Obvious FYI: I don't own anything that even remotely has to do with The O.C.!

Thank you for reviewing! Please keep them coming!

-------------

Just a note: I meant for anyone under 16 (aka 15 and below) was a minor at the hospital…since Ryan is 16, he doesn't qualify for the pediatric ward/having a guardian stay overnight in the hospital. Sorry for the confusion and thanks for asking!

-------------

It was Tuesday night when Sandy and Seth said goodbye to Ryan. Their flight was early in the following morning and they didn't want to wake him. Ryan was already exhausted from three therapies by the time they walked in. In physical therapy, he stood for the first time with assistance, and in occupational therapy, they got him to stack rings on a stick. He was also fitted for a brace for his right hand to try and relax the muscles and curve his hand back into a natural position. Finally, in speech therapy, he was able to say the alphabet, stuttering only slightly.

"Ok, kid," Sandy began as he touched Ryan's right side for his attention. "Seth and I are going back home to Newport now. Remember how we talked about this? We promise we will see you soon. Do you trust me on that?" Everyone looked at Ryan intently. He nodded and smiled.

"Alright, bro, this is where we split up. I'm going back to Cloneville. School won't be the same without you, but don't worry, I'll keep myself under control," Seth laughed. "We're going to call mom tomorrow when we get back home so you'll hear from us then. Get better, man."

Ryan nodded and made the 'thumbs up' sign that the OT's had shown him. Everyone laughed.

"Ryan I'm going back to the hotel just like last night, but I promise I will be back tomorrow morning, ok? You don't have to be scared, I promise. Can I have another hug?" Kirsten asked and smiled when Ryan offered.

-------------

As the Cohens were driving back to the hotel, Seth asked his parents a question that had been on his mind since Ryan first woke up.

"So I was wondering. Maybe it's just me, but does Ryan seem, I don't know, more, affectionate than before? I mean, no offense, Mom but the old Ryan wouldn't hug you, even in public. And I don't think you really would have hugged him either…"

There was a long pause.

"I know, Seth. I asked the doctor the same thing," Kirsten admitted. "He said that obviously Ryan isn't himself and he's confused. He sees love from us and naturally takes comfort in that. All this is terrifying for him. The nurses told me that based on his heart rate and responsiveness to the medications, Ryan is in pain. But just like the old Ryan, he'd never let us know. They said that once he becomes more…aware, I guess, of what's going on, he'll go more into himself."

"So it's kinda like he's drunk."

"Seth!" both Kirsten and Sandy said together.

"No, you know. Like, drunken words are sober thoughts, that phrase. It's like when Ryan's injured, what he really wants in life is coming out. He plays off of you. He's back to a little kid in that sense I guess. Right?"

"I think so. I just hope he feels this way when he's more with it." Sandy finished, leaving all three Cohens lost in thought the rest of the way back.

-------------

The next day was busy for everyone. Kirsten had made friends with Antonio's wife Megan who thankfully was American. Kirsten couldn't help but think that Ryan's placement with his roommate was planned because of this, but she was grateful.

For Ryan, that Wednesday was monumental. He had one session of PT, one of OT, and two of speech. In his physical therapy session, Ryan stood again and began small balance exercises. Since Ryan's inner ear was damaged by the broken bone, his balance was significantly impaired. In occupational therapy, Ryan's right hand was taken out of the brace and stretched. The therapists even got him to grasp a few objects with it despite its severe tone. Kirsten stayed by his side through everything, helping him through the intimidating environment. Kirsten didn't know how Ryan did it, a strange environment and a confusing injury. But that made her think, did he understand what was happening? Was he aware? She needed to be strong for him. However it was Ryan's second speech therapy session that reality set in.

Ryan's first speech session was filled with more sounds and by the end of the time slot, Ryan was speaking his name and repeating after the therapist names of objects around the room. He had a stutter, but was understandable. The therapist decided to be aggressive with his next session.

"Ok, Ryan," a translator spoke for the speech therapist. "I'm going to hold up a picture of an object and I want you to say the name on your own, ok? Tell me what this is." The therapist held up a picture of a horse.

At length, Ryan answered, "Oooats."

The therapist looked at the translator and then both at Kirsten.

"Oooats," Ryan repeated. "Oats."

"Oh! Do you mean Captain Oats?" Kirsten asked Ryan, suddenly understanding. Ryan nodded. Duh. Isn't that what he said? He gave the right answer.

"My other son, Seth, has this plastic horse he calls Captain Oats. Long story. What does that mean that Ryan said 'Oats' instead of 'horse'?" Kirsten addressed the translator.

"Let me keep asking questions. I have an idea but I need to see more," the therapist spoke through the translator. "Ryan this is a picture of a horse. Can you say 'horse'?"

"Hor-horse," Ryan repeated with a curt nod.

"Very good. Now what is this?" the therapist held up a stock card with a picture of a wooden chair.

"Sssit," Ryan answered.

"Ok. This is a chair, Ryan. You sit on a chair. You're doing well. Just speak up, talk louder this time. Tell me this one now," the therapist continued as he held up a picture of a stove.

"Cccook," Ryan decided.

"This is a stove. You cook on a stove. Ok. How about this one?" Ryan was shown a picture of a man.

"Ppperson. Person. Boy ppperson. Man," Ryan talked himself through.

"Good, Ryan! You're right! That is a man! You've got the hang of this!" the therapist spoke through the translator. Ryan answered five more pictures correctly in the same fashion. "Mrs. Cohen, Ryan has now adapted to my descriptions. He's learned that I want the noun of the situation. He will recall his experiences. The more we practice the better, he just needs to keep practicing and it will come back to him. Let him sort it out." The therapist then held up a simple picture of a mother happily holding her son's hand at a park in the summertime. The boy had a balloon. The words everyone was looking for were mother, child, or family or even park or balloon.

Ryan stared at the picture. His eyes grew wide and it was evident that he was looking from the mother to the child and back again multiple times. He noticed them holding hands.

"Ryan? Ryan are you alright? Can you tell them what that is a picture of?" Kirsten put her hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Just say any of the words you see, honey."

"Ryan, what is this a picture of?" the therapist asked.

Ryan didn't know what to say. He looked at Kirsten and then back at the picture in the therapist's hand. Ryan had seen a horse, sat in a chair, cooked on the stove, seen a man before, as well as experienced the rest of the pictures he was shown. But this one, this picture, what was it? Somehow it didn't seem right. He looked at Kirsten again. No, she hadn't held his hand like that. It wasn't Kirsten and him like he first thought. Something was wrong. Why didn't he know this? That wasn't just any woman or any boy, something was different about them. They looked alike and were happy. And holding hands. That meant something, didn't it?

"Ryan, talk to me. Say what you see," the therapist said holding the picture closer. When no reply was forthcoming, the therapist spoke through the translator, "Ryan this is a picture of a mother." He pointed at each object on the card. "See? This is a mother with her son. They are at a park and he has a balloon. Do you remember doing something like that with your mother? Holding her hand?" the therapist nodded towards Kirsten's direction.

Kirsten closed her eyes, understanding what was wrong. She opened her eyes to see a quaking Ryan. He was looking around as if something had clicked in his mind.

"Ryan, honey. Ryan you're ok. You had an accident but you are getting much better and you're going to be fine. Ryan can you hear me?" Kirsten was crying. By now other patients in the large room were looking at the scared boy who was wide-eyed and staring at the wall.

Ryan heard echoes in the background. They were calling his name but he couldn't answer. Pain shot through his head and he had a flashback of his house in Chino, then the Cohen's mansion in Newport then a snowy villa that somehow seemed familiar. A metallic taste entered his mouth and everything went black.

"Ryan!" Kirsten screamed as she saw Ryan sink in the wheelchair, the seatbelt limp in his lap. His arms flailed out to the side, one hand hitting the stack of cards on the table, scattering them across the floor. One leg jerked to the right and hit the chair next to him.

Ryan's body seized for a few seconds and then was still. Multiple therapists carried the unconscious and helpless-looking Ryan to a bed two feet away. They were yelling in Italian and a nurse and an on-call doctor ran in, the latter checking Ryan's pupils with his penlight.

All Kirsten could do was watch.