Title : Small Steps

Author : Helen C.

Rating : PG - 13

Summary : Oliver is back, and makes a mess of things again. Set in season 2.

Spoilers : Everything that's been aired up to The Rainy Day Women is fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many, many thanks to Joey51, who beta'd this for me!

Chapter 6 : The Interlude

Inmates couldn't get phone calls outside specified hours, so Ryan left a message, feeling like an idiot for calling a prison at six in the morning. He then managed to go back to sleep—a short nap that did wonders for him.

At eight, deciding he had lazed around in bed long enough, he went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Sandy was still there, drinking his coffee. Ryan nodded at him distractedly.

A quote he had once read was trotting around in his head ever since he had woken up for the second time. "To be scared is sensible; to be comfortable is suicidal."

If Ryan had ever known who had said that, he had forgotten the information a long time ago. Not that it mattered.

"To be scared is sensible; to be comfortable is suicidal." Once upon a time, this was a perfect way to summarize Ryan's state of mind. Once upon a time, Ryan never let his guard down. When AJ entered his life, he even stopped sleeping soundly, always ready to defend himself, even in his sleep.

Thinking back on it now, Ryan couldn't believe just how long he had been able to live under constant pressure, always ready to be hit, to draw a fist and defend himself. Always ready to be hurt or disappointed by his mother or his brother. Always ready to be tossed aside and forgotten.

He didn't know when, in the course of his stay with the Cohens, he had dropped that particular instinct—when he had stopped being sensible and become suicidal, when he had allowed them to get close, at the risk of being betrayed or rejected again.

Taking that risk had been scary.

No, scratch that.

It had been terrifying. And Ryan hadn't let his guard down in one day either. It had taken a lot of small gestures, reassuring words, and parental advice, until he was sure that these kind strangers truly meant their offer for help.

It had been more than worth it. When Sandy had said, before Ryan left for Chino, "You know we'd do anything for you," Ryan had known it had been worth it.

"To be scared is sensible; to be comfortable is suicidal." One day, not so far in the future, Ryan would explain that to Sandy. One day, he would tell Sandy how much the Cohens had changed his life.

Ryan was now, and he could barely believe it, considering talking to an adult as a viable option when there was a problem. And yes, there were still small bugs in the communication process, from time to time. Kirsten and Sandy being constantly gone or at each other's throats for weeks, after Chrismukkah, hadn't helped. Neither did the fact that sometimes, Ryan's old insecurities came back with a vengeance, and he decided to not bother the Cohens with his problems, because, really, who was he to have problems?

Still, overall, Ryan's communication's skills were increasing.

Too bad said communication skills weren't helping in this case. The Cohens were growing scared, Ryan was growing frustrated with himself, and there was only one way to fix things.

Words.

The Cohens needed to hear something reassuring. Ryan needed to find something reassuring to say.

They needed words, all of them.

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Sandy considered the pensive teenager sitting next to him, munching on his cereal—a sight so familiar, Sandy couldn't believe that a short twenty months earlier, he didn't even know the kid.

Parenting was such a guessing game, even in the best of circumstances. And the world Seth and Ryan were growing up in hardly presented the best of circumstances. When Sandy thought about Ryan sitting in front of the police officer, he wanted to take the kid, find Seth, and lock them both in a room until the world was safer.

Pity he couldn't do that, seeing as how social services might frown upon it, in all their wisdom.

Someone, possibly Jimmy, had once told Sandy that certainly, being a parent got easier with time. Sandy wondered if, like himself, Jimmy was finding it increasingly difficult.

Sandy was a control freak. He freely admitted it.

He didn't like that there were people he couldn't help. He didn't like that there were things he couldn't protect the boys from. And he didn't like that he couldn't read minds—that he couldn't know for sure what they were thinking.

He wished he had easy answers at his disposal. He wished he could tell Ryan, "This is why it happened; this is who was responsible. All is well now."

When Kirsten had accepted to let Ryan stay, Sandy had told her that they were in way over their heads.

How right he had been.

Yet, surprisingly, the difficulties hadn't been where he had expected them to be.

After a rocky start, Ryan had fit right into their lives, and even if the rest of the Newport snobs still eyed him warily, the Cohens couldn't remember how life was pre-Ryan. After Ryan had gone back to Chino in the summer, Kirsten had said, "I didn't even know something was missing from this family until he came along. Three weeks after his arrival, I couldn't conceive him not being here. And now…." She had cried a little, and he had held her, feeling exactly the same way.

Sandy still felt awed when he thought about the way Ryan had entered their lives. So many things could have gone wrong.

When they had met, Ryan was a lost kid, well on his way to becoming another statistic. Sooner rather than later, people would have stopped seeing the bright kid, and seen only the delinquent, yet another victim of poverty and domestic abuse.

And then, Ryan messed up, and was assigned Sandy Cohen as a defendant. And when Sandy saw him, something clicked. Why this kid and not another? To this day, Sandy couldn't answer. Many people had asked him just that. People still asked him now. And all he could say was, "Because." For someone who was paid to talk, and to talk convincingly, he was certainly flunking in this case.

It would have taken so little. If Dawn hadn't kicked Ryan out, if Ryan hadn't found himself without a place to sleep—if he hadn't taken a chance and called a lawyer he had spoken to for ten minutes, on the off chance that said lawyer truly meant his offer for help and wasn't a psycho.

If Seth hadn't taken one look at Ryan and decided he had found his long lost brother.

If Sandy hadn't married a kind-hearted woman.

A chain of coincidence, of hurried decisions, of intuitive propositions.

It could all have been derailed so easily.

What were the odds of something like that happening? Sandy wondered.

And now, after all this, after everything that had happened the previous year, Sandy found himself at a loss for what to do. Days hadn't brought him any answers. He needed words. He needed to hear something from Ryan, needed to find something comforting to say. He and Kirsten, and presumably Luke and Seth, had just spent four days asking Ryan how he was, and telling him that he had done what he had to. They needed to find something else, because obviously, what they were doing wasn't sufficient.

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"Uh oh," Ryan thought.

Sandy had his "talk" look on.

The one that promised an awkward discussion, and probably a pat on the back.

Sandy opened his mouth, and what went out was the last thing Ryan expected. "I'm sorry."

Ryan blinked. "Why?"

Sandy smiled sheepishly. "Because I didn't see it coming? Because I couldn't keep you from it? Because the best I could say was that it would all get better? Take your pick."

Ryan shook his head. "What more is there to say?" he asked.

"I don't know. Hence, the apology."

Ryan stared at his half-eaten sandwich. He hadn't talked to anyone about the night Oliver had died. He knew that Sandy had stayed in the poolhouse, probably until early in the morning. But Ryan's memories of that night were fuzzy at best. He could, however, vaguely remember the hug Sandy had given him. He was sorry he couldn't recapture that moment more precisely, was sorry he hadn't enjoyed it more while it lasted.

For a brief moment, Ryan intensely wished someone would hug him now, and not let go for ten minutes—with an option for five more. He wished someone would tell him that everything was going to be all right.

After sixteen years of living with only minimal emotional security, Ryan was now recognizing the value of comfort. If someone offered him a hug right now, he would gripe and complain for the sake of his teenager pride, but he would enjoy it all the same.

Ryan cursed his own inability to tell Sandy or Kirsten that he appreciated everything they were doing for him—not just the material security, but the affective one as well. The fact that they tried to make him feel better, that they wanted to make sure he was fine, meant the world to him.

He felt like he was failing them. He couldn't find anything intelligent or reassuring to say about That Night; he couldn't make it all better. Every time he tried to talk about Oliver, he couldn't even begin to choose how to broach the subject. Should he first deal with the fact that he had been stupid enough to enter the house? Should he say that he regretted having killed Oliver, but that he also loved life very much and didn't plan on dying anytime soon? Should he explain how terrified he had been when the cops had entered Marissa's room? How scared he had been of losing everything he had gained in the last twenty months?

Increased verbal skills or not, when he tried to talk about Oliver with the Cohens, any coherent thought flew out of his head, leaving only a vague sensation of malaise—and rendering Ryan as inarticulate as a four-year-old. So, he fell back on old, safe habits, and told them he was fine, never hoping he'd fool them, but still hoping they'd let it go.

Ryan was beginning to wonder what it would take to "unblock" him.

Sandy went on, interrupting Ryan's musings. "I know I didn't have anything better to offer than 'It'll get better,' and you must feel cheated, who wouldn't?"

"I don't," Ryan said, inwardly shouting that the Cohens weren't the ones lacking in the communication department, that it was Ryan who was failing, and spectacularly so.

But, perhaps, if he couldn't talk to the Cohens about Oliver yet, he could reassure Sandy a little on his parenting skills.

Ryan took a breath, cursing the fact that he hadn't learned to do that stuff with Dawn, and that he couldn't be flippant like Seth. But what did he have to lose? His bad boy image? It wasn't as if Sandy hadn't seen through it after five minutes.

He had to say it, or he wouldn't be able to sleep.

He wanted to say it. He wanted to offer something, anything to Sandy.

"Sandy…" He trailed off, then gathered all his courage. Who was the genius who had decided that verbal communication was a good thing, anyway? "Thanks for saying it?" He smiled nervously, eyes firmly on the table in front of him. "I mean, I know it's not true, and not everything will magically get better but I didn't mind hearing it."

He risked a glance at Sandy, who seemed dumbstruck for once. "Okay," Sandy said at last.

"Yeah."

"Ryan…" Sandy trailed off. Ryan smiled slightly.

"Is this where you threaten me with a talk?"

Sandy frowned. "Wanna rephrase that?"

"Not particularly," Ryan answered. He felt drained suddenly, his quota of words exhausted for the day. "I just… How long do I have, until you tie me up to a chair and try to get answers out of me?"

Sandy considered the question seriously. "Not that long," he said.

Sandy still looked worried. Ryan didn't think he had seen the man relaxed even once, since That Night.

The Cohens, too, had taken a risk when Ryan had entered their lives. They had allowed themselves to care for him, accepting the fact that they could get hurt. They could lose Ryan, perhaps even more easily than they could lose Seth, because Ryan didn't share blood ties or sixteen years of history with them.

Feeling he owed Sandy at least a promise, Ryan nodded. "Okay. I'll… Yeah. Soon?"

Sandy nodded. "Soon."

Ryan nodded tiredly. "I'm sorry, too," he said.

Sandy looked at him askance.

Ryan shrugged. "I know I keep getting into these situations. I don't know what…" He trailed off, not knowing how to finish the statement before venturing too far into dangerous territories.

Sandy was shaking his head. "This isn't your fault in any way, shape or form," he said.

Ryan bit back a retort. The Cohens kept assuring him that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't had a choice. And he knew that, but, while it may not have been his fault, it was certainly his responsibility. Maybe Oliver was the one who had caused the situation, but it was Ryan who had pulled that trigger—who had killed the guy. Perhaps, if he was less quick to rush to the rescue…

He frowned. "Perhaps" was just another way of saying "if only," and he had had enough of that this morning already.

"Yeah," he said, not feeling like explaining all that to Sandy.

Seth chose that moment to enter the kitchen and Ryan marveled again at his friend's timing. Whenever Seth entered a room, it was always at the best possible moment, or at the worst one. Never in betweens with Seth Cohen. And the worst part was that he didn't even seem to be doing it on purpose, most times.

"Hey guys!" Seth said. Ryan, who had read about, and agreed with, Stephen King's horror of the word "zestful," had to admit that in this case, it would have been appropriate to describe Seth.

Seth, who looked incredibly awake for a holiday morning before noon, bounced into the room, noisily retrieved a can of soda and a piece of cold pizza from the fridge, hopped around, then stood still for all of five seconds, before rounding on Ryan.

"So, revenge must be exacted."

Ryan hid a smile, and shook his head sadly. "Seth, Seth, Seth… Will you ever learn?"

"Oh, I have learned my lesson. Oh yes. My lesson I have learned. And now, my friend, you shall see the return of the Master—that's me—and you will be utterly defeated, and that smug look you always have when you use your ruse and sneaky powers to defeat me? It'll be wiped off." Seth paused briefly to breathe, before adding, with what Ryan thought was a touching and unrealistic conviction, "Wiped. Off."

He spun on his heels and stomped to the couch. Ryan thought he could almost see the remnants of awkwardness and tension that had filled the room leave with Seth. He turned to Sandy. "I beat him last night."

"Right," Sandy said in a choked tone, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

"He's not taking it as well as expected. Obviously."

Sandy chuckled. "Good luck."

Ryan nodded solemnly, blessing Seth and his uncanny ability to diffuse awkward situations, whether he planned to or not. "Thanks," he said.

And he joined Seth in front of the Play Station, determined to teach his friend a lesson.

Again.

Thanks everyone who reviewed! And I promise, next time, there will be Trey. And Luke.