Ok, so this is vaguely a filler chapter. But I decided to post it quickly (seems to be a pattern now). This one's dedicated to ORy, cause she's been having a tough time lately. I know she wanted... the other thing, but I'm nowhere near finishing that, so hopefully this can tide her over till then.

Enjoy!

Music: if there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it, check out the hook while my DJ revolves it

Shit.

Taylor's gonna kill me.

I know I say that a lot, like that time I spilled marinara sauce on the couch, but this is different.

Taylor is going to kill me.

I steel myself, hand on the doorknob, before opening it. The light from hall cuts into the bedroom, and I'm almost hoping yesterday was a dream. That is, of course, until I see the kid in the bed, still asleep, and I know it's not. Because life hates me like that. I shut the door and go back out to the kitchen, grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring myself a cup. It's only 10, and I've already had three.

Taylor tried to get me stop drinking coffee once. She said I was too dependent, citing my need to have one when I wake up, when I do work, and generally any time I'm stressed out. And sometimes when I'm watching TV, I like to have a cup. And after dinner…

Anyway, she said I drank it too much, and I'm pretty sure she compared me to an alcoholic. So she took all the coffee out of the house, told the Cohens and Seth and Summer I wasn't allowed to have any, and she even went to my work and told them I wasn't allowed to drink it. Yeah, that hadn't turned out so well. I think she got so fed up with my complaining that she gave in. Fuck. Why am I thinking about coffee? I should be focusing on my giant fucking mistake.

Why would I take in a stray kid?

Well, I mean, I know why in general. Just… seeing that kid sitting there, looking lost and angry… it was too familiar for my comfort. I'd just… acted. I hadn't thought it through before asking the kid if he needed help. I didn't think about where I'd put the kid. Or how Taylor would take the news.

But I couldn't just ignore him. He'd looked so lost, and when I asked him if he needed help, he'd said no with such… anger that I knew I had to do something. So I'd thought of myself at that age. If someone had asked if I needed help, I would've said no out of pride. But there was something I knew the kid couldn't turn down… Food.

I'm on my fourth cup of black coffee when he comes into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. He pauses, blinking in the sunlight. "Hey," I manage awkwardly. Damnit. Sandy was so much better at this.

"Hey…" he starts. "Thanks for letting me sleep here last night, Ryan." I told him to call me Ryan, because Mr. Atwood sounded way too weird.

"Want some breakfast?" He tries not to look too eager, shrugging nonchalantly. I resist the urge to smile and pull down a box of cereal and two bowls. "You look like a cereal kind of guy," I guess, and he nods in confusion. I don't tell him I know that because I'm a cereal guy.

We eat in relative silence – him because he's uncomfortable, and me because I don't talk a lot and I don't want to scare the kid. Plus, it gives me time to think about what the hell I'm supposed to do with him. When we're done, I pick up the bowls and put them in the sink.

"Ok, I'll give you the grand tour. You've seen the kitchen and the guest bedroom." He looks at me, confused, but I ignore that. "This is my room," I point to the closed door down the hall from the one he slept in, "there's the bathroom, that's a closet." I take him out of the hall and back to the kitchen, "and off the kitchen is the living room." Then I turn to him, giving him a once over. "I have to go to work, but do you think you could keep yourself entertained? I have a lot of video games," I wave vaguely at the TV, and his eyes go wide at the giant widescreen. I know that look. It's the holy shit, I've landed in Oz look.

"You're… gonna let me stay here?" I shrug at him like it's nothing – the move planned and absolutely calculated down to the coordinated eyebrow lift of disinterest. His own eyebrows knit together, and he amends his question, looking down at the floor. "Alone?"

"Are you gonna case the apartment and run?" No need to sugarcoat this. I refuse to play with him. He shakes his head no, the move so sudden and forceful that I know he's not lying. "Are you gonna burn it down?" Another shake, slower this time, a little more unsure. "Are you gonna throw a huge crack party?" This time he pauses, and his eyes go from the floor to my face. Wait for it… there it is.

He smiles.

"Well, I might do that."

Atta boy. I clap him on the shoulder with a grin before heading to my room. "I'm gonna change, why don't you get acquainted with the TV?" He ducks his head over the giant smile and makes his way over to the couch. I watch him for a few seconds as he turns the TV on, obviously impressed by the expensive thing. I know that feeling too. Then I shake my head and go to change. It's gonna be a long day at work.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" Trey asks wearily as I sit down at the table with a happy smile.

"Nope!" I infuse my voice with as much enthusiasm as I possibly can, to let him know how much his broodyness isn't deterring me.

"He doesn't want me there." I watch him glance warily around him, relaxing a little when no one's watching him. Because he's talking to a patron while he's at work. But seriously? It's ten in the morning on a Thursday, so there's not too many people at the casino, and none at our table. But if it makes him feel better… I place some money on the table and he changes it out for chips, and we start to play.

"Sure he does," I continue the conversation as he doles out cards.

"He didn't even invite me," Trey's voice is monotone, but I sense a bit of resentment in there. And guilt. Good Lord, what is it with the Atwoods and guilt? It's like they have a timeshare on Guilt Island, and they're determined to take full advantage of it. "He hates me." I also catch the silent addition to that: I deserve it.

"He doesn't hate you." The boy looks up at me, startled, because my voice is dead certain. I meet his gaze squarely. Ryan doesn't hate his brother – he doesn't have to tell me that, I can read him well enough. He's disappointed in Trey, he's afraid of Trey, he's wary of Trey, but he doesn't hate Trey. Ryan doesn't have the capacity for it. "Look, what happened? That's in the past."

"What do you know about what happened?" he grunts, flicking another card at me.

"That was eight years ago," I reassure him, flipping my cards over to reveal… twenty-three. I suck at gambling.

His half amused, half depressed laugh startles me into looking up. "You think this is about Marissa?" Ok, I was trying to avoid using her name – usually it doesn't get favorable reactions. "This is so much bigger than what happened with her."

"You mean your childhood?" I press, and he shrugs again.

"Our childhood, the shit with Marissa, disappearing for eight years. He never tried calling me, I never tried calling him. It's too late – there's too much… There's just too much."

"You know, even after all your childhood stuff, he was still willing to give you a chance." I frown slightly at my drink before taking a sip. "You blew it then," no reason to try and make him think otherwise. "Ryan's very forgiving. All you have to do is come to the wedding and try. Don't blow it this time. And don't try telling me he doesn't care about you," I hold up my hand in warning when I see his mouth open. "We both know that's bull." I'm right. We both know Ryan worries about everyone, no matter how much they've let him down. "And he's grown since you last saw him. He understands things now. He's not as impulsive, he's not as angry." I look at him appraisingly, and he's staring at me like I'm insane. Which I kinda am, but whatever. "And you've changed too. I didn't know you then, but the fact that you seem to care about his well-being…" I let the sentence hang, and he shakes his head at me.

"No wonder he's marrying you." Oh my God! I want to ask him why he said that, because the little girl inside me wants to know – is it because I'm pretty? Because I'm good at reading people? "You probably talked so much he just gave in." Ok, now I may have to hurt him. But then he laughs a little, and I realize he's joking. Sort of.

I shrug, smiling back. "I tend to get my way."

"Fine, I'll come." When he beats me again and takes my money again, he actually looks happy. "But if he gets angry that I came, you have to tell him it was your idea."

"Totally!" He gives me another weird look as I clap my hands together happily. "I can totally handle angry Ryan. I mean, I cut him off until our wedding night, but if I have to, I'll break that rule. He's usually much more accepting after he orgasms." Ok, now he's looking a little horrified. Damnit. I can never tell where the line is between information, and too much information. I get off the stool and reach into my purse for the invitation I have stashed there. I hand it to him without another word and leave the casino.

My job here in Vegas is done.

"Cody?" I call the minute I open the door. I've had a fucking long day at work – that Casetti woman is such a goddamn stubborn bitch – and I pull at my tie, kicking the door closed with my foot. He doesn't answer, but that's ok, because I hear the TV on and the familiar sounds of Grand Theft Auto playing. "Having fun?" I ask, stepping out into the living area, where Cody's sitting on the couch.

With Seth.

"Totally," Seth answers, but doesn't take his eyes off the screen.

"Tank!" Cody grins and Seth laughs and on the screen, one of the characters gets into an Army tank and starts crushing civilians with it.

"Uh… Seth?" My brother doesn't look up, but something in my voice makes Cody pause the game. "Can I talk to you in the kitchen?" Seth rolls his eyes but gets up. I give Cody a smile so he knows I'm not angry or anything before leading my brother into the kitchen area.

"What're you doing here?" I ask, glancing out to where Cody's unpaused the game and resumed crushing people.

"I was bored," he shrugs. "And we have some really weird stuff to eat at home, so I came to raid your kitchen." Then he smiles like an idiot, "and much to my surprise, I find a pre-Cohen mini-you sitting on the couch playing Mortal Kombat. He's even got the Atwood rage, cause he kicked the crap out of me and then he suggested we play GTA and are you sure this isn't like a Back to the Future thing? Do you have a DeLorean I don't know about? Cause I swear, if he didn't call himself Cody, I'd think it was thirteen-year-old you."

He finally shuts up when he notices my glare. "I…" I can't really get the words out to explain the situation properly.

"Let me guess," Seth sighs dramatically. "You saw him on the street – getting beat up? or maybe yelled at by his parents? – and decided to take him in."

"He was sitting," I frown. Kind of a stupid thing to say, but really the only thing I can manage.

"Of course he was." Seth gives me this weird look. "Can I go back and play now? It's nice having an opponent who actually provides a challenge…"

"Hey…" I protest, but he grins at me, punches me in the arm, and heads back to the couch.

"Oh, and while you're in there," he calls over his shoulder, flopping back on the couch and rejoining the game, "could you make me a sandwich, mon frère? You know, mi casa, su casa?"

"Two different languages, Seth," I call back monotonously, but pull out the bread anyway. I hear him shout out some vague response, but I don't pay attention. He's just being Seth.

"So?" Summer asks the minute I open the door. She and Kaitlin are on the floor, eating some obnoxious creation that looks like it includes Cheetos, chocolate sauce, and bananas.

"I think he's gonna come," I smile, and she nods, a little warily. I know she's still not sure about Trey but she doesn't say anything. I think it's because she knows how important this is to me. That, or she doesn't have the energy to argue with me anymore.

"Ok, now that 'the mission' is done, can we go out and do something?" Kaitlin whines.

"Pregnancy doesn't allow fun," Summer mutters darkly, and I can tell she's cursing Seth in her head. I feel almost bad for the boy. "But if you want, we can lay down, prop up our feet, listen to classical music, and gently rub our tummies." I hold back a laugh at the sarcasm in her voice. Kaitlin looks horrified.

"How about we just go out for a nice dinner?" I compromise. It'll get them both out of the hotel – and from the state of the room, it looks like they need it.

"Whatever," Kaitlin sighs, rolling her eyes as she helps Summer struggle to her feet.

"Can one of you guys pay, though?" I ask as they move toward their suitcases to change. "I kinda lost a lot of money trying to convince Trey to come to the wedding."

"Hey," I catch Seth's arm at the front door, and he turns to me. "Can you not tell Summer about this?" I jerk my head back toward the apartment where Cody's taking a shower before he goes to bed. Seth quirks an eyebrow at me. "I don't want her telling Taylor," I explain, somewhat lamely. Oh yeah, that sounds great: hey, can you lie to your pregnant wife so she doesn't tell my fiancée that I took in a homeless kid?

Fanfuckingtastic.

"Yeah, sure," he shrugs, which… well, it makes me feel bad. He's so fucking loyal sometimes when he shouldn't be. He shouldn't lie to his wife – technically, I shouldn't be asking him to – but he's willing to do it for me.

"Thanks, I just… I haven't figured out how I'm gonna break this to her is all," I let go of his arm and he gives me his Seth-smile.

"It's cool. She's pregnant, so no matter what I do, I'll get in trouble." He opens the door, but hesitates, turning back to me. "What you're doing here…" Oh shit. This is what I've been waiting for. He's the first one to find out, it's only fitting he's the first one to give me the what the hell are you doing? speech. Instead he gives me this look, shrugs, and gives a slight nod of approval before leaving.

I close the door behind him, and I can't really explain the feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's… I haven't felt this since… I don't know when the last time was, but it feels like… dread? Fear? And that's when it hits me – I wanted Seth to tell me this was stupid. I want it to be stupid and bad and wrong.

I want it to be fixable.

It's not that I don't want to help the kid – I do – but… I'm just not the guy to do it. I can barely handle getting married and having a real job. I'm just getting used to stability myself.

It's gonna be a long couple of weeks.

"This was nice," Summer decides after we leave the restaurant. It seems expensive food soothes the savage beast, because she's acting like normal Summer now. "The three of us should go out more often, without all the excess baggage." I giggle at her little term of endearment.

"I can't believe you just called your husband baggage," Kaitlin shakes her head, supressing a smile.

"Husband/baggage, patato/patato," she waves her hand vaguely, face completely straight.

"Well, make sure you guys get up before noon tomorrow," I remind them. The hotel gives us until noon to get the hell out.

"How did we come all the way to Vegas, two weeks before your wedding, and not do anything stupid and drunken and impulsive?" the younger girl whines a little.

"We gambled," I remind her, "plus, we risked the wrath of Summer, so there's that." Summer hits my arm with a mock scowl, but the food's still got her sedated, so it doesn't hurt. "But we need to get home, because I have a lot of stuff to do."

I haven't told Ryan when I'm coming home, because when we first came, I didn't know how long it would take to convince Trey. And now I think I'll just leave it as a surprise. That sounds like fun. Maybe, when I walk into the apartment I'll even shout surprise!

I like surprises.

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