Author: cheekymice.
Rating: Um…T - later chapters will be a higher rating.
Beta: mel39. Hugs and kisses Melly.
Disclaimer: I don't own The OC, Ryan or Benjamin McKenzie.
Story: As requested Hero! In peril Ryan! Yeay! All in the title really. Set post finale.
Notes: Once again thank you to everyone who reviewed. It means a lot to a review ho like me. :)
Heist
Chapter 10
Eleven days after the robbery and Ryan was coming home. Kirsten and Rosa were making up Ryan's bed up with fresh sheets ready for his arrival. It was almost too much to take. They were all so excited. Rosa had been baking all of Ryan's favorite things as soon as she'd arrived that morning and if he managed to eat even a quarter of the chocolate chip cookies, muffins and brownies Rosa had baked she'd be impressed, although the way Sandy and Seth had both been hovering over the cooling racks he'd be having more than a little help.
Ryan was alive and back with them and if he was a little too hesitant at times when answering questions he should easily know the answers to and if sometimes he repeated himself without realizing it then so be it. It could have been so much worse. Kirsten had read enough literature whilst he'd been unconscious to know that he had gotten off very lightly.
It was still a jolt though to see the normally sharp Ryan falter as he recited the alphabet to his therapist. He'd gotten there eventually but Kirsten could see the growing panic on his face as he struggled to find the information. She had deliberately not looked over at Sandy even though it was an automatic response to share her worry and she had bitten her tongue and not patronized him with an over enthusiastic 'well done' as he finally managed to reach zee after several false starts. She thought that Ryan had appreciated that and luckily Sandy had caught on.
"I bet you ten bucks that if you asked him to recite the current top twenty porn actresses in the industry he'd have no problems," her husband had joked. Ryan had blushed, held his hand out for Sandy to tap and laughed. The therapist had joined in and said maybe she should tailor make the tests according to age instead of using the medical standard.
Monique, his therapist, said that sometimes all the brain needed after a trauma was retraining – Kirsten liked the fact that she only used the phrase 'trauma' and not 'brain damage' like Doctor Clarke had. Brain damage due to oxygen starvation…no one liked to hear that diagnosis especially not an eighteen year old that was off to Berkeley soon. Ryan had immediately reacted to that diagnosis by withdrawing from them. They had learnt enough about how self-reliant Ryan was to know that the thought that this might be a permanent thing crushed him.
Luckily his therapist was more positive. Exercise the brain was her motto. Crosswords, math problems and jigsaw puzzles helped with concentration and in many cases it was possible to gain a considerable, if not vast improvement. Anything that stimulated his brain was good; he had relaxed even more when she said that even the PS2 counted as valid therapy. Both Kirsten and Sandy felt relieved that he'd been given something to cling onto. Even if he didn't improve then at least he had something positive to focus on over these difficult first months.
It was incredible how resilient Ryan was. At her words Sandy and Kirsten had seen him physically square up and decide that he was going to beat this.
He once again made them proud that he was one of the family.
Ryan sat on his bed at the hospital and punched his leg hard; when the pain that shot up his thigh dulled he did it again. He bit the inside of his cheek and breathed deeply. Everyone was so damn happy, so damn grateful that he was 'awake' and he was coming home but he was dreading it. In here he could wing it, here he could pretend that things were good. It sacred him to think that when he got home they'd notice the things he'd been trying to cover up. When he was a young kid they'd ragged on old Mrs. Guggenheim from down the street. Sometimes she used to walk to the shops still wearing her bathrobe and slippers, she put her Christmas decorations up in June and she called them all 'Stuart', even the girls in the group. It had seemed funny to his eight-year-old self. She was just crazy old Mrs. Guggenheim who they would poke fun at with the confidence and callousness of youth. It was only as he'd gotten older that he realized that she'd been suffering early onset Alzheimer's…she had in fact only been fifty-nine. She wore her night things out because she simply forgot to get dressed and she decorated her house for the holidays because in her mind it was December already.
And that's what scared him. He was Mrs. Guggenheim, he could relate to her confusion now and there was nothing funny about it. He wondered if she, like him, had moments of clarity when it hit her what she was doing. He saw the look on the Cohens' faces when he got their names wrong and it took him a couple of seconds to realize what he'd done. He'd get up to use the bathroom only to forget why he was standing. He'd say he was just stretching his legs when he noticed Kirsten looking at him, as he stood in the center of the room unsure of why he was there.
And he couldn't remember if he'd said things out loud or if he'd just thought them. If he wasn't sure he didn't say anything now. Seth's laughter yesterday had cut deep when he'd said,
'Dude, that's the third time in a row you've asked the same question.'
He knew that Seth didn't mean anything by it, that they were taking the route of not making a big deal out of these things but when you genuinely couldn't remember asking the first time let alone the second or third… it hit him with a freefall feeling that scared him to death. So now he didn't say anything if he was unsure. Then he became obsessed with the thought that he was still repeating things out loud even though he was trying not to.
The thing that worried him most though was the inability to take the dark. It had been fine when he was in the ICU department, and then the Step Down unit because the lights had been left on all the time but the past two nights he'd been in a regular room and they turned the lights off each night at eight forty-five. The first night it had happened he felt paralyzed. He was right back in that claustrophobic vault and it had taken all his rationality to negotiate his body out of the spiraling and irrational fear it found itself in.
They had talked about the robbery and what had happened and why. It was there in Ryan's mind. He could remember everything but it was a fragmented jumble of events that he had problems fitting together. Everyone seemed encouraged that he could remember anything and it was like his 'other' behavior, they told him that he was doing good, that it would get better.
The second night he'd prepared himself. It had just been a shock, a flash back and nothing more. Now that he was prepared it would be okay. Except it hadn't been. The nurse had said goodnight and switched off the light and the trapped feeling had immediately flooded his body just the same as before; he was right back in that oppressive heat, unable to breathe, unable to see, knowing that he was going to die. This was new to him. He'd felt fear before but he'd never been scared of something that wasn't tangible in some shape or form and he'd always managed to subjugate any apprehensions in the past.
The dark used to be his friend. Night was the time he reflected on things, the time he worked stuff out in his head and the place he had always felt safest from the world. Now that had been taken away from him. He'd spent the rest of the night dozing on the bathroom floor with the light on, only emerging when dusk filtered through the blinds. He was back in his bed smiling when the nurse brought his meds and his morning pep talk. Part of him wanted to talk to someone about it. He knew he wasn't stupid even though his brain was doing its best to make him appear so. He knew what this was about but how do you tell people as an eighteen year old that you are now scared of the dark? It went against all his sensibilities to admit to something like that.
He felt vulnerable enough right now.
And now he was going home and he was dreading it. No one had mentioned yet how he'd almost gotten Sandy killed. He figured they were just placating the mental case at the moment.
"So, how's he doing now?" Summer asked.
"He's good, he's still whooping my ass on the PS2 so there is nothing wrong with his hand to eye coordination," Seth laughed as he ushered Summer into the house. "He's looking forward to seeing you."
They found Ryan in the kitchen reading the newspaper as Kirsten chopped vegetables and Sandy marinated steaks.
"Atwood..." Summer hugged his shoulders. "Looking good, tired but good."
"Hey." Ryan smiled.
"Don't you dare do anything like that again. You scared the fu…hell out of us." Summer blushed and looked over to where the older Cohens stood but they were pretending they hadn't heard and Ryan chuckled at her slip.
"I'll try not to…" he said quietly.
"Good, you are too damn precious to us. God knows what Cohen would do without you. Who else could I trust to help me rein in his dorkish tendencies?" Summer leant in close.
"And besides I've grown kinda fond of you, you know."
"Hey, stop hitting on my brother, woman!" Seth grinned.
"Did you just call me 'woman'?" Summer put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chest.
"Son… will you never learn?" Sandy looked mock disappointed.
Ryan felt relaxed for the first time since he'd gotten home two days ago. This was normal.
Ryan watched Sandy grilling the steaks on the patio, Seth keeping up the banter constantly, even when it was time to eat.
"…then I ran over his foot on my skateboard. He was not pleased, was he, mom? Grandpa threatened to confiscate my board but dad stepped in and said he'd punish me. I seem to remember you took me out for ice-cream that night dad."
"The look of pain on Caleb's face was worth the triple chocolate Sundae you ordered and all the vomit I had to clean off the upholstery of my car."
"Sandy…you said that you gave him a good talking to about skateboarding in the house and sent him to his room!"
Sandy beamed.
Ryan smiled and shook his head. He turned to Summer and asked her to pass the bread.
Summer looked at him for a beat before handing him the basket. Ryan took a roll and broke it open. As he mopped up some ketchup and chewed he noticed that the table had gone quiet. He swallowed.
"What did I do?"
Kirsten took a gulp of her water.
"Nothing sweetie."
Ryan looked around the table.
"Tell me...what did I do this time?"
Summer looked embarrassed.
"Look, it's no big deal…you…you called me Marissa."
Ryan looked down at his plate and started picking his bread roll into tiny pieces.
"Hey, at least you got the right sex! Summer, he called me Dawn yesterday," Seth laughed, but it sounded forced to Ryan's ears.
Ryan dropped his bread and picked his napkin off his lap.
"I'm going to lie down." He balled the napkin up and threw it on the table.
"Ryan…" Sandy started at the same time as Kirsten spoke.
"You haven't even finished your meal."
"I'm tired," he said…and he was. Tired of all this and it hadn't even been two days yet.
"Dude, it's okay…it was just a slip of the tongue." Seth got up and grabbed his arm, stopping him from walking.
He turned around sharply.
"How is this okay, Seth? I'm supposed to be going to Berkeley…. how the fuck am I going to do that if I can't even get people's names right? It took me an hour to figure out that I'd put my shoes on without my socks this morning. What the hell else am I doing that I don't now about?" Ryan knew he was borderline shouting.
"Hey, hey, Ryan." Sandy got up and took over from Seth. "It's early days…your therapist is confidant that this will get better in time. You've only been out of hospital for two days. Give it time."
"What if it's not, Sandy? What if this is as good as it gets?"
"Then we'll deal with it." Sandy bounced back. "As a family."
Ryan looked down at his boots before looking Sandy in the eye.
"Sandy. I'm a fucking retard now…face it."
"Ryan!" Kirsten gasped.
"Dude." Seth sounded hurt.
Ryan looked at their faces.
"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired." Ryan turned and walked over to the pool house. He shut the door gently and lay down on his bed.
What if this was as good as it gets? How long would it take for them to get fed up with baby-sitting him?
TBC.
Hope you enjoyed.