Thank you all for your very kind reviews, they are appreciated GREATLY. However, this does not mean you can go back to lurking. I expect every single person to re-review this chapter again. And I mean it…. PS… I know there is still lurkers out there, I know it, I can sssssseeeeee you…. Please review guys, like I said I write these for you!

I only pray that you all love this chapter as much as you enjoyed the last one and that I don't disappoint anybody.

Oh – I lied, it's going to be a three parter. Possibly four – depends on your reviews if you want a 4th. – but you guys ask for that at the end of the 3rd, ok? And yes the past/present thing is to make it all wacky feeling, I mean, Sandy's…dead. :o(

But I felt that by the end of this chapter too much had happened to drag it out any longer and you guys might feel overwhelmed. So.

And one more thing. I know Sandy is Jewish. But personally, and this is in my humbleness of faith, I believe he only really pushed the issue when The Nana was around. Kirsten wasn't. Sandy's death – accidental – Kirsten is left in charge, or rather Caleb. You get it right? Besides for the story to play out it has to be this way. There is no sense in arguing religion, or else we would be in a pissing match for life. It's my story, therefore this is how it goes.

Enough of my bullshit – Please, Read- Review and Vamanos!

XxXxX

"When we're not together…"

"Everything shuts down."

-Up Close and Personal.

XxXxX

It's 1:18 in the morning when they come home. Seth and Ryan shush Marissa and Summer as they walk into the main house and notice Kirsten sleeping, or rather passed out, her tear stained face spoke volumes for how she spent the night. The Christmukkah card rests on her chest and the letter is tangled within her grasp.

They send Summer and Marissa upstairs in Seth's room to wait for them. Tom now occupies the pool house after Kirsten insisted that Ryan "must have," the room next to Seth's.

Ryan knew she wanted him close. She wanted all of them close. Because Sandy is gone and she has never felt lonelier. He can see it on her face and the way she is constantly twisting those platinum bands that Sandy gave her so long ago.

Ryan makes her comfortable while Seth removes the card and carefully untwists the fragile paper from her icy grip. He can see where her tears have hit and smeared parts of the black ink.

Ryan covers her and goes into the kitchen, placing the near empty pitcher in the sink before returning to her with a glass of water and 3 Extra Strength Tylenol Gel-caps.

No one knew that it was her second pitcher.

No one knew she drank herself into such a stupor that she couldn't even stand up.

Ryan knows a thing about hangovers, and she looks like she will have a good one. Trey's motto used to be, "Tylenol Before – Headache No More!"

He was a riot act in Chino.

"Kirsten? Wake up…" He slowly nudges her awake.

Ryan doesn't notice Seth as he sits on the other side of the table and reads the letter, his hands shaking.

'Dear Mrs. Kirsten Cohen,

You don't know me and I don't know you, other than your namesake. My name is David Harding. I was one of the jurors in courtroom at the time of the shooting….' Seth's dark eyes roam the paper hungrily, greedy even.

He doesn't know what to think.

He knows that somewhere deep inside of him, he's jealous of David. David got be say goodbye to his Dad. Seth didn't get that option. A small part of him feels relieved, his Dad was not alone. His Dad loved him, his Dad was proud of him.

He missed his father. He looks up at the clock, its 1:24 a.m. and he's missed his father about 400 times since midnight.

"Real quick Kirsten," he says quietly. "Come on."

She shivers and moans Sandy's name.

Ryan sucks his breath in sharply.

"Kirsten… It's Ryan, wake up," he says it tenderly, but forcefully.

She doesn't need anymore delusions of grandeur tonight.

He placed his hand on the side of her cheek and that does it.

Her eyes flutter and Ryan can tell she's fucking hammered. The odd thing is she doesn't reek of alcohol, it's just the way her eyes look. Dark blue, unresponsive, her pupils are dilated because they're too fucked up to do their job. Her face is flushed with a heated pink. It's the look Dawn always had.

It's a look Ryan hates.

But he forgives Kirsten because Kirsten is in denial and shock. Kirsten lost her other half, Kirsten lost her best friend, her center, and she's now losing her control.

Dawn, never had it.

Any of it.

She wakes up and takes the pills wordlessly and drinks the water like she's told to do before nuzzling down against the fuzzy warm blankets and soft down pillows.

Ryan rubs her back soothingly and within moments he can tell she's passed out into a world where Sandy and her happiness still exist. The only way he can tell is the small tiny smile that she gives off. He knows the only time she smiles now is when she thinks of Sandy.

Times where she's remembering the past, not grimacing of the future.

He gets up from resting on his heels and suddenly there is a light thump in his chest where Seth slams the letter into it.

Seth's eyes hold tears and he quietly chokes the words, "Read it," and nothing more. Ryan looks at the letter crumpled into his chest and then looks at Seth as he walks over to one of the huge windows. He watches as his shoulders heave up and down but no sounds came out.

Seth's a silent crier.

He holds his breath, for a second he thinks the worst – the letter was to him telling him that Kirsten would no longer be responsible for him and that she couldn't take him being around. Telling him that she couldn't deal with him now that Sandy wasn't around, telling him his biggest fear.

For a second.

It's only natural to think the worst for you – when the worst has already happened to someone else.

Then he catches the beginning,

Dear Mrs. Kirsten Cohen,

You don't know me and I don't know you, other than your namesake. My name is David Harding. I was one of the jurors in courtroom at the time of the shooting.'

Ryan grits his teeth as he reaches the dedications that Sandy struggled to say before his last breath.

Of course Sandy couldn't just leave them without making sure they knew how he felt.

"Seth, you're not rag on your mothers cooking so much, to make sure you still take out the garbage on the night its due and to not give you mother any trouble. Be good son, be smart. You were always my pride and joy Seth. I love you. I'm sorry and I wish I could be there for all of you."

"Ryan, you're to stay out of trouble and no fighting allowed. None. Watch over my girl for me, you might have to watch sappy movies with her and let her cry. Be good son, be smart. Keep playing soccer, You make me so proud everyday Ryan, I love you."

It's simple, it's to the point and it hurts like hell. He wants to crumple the letter and yell at Sandy. He wants to yell, "It's not fair!" and "I can't be the sole protector of this family! Not me, you got the wrong guy!"

But Ryan is not that kind of person. Not only does he deliver - he delivers with flying colors and punches.

At 1:31 in the morning, Ryan Atwood makes a vow to himself that this family will not fall, and he will do everything in his power to see that vow through. Maybe, sometime this week or tomorrow because right now his knees are too weak and his hands are shaking.

He can no longer read the writing from the letter.

Gingerly he sits the letter down the table and sighs. A hand dishevels his blond hair, already messy hair. He sighs again.

It's 1:47 a.m. and for the forty-ninth time since one a.m. came around, Ryan wishes Sandy didn't leave them. He wishes he would have fought harder to stay here in this earth.

It's a lot to think about… Sandy talking to this man, talking about Seth, about Kirsten, about him. He wonders helplessly to himself if Sandy's voice was deep and smooth like normal or if it was coming in harsh ragged breaths. He can't help but wonder how much pain he was in, if any.

Gunshots were tricky bastards if placed right. Some caused more pain than the human body could bear, and some didn't hurt at all.

He doesn't know. Only David does. Only David knows how much pain he was in. Only David knows if anyone else came to help. Only David knows how much he pleaded for his family.

Only David.

He doesn't even know what David looks like.

He looks at Seth, and he can't help but notice how much he looks like Sandy standing there.

The thinner, lankier version, with less eyebrows, but he still sees Sandy.

Still sees that dark mop of hair being unruly. Still sees the goofy grin and the sparkling, caring eyes that Seth inherited.

The way that Seth is slightly hunched over, with his arm up bracing himself against the wall, his head tilted down just a little bit and all his weight rests on his right foot, the left one balancing on his toe, his heel clear of the ground.

This is Seth's I-Don't-Know-What-To-Think pose.

This was Sandy's I-Don't-Know-What-To-Think pose.

Seth inherited the 'Think' pose.

Ryan can remember many times where Sandy was in the 'Think' pose, worried about something and Kirsten managed to scoot underneath his arm, her eyes meeting his, talking him down from doing something stupid. Somehow Kirsten could always take away Sandy's problems and vice versa. They were made for each other and they knew it.

Kirsten used to laugh about it.

Kirsten used to do a lot of things that she won't do again, laughing included.

Ryan takes a huge breath, rises and pats Seth on the shoulder.

Seth nods.

He casts a dark look at his mother before walking up the stairs to Marissa and Summer.

XxXxX

Summer and Marissa left. Seth knew his Mom wouldn't want them spending the night.

He refuses to disobey her wishes.

"You know something Ryan? I never understood why people always associate colors with days, or holidays you know? Green and Red for Christmas, Orange and Black for Halloween, Pink and Red for Valentines day, and then Black for black Friday, Summer's favorite because of the stupid sales. But now, now things are different, see, its called RED Friday, now. So that makes like a Gray Saturday, Beige Sunday, Purple Monday, Tumbleweed Tuesday, Blue Wednesday and Shit-Colored Thursday. I never really understood it."

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

Seth was really losing it. That letter really got to him.

"Tumbleweed Tuesday, Shit-Colored Thursday, Seth?" Now he too was going bonkers, talking about colors and days of the week.

"Yeah, it's that crappy color that seems to be the new hit on cars now a days, better than Diarrhea Thursday. Tumbleweed is a God-awful color if you use it in a coloring book. Besides," he murmured, "I ran out of colors and I had to save Blue for Wednesday."

Wednesday.

The Funeral.

Thee Funeral.

Permanent.

The End.

No looking back.

The "Dun-Dun," music.

"Blue Wednesday," Ryan says quietly. "Seth…?" That was the voice Ryan used when he talked about Kirsten. Seth listened as Ryan's tone softened when he said "Seth…?" Seth automatically knew that Ryan was implying about his mother.

They knew by the tones of each other's voices as to whom in the family they were talking about.

"I don't know. I don't know how she's going to take it."

Ryan nodded against the dark of his pillow as he flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know either.

"We lost the pump, someone's going to have to blow that baby up!"

Something like that. Something about that stupid pump.

Sandy was such a goober sometimes. Why did he always fucking smile so much?

And why did Sandy have to die? There were a million other people that God could have taken that day. A million better lawyers, why Sandy?

That marks over fifty times that Ryan has thought about Sandy dying since one o' clock ante meridiem.

Seth jerked Ryan from his questionable and unyielding thoughts.

"Isn't it supposed to be Blue Monday? Yeah, yeah, I think it is, Blue Monday. I know it's supposed to be Blue Monday, but it kind of felt out of character, you know? I think Orgy has a song called Blue Monday. Dad always hated Mondays. Do you think I'm like him Ryan? Like my Dad? I used to hate when people used to say that I was "just like him!" I always thought that it was too minty, you know. But do you?"

Ryan could hear the shear hope in Seth's voice.

"Yeah, Seth I do. I think you're like your Dad…" Ryan mumbled drowsily, trying his best to reassure Seth because he was getting into some nutso ramblings.

Ramblings so nutso that Ryan was taking into consideration about taking Seth to see a doctor when this was all over.

He doubted Kirsten could.

But what Seth doesn't comment on is that Ryan is too, like his Dad. Always making sure things were okay, always trying to help someone.

Sandy used to ramble sometimes, when he was in a bind, or something was wrong with Kirsten. Or Seth. Sandy would ramble on occasion to Ryan.

He would miss the older man's ramblings.

He rolled over and sighed again. He listened as Seth's soft snores filled the room finally. Finally Seth feel into an uneasy sleep. But yet it was sleep nonetheless.

Who didn't miss Sandy? Who didn't? Who didn't? Who didn't?

XxXxX

It's 7:16 in the morning. What day? Purple Monday. Kirsten's first thoughts are, 'I'm late, and it's Sandy's fault.'

Then she realizes she's late for nothing. And Sandy won't be waking her up in the mornings other than from horrible nightmares and heartbreaking loneliness.

Sunday was a blur, and she called and told her father to keep everyone away. They all needed rest and she was hung-over and didn't give two fucks about who was sorry today.

So sorry Kirsten.

She took more Tylenol and trudged up to Seth's room, pulling down on the blinds. Kirsten figures an airliner could have crashed into the Cohen household and neither of them would have cared or woken up.

For once Ryan didn't wake but Seth did. He stared at her and she looked back at him. She looked like shit and it registered on his face. He didn't say anything but patted his bed and let her curl up on his bed with him. Whether it was cool or uncool to let your Mother sleep in the same bed as you when you're seventeen - Seth didn't care.

Seth was all she had left of Sandy.

XxXxX

The Nana would be arriving on a late flight, Monday.

Luke was flying in from Portland.

Anna was flying in from Pittsburgh.

Jimmy was flying in from some island that no one had even heard of.

Marissa called him and broke the news. Jimmy had cried on the phone with her.

Lindsay couldn't make it. She sends her sympathy.

These were the messages in a nutshell on the Cohen's answering machine.

Conveniently Anna and Luke's flight arrive within minutes of each other.

Inconveniently the first showing was today, his mother was a wreck, part of Seth's hair wouldn't flop down, and Ryan was jittery.

Actually they were all jittery, none of their hair was cooperating and it was evident that they were all a wreck, both inside and out.

Tom stood waiting with the door open to their black chariot.

None of them wanted to get in.

Time stood waiting impatiently, waiting for them to move and get on with their day. Time stopped for no one.

But it felt like it stopped for them.

No one said a word as they climbed in.

They didn't talk much anymore. What exactly could they talk about right now anyway?

XxXxX

As the limo pulled up to the dreaded funeral home Kirsten felt nauseous.

Sweaty.

It would mess up her impeccable make-up. It took forever to get the purple-blue hueish rings around her eyes not so purple and noticeable. Actually it was damn near impossible to cover up and now the sweat was going to ruin her painstaking job.

10:46 a.m.

Her stomach went up into her throat.

Her throat was a cotton ball.

Her heart slammed in her chest and dropped down into her stomach.

The limousine was claustrophobic and slowly closing in on her.

It was too hot.

Way too hot.

The leather has that new Lexus smell, and her stomach churned.

The sweat should have been Ryan's indication that she was having the beginning telltale signs of full-blown panic. But he was looking out the window.

The limo stopped.

She paled.

Kirsten scrambled for the door that Tom wasn't opening and Ryan wasn't getting out of.

She managed to open the door and lean out far enough, before vomiting the bagel and coffee she had managed to stomach for breakfast onto the parking lot.

'Great,' Kirsten thought as her stomach revolted and her conscious screamed, 'I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna, you can't make ME!'

Not one part of her body was cooperating with her.

Ryan scooted back into the limo and held back her savvy blond hair as soon as he heard her.

Seth rushed into the funeral home and grabbed some water and paper towels, and a handful of mints as he bolted back out.

Water. Spit.

Wipe face.

Mint.

Ask the dreaded question. "Did I get anything on me?"

Getting a once over and the relieving answer of, "No." And a concerned look.

Sigh. Secretly she wishing she had, then she could delay all of this by going home, changing clothes and reapplying another ton of makeup.

"You okay now?"

She gave him a fleeting incredulous look before closing her eyes and taking it back.

Ryan was her son, not a stranger, he didn't deserve that look.

She sipped her water and leaned back into warm leather Lexus smelling seat. She felt like laughing. She felt like putting her fist through the tinted glass. She doubts she would have felt it anyway. 'Okay? No. No, I'll never be okay. I'll never be all right. I'll never be fine again.'

The mint crunched in her mouth, swirling between her teeth and her tongue.

She wishes with all her heart she was lying on the couch with Sandy, kissing him, twirling her slender hands within his dark whispy hair. Making love to him until she was exhausted and falling asleep in his arms.

Instead of swirling this mint around in her hot mouth at his funeral.

Wishing.

Seth looked at her with wild brown eyes. Sometimes Sandy would look at her like that if she had told him something incredible, or shocking. Like the time she kissed Jimmy Cooper.

Bam! Wild eyes that night!

Her father was getting out of his limousine, buttoning up his dark suit jacket as he did so.

Tom stood looking around almost nervously.

At least it was cloudy out, the clouds matched her depressed mood.

Caleb straightening the imaginary wrinkle out of his pitch-black suit, while pushing his sunglasses on with his left hand. He looked so secret "servicy" it was sickening. He helped Julie out of the car. Julie is probably the only person in the world who could make a funeral look sexy.

And she did. She looked stunning.

Black tight suit/skirt thing, RED curled hair and cool steel blue eyes. That skirt rode waaaaay up her muscled thighs when she got out of the limousine.

"Kirsten?" Ryan looked at her, and trying not to focus on those purple-bluish rings that were standing out below her eyes. It was hard.

Tick Tock. The funeral director people weren't going to wait all day.

She sucked in her breath, willing the slamming of her heart to stop. Willing her palms to stop sweating.

Monday. 10:53 a.m. Kirsten Cohen's almost nervous breakdown.

She gave him a tight small smile. "Okay."

Her conscious was quick to give her a reprimand. 'Nothing's okay,' it bitches like a broken record.

Kirsten climbed out of the limo with Ryan's help.

Seth sighed. Tom gives her a small but reassuring smile.

"Tom – I'm so…" but handsomely sweet Tom just shook his blond head and held up his hand.

"It's okay, Kirsten. I understand."

Of course he does.

She nods her head gratefully and Ryan takes her by the elbow, guiding her in to the Doom's Day event.

D-Day. Exact Time. Eleven hundred hours. Purple Monday.

Three Days after RED Friday.

Cha-Ching! The sound of a slot machine somehow enters Ryan's mind.

It's dark and the funeral home director introduces himself. "Jake," he holds out his hand to Ryan and Seth. Gives them the sympathy nod with a sympathy grimace.

Jake, Kirsten and Caleb have already met. They've "Chatted."

Jake leads them into a beautiful room, flowers, pictures, and blankets with Jesus, Mary, along with Shepherds with sheep and Angels on them.

The black and chrome with a blue oak ring closed casket.

It's Seth who sucks his breath in first.

Maybe from the harsh reality that his father is really dead, that he is indeed here to bury him.

Or maybe its just the pictures that jog his memory.

His eyes came to rest upon the picture that was just him and his Dad. Two of them actually. One with Seth as a baby and his father was sleeping, passed out exhaustedly on the couch, a loving arm around little Seth, holding him close to his chest. Protecting him.

The other, gangly, lanky tan Seth and Sandy. Grinning, his Dad had his arm around his shoulder. It was a recent picture and one that Seth doesn't even remember taking it.

It's Kirsten's body that shudders when she sees the large picture of her and Sandy together, holding on to each other like their lives depended on it, the grin on their faces could have lit up a room.

Another one of her handsome husband giving off one of his bashful grins. He was a camera ham when he wanted to be.

Another one of Sandy kissing her on the forehead.

That brings tears to her dark blue eyes.

She stops walking as she and Ryan take in their new surroundings. He can feel her tremble and his arm is around her tightly.

The Christmukkah photo, with all of them.

Julie had the photos blown up and placed around the room. Kirsten knew that.

She had done a good job.

11:04 a.m.

Sandy would've been calling her to see what she wanted for lunch. She would have answered with a smile.

Her eyes roamed over the various pictures and scenes, the Deepest Sympathy Cards that rested on the flowers, and blankets. The room was overflowing with items.

"Mrs. Cohen. This is very overwhelming to us. We have gotten more than we can handle, in cards, flowers, and blankets. I have more in a small room down the hall, it's almost filled." He paused. "There is a line of people that are waiting to get in here Mrs. Cohen," he gave her a small, sad, smile and went around to open the doors.

Kirsten realizes then, she forgot a flask. Tomorrow, when she has to do this all over again, she was going to be buzzed as fuck.

Because she can tell already that trying to do without it is ludicrous.

XxXxX

Julie, Caleb, Marissa, were right behind them.

Caleb did most of the funeral arrangements. At least when he was civil to Sandy, it was in his death.

"Oh," Marissa breathed in softly, not expecting the essence of the room. Looking at all the smiling pictures and then glancing back to the shattered remnants of the family, there was a huge difference.

She took a step closer to her mother, her own body giving away a shudder. It was hard not to walk into this room and not cry. Julie's cool blue eyes watched her daughter warily and she placed a soothing well-manicured hand on her back.

Death does it's own job for everyone and this included smacking Marissa in the face with harsh reality. She thought to herself what might possibly happen if she lost her mother. She didn't want to know.

Marissa did have feelings underneath that Vodka wall of hers.

So last night she found her mother watching a movie on the couch, signing certain papers and she timidly curled up on the couch with her. Julie paused in her paperwork. RED hair and steel blue-gray eyes flashing, ready for the fight that normally comes when Marissa walks or staggers through the room.

Marisa's voice was low but sincere. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch Mom. For everything."

Julie arched a perfect chestnut eyebrow in surprise.

Marissa's green-gold eyes are sincere with apology.

Marissa remembers her mother putting the paperwork on the side and shifting so that Marissa can lay her head in her lap. It was something they used to do – long ago.

She doesn't forget the look on her face.

Julie is forgiving in the way that only a mother can be. "It's okay 'Ris. It will all be okay." Marissa falls asleep to the feeling of contentment and the tender manicured nails running through her silky fine hair.

Mom uses the pet name, it makes her feel more at ease.

She falls asleep feeling safe and possibly on the way to feeling semi "All right."

Marissa and Julie watch Kirsten as she fidgets with the platinum wedding bands that now deem her a widow. Julie's steel blue-gray eyes cast to Seth as he tugs on his tie like Sandy always did. Her eyes sweep to Ryan who remains frozen in place, his face ultimately etched the sorrow and fear that griped him.

Julie read the letter that Dave Harding wrote.

Julie knows why Ryan's face is engraved with the uncertainly that shouldn't grace his seventeen years. He doesn't want to fail Sandy, even in his death.

He doesn't want to fail this family and he doesn't know if he can keep up his end of the bargain.

The only person who could really handle Kirsten is the person who is resting in that ten thousand dollar black and chrome casket.

Ryan's no longer seventeen anymore.

It shows on his face.

He knows he can't handle her by himself.

But he doesn't know who to ask for help.

XxXxX

Kirsten sees sad faces, she sees sorrowful smiles, she feels their heartfelt hugs but she's on auto-pilot. She responds correctly to their "I'm- so- sorry's," and their other pathetic bullshit. Like they care. They saw it on the news. It's no big deal to half of these people. They're here because this is the "event to be at!"

"It's the lawyer from RED Friday! WE have to GO!"

She has to live this every day.

Oh, Kirsten. Oh I'm so sorry. Sandy he was such a good, handsome man, with so many more years to live. You must be devastated.

'No, I'm happy as a clam!' Her dark lifeless eyes bore into the hazel ones of this stranger. She gives her the sympathy nod. It's all she can muster besides telling this Hazel-eyed stranger to shut the fuck up and get the hell out.

And they should really bring a bucket in here because she feels like throwing up all over again.

So, so sorry.

But she won't.

She's just numb.

And when you're numb you often feel like throwing up.

Oh God, this is such a tragedy, I'm so sorry Kirsten.

Hugs, slight tears, and words of sorrow. Mmm, bucket. Let's throw up now. Gulp. Or not. Stranger number ? moves on down the line.

So sorry, Kirsten.

That's all this is. People she doesn't even know show up, and offer their condolences, like it's a God damned social event and she planned the whole thing.

Mrs. Cohen, oh this is such a tragedy. Oh I'm so, so sorry for your loss.

Luke's here, Anna too, actually the whole gang is here, Marissa and Summer stand off to the side a little ways, waiting, round number 1 is almost over. 2:39 p.m. Purple Monday.

Kirsten. Dear. Oh I'm so sorry.

She's on auto-pilot and doesn't pay attention to who she hugs next.

The voice is soft, and recognizable, the brown eyes are familiar underneath the deep tan and the way he smells shifts her from Auto-Pilot Kirsten to No-Longer-In-Control Kirsten.

The Kirsten that was just waiting to happen. The Kirsten that only Sandy could control.

It's 2:47 p.m. on Purple Monday, when Kirsten finally loses it.

"Hey…" that's all he gets out. A gentle, "Hey." His voice is so soft and comforting. It breaks through that cold "so sorry," wall that's been put up.

The tears fall as she hugs Jimmy. Her sobs are now audible as she clings to his black suit. Her wall begins to shatter and her body can no longer project the false "I'm okay," image that she has been attempting.

Everyone hears this, and turns.

Maybe this will be on the news tonight too.

Her pale shaking hands grasp the black lapels of his jacket, wrapping around the stiff fabric and wrinkling it beyond help. Her knees shake before giving out on her entirely. Her body can no longer support itself as she cries and he wordlessly scoops her up like Sandy has done so many times in the past, while Jake signals to Jimmy to, "bring her this way."

Tears fall onto Jimmy's shoulder like the rain.

Jake saw it on her face as soon as she walked in. He knew this would happen. She had the look. Jake couldn't really describe it, but it was there. It was in her eyes, and the purple –blue tinted dark rings that stood out underneath her lifeless dark eyes no matter how many times she applied makeup. They were there – and they would be there for a long time coming. It was her body language the way she succumbed to the defeat like someone hit her in the stomach. It was simply the way she looked.

Completely lost.

Shattered.

Listless.

It was what Jake liked to call, "The Breakdown Look."

"Jimmy, I miss him so much. I can't do this anymore, I can't do it by myself," everyone hears her saddened, desperate pleas. "I can't do this anymore….I need him Jimmy, oh God… I need…him so much. How could he do this to me? ….I can't….."

His heart breaks for her and he can't get her into the other room fast enough.

If people weren't crying when they came in, they are now.

There is a loud 'whack' in a different direction and Caleb turns to see Ryan punching a wall. Caleb knows the boy just yelled, "Fuck!" in front of hundreds of Newport's elite. He doesn't blame him. The poor kid is feeling like he's failed Sandy already.

He read the letter - he wasn't born yesterday. Ryan and Sanford, your own personal Hero's in a bottle.

Sanford's dead and now Ryan is all that's left.

His daughter is way more than Ryan can handle.

Kirsten is more than even he can handle.

Caleb curses Sandy, now more than ever. Christ, at least when he was alive he could console her, control her, keep her calm and happy. He was her rock.

The family is coming apart, the bare threads that are scantly holding them together are slowly getting cut and there is nothing that anyone can do about it.

Nothing.

XxXxX

Caleb called his doctor and tells him what happened. He told Caleb he would be there in fifteen minutes.

He makes it in ten.

Caleb gives him a hundred bucks extra for making the journey in ten instead of fifteen minutes like promised.

"God it was hell to get in here!" he comments as he rushes by.

Apparently Sandy Cohen's death is much more publicized than anyone realizes.

It's well past three, but no one leaves. More just keep coming and someone has to greet them, so Caleb and Ryan do it.

Seth is kneeling by his mother, holding her hand while she sobs inconsolably. The other hand is still grasped onto Jimmy's jacket and he's holding her in his arms. Seth and Jimmy are talking rapid fire to Kirsten, trying anything to calm her down.

She just sobs those great-big-can't-breathe-gasping sobs. Her makeup is ruined, the purple blue rings are more evident now then ever.

A quick roll of the sleeves, a small pat of the cool alcohol swap followed by a nice little pinprick and the needle goes in smooth.

The drug goes in even smoother and finally Kirsten can rest, or at least catch her breath.

It's scarcely 3:12 p.m. when Kirsten is forced to relax.

Her pulse is thready and it raises an eyebrow of concern from the doctor. He shakes his head sadly, and writes a prescription, handing it to Jimmy. "Make sure she takes these for the next few days. It will help. She needs rest, now."

Jimmy nods and Seth looks up at him with his father's deep eyes of concern.

Jimmy pats his shoulder reassuringly. He's going to get Tom.

It was one hell of a homecoming.

XxXxX

Tom is waiting for them in the back entrance. Jimmy has Kirsten in his arms as he walks to the limo.

The door magically opens from the inside.

"Jules."

"Jimmy."

Kirsten moans.

He climbs in and looks at his ex-gold-digging-wife-who-he-had-been-currently-fucking-when-he-left.

She looks G.O.O.D. So fuckably fresh. It's the hair, that RED, curly hair. And the eyes. Julie has great eyes. Julie has great legs and thighs to match. Julie's eyes and thighs, an irresistible mixture.

He can hear Sandy yell somewhere, "Nice job Jimbo! But Kirsten comes first!"

He shakes his head. Kirsten was always first. Julie looks at him, her steely blues met Jimmy's hazel browns with fire.

They both turn and look out the window.

XxXxX

It's 8:52 p.m. when Caleb, Ryan, Seth, Marissa, Anna, Luke, and Summer finally stagger through the Cohen household.

Ryan, Seth, and Caleb had to stay and "Greet."

Marissa, Summer, Anna and Luke were good sports and supported their friends.

People started through the doors at eleven in the morning and they didn't stop until eight fucking thirty at night, until Caleb called the cops and the funeral home closed up shop for the night.

People are relentless when they are in mass groups.

The Nana would be arriving soon.

Seth groaned at the thought. With no father, the Nana would be unsupervised and have free reign. He only hoped her reign wouldn't go so far as to insult his mother.

Or else he and the Nana would be sharing some choice words.

He told longhaired Luke and the gang to go into the living room, and start up the Playstation, he was going to check on his Mom.

Ryan followed silently, like a brooding puppy.

Jimmy walked out of Seth's room.

Jimmy must have seen the questions on Seth's face. "She didn't want to be on the couch and she refuses to sleep in the master bedroom."

Seth noticed Jimmy didn't say, THEIR bedroom, or Kirsten's bedroom, or Sandy's bedroom. He didn't call it his Mom's bedroom or his Dad's bedroom, it was now dubbed "The Master Bedroom."

Seth and Ryan thanked him before ducking into Seth's room.

XxXxX

The doorbell rings. Summer gets up from watching Luke and Anna chop ninja's and answers it.

The Nana appears at the doorway looking weary.

It's evident she has been crying.

"Shalom, Nana," Summer tries to ease the tension.

"Hello Summer-Dear." She steps in the room and drops her suitcase by the door. "Where's Kirsten?"

Summer becomes uptight and hesitates.

"Kirsten isn't doing so well, Nana."

The Nana raises an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

Summer sighs and does the little kid pose when they have to pee, bending her knees and bouncing up and down a little.

She looked so cute.

"She had a major breakdown when Jimmy Cooper hugged her."

The Nana did an almost sigh and then caught herself, warning bells ringing inside her head. "The Kirsten had a major breakdown?"

Summer gave her a look that stated, 'Duh!'

The Nana didn't hesitate.

The Nana takes the steps up two at a time pausing as she came to the top, ragged and out of breath, listening as she heard the voices coming from Seth's bedroom.

Both Seth and Ryan were talking to her, begging her if they could do anything. She couldn't answer them.

The Nana opened the door to find Seth and Ryan, kneeling by a tear stained Kirsten. She didn't even raise her head. Her eyes didn't move from looking out the window.

The boys rose and gave her a small smile and left the room.

Kirsten was curled up on her side facing the window, knee's halfway bent up to her chest, an arm tucked under her and an arm around her stomach. Her cheeks were wet with the tears that silently flooded them. They wouldn't stop, not until she cried herself into exhaustion.

The Nana eased her creaking body down to a kneeling position, looking into the drowsy and weary depths of Kirsten Cohen's blue unresponsive eyes. Her eyes are completely lifeless.

"What are you thinking?"

No, "Hello," no, "Hey how's it going?" no, "Are you doing all right?" The Nana knows those answers. She stares at Kirsten with the patience of Sandy, and finally Kirsten looks back. Finally there is a slight spark as her pupils dilate as she blinks a few times and tries to focus.

She gives a half smirk, half small, "I-can't-believe-you-asked-me-that," laugh.

She sighs shakily. "What am I thinking?" her voice is hoarse and thick, it doesn't matter how many times she clears her throat it won't go away.

The Nana waits patiently, and looks at the small river of tears that flow endlessly from her pools of deep unrelenting, dull blue eyes.

"I'm thinking that…. I don't see myself in ….this world without ….him. I'm thinking of that….stupid….time in…. Berkeley…. When he made…. that promise. I'm thinking…. that I love…. him so much ….that I don't…. know what to…. do with…. myself, that I don't… want to go on…anymore. And …it's not fair…. to Ryan and Seth…." Her voice ranges with the sniffs, the choking sobs, and the tears.

"It's not fair," she whispers.

The Nana rises from her spot on the floor as Kirsten curls into a ball and lets her tears fall freely, not bothering to wipe them away, re-staining the pillow. Her body is shuddering and shivering out of her control and the sobs that wrack the frail frame are simply heartbreaking.

She reaches over and smoothes the blond hair away from her flushed tearstained face.

She's a wreck and she needs to sleep.

The Nana says nothing as she leaves the room and calls, "Sethela."

He wasn't very far away, actually at the bottom of the stairs.

She requests that he get her four things.

1. "Tylenol PM and a glass of water."

2. "Something comfortable for her to wear."

3. "Jimmy."

4. "A Bagel."

He returns hastily with her requests, which include a whole bottle of Tylenol PM, and his mother's pale blue pajamas.

And Jimmy. Jimmy is standing there looking haggard, it's evident that he doesn't know what to think, but Seth can tell he misses his father. After all, it's Sandy that didn't let Jimmy founder.

They walk in Seth's room and close the door behind them.

Jimmy and the Nana help Kirsten out of her funeral clothes. Jimmy and the Nana make sure she takes those Tylenol PM's and swallows them. Jimmy and the Nana, kneel in front of her, and force her to eat the bagel. Jimmy and the Nana talk quietly to her, their voices are soft and calm, and they are forcing her to listen to their voices and not the ones in her head.

Jimmy rubs her back soothingly and they stay with her until she closes her sad, weary eyes and they make sure she has fallen asleep.

Wordlessly Jimmy departs and walks downstairs to join the kids in what hopefully might lift his heavy heart in game of Ninjas.

Its 12:11 a.m. Tuesday morning, in a house that is completely full but is more desolate then it has ever been.

The worst has yet to come.

Only then does the Nana slip back into Seth's room and kneels down in front of her exhausted sleeping form.

She has easily lost ten pounds since the day Sandy died.

Easily.

Even in the dark, the bluish purple rings stand out underneath her eyes blatantly.

She gives her a sad smile in the dark, "My boy loved you so. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't tell me. You my dear, were his world, and it's obvious that he was yours."

She slowly rises, the bones in her knees cracking and she pulls the comforter up tighter around Kirsten before pushing another stubborn blond strand away from her restless face.

She thinks that she sees her smile slightly. Maybe just a little.

Despite the small grudge she has always held against the beautiful woman she can't help but pray for her.

The old Kirsten that she was used too, the one with piss, fire and vinegar is gone. She is three sheets to the wind somewhere, but not in this world.

She closes the door softly and shuts her eyes, sending out a small prayer to whoever will listen, that they help Kirsten, that they give her the will to live and the strength to survive.

Because if they don't, she is surely on a path that has only one ending.

Because for Kirsten, time truly ended on Friday.