Remember something - this story is in fun. Not to be taken seriously. And I own nothing even remotely related to the OC except one of the CD's and both season 1 and season 2 on DVD. Other than that - Josh and Fox own it. I like to borrow it and play with it.

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All Ryan knew when he woke up was that he had been asleep on his stomach, and he had somehow managed to kick his covers off. He wasn't sure if anyone had come in, but if someone had, he would have seen Ryan asleep dressed only in his boxer briefs, covered in the extremely annoying, irritating and embarrassing blisters and no covers. Or she would have seen, and all Ryan could think of was, "please, if anyone came in, let it be a he. Not a she. Please not a she."

Ryan rolled onto his back, not bothering to pull up the covers, since it really did feel better with nothing touching his skin. Something he knew he'd have to admit to Sandy, eventually, like in maybe a year or two or twenty.

He was still lying on his back, thinking about the entire absurdity of his situation so he never heard the gentle knock on the door. Nor did he realize that the door had opened, not until he heard the soft spoken, "Ryan?" Then he jumped into action, trying to grab the blankets from off the floor to cover himself before Kirsten came all the way into the room.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter how quickly Ryan moved, because as soon as Kirsten said, "I was checking to see if you were still sleeping" - Ryan knew – Kirsten had been the one who already saw him in only his tight boxer briefs. The very thought made Ryan groan, cover his face with his hands and wonder if chicken pox was at all life threatening, or was it just the embarrassment that was killing him?

If Kirsten noticed his humiliation, she was at least kind enough not to say anything. Instead she hauled two very large shopping bags up onto the bed and began to unpack. Ryan sat up a little higher and watched in amazement. Seth was definitely right about Kirsten and being sick. If everything she was pulling out of the bags was just for him, Ryan wondered what she would do if it was something more serious than just chicken pox. Itchy, embarrassing, annoying chicken pox, but still – just chicken pox.

The comic books, word searches and sudoku puzzles were one thing, but when Kirsten pulled out the new Sony PSP and many, many accompanying games, Ryan finally stuttered out, "Um, Kirsten?"

"Yes, I know Dr. McPete said you'd probably sleep a lot in the beginning, but after that I figured you'd get pretty bored. This is just some stuff to keep your mind off being sick."

"But Kirsten? This is a lot of stuff. I mean, thanks, but um… Ifigured I'd try to catch up on my homework."

Ryan really wasn't sure how to phrase exactly what he was thinking – not without risking hurting Kirsten's feelings. He had slowly, over time, grown accustomed to the Cohens' overindulging both him and Seth. Enjoyed it almost – the way Kirsten and Sandy lumped him with Seth without much thought. The problem this time was that it seemed like Kirsten only went shopping for Ryan.

"I told you before, you'll probably be home for at least two weeks. You'll have plenty of time to catch up on your homework when you're feeling better. This is for when you're not asleep but not well enough to concentrate on your homework."

"It's really okay, though. I mean, Seth isn't…"

"Seth isn't sick."

"I know, but he might…"

"Don't worry -- he already had chicken pox. He won't get it again."

Ryan put the PSP down on his nightstand. It seemed like Kirsten thought he was worried about getting Seth sick – not Seth's reaction to all the stuff that he got, and Seth didn't. Either Kirsten really didn't get it, or simply decided not to get it. Either way, Ryan figured it would be easier to leave it up to Seth to complain if he had a problem with the amount of new stuff.

Kirsten continued pulling out more games, more puzzles, books and DVD's until she finally reached the bottom of bag number two, and promptly pulled out the last gift--- packages of new underwear?

A rather large selection of boxers – not boxer briefs, but regular boxers, the kind Ryan wore when he first came to Newport. He hadn't worn boxers since it was decided that he would be staying in Newport though-- not by choice. Well, not by his choice. For whatever reason, Kirsten bought him and Seth both boxer briefs. He never asked why since he never, ever wanted to discuss it with her. Hell, he never even wanted to think about the fact that Kirsten bought all his underwear, or the fact that she washed, dried, folded and put away all his underwear. Nope – that was a fact of every day living that Ryan liked to simply ignore.

That is, until now, as he stared down at the selection of stripes, solids and polka dot boxers. Then, to make matters worse, Kirsten started to explain and discuss the new underpants purchase.

"When Sandy called before, he said the blisters were now on your legs. I'm not sure how far up your thighs the rash goes. I figured you'd probably be more comfortable with these as they won't be as tight. Much less irritating on your skin."

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it, then swallowed a couple of times, and finally nodded. And then wondered again if it was the chicken pox or the embarrassment that was in deed killing him as Kirsten continued, "I bought enough for you to change every time you take a bath, which I'll go start now. It'll be Aveeno this time since it was baking soda last time."

Since he couldn't make eye contact with Kirsten, Ryan nodded again as he continued to stare at his pile of 27 different pairs of loose-fitting boxers that would be less irritating on his skin since the rash did in fact go all the way up his thighs and down his back and met somewhere not exactly considered the middle of his body. More like the end – the back end.

"Crap," was about all Ryan could mutter. Definitely something else he was not going to discuss with Kirsten. And hell no on the cream as well. No, he was not going to discuss it or mention it or even think about it. Ryan was still rubbing his forehead and not thinking about all the places that itched when Kirsten came back out of the bathroom. "Ryan? How much baking soda did Sandy use in the tub?"

"He didn't. I did. Why?"

"How much did you use?"

"The whole box. Did I do something wrong?"

Kirsten's sad little smile said a lot, even before she did. "No, sweetie, not wrong. It's just… well, the entire box doesn't dissolve in the tub."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up." Ryan started to get out of the bed, but then remembered that he only had on his underwear and Kirsten was still standing in the room and well – no, Ryan was not getting out of the bed.

Luckily Kirsten and her sad, pity-filled smile told him, "It's okay. I already cleaned it up. But promise me that the next time, you won't use the whole box."

Ryan nodded and looked down at the bed, still not wanting to make eye contact with Kirsten. It was all too much to deal with. Ryan heard the bath water running, and again began to panic – what if Kirsten actually waited for him to get out of the bed, walk across the room and go into the bathroom, dressed only in his tight boxer briefs?

With one hand scratching at his stomach and the other at his legs, Ryan tried to think of a way – a polite way- to tell Kirsten that wasn't going to happen. He looked down at the boxers and wondered if he would have time to change into them before Kirsten came out. Not that strutting across a room in boxers was something he wanted to do in front of her either, but at least they weren't as tight. They wouldn't show off as much – things he would never, ever want Kirsten to see.

He jumped when he heard, "You really do need to stop that right now."

Ryan looked up, surprised at how strict Kirsten sounded. He wasn't even sure what she was talking about - not until she walked over to him and grabbed his hand off his stomach.

"Sorry. Wasn't paying attention. I didn't even realize I was scratching again."

Kirsten still held onto Ryan's one hand and then pointed to the hand that was still under the covers, scratching at his legs. "You have to really try. I know it's not easy, but you have to try not to scratch."

"Yeah, how?" Ryan wasn't trying to sound nasty or sarcastic or even whiney. He honestly wanted and needed to know how not to scratch.

"Well, there are the baths and the lotions and the pills. But there are also other ways. I can think of one in particular that my mother used when I couldn't control my scratching, after I managed to get an infection."

"Whatever those ways are, I'm open for suggestions because the other stuff only helps for a little while. So anything you can remember from your days of torture, please let me know."

Kirsten smiled as she picked up all but one pair of boxers and placed them on the dresser. "Go soak in the tub. I'll be back in an hour with your pills. Make sure you leave enough cream for your back. We can discuss the other ways later, if you still need them."

Ryan waited until Kirsten shut the door behind her before he crawled out of the bed and darted into the bathroom. He wasn't sure what other possible ways Kirsten knew about that would control the itching, but all the other stuff she did helped him so he had no doubt she would know what else to do.

An hour later, Ryan was climbing out of the tub, drying off, scratching since the door still separated him from Kirsten and applying cream to all the very wrong places to be itchy, before pulling on his loose fitting boxers, wrapping a towel around his waist and going back into the bedroom.

He was relieved to see Kirsten had her back turned, busying herself with putting his new boxers in the dresser, giving him the opportunity to climb into the bed without her staring. Amazingly though, she seemed to know when he was in the bed before making her way to his bedside, taking the cream that Ryan handed her.

Neither one of them said anything as Ryan leaned forward. He was getting way too used to them putting cream on his back and figured it was better to simply close his eyes and not think about it.

That is until Kirsten pulled at the elastic on his boxers. Then he jumped, opened his eyes wide and tried to move away from the hand on his shorts.

"Um… Kirsten?" Ryan said for the second time that afternoon.

If Kirsten noticed how uncomfortable this intrusion was making him, she didn't say. All she did say was, "I don't like how irritated some of the blisters look on your lower back. You really do need to try to control your scratching."

"I'm not. It's from the rubbing of my under… the elastic."

Kirsten only nodded ever so slightly as she finished putting cream down there before informing him, "If they get any more irritated or you begin to show signs of infection, I'll have to call the doctor."

Ryan's standard, "I'm fine," would have been more believable had he not absentmindedly moved his hand back over his chest. He did manage to stop himself from scratching when he saw Kirsten gave him her look - that one that told him she wasn't exactly happy with something he was doing.

He mumbled a simple "sorry" as Kirsten sighed and handed him the pills, which he immediately popped. Not because he was trying to avoid any more of her looks, but because he knew they would help. Like the baths helped. Like the cream helped. Like not wearing a lot of clothes – albeit embarrassing – it still helped. Like everything Kirsten did to help.

Kirsten gently laid her hand on top of Ryan's, which was scratching the blanket on his bed, as he desperately tried to keep his hands away from his chest and his back and his stomach and his legs, and his well, everything. "Still want to scratch, huh?"

"Oh yeah."

"So I guess its time for Grandma Nichol's anti-scratching remedy."

Kirsten again produced a bag, much smaller than the other two, but still, the thought that inside was something else to help him survive his chicken pox hell made Ryan very relieved.

Relieved quickly turned to shocked at what Kirsten pulled from the bag.

"Um… what's that?"

"Oven mitts."

"You're going to cook me something?"

"No, they're for you."

"I'm going to cook something?"

"Nope – they're for your hands."

"My um? What… I…Huh?"

"It's simple. I'm going to tape them to your hands, like my mother did to me. I couldn't scratch, and neither will you."

Ryan quickly shoved his hands under the covers and began to scoot over to the other side of the bed, trying to put as much room between himself and Kirsten and her mitts. He knew there was no way he was willingly going to let her tape those things to his hands.

At the same time, he began to talk faster than he ever thought possible. "No, no, no. I swear. I promise. Really, really promise that I won't scratch. You don't need to put those on… I don't need oven mitts. I promise."

Kirsten placed the mitts and a roll of tape on the nightstand. "Uh huh. Okay, so here's the deal. I'm going to leave everything right here. If I see you scratching, or if Sandy sees you scratching, or if we suspect that you're scratching, the oven mitts go on and stay on unless you're taking a bath. Deal?"

Again Ryan swallowed a few times before nodding; his eyes still on the oven mitts and his hands still hidden under the covers.

Kirsten fixed the covers around Ryan before patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know how miserable you are right now, but I'm trying to do what's best. You can't scratch and cause an infection. Believe me – it really would make everything worse. So any signs of scratching…"

She didn't bother to finish the threat as she simply pointed first to the oven mitts and then to Ryan. She left a very sullen Ryan still staring at the nightstand, with his hands still under the blankets. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to keep himself busy and not scratch, waiting for the pills to relieve the itching and put him blissfully back to sleep.

Ryan's last thoughts before nodding off being, "Oven mitts. Boxers. Blisters. How could it possibly get any worse?"

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PS - you really can buy polka dot boxers - just ask my son, who, to this day, has not worn them. I thought they were cute. He didn not.