Title: Mistaken

Author: newportbeachbabe

Rating: R (language)

Summary: Ryan confronts Marissa about Volchok. And it turns into an entirely different problem. Set mid season three. Part two (more like two.five) of a few.

Beta: None. Be mine? Please?

Spoilers: Mid season three.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Enough said.

A/N: I don't like how short this chapter is, so it's sort of a half chapter. I just needed to cut it off. I wasn't planning on this continuing, but I really like it so I might keep it going longer. Tell me what you guys think.

Somehow, she's managed to extract herself from under Ryan's arm and is sitting on the couch, wrapped in her bathrobe.

She can't bring herself to watch him sleep. And then wake up. Without her.

Part of her wants to leave, run, escape this fucked up mess. But she is trying to be a better person. Starting…today.

Her flask is sitting just inches away and she can imagine herself wrapping her fingers around its cold metal sides and taking a long swig. Just as her hand moves, practically on its own accord, towards the desired object, she hears a noise from the bedroom.

The distinct rustle of sheets. The sound of sighing. And then silence.

Fuck. Again.

Marissa counts the seconds until Ryan emerges from the bedroom. When he finally does, he's wearing only jeans, no shirt. His hair is messed up and he has a sheepish look on his face.

He's never looked cuter.

He sees her and immediately stops short.

"Um…hey," he says awkwardly.

"We fucked up," she replies. No reason for small talk.

Ryan leans back against the doorframe. He rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah, we did. Possibly the worst fuck up ever in the history of us."

"So what do we do?" she says, surprisingly calmly.

"What makes you think I have all the answers?" he shoots back.

"We have to do something, Ryan," she says exasperatedly.

"You think I don't know that? I just…I can't think. Not with you staring at me."

"Do you honestly think that me not staring at you is going to solve the problem?"

"It's a start," he mumbles.

"We had sex, Ryan!" she exclaims.

"I know," he says. It comes out dirtier than he meant it. "God, what am I going to tell Sadie?"

Marissa flinches, even though she has been thinking the same thing. Her cell phone rings and they both turn towards it. They eye the phone warily, as if it knows their secret.

Finally, Marissa answers it.

"Hello?"

Ryan hears a rather shrill voice on the other end.

"Hey, Sum. What's up?"

More shrill talking, getting shriller with each syllable.

"Oh my, gosh, Sum. I'm so sorry. I totally forgot that was today." Marissa cringes and looks guilty. Ryan wonders if it was a tanning appointment or a waxing that she's just bailed on.

"No, I'm not with Volchok. Um…no, not exactly."

Ryan figures Summer's just asked if Marissa is drunk. A fair question, he muses.

"Ryan? Uh…um… no. I haven't seen him. But if I do, I'll tell him. I've gotta go."

Marissa hangs up the phone and looks at him.

"Apparently, Sadie is looking for you. Summer said they're going to have lunch at the diner; you're supposed to meet them there."

Ryan hangs his head shamefully. Marissa stares at him thoughtfully. He has never worn his emotions on his sleeve, but she can figure him out pretty well by now.

"You're going to break up with her, aren't you?" she finally concludes, and is rewarded when he looks up suddenly.

"How do you know?" he asks.

She laughs. "I know you better than you think, Ryan."

"Okay, yes. I am going to break up with her. So what then? We forget this ever happened?"

"I don't know! As much as I screw things up, I'm not an expert in cheating and then moving on." She plays the trump card, "I never cheated on you."

His eyes harden. "Are we going to start this again?"

"You tell me," she replies.

"We both agreed it wasn't working."

"What was I supposed to say, Ryan? That I didn't understand what had happened, that as screwed up as we were, I didn't want it to end? That's not what you say when being broken up with."

"I just…I couldn't keep on pretending. I'm sorry, okay? But I've never pretended to care about you," he says, feeling utterly helpless. What Marissa had said is overwhelming him. He had felt the same things.

Marissa can't take it anymore. She knows this is exactly why things had gotten so screwy between each other, the lack of communication. But she can't endure everything that goes along with it.

"You better go," she tells him abruptly. "They're going to be at the diner soon."

Ryan sighs, deflated. He's never been good at talking, but when this had been forced upon him, he had kind of hoped that they'd actually talk about it. He turns to go back into the bedroom, then stops. He walks over to where she's sitting and, for a second, Marissa tenses. Then he grabs the flask and dumps out its contents in the kitchen sink.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" he says, genuine worry apparent in his words. He tosses the flask back to her. She catches it and ducks her head.

Five minutes later, he is gone and she breaks down. The tears spill over, yet she's not sure what she's crying about. Part of her thinks it is because of the horrible wrong she has just committed. Another part tells her that it is because they had been so close to solving their problems, and she'd screwed it up like always. Or, maybe it's because she doesn't know what happens next.

Hell, she doesn't even know what she wants to happen. She would love for there to be a happy, shining ending. That they get back together and all their problems disappear.

But she knows that will never happen. And she is so afraid of hearing what Ryan has to say, the necessary step in repairing their relationship.

She knows they can't go back to the shell of a relationship they had earlier. That would break them both.