Title : Empty Diary
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Car accident. Ryan. Amnesia. There, that's clear, isn't it?
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N. This fic wouldn't be seeing the light of day if it hadn't been for Joey's enthusiastic comments and invaluable help. Thanks, again!
Chapter Three
About a month after Mrs. Davenport calls them to say that she found Ryan's living conditions "satisfactory," Sandy announces that an old friend of his is opening a law firm in San Francisco.
Kirsten doesn't look half as surprised as Ryan feels. "Are you interested?"
"Well, it would mean moving from Newport," Sandy points out. He doesn't seem heartbroken by the idea, but then it's obvious that he doesn't care much for the town.
Kirsten turns to Ryan, who's playing with his food and wondering how long the Cohens have been thinking about moving, and if they really think they're being subtle. "What do you think?" she asks.
"Does it matter?" Ryan replies, back-pedalling when he sees her frown. "I mean, it's your decision to make, isn't it?"
"Ryan, you're part of the family," Sandy says. "Your opinion counts and we'll listen to it."
Sandy doesn't promise they'll comply, and Ryan decides, again, that he likes the guy. At least he doesn't treat Ryan with kid's gloves.
"I don't care," he says. "I don't remember ever living here anyway. At least, in a new town, I'll have an excuse for not knowing where the nearest 7/11 is."
Sandy smiles. "Good point."
"Well, then," Kirsten says, smiling cheerfully.
And just like that, the decision is made.
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On one of the hottest days of the summer, shortly after announcing that they're leaving town, Kirsten enters Ryan's room, handing him a phone. Ryan briefly fears that Marissa might be calling him. Not that she doesn't seem nice or anything, but he finds the way she keeps crying every time he tells her that he doesn't remember anything yet, deeply disturbing.
"It's Luke," Kirsten says, correctly interpreting his deer-in-the-headlights expression.
Luke had moved to Oregon two weeks earlier, but he visited Ryan a few times before that, and he has already called once since arriving.
Ryan takes the phone with a nod of thanks. "Hello?"
"Hi, man." He expects Luke's first question to be about the state of his memory (Marissa's favourite topic), but Luke surprises him. "So, how are things in Newport?"
"Fine, I guess."
Luke snorts. "Good to know you're still as talkative as you were."
"Was I really that bad?" he asks before he can think twice about it.
He's not sure he likes how needy his questions are starting to sound.
He's not sure he cares.
Both Sandy and Kirsten have told him that, in many ways, he hasn't changed that much, that they can still see the boy he used to be.
He wants to believe them, but taking the word of almost-strangers just isn't enough.
He wants to know what he was like before the accident, and he's willing to listen to anyone who might give him tips—because perhaps different viewpoints will give him a more complete idea of who he was. He wants to know if the way he's acting is like him or not. Sandy has argued countless times that it doesn't matter how he would have felt if he still had all his memories intact, that all that matters is how he feels now, but Ryan doesn't agree. He needs to know more, needs more to go on.
So much of the basic stuff is missing—is he better at English or at math? Is he messy or tidy? Is he quick-tempered or level-headed? Is he funny or, well, not?
Sandy recently told him, "What counts is what you like now. I know it's disturbing not being able to remember what you used to like, but trust your instincts, kid. Trust what you feel, not what you should have felt."
But to Ryan, that would be admitting defeat. He doesn't want things to come to that; he's not ready yet to give up on who he was.
He craves information like others crave food or alcohol or sex.
"I'm sorry," Luke says. "I shouldn't have said—"
"It's okay," he throws in quickly. "It's just that… well."
"Yeah. Well, to answer your question, yes. You didn't say much. Of course, next to Cohen, anyone would seem quiet. Man, the kid could talk."
Ryan smiles—he has heard stories about Seth's legendary ability to babble.
"So," Luke says. "I hear you'll be leaving town soon."
"Yeah."
"You won't miss Newport?"
"I doubt it. Nice place to look at, but…"
"Yeah," Luke says. "Newport kind of sucks."
Ryan hums in agreement.
"How about Chino?" Luke asks after a beat. "Did you go back there?"
"Yeah. Couple of weeks ago." Ryan absently picks up a book and starts leafing through the pages without actually seeing anything. "It was…"
It was weird, and uncomfortable and disappointing, but he doesn't feel like spelling it out. He shrugs as Luke asks, "How so?"
"I think Sandy was hoping it would bring back… something," he says. "It didn't."
He can almost hear Luke roll his eyes. "Okay, but not everything in life is about whether or not it brings back something, right? How did you find the place? Did you meet people you knew?"
Ryan thinks back about the visit, remembering the trashy house where Sandy told him he used to live, the few pictures of his biological family Sandy found in Ryan's wallet after the accident, the school where he used to go and a park nearby where he must have gone, even though Sandy says it was never mentioned.
All these places where he spent years, and which now don't make him feel anything but frustration, because try as he might, he can't feel nostalgic, or sad, or happy, or anything when he thinks about them.
"I met my brother," Ryan says. "It was weird. He looked pissed off. And worried."
Trey flat out refused to reply to his questions. "Believe me, bro, you're better off not knowing," he said when Ryan tried to ask questions about their past.
Ryan would have pushed, if Trey hadn't looked so edgy, so trapped.
"Did he say anything?"
"He said that I looked happy the last time I saw him, and that he thought the Cohens were nice to me," Ryan says, closing the book he had been fingering. "He wasn't that talkative."
Luke laughs out loud at that. "Big surprise, Atwood. Must be a hereditary trait."
"Whatever," Ryan retorts. He can feel Luke's about to ask another question, but Ryan beats him to it. "You haven't told me about life in Oregon," he says.
He doesn't want to talk about Theresa—how sad she looked when she saw that he didn't remember her, how cute she looked when she told him, "We were friends, most of the time. And more than friends sometimes." How she hugged him, told him to be happy, told him to call if he ever was in Chino again.
"Oh, it's fine," Luke says. "Kind of good to be away from all the shit."
Ryan isn't sure exactly what kind of shit that was but doesn't ask. Luke will tell him if he feels like it.
"A little boring," Luke adds.
"Is that why you called?"
"You got it," Luke replies cheerfully. "You mind?"
Ryan considers the question carefully. "No," he eventually answers. "I really don't."
"Good," Luke enthuses. "'Cause I got lots more to say."
Ryan smiles, and settles for the long haul.
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Once the Cohens make their decision, things happen fast. A month after their first discussion, they're moving—a month passed in a blur of packing and deciding what to take with them, of looking at pictures of houses, of Sandy going back and forth between Newport and San Francisco to get acquainted with the town.
A month during which Kirsten is often found crying in Seth's room, while she tries to decide what to keep and what to give to charity. Ryan fails to see what he can do to help, so he just lets Sandy handle the comforting, feeling inadequate and frustrated at his inability to reach out to her.
But maybe this all gives him a clue as to why the Cohens are in such a hurry to leave Newport. It must be hard for them to live in this house, where everything reminds them of the son they lost.
Sandy leaves two days before Kirsten and Ryan do, to get the house ready with the help of his friend and now colleague.
Ryan spends his last day in Newport enjoying the sun on the patio while Kirsten finishes packing. She didn't want help and he understands her desire for space. It's the least he can do for her.
He's starting to fall asleep when a hesitant voice startles him.
"Ryan?"
He blinks in the sun and tries to smile at Marissa. Summer already came to say goodbye—she cried a little in Kirsten's arms, then hugged Ryan and whispered, "Call me from time to time, or I'll have to come up there and kick your ass, Chino," and left hurriedly.
Marissa looks sad and hurt, and Ryan supposes he should have called her, but he just couldn't bring himself to make her cry again.
He hates it when people cry.
"Hi," he says, aiming for casual.
She sits next to him, biting her bottom lip. "So, you're leaving tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
There's a loaded silence, and they start speaking again at the same time, grimacing and fumbling awkwardly for the right thing to say.
"I'm sorry," Ryan eventually manages to say. "It's not fair to you."
She shakes her head, the sun making her hair shine. "It's okay. I just wish…"
"The accident had never happened?" Ryan supplies.
She has a strangled, nervous laugh. "It was terrifying. Summer was crying. It was the first time I'd seen her cry since her mother left. And you and Seth… you weren't answering, and there was blood everywhere…"
Ryan automatically put a hand to his head. He can feel the scars under his fingers, even though his hair is growing longer and mostly hiding them.
"And then you woke up, and…"
And he was a stranger to her, just as everyone was a stranger to him.
"I'm sorry," he says again. It doesn't change anything, but he doesn't know what else he can say, and she deserves that much.
And he is sorry. She lost her boyfriend, and he can't bring himself to miss her, no matter how much he tries. He hates how heartless it makes him sound, but he can't help it.
"I guess I just wanted to say goodbye."
They share a small smile, and when he rises to his feet, she follows suit.
She hugs him awkwardly, kisses him softly on the lips, blinking back tears, and walks away, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
He doesn't hear Kirsten approach and startles when she asks, "You okay?"
Not really, no. "Sure."
She shakes her head in disbelief, and puts a hand on his shoulders. "Wanna come inside and give me a hand?"
He nods gratefully and follows her in.
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Ryan spends most of the trip to San Francisco pretending to sleep to hide the fact that the slight beginning of a headache he started to suffer from two hours into the trip had evolved into a full-blown migraine two hours later.
He doesn't want to stop and take pills; they make him nauseous and he doesn't need that right now.
The only thing he wants is get into bed, and that's not going to happen until they reach their new house, so he just grits his teeth and wills the car to move faster.
It isn't the worst migraine he has suffered since the accident, but it comes damn close. It's astonishing that Kirsten hasn't noticed it yet—either Ryan is getting better at hiding his discomfort, or she's too busy focussing on the road and too preoccupied by the fact that she has left her family and her friends behind.
The doctors have assured him that the headaches would grow less frequent with time and would probably disappear altogether, eventually.
All well and good, but in the meantime, they hurt like hell.
When the car finally stops and Kirsten says, "We're here," all Ryan wants to do is curl up in a bed and pass out. Grimacing in the harsh glare of the sun, he forces himself to get out of the car and start moving.
Sandy has come out of the house to greet them. Upon seeing Ryan, who's using all his concentration not to fall down, he asks, "Of all the… Why the hell didn't you take something?"
"Ryan?" Kirsten calls, her voice suddenly concerned.
"And how are you even still standing?" Sandy adds to Ryan.
Sandy's tone is too loud for Ryan's taste—in fact, now that he's not sitting anymore, everything seems too loud for Ryan—and he says, "If you don't stop yelling, I'm going to throw up."
Sandy takes his arm and gently guides him toward the house, Kirsten following close behind. She's talking in hurried tones, but she keeps her voice low. "I can't believe I didn't see this. Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you ask me for the painkillers?"
"I didn't want to take the damn pills where it would be difficult to get sick," Ryan says through clenched teeth.
That decision seems stupid now, especially since he doesn't even make it to the door before getting sick in a bush he hopes is theirs. Sandy, supporting most of Ryan's weight, mutters a sarcastic, "Yeah, good call."
Ryan manages to reach his bed with Sandy's help, then allows himself to sink into oblivion on a last whispered, "Sorry."
"Welcome to San Francisco, kid," Sandy says, rubbing his back comfortingly.
TBC