The Broken and The Slightly Bent

Summer manages to stick to her guns and avoid Ryan for a record two hours before her cell phone vibrates and the Cohen number dances across the screen. Telling herself she's hoping to hear Seth's voice, she picks up on the third ring and immediately begins pacing her bedroom.

"It's me." Ryan's voice is low and gravelly in her ear, making Summer stop in her tracks. "Can you come over?"

Summer's head swims with visions of what that request could lead to, but she shakes herself out of the Harlequin fantasy and dredges up an offended scoff. "Is this a booty call, Chino? 'Cause I am far too classy to be answering a booty call at four o'clock in the afternoon."

He doesn't seem to register her friendly, albeit forced, tone. "Seth and I kind of got into it. He could probably use you right about now."

Summer resumes her pacing and tacks on an attack of nail biting. "You got into it?" she repeats, not sure she even wants to ask the next question. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"We fought," Ryan says simply and she rolls her eyes. Of course that's all there is to it. In Ryan's world, two words are as good as an entire explanation for why he and her extremely non-threatening boyfriend would ever have come to blows.

"Oh, you fought?" Summer throws back at him. "How'd that work out? Considering the only time Seth's ever thrown a punch is in a video game and fistfights just happen to be a favorite hobby of yours."

His sigh is pained enough that she almost regrets her sharp tone. "Summer, I didn't hit him, okay? He got made when he found out I'd visited Kirsten. I think he just felt guilty that he didn't go, but it was a bad scene. He actually threw a punch."

"Oh, Lord." Summer sighs, sitting down on the edge of her bed and bracing herself for the worst. "How bad is it?"

"He might have a broken hand," Ryan says, quickly and under his breath, as if he's a child confessing a crime to his mother.

"How'd he break his hand?" Summer frowns. "I mean, contrary to popular opinion, Ryan, you're not made of steel."

"I ducked and he hit the wall instead," he explains. "And I've punched a few walls in my time. That one looked … particularly hard."

At that, Summer lets herself fall backward on the bed, her head landing amidst her collection of throw pillows. "You've gotta be kidding me," she mumbles.

"I wish I was." Ryan hesitates. "I'm really sorry, Summer. I just thought you should know. Like I said, he might need you right now."

She's still processing those words when the dial tone sounds in her ears. Taken aback, Summer holds the phone away and stares at it, wondering why Ryan never seems to be the one to need anyone or anything.

XXX

Twenty minutes later, she's been let into the Cohen house by an obviously distracted Sandy and is making her way to Seth's room. Scanning the hours for a sign of Ryan's presence, her eyes fall on an indent in the wall – definitely in the shape of a fist – and she clucks her tongue.

"Cohen," she greets her boyfriend, not bothering to knock before swinging the door open. "Something you want to talk about?"

He looks up from the hand he's cradling in a towel full of ice. "Ryan called you?"

"He mentioned something about you and a wall." Offering up a smile, she steps further into the room. "I heard the wall did some damage."

Seth shakes his head angrily, not responding to her attempt at light-heartedness. "You know, for someone so antisocial, he's certainly done a lot of talking today to people in my life about things that don't concern him."

"Cohen." Summer's not exactly an expert on psychology, but she's beginning to understand misplaced emotions. "Who are you really mad at?"

He grimaces. "Probably not Ryan."

"So the trying to punch him in the face thing, that was just … you horsing around?" she guesses, taking a seat next to him so she can slide an arm around his shoulders.

"The joke's on me, then," he admits, gesturing to his swollen knuckles. "If this is what it's like to be a fighter, then, boy, am I glad I'm a lover. Wanna kiss it and make it better?"

Summer laughs and presses a light kiss to his wound. "Poor baby. So what happened, Cohen? Why'd you Hulk out on his ass?"

Seth smiles at her comic book reference, just as she'd intended. "I just lost it, Sum. I was bugging him about visiting my mom and he was just looking at me like, of course he visited her, how could I not? And I just ... couldn't take it."

"You know, Seth." She hesitates, then pushes on. "If you wanted to go see her, I'd go with you. She'd probably love it."

He grimaces and shakes his head. "I don't think so. Not yet. But thank you." They're both quiet for a minute, lost in their own thoughts, and then Seth sighs. "You know, I don't think I'm gonna be the best company right now. According to my How To Be A Badass guideline, I still have another few hours of brooding to do before I revert back my happy go-lucky self. I'll call you later?"

"Sounds good." Standing, Summer bends to kiss his forehead. "Hey, we should all go out this weekend. There's no better way to get over a tiff than, oh, say, a night at The Bait Shop with my dad's credit card buying?"

Seth agrees and, with one last hug, Summer leaves him to his wallowing. She's in the driveway, car keys in hand, when she glances over at the pool house and catches a glimpse of Ryan's form in the window. He's swinging away at his punching bag like the thing has actually done something to piss him off, his skin gleaming with sweat and his jaw clenched.

It's not the brightest idea she's ever had, but it's not like she can just turn her back and walk away from him when he's obviously upset. That just wouldn't be right. Or so she tells herself as she tosses her keys back in her purse and changes direction.

"Hey." She says it softly, but he freezes almost before the word is out of her mouth, as if he's been expecting her. "You okay?"

"Fine," he says curtly. "How's Seth?"

"Also fine." She doesn't think about it, doesn't plan to, but her feet propel her forward of their own accord until she's standing toe to toe with him. "Ryan. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"It just …" His eyes cut away, then back to her. His breathing is still heavy from the God-knows-how-many rounds he just went with the punching bag. "Sucked."

Now she's nothing but focused as she slowly, almost cautiously, brings her arms up to wrap loosely around his neck. When he doesn't flinch or pull away, she steps closer, settling her head into the crook of his shoulder. Eyes closed, she listens to his heartbeat start to slow, literally feels him relax into the embrace.

Ryan has never been the one to receive comfort. It has always been his role, for as long as he can remember, to be the protector. He treated his mother's cuts and made her boyfriends regret giving them to her; he followed Trey and made sure to clean up the older boy's messes. Even in Newport, he'd followed the same pattern: keep Seth's bullies at bay, hold Marissa in his arms as she comes apart once a week, take the punches no one else can seem to take.

It's a new feeling, this being cared for. Summer's touch, light as it is, seems to reach through all his grief and frustration and anchor him firmly in a world where things don't always hurt so much. He likes the world her arms and fingers and hair and lips promise. He thinks he's like to live there.

"This is breaking the no physical contact rule," he mutters, but his arms are moving, too, enveloping her in what she thinks could be the best hug she's ever experienced.

"Nah, not breaking," she replies, keeping her eyes closed in the hopes of making the moment last forever. "Just bending. Slightly."

Because he feels the closest he's ever come to peaceful, Ryan accepts her response and keeps his arms around her for a long time.