The angst, the angst. I can't deal with the angst. Allegra has Ryan beaten up and amnesiac, Parisindy has him floating under the water, Silverweaver has him struggling to put a hooded sweatshirt over his head because Seth didn't think of buying a zip front jacket, Brandywine has him in the hospital, in pain, depressed, the son of a mob boss, his self worth destroyed, his soul shattered, Famous 99 has him withdrawing into himself and feeling unworthy, blaming himself for Seth's drug habit, sitting on the beach in the rain, feeling responsible for Sandy's wrath, Joey has him barely able to breathe with a pneumothorax, and Storymom has the poor boy scared to death of surgery to fix the arm that Sandy broke.

This chapter will be fairly light and fluffy in comparison.

I sort of tweaked the conversation from "The Pilot" Sandy and Ryan had during their first meeting in juvie. No copywrite infringement is intended.

Josh, talk to Pisspot. He's has a brilliant legal mind. You and the frog can work out a deal.

Chapter Six.

Sleep was an elusive desire. Ryan spent every night for the last 3 weeks picturing images of static in his brain. The noise and distorted colours designed to keep memories away. Physically he was tired, muscles were torn, rebuilt and defined. His arms and face were bronzed despite the 45 SPF sunscreen he wore. His hair was shorter, blonder. A trip to Fantastic Sam's and clippers on a number 5 setting helped to keep the sweat from dripping down his face when the sun beat down on him. It also made him look considerably younger.

The guys on the job site took great pleasure in calling him "kid" or "kiddo". He hated that. He never had the luxury of being a kid and he didn't want the burden of being one now.

Ryan groaned and rolled over. He wasn't needed on the job until noon. They were pouring concrete that afternoon and he'd be up to his knees in it. Fun stuff. He felt himself enter the nether world between sleep and consciousness. He was about to let the beckoning darkness finally claim him.

He sensed he was no longer alone in his apartment...

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandy poured himself another mug of coffee. It was his third one that morning. He shared one with Kirsten earlier, before she left for the office.

Work had become her coping mechanism. She couldn't bear to walk past an empty pool house or see an empty spot at the kitchen breakfast counter or the dining room table. She couldn't bear to see Seth aimlessly playing video games by himself. He was supposed to be aimlessly playing video games with Ryan.

Sandy knew his wife cried when she thought she was alone. She was strength personified when she was with them. Her fears and doubts were blanketed by the cloak of optimism she wore in public. Sandy drew strength from Kirsten and poured his out to her when the anxiety of a missing son threatened to consume her.

Now he turned back to the breakfast counter, ready to look over the map he had spread out. Seth was there, studying the map intently. Sandy wordlessly put down his mug in front of his son and then poured himself another. He sat down beside Seth.

"I don't think Ryan is in L.A." Seth said quietly. "We know he didn't head back to Chino or Fresno. L.A.'s too big..."

"That's why he'd head there. It's easier to fly under the radar..." Sandy replied.

Seth shook his head.

"Maybe, but you've got everybody and their grandmother out looking for him. You've probably even thought about calling the Mounties, haven't you?"

Sandy gave his son a sideways glance, but said nothing. Seth caught the look.

"I knew it... What I'm trying to say is Ryan's going to think outside the box. He'll stay away from the big cities. He hasn't taken anymore money out of his bank account, so he's probably working somewhere, right? Maybe he's waiting tables and making killer tips off his blond haired, blue-eyed gentile good looks..."

Seth had hoped that his dad would at least crack a smile. Humour was the Cohen way to deal with crisis. Sandy's heart constricted in his throat. A conversation replayed in his mind.

A conversation he'd filed away, hoping to never have to revisit.

"Look, I can plead this down to a misdemeanour. Petty fine, probation, but know this, stealing a car because your big brother told you to... It's stupid and it's weak. Now those are two things you can't afford to be anymore."

"Two more things..." an angry voice shot back.

Sandy remembered how condescending he must have sounded to Ryan.

"Do you want to change that? Then you've got to get over the fact that life dealt you a bad hand. I get it. We're cut from the same deck, Ryan. I grew up, no money, bad part of the Bronx, my father was gone, my mother worked all the time... I was pissed off and I was stupid..."

Sandy had sat back in smug self-satisfaction. If he could overcome his background then anyone could. He wore his past like a medal around his neck.

He was unprepared for what Ryan had said next.

"And look at you now. I bet you never had to "do" the landlord to get a few extra days to come up with the rent. Never had to "go down" on him in the washroom while your mother was passed out. Pay a little visit to the boiler room... biting your bottom lip so hard that you swear your teeth are going to break through to keep from screaming while he's banging away like a dog in heat..."

Dead silence.

For once Sandy Cohen was temporarily speechless. Ryan had looked away from him. When Sandy found his voice again it was soft and sincere.

"Smart kid like you, you've got to have a plan... some kind of dream?"

Ryan had exhaled slowly before leaning in. His voice was equally as quiet.

"Yeah right. Let me tell you something, okay? Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. Knowing it won't come true? That does..."

Sandy remembered the packed backpack. Despite his best efforts, he proved to Ryan that dreams don't come true.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John Rueben sat in his car. He was missing something. The kid hadn't used the cell phone, hadn't withdrawn anymore cash. Ryan had no other family to speak of. His mother was in Reno, working in a third rate club, drunker than most of the patrons. Dawn cried on his shoulder how some rich people stole her son from her.

Her son.

Who should be taking care of her.

Her son.

Her blood.

He owed her.

She could have had him sucked into a sink when she found out she was pregnant. Her life would have turned out better.

She took care of him.

Now that she needed him, he was living the good life, forgetting her and everything she'd done for him.

John shuddered as he remembered her hands on him, writhing in some pathetic imitation of a lap dance. He tipped her generously, just to get away, escaping back to his car, hearing her plaintive wails of "Baby I can give you a real good time..." It made his skin crawl.

Poor kid.

The private investigator decided to try the bus station once more. He had already questioned the employees, but he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in his gut. He put the car in gear and drove to the depot.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirsten was reading tenders from various contractors when her father walked into her office. If she didn't know him better she'd swear he was enjoying his diminished role in The Newport Group.

The shareholders were secretly pleased that Caleb Nichol was still involved in the company. He got nailed trying to make them even more money. In the end, they hadn't lost a penny. He paid all the fines from his own fortune. The FTC had frozen his other assets. The ones they could find... Now the shareholders were content to keep their money invested in The Newport Group. The dividends wouldn't be as high, but it was a safe investment.

The stress of Ryan's disappearance had made Kirsten into an even more formidable business woman. She was not afraid to ream out a contractor who tried to take short cuts or not provide the services stipulated in the contracts. It was a game played for control of the jobsite.

Kirsten never lost.

She had their respect.

While Caleb shmoozed the investors, Kirsten retained firsthand knowledge of every property. She oversaw everything. All the tiny details. Details that kept the worst case scenarios regarding Ryan locked away in the dark recesses of her brain.

"I'm buying you lunch Kiki..."

Kirsten barely raised her head.

"I can't Dad... I've got a lot to finish before I head out to Costa Mesa. I need to go over the final specs with Tony... Besides, it's only 9:30."

Caleb wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You can do that after you eat. You're not going to do your family any good if you fall apart because you wouldn't take the time to eat a sandwich."

She put down her papers.

"Sandwich, huh? That's supposed to make me drop everything?"

Caleb knew he had his daughter.

"C'mon, I know a great place. They've got an amazing PB&J. Humour your old man, I might even be able to scrounge up some white bread."

A smile slowly crept across her lips.

"Seth's secret stash?"

"Is there any other...?"

Kirsten grabbed her purse and her keys.

"Race you to the car..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan's body tensed. He could feel the warm breath on his cheek. His eyes flew open. He was ready to propel himself from the bed.

"I can touch my nose with my tongue... Wanna see?"

Ryan waited for his eyes to focus and his breathing to slow down before trying to speak.

"Can I have some Captain Crunch? I know you bought a big box yesterday. It's way too big for just one person. I think you need to share..."

Ryan stared at the brown eyed, brown haired boy making himself at home. He watched as what was his name again? Yeah, Michael, as Michael rummaged through the cupboards and pulled out a large bowl, filling it with cereal.

"You want some Marty? You have lots..."

Ryan was just about to ask Michael if his mother knew where he was when he heard Mandy.

"Michael! Don't make me look for your scrawny butt."

"Uh-oh."The boy said but didn't look up from his cereal.

"You better let your mom know you're up here.

Michael shrugged and continued eating.

As Ryan stood up to grab a pair of jeans, a knock on the door sent him scrambling to grab his blanket and cover his boxers. Mandy quickly turned her head and shielded her eyes. When Ryan was covered, she glared at her son, but tried not to laugh at the flush traveling up Ryan's face.

"Hi Mom... Marty said I could have some Captain Crunch. He's got the "crew size"... Want some?"

Mandy gritted her teeth and spoke slowly to her son.

"Grab the bowl and get in the house before you wish the pigs ate you when you were little...."

Michael grinned.

"She just wants you to think she's mad... Bye Marty... Thanks for the cereal..."

Mandy struggled to keep from giggling at Marty's discomfort.

"I'm so sorry Marty. Michael has a tendency of making himself at home anywhere. It won't happen again... Maybe you should lock your door..."

Ryan could only nod, not trusting his voice.

Mandy led Michael to the house.

"Mom, he has big boy boxers... Just like me..."