Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter 12

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Kirsten ran her fingers delicately through Seth's curls, mourning the fact that soon they would be no more.

"I'm ready for anything, as long as I've got my new wheels." Seth patted the side of the wheelchair he was occupying. "I'll be hot roding down the hallway in no time." He popped a few wheelies to prove his point.

The wheelchair was the doctor's ordered transportation to and from the chemotherapy room. Seth hadn't been too keen on the idea, but there was little he could do in the face of Nurse Martha, the vaguely scary woman in white who was built like a linebacker.

"Do you think 'Pimp My Ride' does wheelchairs?" Seth glanced at Ryan, probably the only person in the room who had ever even heard of the show.

Ryan shrugged, his eyes darting around the room. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. The relative calm of everyone else in the room was throwing him off a bit. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he should have just gone to school and given Seth some alone time with his folks.

Sandy poked his head into the room. He motioned to Kirsten.

"Honey, Dr. Pearson wants to see us across the hall for a minute," he said.

"We'll get to see him again before he goes, right?" Kirsten gave Sandy a look that said she was not going across that hall unless the answer he gave her was yes.

"Of course. I made sure of it." Sandy gave her an appeasing smile.

Kirsten exited, patting Seth's hair one more time before she left.

"So...you find the application?" Seth smiled at Ryan and performed a few masterful wheelchair moves in small circles around him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Ryan cleared his throat.

"Now, before you say anything, yes, I know, the money. The application fee is a little steep, but think of it as an early Chrismakkuh gift. Meaning whatever you get me next year needs to be Grade A, because these are my bar mitzvah bucks here. No Ryan Atwood macaroni art." Seth's grin was exuberant. "So, what do you think? Are you in?"

Ryan scuffed the toe of his boot on the tile floor. "A whole summer at school?"

"Six weeks," Seth corrected him. "And there'd be no one to tell us that Slim Jims aren't a part of a balanced breakfast." He paused. "Oh, and I already wrote an essay for you to use."

"I'm sure I could write my own, Seth."

"Dude, no offense, but I've seen your work. You write like you talk." Seth's hands made circles in the air as his words grew more passionate. "You have yet to discover the true magic of the adjective, how it can make a simple sentence come alive."

Ryan stared at him, eyes narrowed.

"Look, stick to what you're good at: chemistry and beating the snot out of water polo players. Not everyone can be as gifted in the art of word manipulation as myself." Seth sighed. "It's a gift. And a curse."

The traces of a smile crept up onto Ryan's lips.

"Then how come the lit magazine refuses to publish your limericks?"

Seth slumped down in his wheelchair, an exaggerated look of despair on his face.

"It was a controversial piece, really. It exposed the darker side of Harbor High. To bring it forth to the masses in the form of a lit magazine might have thrown those hallowed halls into abject chaos." He leaned forward. "Chaos." He glanced over his shoulder furtively. "Plus, all of the faculty members are fascists."

"Ah, so that's it," Ryan said, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Well, that and that all of my limericks sounded vaguely dirty." Seth scratched his ear absently. "But only vaguely, mind you." He bit his lip. "So, hey, you interested in having a Seth/Ryan summer?"

"Sounds cool. I mean, as long as your parents are cool with it." Ryan gave Seth a pointed look. "Will they be?"

"Look, after all of this is over and done with, I'll tell them. Assuming they're willing to let me out of their sight for five minutes, it should be fine." Seth grinned.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair. Seth had been talking in an offhand manner about how he was going to get better, saying 'when this is all over' in casual conversation with his parents. Ryan wondered whether Seth had overcome all of his doubts or it was just another form of Seth reassuring everyone that he was okay.

Ryan was thankful when Sandy and Kirsten reappeared in the room, telling Seth that Dr. Pearson wanted to discuss a few aspects of his treatment, but nothing to be concerned about. He watched the Cohens interact with a tiny smile. They were such a family. They bickered and teased and hugged and slid bits of affection into their everyday conversation. Like the time Sandy told Seth he loved him when Seth grabbed his freshly popped toast and put it on a plate. And Seth had so easily returned the 'I love you,' an amused and good-naturedly exasperated smile on his lips. He shrugged at Ryan as if to say, "He's incredibly embarrassing, goofy and out of his mind, but what are you going to do?" And Ryan was now a part of that. He gave that exact look to the guys when Sandy was the sole fan in the crowd doing The Wave at his soccer games.

Sandy embraced Seth fiercely, closing his eyes as his son's lanky arms wrapped around him. He didn't think they'd shared a longer hug since Seth's bar mitzvah, when Sandy refused to let Seth go for a good five minutes, so proud that his boy was a man.

"You, you...good luck, son." Sandy reluctantly released Seth from his bear hug. He reached out a hand and messed up Seth's curls.

"Thanks Dad." Seth's smile was appreciative and bright. He seemed to be okay.

There was a light rap on the door and Dr. Pearson walked inside without waiting for a reply. Seth had discovered in a short time that privacy was not an option with these doctors.

"Seth, it's time for your chemo," the doctor informed him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"All right." Seth nodded and glanced at each member of his family, giving them comforting smiles.

Kirsten bent down and kissed the top of his head, her hand gently rubbing his back. Leaning in a little closer, she hugged him tight.

"We'll be here," she whispered into his ear, her lips brushing against Seth's dark curls.

"I know," Seth said his voice firm and steady. His eyes went to Ryan as Kirsten stepped away from him. "When I get back we'll figure out how to hook up the PS2, okay?"

"Count on it."

They watched as Dr. Pearson wheeled Seth from the room. He didn't look back once.

Sandy fidgeted in the armchair, wanting to look Dr. Newton in the eye but not mustering up the courage to do so.

It was the first therapy session for Sandy, and he was considering making it his last. He had only done it on an experimental basis anyway. The last time he'd been through any form of therapy was in his sophomore year of high school when some well-meaning neighbor called the school and told them about how Sandy was overstressed with all the chores he had to do when Sophie Cohen was working, which was often. He'd been forced into a weekly session with his guidance counselor, where he had to tell Mr. Jacobs all of his daily activities in great detail. It hadn't been fun or even helpful then. Sandy hoped this would be different.

"How does this feel for you, Sandy?" Dr. Newton asked, stroking his chin in the way Sandy figured only shrinks were allowed to do.

Sandy wrung his hands together. "Nobody wants to outlive their kid." He rubbed his eyes. "When Seth was little he got sick all the time. Fevers every week, coughing, stuff like that. And every minor thing used to throw me into a panic. I was terrified that I would..would mess something up and he'd be.." he trailed off and swallowed. "Gone."

"That's quite understandable. Seth was your only child for sixteen years, correct?"

Sandy nodded, plucking non-existent fuzz from the knee of his jeans. "We've been fairly overprotective of him." He flicked at his jeans with great vigor. "When he started getting bullied at school I wanted to move back to Berkeley." His eyes were transfixed on a clump of purple string embedded in the carpet. He didn't know why he'd even mentioned Berkeley.

"What do you think is going to happen to Seth? What are you afraid of?" Dr. Newton shifted his legal pad higher up on his thigh and scribbled a few notes on the yellow paper.

"Afraid of?" Sandy paused, rocking back and forth on the edge of the chair, looking thoughtful. "Everything, I guess."

Meanwhile, Kirsten and Ryan were eating a hearty lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Ryan chose a cheeseburger while Kirsten went for the egg salad. Both opted for a Pepsi.

"I always get the cheeseburger," Ryan said, studying his food with a frown.

"What do you mean?" Kirsten placed her sandwich on her tray momentarily and leaned forward. "Always?"

"When I'm at a hospital," Ryan answered, his head bent low over the table. "As a patient or a visitor." He swallowed. "Sometimes when my mom drank too much and passed out she hit her head. Sometimes Trey got bored and picked fights with guys three times the size of him."

"And you?" Kirsten wasn't used to Ryan being so open about his past and she wanted to soak up every word.

"Sometimes I rode my bike too fast," he replied, the tiniest of smiles on his face. "One time right after I learned to ride I jumped a ramp and broke my arm." He shook his head. "I just wanted to prove to everyone that I was tough."

"Seth did that once when some of the guys were picking on him." Kirsten sipped her Pepsi. "He decided that everyone would like him if he could do some move or other on his skateboard. He was practicing it in the driveway and shattered his wrist." She shook her head. "Imagine coming home to find that on your doorstop. Sandy nearly had a heart attack." She paused. "I was calm. I'd seen my share of medical disasters with Hailey." She bit back a large grin. "She was a bike rider too, and not a very good one."

"I got better," Ryan offered, picking up his cheeseburger. "Haven't damaged anything in awhile."

They pair ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Ryan?"

"Hmm?"

"Why the cheeseburger?"

"Chino hospital food was not exactly five star cuisine. A cheeseburger was the one thing they couldn't totally destroy."

"Ah."

"His name is Frank," Seth announced, hugging the metal bucket to his chest. He was lying somewhat upright on his bed, fighting to stay alert enough to keep up a conversation with Ryan.

Ryan smiled a little. Only Seth would think of naming his barf bucket. Next week he'd probably call it Merle or something.

"Like the Donnie Darko bunny," Seth added. "I was Frank for Halloween once. Nobody had any idea who the hell I was supposed to be. It was funny. Everyone thought I just randomly decided to be some fucked up bunny rabbit."

Ryan, who'd seen the movie at least four times per Seth's insistence couldn't resist a chuckle at the image of Seth clad in a bunny suit, even if it was a scary-looking bunny.

"I walked around to everyone I saw and said 'Why are you wearing that stupid human suit?'" Seth sighed. "The things I did for attention." He yawned. "God, chemo's a bitch."

"Sorry," Ryan offered, not sure what kind of advice he could give Seth, having never been where he was.

Seth shrugged. "I've thrown up at least five times since they took me into their torture chamber." He shuddered. "Bodily functions are no longer funny." A groan escaped his lips. "I recommend you never partake in a chest catheter."

Ryan frowned and bit his lip. Seth looked like hell.

"Anyway, now I start my whole, relaxation period. No more big scary needles or anything." Seth yawned.

"You want me to leave or anything? You sound pretty beat." Ryan rubbed his thumb back and forth over one of the many metal bars attached to Seth's bed.

"Nah." Seth frowned. "Stay for awhile, if it's okay. I might fall asleep on you though." He ran a hand through his dark curls. "I'm going to have to work on that one. It's rude to fall asleep in front of guests. Mom always told me that. Well, she also claimed that the Newpsies were nice ladies, so she's definitely a vicious liar."

Ryan smiled and bit his lip. His eyes squinted slightly the corners of them wrinkling as he thought of the many misadventures of Kirsten and the Newspies as told by Seth Cohen.

"So Summer called. She can't make it today or anything, but we talked for awhile." Seth licked his lips. "She's decided that I'll still have a bangalicious bod and unmatched sex appeal, hair or no hair."

Ryan wrinkled his nose, disgusted at the image that was popping into his head. Sometimes it would be nicer if Seth didn't give him every sordid little detail of his many sexual escapades.

"You have any soccer games coming up?" Seth placed Frank on his nightstand, hoping that the move would delay any future barfing.

"Tomorrow," Ryan replied. "But I mean, I don't have to go to it."

Seth tried to sit up, thought better of it and flopped downward, his head crashing into his pillow and making the mattress jump a little.

"No way, dude. You have to play and you have to bring my parents. We're all getting cabin fever in here, but at least you guys can leave. Take advantage of it. Run around and chase a black and white sphere. You'll look like a ninny but you'll be getting your natural high." Seth sighed heavily, tired out from the energy it took to speak.

"All right." Ryan punched Seth's shoulder lightly. "And who are you calling a ninny? I don't sleep on Spiderman sheets."

"Touche." Seth arched an eyebrow. A sudden change passed over his face, an almost tangible aura of despair surrounding him. "I need Frank," he groaned, hands grabbing desperately for his bucket.

The bucket was under his mouth at the exact moment that Seth's insides successfully completed its revolt. His didn't understand why his stomach was suddenly turning on him. He thought he'd had a pretty stable relationship with it over the years. Never put it through hours of crunches or hard labor. He fed it only the finest of junk foods. Basically, he was his tummy's bitch, and how easily it turned on him.

Seth felt a warm hand on the back of his neck and he smiled into Frank until the next vicious wave of nausea hit his body and he erupted yet again.

"It's gonna be okay, Seth. Just let it happen. You'll be okay." Tears pricked in Ryan's eyes as he ran his hand down the back of Seth's head. It wasn't so much that Seth was getting sick, or that it would be that way for an indefinite amount of time. It was that he, Ryan Atwood, had no idea what to do. Comfort only ran so far.

Seth sat up straighter. "I'm done," he announced, his eyes watery, his face sweaty. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Stomach cramping. Head light. Very dizzy."

"Nice to see your commentary skills haven't been affected in any way."

Ryan smiled sadly as he pressed the call button. Someone needed to take care of Seth's food deposit and it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.

"Gab, it's a gift."

Both boys added simultaneously.

"And a curse."

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Seth stared at the ceiling, his eyes slowly glazing over. He was practicing keeping his mind empty as Death Cab for Cutie blasted into his ears. He wasn't sure on the electronics policy in the hospital but he was not going to give up both his hair and his iPod. That just wouldn't do.

He'd sent everyone else home an hour earlier, insisting that he didn't need any of them to sleepover again. He was a big boy.

This, however, did not explain why he was scared out of his fucking mind, in his dark hospital room with a coat rack that looked like the vicious spider demon ready to pounce and a constantly churning stomach.

Seth closed his eyes. He did not want his mommy. He did not want his mommy. He did not want his mommy.

Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted all of them.

Seth sighed and cranked up the volume on his iPod, ready and willing to succumb to sleep.

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"Could you pass the potatoes please?" Kirsten dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and took a sip of water. She accepted the bowl from Ryan and scooped a generous amount of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

The table was silent. The table had in fact been silent for the entire meal, until Kirsten put in her quiet request for the mashed potatoes.

Ryan kept his head bent low over his plate, though his eyes peered up through his bangs and scrutinized each Cohen carefully. He counted the number of times Sandy coughed into his napkin, scratched his head, pulled his chair in a little closer. He watched Kirsten's eyes as she stared at her glass of Sprite. He knew what she was thinking of, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. He watched Kirsten playing with her fork, playing with her food, doing everything with her mashed potatoes except eat them.

Dinnertime was Seth/everyone time. He got everyone talking, and if he couldn't, if everyone was in a sour mood, then he filled the family in on his day between bites and sips and slurps. He was relentless in his speech, talking until every last plate was clean. The silence, which was a welcoming treat when Seth was studying at Summer's house and decided to stay for dinner was now somber and stiff.

Sandy chewed slowly, wondering when dinner would end, when he could slip upstairs and throw himself onto his bed. There he could black out until morning (when he figures he'll find out everything's the same).

Nobody knew quite what to say.

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Two weeks into chemo, Seth's curls began their journey from his head. It was a gradual process. One day Seth woke up to find a few curls scattered around his head, the dark brown color in stark contrast to the white pillowcase. The next day there were a few more. Pretty soon, he figured, he'd be another pathetic bald white guy.

Sandy crept into Seth's room, knowing his son would be sleeping. That was all he ever seemed to do anymore. Well, that and throw up.

Sandy was surprised at how well he himself had been keeping it together. He still managed to go to Ryan's soccer games, still managed to cheer louder than all of the other parents combined. He pretended that he didn't notice Kirsten diving into the vodka every morning. He pretended that he didn't notice Ryan noticing Kirsten diving into the vodka every morning. He didn't know what to tell him. Kirsten was a good woman; she just needed time to cope, Sandy figured. Everyone did.

Perching himself on the edge of Seth's bed, Sandy ran his hand gently over Seth's almost bald head. He closed his eyes and sighed, reminding himself that things would get better soon.

Seeing Seth's bed was a little bigger than he'd estimated, Sandy scooted a little closer, bringing both of his tired legs up and giving them a much needed stretch as he lay them on the bed. He opened the file in his hand, figuring he'd get a little work done while he stayed with Seth.

Everyone had been in and out of Seth's room, coming when they could and leaving, always expressing regrets as they walked out the door. Sometimes they only got to talk to him for a few minutes before he dropped off to sleep, sometimes longer. Sandy hoped this would be one of the longer visits; he needed to hear his son speak, a tiny blessing that had taken a therapeutic effect on him.

Seth stirred a little and his eyes opened, just slits, but they were open all right. He peered up at his father, but the fact that he was there and his dad didn't quite register. His brain was too fuzzy to comprehend such small facts.

"Hey Seth." Sandy rubbed Seth's shoulder.

"Mmmff," Seth groaned, his eyes falling shut.

Sandy frowned, wishing he could talk with his son, but knowing he couldn't force Seth to have a conversation.

"Mmmff," Seth groaned again and one long arm plopped across Sandy's legs. With a considerable grunt, Seth lifted his head and laid it on Sandy's chest, pulling his father closer to him. "Hmmmmm," he sighed, and promptly fell asleep.

His hand stroking Seth's mostly bald head, Sandy began to realize that some things were more therapeutic than hearing Seth's voice.

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Ryan sat at the kitchen table working dutifully on his pre-calc assignment, glancing over his shoulder ever now and then to check on Kirsten. She was having a rough time of things and Ryan didn't know what to do about it. It was easier to handle Dawn, who was an obvious drunk. Ryan played the parent for her and Dawn didn't put up a fuss. But Kirsten wasn't constantly drunk, and she wasn't the kind of wild drunk who wound up having a different man in her bedroom every night. She was sad when she drank too much, at least when she was drinking because of Seth. She'd sit by the pool and cry, or sit in the kitchen in cry, or sometimes she'd just sit and not cry. Those were the times that she frightened Ryan the most. She could sit for hours without saying a word, without moving.

Now, however, she was sober, a fact Ryan knew for certain. She was sitting at the island, cursing under her breath as she worked on some of the financial figures Caleb had brought over earlier that day.

Her fist suddenly smacking the island made Ryan jump out of his chair. Taking two deep breaths, he returned to his books. She wasn't Dawn. He didn't know what to do.

"I-I'm sorry Ryan." Kirsten put down her pencil as Ryan turned to face her. "It's been hard for me. For all of us. I just..."

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

"I'll get it," Kirsten said, quickly standing up.

"No. No, let me." Ryan held up a hand. "You keep working." He paused, giving Kirsten one of his finest aw shucks smiles. "I need a break from this stuff," he said, gesturing to the book laid out before him.

Kirsten nodded, picked up her pen and bent over her work yet again.

Ryan shook his head as he reached for the doorknob. Whoever it was, they had horrible timing.

He swallowed a lump in his throat as he saw who stood on the doorstep.

The girl lunged at him, throwing her skinny arms around his neck. She buried her head into his neck, sobbing violently.

"I'm so sorry," Marissa gasped, pulling him closer to her. "Seth is sick and I just got mad." She sniffled. "Now Summer won't talk to me. I don't have anyone anymore." Her voice broke. "You have to forgive me. I didn't mean to explode like that..I was scared..."

Her hair smelled like apples.

"It's okay," Ryan assured her softly, though he really didn't think it was. He returned Marissa's embrace, his arms hugging her waist tightly, though his heart wasn't in it. "I forgive you," he told her, pulling back slightly and wiping a tear from her cheek."

"I love you so much," Marissa sobbed, laying her head against Ryan's chest.

Ryan swallowed, thinking about how nice it was to have someone, how easy it would be to have someone.

"Why don't you come inside?" he asked, ushering her through the door.

Someone was better than no one, no matter who that someone was.

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feedback appreciated. thanks.