Giving Thanks

Disclaimer: Don't own The O.C. Also don't own that MTV rip-off Laguna Beach. I do wish I owned Adam Brody, Ben McKenzie, or hey, Stephan from Laguna Beach. Ah, Stephan.

A/N: This is where the fact that it's the Motherly Comfort sequel kicks in. I'd suggest you read chapter eight of that before this chapter, but if not, you might just be a tad bit lost. I really like this chapter. A lot of growth in relationships and chracter development. Kind of focuses on Summer, Kirsten, and Marissa. Yes, I am a Marissa-hata', but even the haters will like this, I think .!!!Spoiler!!! It's not Me!Me!Meeeee!Marissa any more, kids.

Adamismine69- To answer your question, yes. I'm Jewish, I celebrate Thanksgiving, and my friends that are Jewish do as well. It's an American holiday, not a religious one. Jusy FYI, not to lecture. :-) Thanks for reviewing!

Marissa walked into the living room to find Seth and Summer. They both jumped up in surprise.

"Coop! Coop!" Summer yelped, "Look who's here, Seth, it's Coop!" she exclaimed, clearly indicating the problems that were going to arise.

"Marissa! Let's go into the kitchen, away from here!" Seth rambled, leading Marissa into the kitchen.

Summer sat down on the couch, already stressed out. She yelped when she heard the bathroom door open. "Chino!"

"Hey, where'd Seth go?" he asked, unsuspectingly.

"Nowhere, with nobody. Wanna sit here, away from the kitchen?" Summer answered quickly.

"Um..."

"Sounds like a great answer to me, I'll be back in a second!" Summer said, running off into the kitchen.

"Hardest job, ever!" Summer exclaimed to Seth in the hallway.

"I know. And why are we the only two doing this?" Seth replied.

"I guess we're the only people who care," Summer sighed.

"Maybe everyone else is just oblivious," Seth retorted.

"Whatevs. I have to go call my mom," she said.

"You can't do this to me!" Seth shrieked.

Summer rolled her eyes. "Calm down, Cohen! Your dad's gonna give Ryan a talk now,"

Seth exhaled in relief. "Thank Moses," he muttered.

Sandy looked at Ryan. He looked so worn out, so beat. He couldn't imagine the last time he had gotten some rest. Ryan was sitting in the same chair that the Nana sat in when Sandy talked to her. Sandy wondered if he would be put in the same position.

"How's school?" he asked.

Ryan hesistated. He didn't want to disapoint Sandy. He saw Sandy's serious, caring eyes on him, seeing him, watching him. Sandy already knew. He had to. He knew Ryan the first time he met him, nothing had changed.

"Not so good," he answered quietly.

"Why?"

Ryan took a deep breath in. Guilt. Guilt ran through his veins. The Cohens took him in and helped him make a better life, and answering that question would be like saying he had thrown everything they'd taught him out the window.

"I only go every other week. I have a job, Sandy, I can't just..." he trailed off. He couldn't finish. He could barely even look Sandy in the eye.

"Ryan," Sandy said gravely.

"I know," Ryan said.

"You can do so much in your life," Sandy said truthfully.

"But right now I have to help out the family," Ryan reasoned. He knew it was bad reasoning in Sandy's mind, but he hoped he would understand.

"You're not alone. Do you need us to help you?" Sandy asked, reluctant. He knew Ryan wouldn't take charity.

Silence.

Ryan shook his head. "Then why are you failing?" Sandy asked, almost inaudibly. Both knew he didn't want to ask it.

The taste in Ryan's mouth was salty. No, he couldn't be crying. He couldn't cry. He hadn't cried once since he had left. He'd been taught not to cry.

He sniffed and quickly wiped away the lone tear falling down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Sandy shook his head. He reached into his pocket and took out five one hundred dollar bills, and held them out to Ryan.

"Please, just take it, Ryan,"

Ryan looked up and saw the money. He flinched. "I can't," he murmured.

"Look, you don't live here any more, but you're still a part of this family and we all want you to be okay," Sandy stated, "It's not charity. It's your family loving you,"

Ryan's shaky hand took the bills and slowly put them into his pocket. "Thank you," he said.

"Just...just try in school. Do what you know you can, okay?" Sandy pleaded.

Ryan nodded and got up from the table. A faint smile lit up his face. They'd always be there.

"Kirsten, can I use the phone?" Summer asked, sauntering into the kitchen.

Kirsten looked up from the food she was sure she was ruining. She wasn't sure how, but she knew she wasn't mashing the potatoes correctly.

"Sure. Calling your dad?" Kirsten asked.

Summer shook her head and picked up the phone. "Mom," she answered.

Kirsten stopped what she was doing. She froze. She knew Summer had talked to her mother and still did, but now it was just so real. And the woman who used to be one of her closest friends was going to be on her phone line in just a matter of seconds.

"Can I talk to her?"

The words popped out of Kirsten's mouth like a piece of bread when it was done being toasted. She usaully would've held back. Did she even want to talk to that woman?

Summer nodded. Kirsten quickly went back to her attempt at cooking, and Summer wandered out of the kitchen.

"Hello, you've reached the Davis home," a little boy with a slight lisp answered.

Summer smiled. She was familar with her mother's new family by now. "Happy Thanksgiving, Jacob! It's Summer. Is Mom there?" she greeted. Using the word "Mom" to address Christine still felt a little awkward, but Christine was slowly growing into it.

"Summer! She's here, hold on," Jacob replied.

Summer could hear her half-brother shout to their mother on the phone. It was so odd for her. There was this whole other family that she was a part of and hadn't even seen in person. She just knew them through voices and photographs, and maybe that was okay for her.

"Hi, Summer," Christine greeted.

"Hey. Happy Thanksgiving,"

"How's dinner with your father and Lauren?" Christine asked, still not sure of what buttons she shouldn't push.

"I'm actually at Seth's," Summer replied.

"Oh,"

"Yeah. How's work?" Summer asked, avoiding the real questions.

"Good, good. I have some news," Christine said.

"What?" Summer asked, faking excitement politely.

"Dan and I are going to have another child!" Christine exclaimed.

Summer was silent. She wanted to be happy, or at least not care. But she was upset. Upset that someone that hadn't even been born yet would have more time with her mother then she would in her life. She bit her lip. The taste of vanilla lip gloss was on her tongue. The flavored-lip gloss technique had really helped.

"I'm pregnant, Summer," Christine stated after a few seconds of silence.

"I heard," Summer said in a whisper.

"Are you upset?" Christine asked.

Summer was silent for a few more seconds. "A little," she responded sadly.

"You can come and see the baby when it's born," Christine said, missing the idea.

"That would mean I'd have to see you...I don't know if I can yet," Summer said, inhaling, her voice nervous.

"Oh,"

"I don't know. Can we just give it...time?" Summer finished.

"Sure," Christine replied.

"Kirsten Cohen wants to talk to you," Summer said, bluntly.

Silence. Summer passed the phone off to Kirsten without a goodbye or an "I Love You" to her mother. Things like that weren't really important with them.

Kirsten took the phone with clammy hands. "Hi, Christine," she said quietly.

"Kirsten!" Christine exclaimed, her mood completely changed.

"How's it been?" Kirsten asked. The conversation was strange, as if they hadn't talked in weeks, not years.

"Okay. I got a job at a magazine, had a kid, got married. Turned my life around. I'm sure you've heard rumors," Christine answered.

"No. Summer told me," Kirsten said bluntly.

Silence filled the phone line. Summer looked over at Kirsten, not even minding. Christine knew Kirsten and Summer were close, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"Oh. I know, pass judgement if you like," Christine muttered, "But I had my problems, and I made my mistakes,"

Kirsten walked briskly out of the room. She didn't want Summer to hear the things she was about to say.

"But you abandoned your daughter," Kirsten said.

"It's not like I'm proud of it!" Christine exclaimed angrily.

"I just think you should know you really affected her," Kirsten retorted.

"We talked about it," Christine said.

"Not enough. Look, just don't go off and expect her to be happy for you completely. Like, if you ask her, do you think she's going to come and visit you?" Kirsten challenged.

Christine knew Kirsten was right. "No,"

"You really hurt her. You're lucky she's turned out so well," Kirsten ranted.

"Kirsten?"

"Yeah,"

"Please...be a good mother to her. I know I haven't," Christine said.

"Okay...Happy Thanksgiving," Kirsten hung up the phone, most likely never talking to Christine again.

After Sandy went back into the house, Ryan walked around the house to the front. He took out his carton of cigarettes and lit one. Inhale, exhale. Getting addicted to cigarettes again had been as easy as living in Chino again. Back to his old ways. Well, not completely.

Marissa walked out of the house in a huff. She couldn't take her mother's constant criticism for another second. "Sweetie, wear your hair up, out of your face," or "Baby...Don't bite your nails," It would take her mother a century and a year to realize just how unhappy Marissa was living with her and Caleb. She saw the back of a body. Tall, fit, blond. She almost went back into the house. But instead, she just said what came to mind.

"Who are you? The cousin from Boston?"

Ryan whirled around, cigarette in his mouth. He smiled slightly. Both felt a mixture of happiness, pain, and surprise.

"Whoever you want me to be," Ryan replied in the same, husky voice that he'd addressed her with the first time they met.

Marissa walked up beside him. "You smoke again," she stated.

Ryan shrugged. "Helps me through the day,"

She took the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it on the ground. She squashed it with her shoe. Ryan just looked at her with blank eyes. She knew he was telling her something, but through all their time apart, she didn't know what any more. Maybe that was what hurt them the most.

"I'm getting better. I certainly don't need news of you dying from lung sickness and making me go back," she said, almost proud.

"You're sober?" Ryan asked, feeling bad for being so surprised.

She nodded. "Figured maybe you'd be happy," she sighed.

Ryan pulled her into a one-handed hug. "I am," he said with a grin.

Marissa got chills at the sight of his smile. She knew she didn't love Ryan, but she defenitly loved his smile.

"Clean up. You went to Chino to save Theresa, not to make her house smell like nicotine," Marissa said. She had a little trouble acknowledging he left to save someone else, not Marissa. This time he wasn't her main priority.

Marissa was slowly accepting she wasn't everyone's first place prize. People sometimes attempted, but nobody fought hard enough for her. Someone would, though. And they'd end up just fine. That's what comforted her to put down her bottle and go to therapy and AA meetings. To make Ryan proud of her, to show her mother, to show herself.

There was silence between them. Silence was familar to the pair. It had been involved in the majority of the time they had spent together, but this silence was different. It wasn't because they had nothing to say, but because they had far too much to say. The difference was huge. Ryan, the quieter of the two, broke the silence.

"I know. I'm sorry,"

Marissa just shrugged. He wasn't telling her anything new. She knew he was sorry, she knew he did it because he was a hero, just not always her hero. Who said she even needed one anyway? Marissa was more then a damsel in distress, a victim. She'd prove it to herself.

Marissa and Ryan went back inside, talking like friends did. Ryan made a mental note to throw away all of his cigarettes when he got back. Just a waste of eight dollars, anyway.