxi ride from Hell had brought Seth and Kirsten to their destination over a full hour after Sandy had arrived. It was only by getting out and walking that they'd made it there before midnight. They may be soggy, but at least now the four of them could be together. Now as they dripped and squelched their way through the hospital's pine-fresh hallways towards the ER, Kirsten was painfully aware how quiet Seth had suddenly fallen. He'd barely drawn breath between setting foot outside the house and their arrival, jabbering away about everything from the increasingly ominous weather, to a particularly moronic kid he was teaching to sail who had somehow managed to tie his thumbs together no less than three times in one lesson. Although Seth would have claimed his jabbering was to keep Kirsten's mind off thinking about what state they were going to find Ryan in when they arrived, one look at the bedraggled lanky kid holding his mother's hand would have made it obvious to an outside observer that he was just as worried as she was. When she didn't think she could stand it anymore, Kirsten spoke,
"You know, Seth, if you wanted just to wait back in the family room, that would be okay. I mean, Ryan's probably going to be asleep anyway, he's not going to know any different. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you hanging back." Hearing his mother's kind words brought Seth out of his reverie and he hesitated for only a moment before replying.
"I know," he sighed, "But I'd mind. I mean compared to Ryan's, my Thanksgiving has been pretty stellar, I think the least I can do is to show up."
Unconvinced by the uncertainty in Seth's tone, Kirsten offered again, "Seth. Ryan's going to look pretty nasty," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "And I'd be surprised if he wasn't more than just a little fractious. You know what happened to him today is going to stir up some fairly uncomfortable memories."
"I know what you're saying, Mom," replied Seth, avoiding her gaze, "But I think I should be there. It's just that... God, could I be more inarticulate? All these years at Harbor and I still have the sentence construction of a five year old."
"What is it, honey?" asked Kirsten kindly. Seth sighed in frustration.
"I know it's really selfish, but I'm almost more worried about saying the wrong thing to him then I am about how he is." He looked sideways at his mother, and seeing her frowning, looked quickly away again, "I know, I know, could I be more self-centered?"
Sensing Seth's embarrassment, Kirsten dropped his hand and put her arm around his back, pulling him into a hug as they walked, "It's not self-centered. At least I hope not, because I was kind of thinking the same thing."
Comforted by Kirsten's gesture, Seth looked back at her, "Really?"
"Sure I am. You know you're not the only one who sometimes finds Ryan a little hard to talk to. I mean think how it is for your father and me; one minute we have a sixteen year old adolescent in the house who can pack more words into one breath than should be theoretically possible and the next we've got another one, except this one has some serious anger-management issues and makes Marcel Marceau look like a real chatterbox. Easy was never an option."
"I know we never talk about it, and I'm not saying I want to start," said Seth relieved by his mother's admission, "But I just find it really weird knowing that Ryan's been here before. And I know that he's probably going to be thinking that we know and it's probably going to get really awkward and I don't want it to, I just want everything to be normal, but then again I thought things were normal 'til tonight and it's not worked out too well... But I still think I should be here, because whether or not we wanted to admit it when Ryan moved in, we all knew that sooner or later we were all going to be here or somewhere like it and now we are here and if I'm not here too then Ryan's going to know why and I think things are weird enough. Does any part of that make sense?"
Kirsten smiled to herself as Seth stopped to draw breath; his brow furrowed with frustration in an expression identical to Sandy's in all but the bushy eyebrows.
"More than you'd think." Kirsten stopped and turned Seth to face her. "Look, I understand that this is weird. It is for me too and no doubt Sandy and for Ryan, but look at this way, that's something we have in common. And at least that means we have some shared ground."
"Mom, that's twisted," he smiled dorkily at her, "A good point, but twisted."
"Yes, well I may still have some tequila in my system," Kirsten said with a twinkle in her smile to match her son's.
"You're done with the Technicolor belching though, right?" Seth teased as they resumed their soggy walk down the hall, "Because we're trying to make Ryan feel better here."
"Great bedside manner, Seth, truly. Ryan's going to love it."
"None can resist, Mom, none can resist."
"Let's hope not," she said, squeezing Seth tight as they walked into the ER, "Come on, let's go give your father an embolism."
"Hey, inappropriate humor's my thing, lay off," said Seth in mock aggression.
"Where do you think you get it from?" Kirsten replied, making Seth smile. She very much hoped that it would last.
Sandy had long ago lost feeling in his backside from sitting on the cold floor but he was too locked in his own self-pity to contemplate moving to the chairs to the side of him, stretching out his aching back or anything else other than dwelling on Ryan and how he might be doing. Now that his thoughts had been given time to settle, Sandy felt more keenly than ever a burden of guilt from letting Ryan down. Yes, their brief argument before Ryan had, well, pretty much stopped being able to breathe, proved that the communication issues in the Cohen household were in need of serious re-examination. But to shout at him like he had... he was an intelligent human being, a father, and for goodness sake a lawyer; he was supposed to be rational for a living. Instead, he'd let his conflicting emotions get the better of him and Ryan had ended up suffering for it. The only thing that troubled Sandy more than the fact that he'd stressed Ryan out so much he'd given him a panic attack, was the knowledge that in doing so he'd treated Ryan in the exact same way as all those despicable people he had read about in his file at the Public Defender's office only a few months earlier. The fact that it was not deliberate was incidental; in Sandy's mind, it was indistinguishable, he had abused a position of trust and had let the kid down. And perhaps worst of all, the thing that made Sandy feel more ashamed of himself than he would have thought possible, was the memory of Ryan frightened and fighting to breathe telling him he was sorry. If he lived until he was old man, Sandy knew that it was something that would stay with him forever.
Just when he thought he could bear this hellish waiting no longer, the door beside Sandy opened and Ed and Steve stepped out, looking confident. Seeing Sandy on the floor, Ed instinctively offered him his hand and helped him back onto his feet.
"I know the chairs are the not exactly world's most comfortable, but really, they're not that bad," he said kindly, motioning for them both to sit down as Steve disappeared down the hall, smiling reassuringly to Sandy as he passed by.
"Thanks," said Sandy, joining Ed before cutting to the chase, "Is Ryan okay?"
"He's fine, he's asleep. He was pretty scared for a while there, but once the medication kicked in he calmed down pretty quickly. He's doing much better now; exhausted, but well out of the woods."
"Good. That's good," said Sandy, hoping that by saying so out loud he could convince himself.
"His friend Arturo said he hasn't had an asthma attack since he was little, is that right?"
"I don't know," said Sandy, embarrassed. Seeing Ed's puzzled expression, he elaborated, "Ryan's only being living with us a few months, I'm his legal guardian. It's a long story. He doesn't like to share much."
"Who does?" said Ed, good-naturedly, sensing Sandy's unease. "So you didn't know he was asthmatic?"
"Not a clue. Does that make me the worst parent ever?"
"Not even close. If you'd had beaten him up the first place, then maybe you'd be in running, but otherwise no. Ryan's fine. When he first came in, he'd had a mild attack, it's not uncommon to have a couple close together, kind of like aftershocks from an earthquake."
"Except that it didn't look mild," said Sandy, not about to let himself off the hook that easily.
"Well, no it wasn't," admitted Ed, "but the assault, the previous attack and the fact he hasn't had one for a while and yes, unfortunately, arguing with you as well all builds up excessive anxiety. It's not that surprising. Distressing, regrettably yes, but not surprising. And if you didn't know Ryan was asthmatic in the first place, how could you possibly know that stress could trigger an attack?"
"I guess I couldn't," acknowledged Sandy reluctantly.
"Exactly. You couldn't, so stop tormenting yourself."
"But he's okay now?"
"Should be. I'll be keeping an eye on him overnight, but I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to go home tomorrow. He'll need to rest some, follow up with your family doctor, the fracture clinic and get his stitches out, but that can all be arranged without too much difficulty."
"Thank you," said Sandy letting out a small sigh of relief, "For everything."
"You're welcome." Despite Sandy's words, Ed couldn't fail to notice the tension lingering in the man sitting next to him. "You know," he said in an effort to re-assure him, "He was more concerned about you than he was about himself. "
"That's what worries me," Sandy said, "Ryan has a few issues. Not least of which is a overwhelming desire to want to help people."
"Doesn't sound all bad."
"Except that he's absolutely terrible about accepting help himself. Wouldn't dream of asking for it."
"Ah. One of those. I can't say I'm surprised," Sandy raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Ed elaborated, "I see a lot of kids like Ryan in here. Honestly, I'm a bit of Ryan myself."
"Me too."
"Then you know guys like us loathe admitting when we're over our heads. Control freaks, the lot of us. Why do you think I became a doctor? The short hours, the attractive strip lighting? Not even. It's because I like to feel like I've got some kind of grip on the world. I'm guessing you're the same."
"Lawyer," replied Sandy, confirming Ed's guess, "Ryan's lawyer, actually." Seeing Ed's surprise, Sandy continued, "Like I said, long story."
"There you go, case in point. I'm betting whatever Ryan decides to do with his life, it's probably not going to involve running a multi-national corporation or hostile takeovers."
"Probably not," Sandy agreed, with a smile, finally allowing himself to relax for the first time since Arturo had called earlier that evening. His job done, Ed got to his feet, his thoughts drifting to the large pot of coffee waiting for him in the staff lounge.
"We'll talk more tomorrow," he said, as he stretched his back out.
"You know, I still can't believe I shouted at him like I did," Sandy sighed, rubbing his head in his hands. Ed sat down again. Blood relation or no, he could definitely see a father-son resemblance between the boy lying asleep in the room next door and the man sitting next to him now.
"He seems to have forgiven you," he told Sandy honestly.
"Hmm." murmured Sandy, whether in disbelief or disapproval Ed couldn't tell. He went for paralyzing self-doubt; it seemed more likely.
"Seems to be a pretty loyal kid," he offered.
"Yeah. Another of his issues," said Sandy, looking up at Ed and realizing that the poor guy must be almost as tired as Ryan was, "All of which it's far too late to dwell on. Can I see him?" he asked hopefully, but already suspecting the answer.
"It'd be better to let him sleep; after the day Ryan's had, he needs it," replied Ed gently but firmly, confirming Sandy's thoughts. "We kept an eye on him for a while, just to be certain, made sure he got off alright." Sandy nodded. Ed stood up and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Things always look better in the morning. I call it the Oklahoma effect. Bright golden hazes," Sandy smiled gratefully at the young man, relieved to know that Ryan had such kind and capable hands looking after him.
"Thank you," he said standing up and reaching to shake Ed's hand, "I don't have enough words, really."
"You're welcome," replied Ed, returning the handshake.
"Uh-oh," said Sandy suddenly, dropping Ed's hand and looking over the med. student's shoulder with a worried expression. Following his gaze, Ed saw Kirsten and Seth making their way down the hall.
"Wife?" he guessed.
"Wife. And son," he looked levelly at Ed, "I'm a dead man."
"Well, you're in the right place. Morgue's one floor down," he said, with a wry smile, "Best of luck."
"Thanks," said Sandy as Ed made his way down the hall, leaving Sandy alone to face the enemy, "I think I'm going to need it."
Deep down, Seth knew he was doing the right thing by not backing out of coming to see Ryan tonight; he had to be, because otherwise he wouldn't feel so apprehensive. This was beyond butterflies; he felt like there was a cake mixer whizzing on full speed in his stomach. Usually, when Seth was doing something wrong, he was a hundred percent certain that he shouldn't be doing it, like the time he had attempted to jump the steps from the library to the quad at junior school on his skateboard. He knew that he wasn't good enough before he'd done it; landing on his ass and scraping his hands up spectacularly had just proved it. But that wasn't the point, the point was that Seth never had and never would run away from things that scared him. Well, with the exception of Summer, but he'd got there eventually. When it came down to it, Seth was a good guy; a white hat like Butch or Sundance, Boromir, or that dude in The Last of the Mohicans who charged the crazy Huron for the love of a girl. Courage in the face of danger; or in this case, totally uncomfortable emotional confrontations with the 'rents. And one was coming, he could tell by the hesitant look on his dad's face as they walked towards him. His mom, however, was having none of it and pulled her husband into a close embrace.
Seth hung back as his parents held one another, torn between making fun of their embarrassing public display of affection and joining them in it. Sandy made the decision for him, reaching out for his son and pulling him into a three-way bear hug. Seth let himself be engulfed in a flood of emotion as father, mother and son sought comfort in one another. Eventually, inevitably, it was Kirsten who pulled away first.
"Well?" she said, looking at Sandy with hopeful eyes.
"Broken arm, broken hand, broken nose, bruised ribs and a pretty bad gash in his back," said Sandy, cutting to the chase, "And a couple more shiners to add to the running total."
Seth let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. Kirsten relaxed a little, but eighteen years of marriage had taught her to recognize the signs of Sandy holding back on her more keenly than her son.
"What is it Sandy?" she asked.
"I did something stupid," he replied wearily, retreating to the row of chairs and sitting down once more.
"How stupid?" asked Kirsten as she joined her husband. When he didn't respond, Seth echoed his mother's inquiry.
"Dad? How stupid? Like you forgot to forgot to feed the parking meter stupid or you forgot pay the health insurance stupid?" Sandy smiled for the briefest of moments at Seth's words before responding.
"Different stupid. I yelled at Ryan. A lot."
"You did what?!" exclaimed Kirsten, angrily.
"I yelled at him. Said some pretty unforgivable things as well."
"Unbelievable," said Kirsten, her exasperation clear, "I don't even want to know what you thought you were thinking."
"Did he yell back?" asked Seth, trying not to let things get out of control.
"Briefly," said Sandy abashed, "It didn't end well."
"Sandy. Elaborate. Now." Kirsten demanded, her face bordering on thunderous.
"Seth, did you know that Ryan had asthma?" Sandy asked his son.
Seth looked at his father, momentarily taken aback by the question. This he was not expecting. "No," he replied finally, "He doesn't tell me anything. Or at least not that stuff anyway."
"Well, apparently he does," continued Sandy, not at all surprised by Seth's lack of knowledge, "And when I yelled at him, I kind of set it off."
"Sandy, what exactly were you arguing about?" asked Kirsten, her tone a little softer.
"That he doesn't tell us anything," For what seemed like the umpteenth time that night, Sandy sighed, "Honestly, it scared the crap out of me."
"And Ryan?"
"Scared the crap out of him too. It was pretty horrible."
"And now?"
"Now he's asleep. I just talked to the doctor, he said Ryan's going to be fine, we can take him home tomorrow."
"I'll go sit with him."
"The doctor said to leave him be."
"I wasn't planning on waking him," Kirsten replied indignantly.
"Kirsten, honey," said Sandy gently, "He's going to be alright."
Sandy and Seth waited apprehensively for a moment to see if Kirsten was going to take her husband's word for it or let loose. Finally, she sighed and leant her head back against the wall.
"This sucks," she mumbled. Seeing the amused expressions on Sandy and Seth's faces, she added, "Well, it does."
"Totally," chipped in Sandy, as she laid her head on his shoulder.
"Utterly," said Seth not wanting to be left out. He went to join his parents, but for the first time since he was ten, he shunned the chair, instead plonking himself down on his father's lap.
"Good grief, Seth," joked Sandy, wrapping an arm around him, "I think we need to start rationing your cereal."
"Bite me Dad," Seth grunted back, but he was glad of the change in mood.
There may not be any raindrops on roses in the vicinity right now, but at least he knew they were on the horizon and that was enough for the moment. As the three of them sat in almost contented silence, Seth's only niggling doubt was what would come next. Before tonight, he'd finally felt like things were beginning things for work for him. For the first time in a long time, he had stopped waiting for life to start and was actually living it. He had always known Ryan was a big part of that; just having someone around who got him, that didn't think he was a geek or weird, or if he did, he didn't care, had given Seth's confidence an huge boost. If there was one guy out there who he could be friends with, particularly one who he would normally expect to pee in his shoes, then there must be more. And if he could talk to guys, then he could talk to girls, and if he could talk to them then maybe if could date them and in that way lay the fun. But first he had to get them to talk to him again and for that he needed Ryan's advice. For perhaps the first time, Seth realized how much he took Ryan for granted. It had been easy to do, after all he was always so damn keen to get along with everyone, but as he sat snuggled into his father's shoulder, he made a silent promise to himself to be a better friend. Starting with the next time Ryan needed his help, whether he asked for it or not and whether it be Chino stuff, Newport stuff, gnarly homework or a Marissa melee, Seth wouldn't let his attention be diverted by the mention of a girl, even one as hot as Anna. And as soon as Ryan woke up he was going to tell him.
"I'm sorry I can't wait any longer," exclaimed Kirsten suddenly as she jumped to her feet.
"Kirsten, the doctor -" said Sandy gently but firmly pushing Seth off his lap as he stood up to meet his wife.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," interrupted Kirsten, "Ryan needs his sleep. But I need a bathroom and I need to find one, like right now."
Sandy laughed for the first time that evening since taking Arturo's call, "Come on, let's go exploring. I could murder a coffee. Seth?" he asked, "Do you want to come for the walk?"
"That's okay, Dad," he replied, "I'm still drying off from the last one."
"Fair enough. We won't go far," said Sandy as Kirsten led him away determinedly up the hall.
Seth back down in the chairs and watched them disappear around the corner at he the end of the hallway. When they were out of sight, he began to count; first to two hundred and then another hundred just to be sure. Then he stood up and as quietly as he could, he opened the door to Ryan's room and slipped inside.
Seth hadn't expected Ryan to look great, but he'd expected him to look better than this. For starters, he seemed to have shrunk and he was somehow managing to seem both old beyond his years and a little kid at the same time. As Seth moved across the room to sit by his friend, he didn't feel like the Ryan he knew was really there at all. Seth felt sick as he took in all the needles and tubes that surrounded Ryan, invading his personal space. Despite himself, Seth was almost impressed by the mammoth orange cast that encased Ryan's left arm from thumb to elbow. Being a veteran himself, he knew exactly how much it was going to irritate the hell out of Ryan. He could practically already hear the arguments between Sandy and Ryan about bike riding and playing soccer unfolding in his head. If Ryan had gained his battle scars as the result of either of those activities, Seth would have delighted in teasing him about the perils of jock-dom, but this wasn't funny. The sight of him battered and bruised, breathing in shallowly through an oxygen mask seemed like something that belonged in a parallel universe. Unconsciously making exactly the same decision as his father had done only a few hours earlier, Seth decided right there and then that this was the last time he would let this happen. Furthermore, there was absolutely no way he was leaving this room until Ryan did. His mind made up, Seth stood up and took off his still squelchy shoes, then removed his soggy jacket and balled it up. Softly, so to be sure not disturb his friend, he moved around the bed to the corner of the room where he knew Ryan would be able to see him if woke up and then using his jacket as makeshift pillow, curled up on the floor and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Six? How did this happen? I'm not Storymom or MaudWalter. I suppose I'm trying to make this story last, as my knowledge of The O.C. runs out at The Countdown and I'm trying to stay spoiler free. Except for the finale, obviously, but there's nothing as good as hiatus fanfic. Sigh!