Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed …
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviews, or simply drops a line to let me know they're reading – it means so much! I appreciate your thoughts and comments….
Time: Later Afternoon / Evening of Day Three.
>>>>>>
Focus, Ryan, focus… he told himself, as he skidded on loose stones in the pathway. He slowed down his pace, to give his brain time to catch up to his body.
Although some piece of him still wanted to let his mind float… to return to the nothingness he had so recently enjoyed. Where he didn't have to think about the past, or the future. About where he might be headed, or who he'd leave behind…
He shook his head, disgusted with his weakness. Face your fears, Ryan. Stand and take your punishment… he chided himself, trying to ignore the smaller voice that still wanted to run and hide.
As he descended more watchfully toward the Pacific, he sifted through fragmented memories of his afternoon.
>>>>>>>>
Sending completed homework via email, like he'd promised.
Seeing the letter from Kirsten. Reading words intended for another Ryan. The one he had pretended to be, but wasn't.
Losing grip as he was reading. Crawling under covers, shutting out the light. Reaching to embrace an emptiness, where he could simply disappear.
Drifting silently into the void, as the words that were not meant for him finally blurred and faded until their loss no longer hurt.
Seth discovering him there. His well-meant but clueless rambling – so utterly ignorable. Drifting further, Seth's voice vanishing … vanishing … gone.
Floating alone. At peace.
Until…
The voice returning. Whispering his name again, somehow far stronger. Strong enough to suspend his drifting. To bring him back toward the darkness and the light.
Forcing out words, to rid himself of the unwanted intrusion … "Get lost, Seth."
The voice moving closer, speaking words that made no sense, but still pulling at him, dragging him irresistibly towards itself, as though by a magnet. Slowly becoming aware once more of self and surroundings.
Finally comprehending..
The voice drawing him back from the void belonged not to Seth, but Sandy.
Recognition dawning… His bed. The pool house. The Cohens. Marissa.
Trey.
Stopping there, gripping his pillows tight against the light that was pouring through. Against the memories. Against his fears.
Knowing somewhere deep inside the futility, as the unwanted torments rode in with the light. Shoving. Pressing. Pounding. Until he relented, faced them, and took them back as his.
Then facing Sandy, the shower helping…
Calling on everything inside him. Managing somehow to respond coherently to the man to whom he owed so much. Who had saved him from the streets.
Who had just saved him from himself…
Struggling to keep it together. Almost forgetting … things. The letter…
Listening. Asking questions, until he couldn't handle anymore.
Until he had to leave. To breathe. To think …
>>>>>>>
Pull it together, man. He didn't care that he was mouthing the words, or that the kid tramping back up the path with the surfboard was staring.
You got too freaking' close to the edge! He could feel his heart beating too fast, and took several deep breaths to slow it down. Slowly, painfully, he felt the last strands of lingering nothingness dissolving, and slipping away, as he shook himself free from its grasp.
For better or worse, he was back, determined not to let himself drift away like that again.
He'd watched his whole life as people hid themselves away, stupefied by drugs and alcohol, trying to escape their pain. Their loss. Their life.
He hated it. He'd read about their illness – okay, he got that. But at some level, he still thought it was weak and self-centered and wrong. When you stopped trying to change. When you stopped caring who got hurt...
And even though he couldn't bring himself to hate the people he saw hiding, he despised the devastation they caused. The splintered hearts and battered bodies strewn carelessly about, broken in the places he'd called home.
He had promised himself a long time ago that hiding away would not be his way of dealing with the world. No, he'd promised himself he'd stand strong, and bear his burdens. Act, and accept the consequences of those actions.
And he had failed. Again.
For he'd just sought escape from all his problems, just like his father. Just like his mother. Just like Trey.
No, Ryan amended quickly. Not like Trey. Yeah, Trey had his problems, but he'd lived with the same parents Ryan had. Had seen them drunk, and stoned, and out of control. He knew.
And yet Trey chose to follow suit, no matter who he hurt in the process. Because he was all about the thrill and the moment. His needs and his desires. His pride and his anger.
He didn't hesitate to use people to get what he wanted. Or to sacrifice anyone or anything that stood in his way.
Ryan's hands clenched into fists. He'd never understand the choices that Trey made. Didn't want to try anymore. Right now, he'd settle for understanding some of his own.
Like why he ever thought confronting Trey was worth the sacrifices he now faced. He could lose so much that really mattered. His freedom. His new family. His new life.
And far, far worse, through his reckless actions he'd created problems for everyone he cared about. When they already had too many of their own.
And that? The reckless behavior? The disregard for others? That was just like Trey. Fuck.
He cringed, as his stomach tightened. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts aside for later. He needed time… What had he been thinking of, when he had zeroed in on Trey? Oh, yeah – people who hid from their problems.
Another name came rushing forward, but he refused to add her to his list… She was getting help, not giving in.
It didn't matter, really. This weakness was his, and his alone. For he'd been the one to search for his own oblivion.
Only he'd found a different pathway – no drugs or alcohol involved. Didn't need them.
Because he was fucking crazy… Ryan snorted, as the self-assessment threatened to unnerve him. Anyway,crazy or not, he needed to focus on how to make things better for the people his actions had effected.
Deal with it, Atwood. He ran his hands through his hair until they met at the back of his neck. He stood for a moment with hands locked, as he stared toward the Pacific, letting its constant rhythm of sound and motion sooth his frayed nerves.
Finally he unlocked his hands, rolling his head and shoulders to relieve some of their stiffness. More settled, he finished his decent.
>>>>>>>
Kicking off his sandals once he reached the beach, Ryan quickly stashed them out of sight. He could hear the echo of Seth's laughter at his actions … telling him not to worry if they were stolen, they'd just get another pair.
He walked on toward the water, squinting his eyes as the sun dipped lower, his train of thought continuing. Seth would never get it. Ryan supposed that was okay – he didn't have to. But Ryan did.
Because the shoes? Like almost every possession he 'owned', a gift. Another thing he didn't earn. And another thing he needed to take care of …
His thoughts were interrupted as the cool salt water splashed across his feet. He sucked in his breath, as nerve endings communicated their chilled surprise. He stood still, letting the waves ebb and flow across his toes, growing accustomed to the nip of the Pacific.
Long moments later, he turned, and waded up the beach. Some of the bigger waves smacked against his ankles, and soaked his sweats almost to his knees. It felt good. Alive. And maybe that was something…
>>>>>>>
As he walked, he watched in the distance as a girl threw a stick for a golden retriever, who plunged with obvious delight into the water to fetch it, and bring it back. Noticed how the drenched, sand-caked dog moved its body, dancing and begging for the game to continue.
And thought again of Seth.
Wondered, not for the first time, if Seth wouldn't really be better off with a dog. It'd be more company than a plastic horse, and not nearly as much trouble as … a Ryan.
It probably wouldn't mind if he woke it up in the middle of the night to talk about his latest bazaar scheme, or to analyze his most recent episode with Summer. And since Seth did pretty much all the talking anyway, and precious little listening, he probably wouldn't notice that it only barked.
It wouldn't get irritated when he rambled on and on, and it would happily follow him anywhere he wanted to go. It would be trusting, and love easily, and never be afraid.
And if it grew up with them – the Cohens – it wouldn't learn to bite.
He kicked at the water, sending it spraying in front of him, as he traveled one step further down this mental road. Until he saw his life distilled through other eyes.
Trey's bitch. And Seth's … what? Pound pet?
And yet they both called him 'brother'.
He felt something undefined smoldering inside him. Then sparking … igniting … fighting for release. He moved faster. Faster.
Until he was running, water spraying, arms pumping. Ignoring the protests from his ribs and cuts and bruises as long as he could. Until spent, hurting, he slowed and finally stopped.
Bent doubled, arms grasping his sides as his breath came in short gasps. Stayed doubled over, until his breathing gradually became deeper, and his heart resumed a normal beat. Until at last, he straightened, wincing.
Running like that? He laughed at himself, bemused by his own folly. Not so smart, asshole …
He soon realized his body was considerably less forgiving, as he felt the sharp shafts of pain it sent to punish its abuser.
Fine. Nothing wrong with sitting.
>>>>>>>
He picked his way back from the water, past where the sea grass staked its claim upon the shore, until he found a deserted nook against a sand-dune. He eased his aching body down, and pressed his back against the dune. He worked his feet deep into the sand, until they found the dampness.
He closed his eyes, listening to the waves rumbling in the distance. Rolling in. Breaking as they reached the shore. Sucking out, as the sea reclaimed its own. He could feel his breath deepen, to match the constant rhythm. Feel his aches receding. And his thoughts come pressing forward.
Like how he had been unfair to Seth before. Seth, who had accepted him without reservation from the first day they met. Who might be selfish in some ways, but who willingly shared his possessions, his family, and his secrets. Without resentment. Without jealously. With complete trust.
Except… Ryan opened his eyes, and smiled a little to himself as he pulled the head off a stalk of sea oats and scattered the grains in the breeze. Remembering the one thing Seth did not share. Recalling how Seth had made it clear from their first night out together that she was where he drew his line.
He hadn't understood Seth's fixation on Summer at first, as the girl had seemed shallow, and vain, and mean. But over time, he saw what Seth had always seen – the soft heart, and fiery soul hidden beneath her chosen mask.
And he could relate to wearing masks…
He pulled up short, tearing off another stalk of sea oats, and using the stem to draw meaningless patterns in the loose sand as he turned his attention back to the boy he called 'friend'.
Nothing in his life had ever really prepared him for someone like Seth. Someone who believed in him – although sometimes too much. Someone who fought to keep him in their home, even when his mother didn't want him there. Someone who said 'brother', and actually meant something by that word.
Someone who looked to him for advice and counsel, as though he had any answers. Luckily for them both, a lot of the questions had been pretty basic stuff, if you'd had to fend for yourself most of your life.
Bottom line was this: underneath all the rambling and quirks, separated from his self-obsession, Seth had the one thing that mattered. A good heart.
And so what if Seth might not always have your back when he should? It wasn't because he didn't want to – more like he didn't know how. Or didn't realize he needed to. Not because he thought watching you suffer or fail was entertaining, or because he thought you needed to be taught a lesson in humility.
And Seth didn't feel threatened when you studied, or cared about your classes. Yeah, he might tease, but it was hard to take his barbs seriously, coming as they did from another AP student. And he didn't rip up your homework, or throw your books into the garbage dumpster. Or lock you inside an old U-haul trailer cum clubhouse, so you missed three exams in one day. Or smirk and ask 'Who's so smart, now?' when the flavor of the month beat the shit out of you for coming home with F's on your report card, while your mom stood back and sobbed.
Ryan flinched as his memories grew too focused. He sought balance … Trey had his moments. Especially when they were little, united against the terror that was Dad. He eased into his favorite thoughts of Trey. Trey reading stories to him at night, drowning out the sound of thunder … or their mother's crying. Teaching him to toss a baseball. Defending him from the bigger kids, sometimes. They'd been close, back then.
Until Ryan's intellect had driven a wedge between them. He'd hated being called 'the smart one', knowing Trey resented it. He'd learned early how pride can build high walls. Like when he'd corrected a word one night when Trey was reading to him. A word he only knew because he'd sounded it out like Trey had taught him. But that had been a mistake, because Trey had closed the book, and had never read to him again.
They'd grown more distant as Ryan sought to please the ones around him, earning him another moniker that he had hated – 'the good one'. Trey's choices had become erratic, veering further into darkness. His protectiveness turned to taunting, as his resentment deepened. Until the only times they seemed to get along were when Trey taught him things that could cause him trouble. Like smoking, and swearing, and drinking. Or what the back seat in a car was for…
Ryan drew in a breath, remembering how he'd trailed Trey, seeking his approval. How he'd so often followed his brother's instructions, even when he'd thought them wrong, hoping to earn the approval he had wanted so very badly. How he'd snapped into line, doing his brother's bidding time after time. Never rewarded with the approval he sought. Often left facing awful consequences for his actions, while Trey disappeared.
Of course, Trey would always find him later, with some lame explanation of why he'd left Ryan to fend for himself. With an apology Ryan wanted to believe. With promises that next time, things would be different. But they never were, and they never would be.
Ryan rammed his fists into his eyes, determined he would not cry. How could he cry, over the brother he'd disowned? He dropped his hands, rubbing them on his t-shirt, as his mind turned again to Seth.
Who'd failed him, too, on occasion. Like with Oliver… But it was so different than with Trey. Because when Seth failed you, his sorrow was real. And his promises to change were sincerely given, and rarely broken. At least not the important ones.
Ryan smiled a little. He'd never hold Seth to any promise involving silence, or being less ego-centric. Or less focused on Summer. He just wanted a little sincerity, not a freaking miracle …
Ryan drew in his breath and blinked his eyes, as he thought how much his friendship with Seth mattered. How much he stood to lose…
Ryan swallowed, and clenched his jaw, considering how he had treated Seth these last two days. Knowing he'd probably hurt his friend through his silence.
Shit, he'd probably scared the hell out of Seth today, if he'd had any sense of how far Ryan had tripped out. And the weird thing was, despite their vast differences, sometimes Seth really seemed to understand him.
He sorted through excuses for closing Seth out, rejecting them all as unacceptable. Even his need to establish some distance, to make it easier if he had to leave, was flawed. He had no right to hurt Seth, just to help himself.
He threw his head back against the sand dune, disgusted with his selfishness. And yet, something else still pricked and stung, forcing him to delve deeper.
Until he arrived where darkness lurked, less contained than in the past. And much more treacherous…
Ryan closed his eyes and drew his lips together, recognizing a fear he had not known before his pain and rage-filled fight with Trey. Before he realized how quickly and completely he could lose control of the hurt and fear and anger and frustration that made up his inner demons.
Because, despite every good thing about his friend, the fact remained that Seth could really get to him sometimes, with his ceaseless needs and wants and demands. His amazing ability to somehow make everything about himself.
What if it finally became too much one day, and he lost control again? With Seth his target?
Eyes still shut, he wrapped his arms around his body, whispering as though to convince himself, "It's not the same. I would never hurt Seth."
He repeated the words over and over until he almost believed them. And for the moment, 'almost' was as good as he could manage…
>>>>>>>
Ryan opened his eyes, and concentrated his attention on the far horizon. The breeze off the Pacific was picking up, blowing the sea oats around him gently. He unwrapped his arms, and scooped up handfuls of sand, letting it run through his fingers, and spill into the breeze.
Sand. Sandy.
Ryan's thoughts turned to the man who waited for him back at the house. He remembered listening as Seth had rambled on about his graphic novel, and its assorted super-heros, thinking none of them held a candle to the flesh and blood Sanford Cohen. He knew if he were ever a father, he'd want to be like Sandy. He was sure that a kid couldn't ask for better than that...
He bit his lip, drawing blood, as he thought of how he'd let Sandy down at a time when the guy had a lot more important things on his plate. Like how to help Kirsten get better. How to help Seth deal with his mom's illness.
And now, thanks to him, Sandy had to divert attention he should be spending on Kirsten and Seth to his wretched issues. Spending time at the hospital, dealing with his incessant brooding, working through all the legal crap, checking on Marissa, interceding with Dr. Kim, and on and on… Even looking for Dawn, who refused to be found. Exactly the type of stuff that Sandy did not need.
And through it all, Ryan reflected unhappily, he hadn't pulled his weight to help his guardian. Yeah, he'd answered Sandy's questions as well as he could. But beyond that, he'd basically withdrawn, leaving everything in Sandy's lap.
He couldn't even give himself much credit for telling the truth, after all his lies this year. All his pretending to be someone he wasn't.
Besides, since Marissa had refused to leave and let him take responsibility for firing the gun, like he'd tried to convince her to do, and since Seth had already told his dad about the whole thing with Trey and Marissa, there hadn't been any reason to lie. There was no one left he needed to protect.
Ryan drew one side of his mouth into a frown, as he considered how he was usually caught when he tried to lie. He couldn't help wondering how he had actually fooled them all this time. Probably only because they all had more important things going on, so that they hadn't looked too closely.
I didn't want them to see the truth, he told himself firmly, when the small voice inside seemed troubled by their oversight. It doesn't bother me…
However, he was willing to admit there was one thing that did bother him. That, bizarrely enough, made him uneasy… The fact that Sandy hadn't disciplined him yet.
Not one word at the hospital, on the way home, or at the house. And yeah, he had asked Sandy to hold off that first morning after the shooting, but it wasn't like Sandy to let the really awful stuff go without the transgressor being grounded, or having privileges restricted, or being assigned extra chores… or all of the above.
And worst of all – the thing Ryan dreaded most – receiving one of Sandy's dress-downs, knowing that he had earned each measured word. Listening, while Sandy expressed his disappointment in no uncertain terms.
He dropped his head in disgrace, as he imagined the things Sandy might say. He clenched his jaws as he considered yet again how a verbal lashing could be more painful than getting his ass kicked, when the words were delivered by someone he respected. Whose opinion of him mattered.
But so far, Sandy had said nothing. Not one hard word.
His guardian had simply let him know what he had learned about Trey, about Marissa, about the legal consequences… Had kept Ryan informed about who he talked to, what was said, what came next… Had worried about what he ate, whether he slept, if he showered. Maybe more than anything, Sandy had stayed present and connected.
God, Ryan hoped he shouldn't read too much into the omission. Like maybe Sandy knew he'd soon be facing a punishment that was a helluva lot worse than anything Sandy might hand out. Or maybe Sandy thought he'd only be wasting his time with any discipline, since it was pretty clear from this latest episode that Ryan was a lost cause.
Albeit a lost cause the Cohens were still legally responsible for.
But he'd be eighteen in only a couple of months. And then the Cohens wouldn't be on the hook for him anymore. If by some miracle – named Sandy – they got through this thing without his serving time somewhere, then there'd at least be options open.
Unless… but how could he expect them to keep someone around who was so fucking screwed up? After the real Ryan Atwood had been exposed?
The Ryan who came complete with all the stuff that he'd tried so hard to hide. Ignore. Forget.
All the twisted memories and fears and hurts and anger… That seemed to churn inside him – demanding his attention – refusing to be suppressed.
He couldn't pretend everything was okay any longer, because it really wasn't. And once they understood that, wouldn't having him leave be the wisest course?
Because, who needed a damaged teenager in their home? Together with the burdens that would accompany someone so fucked up? And why would they want someone like him around, anyway, on top of their own issues? And how could they ever trust him again?
Ryan let his head drop to his knees, and wound his arms around his shins, as he contemplated a future without the family he'd slowly grown to love. That he'd wanted to belong to, but had never deserved.
He'd need to make some decisions about what he'd do after his birthday, if he still had options by then – if he wasn't serving time… Whatever happened, he didn't want the Cohens to think they needed to be responsible for him once he was eighteen. They shouldn't feel guilty if they wanted him to leave. And he didn't want to stay there, allowed to remain out of pity.
He lifted his head, and stared out at the horizon. Wishing that the Cohens could look at the real Ryan, and see something still worth having – someone maybe worth loving…
But if he couldn't see that, how could they?
>>>>>>>
He unfolded himself, and stood up gingerly, as his bruised body objected to the movement. He stretched himself, working out his stiffness, before heading back toward the ocean.
His hand closed around the pages he still carried in his pocket, drawing them out as he walked. Allowing his thoughts to turn at last to Kirsten. Who was harder to read than anyone in the Cohen household, because – like him -- she kept her secrets.
She'd intimidated him from day one, he recalled, smiling a little self-consciously at the memory. When she'd seen him as some felon Sandy brought uninvited into her home. When she'd first made it clear how fiercely she'd protect her family against all threats, including stray delinquents.
It was then he'd first decided that he liked her, wishing longingly that his own mom were as protective.
He had been astonished the day she'd rescued him from juvie. And practically dumbfounded that awful morning he watched his mother walk away, when Kirsten had been adamant that he would stay with them. Somehow, in the midst of his pain and humiliation, she'd made it seem like things had worked out for the best. Not just for him, or Seth, or Sandy, but for her as well.
She'd won his enduring gratitude that day.
Followed swiftly by his respect and admiration. Kirsten, the anti-Dawn. Educated, successful, socially astute… A virtual super-woman. He had cautiously observed a cool, efficient, and self-reliant Kirsten maintain her distance from most people as she smoothly steered a course for her business and her family. He had been content maintaining distance. It was usually safer when you didn't get too close.
But then he'd come to know her softer side. The Kirsten who adored her son, who was still hopelessly in love with her husband, and who was amazingly forbearing with the likes of Caleb and Hailey Nichol. Who was also kind and patient with the likes of Ryan Atwood. Slowly their distance lessened, as he found her more and more approachable.
She had become human when he saw her limitations. Like her utter helplessness when it came to cooking, each foray ending in disaster, and her much bemoaned 'lack of funny' in a household that worshipped humor. Or her inability to catch Seth in his scamming, or her tendency to cry when she watched practically any kind of movie…
He'd soon found places – like the kitchen – where he could help her out. There were times he simply stood beside her, the two more quiet souls aligned against the Cohen madness. Even when he sided with the Cohen men, he'd been careful with her feelings, remembering too well how it felt to stand alone. She'd rewarded his efforts with a smile, a touch, a gesture – intended just for him.
Despite all his plans to keep his distance, he couldn't help himself – that's when he'd lost his heart.
His stomach tightened, as his thoughts circled back to the present, to the letter he still clutched in his hand, and to the very different limitations Kirsten faced today. He should have seen it sooner. The signs had all been there, but he'd told himself he had to be mistaken. She was too strong, too smart, too good.
But he was wrong. The 'too' she was – was human.
Ryan opened the pages carefully, as the breeze from the Pacific tugged at their edges. He blinked his eyes, as he made himself read her words again.
He wished with all his heart she never had to know the truth about him. That he was not the person she thought she knew at all, but rather the dark culmination of all the forces and behaviors he'd grown up with.
Maybe his true core had been tempered with all he had learned these last two years – God, he hoped so. And maybe this year that core had been subverted while he'd tried to be the kid they wanted him to be. But in the end, it still lurked there. Biding time. Waiting for the next trigger. The next Trey. Waiting to be unleashed.
He slowly tore the letter into pieces, as he waded into the surf once more. He blinked, but did not wipe away the tears that fell as he let the fragments slip through his fingers. As he watched Kirsten's words, written to another Ryan, disappear into the sea… She was worth crying for.
He stood there, until the silent tears stopped running down his face. Wiping his cheeks with the bottom of his t-shirt, he smiled wanly. Because his gesture was symbolic, really. He didn't need to keep the pages – he knew each word by heart.
>>>>>>>
He turned for home, knowing Sandy would be waiting. Determined to make more of an effort to help himself, rather than let his guardian bear the burden alone. Determined to be a better friend to the best friend he'd ever known. While there was time. While he still could.
This time he walked, having learned the hard way not to run. He drank in the scenery, in case he'd have to leave it. Saw the sun falling closer toward the Pacific, as the shadows grew. Smelled the sea air, heard the surf pound, and felt the breeze ruffling through his hair.
In the distance, he saw an outcrop of rock he'd detoured around before. He stared ahead, mesmerized, as the Pacific slapped against the rock face, and sprayed fountains in the air. Pulsing … pulsing … pounding … relentlessly attacking.
Ryan watched as the rocks grew closer, becoming somehow uncomfortable. And yet, transfixed. Feeling as though he looked into a mirror, and saw inside himself.
Why did he ever think he could be something else, anyway?
All year, he'd smoothed over so much crap that he'd looked like a damned infinity pool, he thought, grappling with an analogy.
Smooth. Contained. Accommodating.
When the truth was … he stared at the crashing waves … the truth was that.
He stood watching for several minutes, until finally tearing himself away, and pressing forward.
Get a grip, already, he told himself. Sandy's waiting, and he doesn't need your fucking angst. Lighten way the hell up, Atwood.
>>>>>>>
Walking through the kitchen door, he saw a number of take-out containers sitting untouched on the counter. It smelled like Thai, he thought, surprised to realize that he was hungry.
"You're back," came a disconnected voice, followed straight away by an anxious looking Sandy.
Ryan tried on an apologetic smile. "Sorry – I lost track of time."
Sandy shook his head and waved one hand dismissively, as he pulled open the refrigerator, rummaging inside for something to drink.
"And thanks for letting me go," Ryan said.
Sandy stopped his search, and turned his head toward Ryan. "I'm never letting you go, kid. Leave for a little while, like today, yeah – if I know you're coming right back."
Ryan stared, not sure what to say. He'd heard similar words last summer, before he'd left for Chino. Before they let you go, the small voice nagged uncharitably. Ryan shoved it aside, noting only that the 'leaving' part had been less restrictive then.
"So, thanks for letting me leave?" he amended, relieved to see his foster-father smile and nod.
"Feeling better?" Sandy asked, turning back to the refrigerator.
"Feeling hungry," Ryan hedged.
Pulling out two bottles of iced tea, Sandy motioned toward the table. "Then bring the trays – it's just us tonight."
"Seth's still with Summer?" Ryan asked, vaguely disappointed that his friend was not at home. He caught Sandy's quick glance in his direction, and the uplifted eyebrow, as he placed the trays on the table and took a seat opposite his foster-father.
"As in still together, generally? Or still with her tonight?" Sandy asked, a smile playing on his lips.
Ryan unwrapped a set of wooden chopsticks, breaking them apart as he twisted his mouth into a grimace. "Don't tell me they're fighting again."
Sandy chuckled, as he leaned toward Ryan. "Come on, kid. Think who you're talking about. When are they not?"
Ryan shook his head, smiling. "Right." He turned his head a little to the side, and narrowed his eyes, as he asked, "But you know the signs, right? When you need to worry?"
Sandy grabbed one of the trays and lifted the lid, before shoving it over to Ryan. "You mean the marathon late-night movies, or the depressing music pouring out of his room?"
"Or the not showering," Ryan finished, wrinkling his nose as he thought of Seth's last foray into depression. Quickly added "For days…", as he remembered himself that afternoon.
He glanced at Sandy, who merely nodded, "Eau-de-misery. Got that one down, kid."
Eager to move on to something else, Ryan snatched the tray that Sandy had passed to him. He stuck a finger into one of the compartments, swirling it in the mixture before bringing it to his mouth and sucking off the peanut sauce. He lifted his eyebrows and licked his lips in approval, as he looked up at Sandy, "So, since Seth is out, we get his food, too?"
Sandy grinned conspiratorially, "Pad Thai waits for no man."
With a quick upward flick of blond eyebrows, Ryan answered, "That's what I'm thinking…"
The conversation stayed light throughout the meal, as Ryan picked his way through parts of three platters. Sandy seemed pleased to see him eating, Ryan noticed, still surprised when he found his food intake under scrutiny. He knew they worried, but that was crazy. Worried was for when you didn't know when you might get your next meal – not for whether you'd have seconds of something, when the first serving had been way more than you'd ever had before. He couldn't explain that to them, though, because it just sounded too pathetic.
When they threw in their chopsticks, both satiated, Ryan automatically gathered up the trays and tossed them into the trash. Glancing back across the room, he found Sandy standing, staring at him intently. Looking very serious.
Disconcerted, he dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering if the time had come when Sandy would finally ream him out. Suddenly wondering why he'd ever worried that it hadn't happened. Thinking if it never happened, it'd be okay by him…
"Did you get an email from Kirsten today?"
Ryan's eyes flew of their own volition to Sandy's face, as he wondered suddenly if she'd bcc'd him. He shook his head, not trusting his voice.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sandy's tone was gentle, his eyes questioning, but not prying as he closed some of the distance between them.
Ryan swallowed, and looked back at the floor. He kept his eyes fixed on his feet as he answered, "Not really." He glanced up through his bangs to see Sandy tilt his head and furrow his brows, as though trying to see inside him. His guardian now stood less than an arm's length away, his presence overpowering.
As the silence expanded between them, Ryan felt compelled to give his foster-father something more. He looked up, and met Sandy's eyes for a brief instant, before focusing on the door behind him.
He blinked nervously as he stammered, "I mean, what she said shouldn't really count. Not before she knows. I … I'd never hold her …," he stopped, gathering himself together. Finally meeting Sandy's eyes, and holding the connection. "Just tell her I'll answer as soon as she's allowed to get mail."
He ducked his head back down for just an instant, while he swallowed hard again, before looking back up at his foster-father. "And tell her that I'm really sorry."
Sandy put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing carefully. Ryan tried hard not to flinch under his foster-father's touch, as he closed his eyes tightly. Willed himself to hold it together. He opened his eyes once more when he felt Sandy's other hand cupping his neck. Found Sandy's eyes boring into his as the man said softly, "I'll tell her, I promise."
Ryan's eyes fell to the floor, until he felt Sandy's grip tighten slightly. Peering up through his bangs, he tried to figure out what Sandy wanted him to say. Sandy didn't give him time, though, as his guardian spoke again more firmly, "But I'm telling you this, Ryan – trust her to have faith in you…"
Ryan could only shake his head and mumble a shaky "I will…"
He stood frozen in Sandy's grasp, as the senior Cohen searched his face carefully. Saw the small frown pass across his guardian's face, before the man schooled it into a neutral expression and released his hold.
Ryan was grateful when his guardian allowed him to make his excuses and escape to the pool house.
>>>>>>>
Once inside his sanctuary Ryan leaned heavily against the door, knowing Sandy had not been fooled. Reminded once again that he really sucked at lying.
If anyone is paying attention… whispered the small voice.
Ryan quickly flipped on his CD player, volume way up, before flopping spread-eagle across his bed. Intently focusing on the music until the small voice died away.
>>>>>>>
tbc A/N2 -- many thanks for your patience...